All Roads Lead Back by pandiesboxx

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/12/2005
Last Updated: 06/08/2008
Status: In Progress

Harry Potter always figured that once he'd fulfilled his destiny he could finally have a
happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and everything
went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love
story told thru multiple canon character perspective. AN:Good news.




1. Prologue
-----------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. H/Hr, with a
whole lot of other ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*



*I am a born and raised Carolina girl who moved to Florida. I'm southern thru and thru.
The closest I've ever gotten to England is by watching BBC America. If you see something
I've written that doesn't gel right please tell me, I would like to make this as good as
possible.*



*This story features a lot of flashbacks. I've tried to make it obvious when the character
is in present time as opposed to thinking back on an event. If it still seems unclear I would love
to hear some suggestions.*



*I write plays and poetry. As a result my writing tends to be dialog heavy and at times
abstract. Description isn't my strongest suit, but I hope to get better at it by trying to
write fan fiction.*



*Although this is a H/Hr story it is told thru multiple perspectives. *



*If you are a fan of Ginny you're girl takes a few hits in this story. I am no Ginny
lover, but to be fair I didn't like the character pre-HBP. She's not the villain of this
story however and I would like to think that I've been fair in how I portray her. I could be
wrong, oh well.*



*That's it for now.*







***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*











She was in his bed again. No matter what kind of day he had (good or bad) or what dark or
pleasant mood his mind was in when he retired for the night she always ended up in his bed. In the
middle of the night. This time clad only in a peach colored towel. He liked it when it was only a
towel. Makes things oh so much easier, he thought merrily to himself as he turned over on his side
and hooked his right thigh over her left leg. She didn't seem to mind. At least not according
to those large doe eyes that stared at him challengingly. What are you going to do, they seemed to
say.




He began to trace his fingers down her arm at a sloth like pace. He felt rather then heard her
sigh in contentment. He could barely contain his grin. He was definitely up to the challenge. Her
skin was warm and damp, as if she had just recently come from the bath before ending up in his
arms. His bed would be wet afterwards, but somehow he didn't seem to mind. Wasn't that the
whole point, he thought to himself.




As he hovered over her, one hand entangled in russet colored curls while the other still traced
patterns on bare heated flesh he noticed a bead of sweat that was slowly making it's way from
her hairline down the contour of her cheek. She either didn't notice it or didn't care, but
he was enthralled. To be able to glide over creamy skin without any other care in the world and
then just disappear into it?!! He was jealous! He wanted to be that little droplet of moisture. So
he did the next best thing. As it crested the curve of her left breast he licked it. It tasted of
salt, sex, and cotton. It was time to remove that towel. But before he could do that she grabbed on
to a handful of his hair as if to hold him in place. He obliged by licking lazy patterns with his
tongue over the skin the towel didn't cover.




Her little body began to softly quake under his larger form. As he made his way to the other
breast his tongue dipped into the valley between the two. She emitted a petulant little moan as her
right hand let go of his hair and drifted down to the middle of his bare back. He could tell that
she needed some kind of release soon, but he was having way too much fun toying with her. That is
until she snaked her unattended hand into his silken boxers and began stroking his cock at a
maddening pace. Faster...faster...then sloooooooow. Faster...faster...then slow. Minx.




Whatever it was she needed he now needed too. He realized this fact as his tongue began to get
bolder with it's machinations. It forcefully pushed down the material over her right breast and
before he knew it he had taken the little brown bud of her nipple into his mouth. He felt a tiny
tingle of pain as her nails dug into the skin of his back and her body arched halfway off the bed.
He could almost picture in his mind the half moon imprints he would find in the morning. He smiled
to himself. They would be well worth it. Battle trophies. He fully intended on winning this
war.




As he took one last languid lick of her nipple he rolled his whole body on top of hers. One arm
he used to prop himself up so he didn't put his whole weight on her. The other arm was down at
her parted thighs, his hand creeping up the inner wall. His lips were on hers, their tongues
frantically dueling with each other for dominance. Almost there, almost there, he thought to
himself. His fingers ached to touch her there. His cock felt like it would implode if it wasn't
sheathed into her wet core soon. Though the rubbing was nice. The rubbing was very very nice.
Almost....almost....the smell of her arousal was damn near drugging him...almost...




“Do you want me Harry?”




It took him nearly two seconds to realize that they were no longer kissing and that the voice he
was hearing was not in his head, but coming from the half naked woman underneath him.




“Do you?”




Everything seemed to stop at that moment. His roaming hands. His labored breathing. It felt like
he couldn't even blink.




“It's really a simple question Harry,” she said as she placed both her hands on either side
of his face and forced him to look her fully in her eyes. Her big brown eyes. Her big brown eyes
that he would gladly drown in if he could.




It was a simple question. A simple question that she asked him every time they ended up in bed
together, a mass of tangled arms, legs, and other assorted body parts. And the answer was always
the same.




“Yes,” he said, looking at her from beneath heavy lidded eyes. If anything his little friend
poking at her stomach should have given her that answer. But he didn't mind. He knew from her
little sighs and kittenish purrs that she wanted him just as much.




“Do you love me Harry?”




This however was new. Usually after his declaration there would be no more conversation
exchanged between them. That is unless you counted groans and pants and screams of
“harder...harder...” as they both joyously fucked each other into incoherence. But love? Love was
never mentioned between them. It was almost as if the subject was taboo. Did he love her? He knew
that he loved his parents and Sirius. He loved Remus and the Weasleys. He had loved his old
headmaster Dumbledore, a fact that he hadn't fully realized till the wizened old man had left
him. But did he love her? Was he in love with her? The way her question fully implied?




“Yes,” he replied adoringly, his voice cracking from the emotion of it. His answer was just as
plainly spoken as the last.




“I love you more then anything in this world Hermione.”




And he did. He felt the truth of those words within every fiber of his being. He looked into her
eyes intently. He hoped she could hear the earnest honesty in his voice, see the near worship in
his eyes.




She did. She smiled at him with such a child-like happiness that he half expected her to clap
her hands and coo.




“Good,” she half whispered as she dropped a chaste kiss on his lips, a kiss so achingly sweet he
nearly felt his heart rendered into pieces from the sheer innocence of it all.




“Time to wake up then Harry.”




*What?*







*~~**~~ ~~**~~ ~~**~~ ~~**~~*




“I said it was time to wake up Harry,” he heard a voice say as he felt the weight of a pillow
thrown at the back of his head. He scrambled up into a sitting position on the bed, draping the
powder blue sheets around his waist. As he turned bleary eyed towards the direction of the
irritated voice he tried to gain some semblance of wakefulness.




“Sweet Circe! You are going to be late again if you don't hurry up. Hanes just might
actually try to fire you this time!”




He watched the red blur go back and forth across the field of his vision a few times before he
reached over and plucked his glasses from the night stand next to his bed. He slipped them on and
Ginny suddenly came into focus. She was not a happy camper, if the purple color her face was
becoming was any indicator. He placed the glasses back where they had been. He'd rather not
'see' this.




“That's probably been your intention all long hasn't it Harry? To get thrown out of the
department. Well I won't allow it,” she said, stomping her foot down in an amazing display of
anger. She would have made a very imposing figure too, hair all blown back from her face like a
Fury, arms akimbo, legs spread far apart. That is if she wasn't all of 5ft4, Harry sniggered to
himself.




“Don't you dare laugh at me Harry James Potter,” Ginny shouted.




Harry swallowed what ever remnants was left of his amusement. This was after all Molly
Weasley's girl.




“Gin...”




“And don't call me Gin,” she growled. Harry briefly pondered if maybe he should call for her
an Exorcist.




“You know damned well that I hate it when you call me Gin! And if you've made a mess of your
sheets again don't expect me to wash them!”




The way her eyes looked disdainfully at the bed Harry was almost afraid to take a peek down. He
did feel a certain dampness surrounding him, but he was sure that it was just sweat. Please just be
sweat, he thought.




“And if you even think your going to get to use THAT this morning you best think again!”




This time Harry did take a gander down and was greeted by his rock hard erection poking thru the
sheets. He discreetly placed a pillow over his lap too tired to even feign embarrassment.




“I wouldn't think of it Ginny,” he muttered under his breath.




If she heard him she didn't give any indication other then a roll of her eyes and a rather
pissed sounding harrumph.




Harry watched her stalk to the bedroom door. Before she exited she turned around, reached into
the pocket of her pink house robe and pulled out her wand. With a deft flick of her wrists she
pointed it towards the walk-in wardrobe. One of Harry's scarlet Auror robes floated gingerly
out and placed it's self on the pale green settee against the bedroom's far wall.




“I had Dobby press your uniform. I think you should at least look like you want to be there,”
she sniffed in that irritatingly superior tone she had recently began to address him in. As she
turned her back and exited he heard her mention something about his breakfast getting cold.




“Finally,” he exclaimed as he heard her footsteps on the stairs.




He jumped out of bed and bolted for his shower. He was still feeling the after effects of his
dream and he needed to get rid of the evidence. Badly!




As he felt the first drops of cold water touch his skin he closed his eyes and tried to
recapture the lingering pictures in his head. Soft skin, wide open legs, lovely brown eyes...that
was all it took. He came hard with a shudder into his hands.




As he maneuvered his self fully under the shower tap, the water sending the proof of his
mornings frustration down the drain, he pondered what it all meant. The dream changed, he thought
to himself. The dream changed, what does that mean? He turned his face up as if he would get an
answer from the heavens and was met with a spray of water to the face. That woke him up. He grabbed
a hold of the soap in the dish and began to lather his body with it. It didn't matter. It
didn't matter after all. It was just some stupid dream. That's all! Besides, it wasn't
like anything would ever come of it. Right?




As if answer to his question he heard a pounding on the bathroom door.




“Get the bloody hell out of there before I throw away the bacon,” he heard Ginny's muffled
voice shout thru the wall.




“I'm coming Gin,” he yelled back as he quickly rinsed himself from front to back.




“Don't call me Gin,” she shrieked as she slammed the bedroom door on her way out.




As Harry stepped out of the shower and began to towel dry his body he half suspected that he
would have to do a quick spell to repair said door. His suspicions were confirmed when he strode
back into his bedroom, the peach colored towel wrapped securely around his hips.




Harry took a quick glance at the clock next to the mirror of his bureau and shrugged his
shoulders. He wasn't going to be **that** late. Besides, Wednesdays tended to be slow at the
office.




As he reached inside his drawer to pull out a fresh pair of briefs and a singlet he caught his
reflection in the mirror. He had just been about to tug off the towel when he noticed the color of
the cotton fabric. Instantly his dream came hurtling back at him. The smells, the sounds, the
friction. At this thought his dick practically stood at attention. Damn.




He walked back defeatedly to his bed and reached for the wand that was still under his pillow.
After he cast a quick “*reparo*” at it he threw a locking and silencing charm on the door as
well.




As he laid his body on the bed, nude as the day he was born, he begrudgingly admitted to himself
that he was in fact going to be late. And Hanes? Well, Hanes might just bloody well try to fire
him. Harry didn't care.




The last cohesive thought he had before he placed his hand on his shaft and succumbed to
mindless bliss was that he hoped Ginny was just joking about throwing the bacon away. He had to
have something to look forward to as he sat across the breakfast table from her, his wife.





























*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*









2. Chapter 1
------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. H/Hr, with a
whole lot of other ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*





***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*











Ginny Potter liked to fool herself. Those extra five pounds she put on from this past winter?
Merely baby fat. The brand new pastel pink dress robes that Lavender talked her into buying just
two weeks ago? They went well with her dark blue eyes. The suspicion that her husband didn't
love her anymore? Nonsense! They would soon be coming up on their 6 year anniversary next
spring.




Never mind the fact that she was a 23 year old woman so any trace of baby fat was simply a
figment of her imagination. Never mind the fact that she was a redhead whose skin tended to turn a
thankless shade of gray whenever she deigned to wear anything resembling pink. And never mind the
fact that for the last few months she and her husband had been sleeping in different beds, Ginny
Potter liked to fool herself. How else could she explain the fact that her marriage, that appeared
so strong and fruitful in it's inception, was now dry and barren only a few years later.




Her husband was unhappy and Ginny simply felt at a loss of what to do to remedy the situation.
She mulled over these dark thoughts as she sipped her cup of tea, her breakfast remaining untouched
on the table before her. What do you do when your husband is unhappy and you're the cause, she
thought murkily.




It was times like these that Ginny desperately wanted someone she could talk to. Confide in. Her
mother was simply not an option. Ginny got cold chills down her back at the thought of having to
tell her beloved mother that the Dazzling Duo, or so Witch Weekly had dubbed the Potters, were on
rocky ground.




No one could have been happier for Ginny and Harry when they got married then Molly Weasley. Her
daughter had landed the prime catch of the wizarding world and she was now finally able to claim
the little boy she had loved before she had even laid eyes on him as one of her own bulging brood.
No, Ginny could not go to her mother with her problems. Besides her mother would probably not
understand the question.




“*Um mum, my husband doesn't seem to want to touch me anymore. What can I do?”*




Molly would probably look at her daughter as if she were mad.




“*Unhappy husband? What's that dear? Is it something like jumbo shrimp?”*




Ginny had a strong suspicion that any woman who had born her husband seven children would not be
able to understand the concept.




It was a wash thinking she could talk to any of the male members of her family. Her dad, though
sweet as could be, would probably go running screaming into the night if she brought up the matter
of her sex life to him.




Her two oldest brothers wouldn't react much differently. She was nearly a decade younger
then both of them. To Bill and Charlie Ginny was as much their own child as she was their sister.
Even though she considered herself a grown sophisticated woman of means to them she would always be
the too skinny baby of the family.




Then there was Percy. Percy was no where near the list of possible outlets. The last time Ginny
had seen him was when their mother had thrown a party at the Burrow to celebrate the birth of his
triplets. By the end of the night Molly was in tears, Ron's ears were a frightening shade of
magenta, and the twins had threatened to forcefully remove Perce's upturned nose from his face
and stick it up his arse. At that threat Penelope Weasley quickly gathered up her three young
babies as well as their older sibling, grabbed her husband by the collar, and nervously made her
goodbyes as she headed towards the door. Luckily they had come by portkey, a darling paisley
parasol, so their exit was speedy. Penelope had after all been a student at Hogwarts when the
Weasley twins were there. She knew not to take any threat from them lightly.




Ginny smiled as her thoughts turned to her twin brothers. In school they had both played the
position of beater on their house Quidditch team. She always found that so appropriate since she
saw the two of them as synchronized bludgers crashing their way thru life. A pair of redheaded,
freckle faced, mischief making bludgers. If she could compare herself to any of her siblings she
was most like Fred and George. So it would be simple to talk to one of them right?




Unfortunately for Ginny George was too busy living the free and single life of a bachelor these
days. He shared a flat in Diagon Alley with her other brother Ron and Ginny barely got to see him
much. George came by the Burrow sparingly and asking him to visit her in the Potter's palatial
home in Wiltshire was like pulling teeth. From a doxy. A doxy hopped up on crystal meth. And no
matter how important her own troubles seemed to her she knew she couldn't be so insensitive to
bother Fred with them. Fred. Her heart seemed to sigh heavily at the mere thought of Fred. Her
knavishly brilliant brother Fred. Her grinning, five jokes a minute brother Fred. Her barrel of
laughs Fred. She wouldn't trouble him. The way she saw it a rapidly crumbling marriage in no
ways compared to having a sick child.




So that then left Ron. Her overly protective big brother. Ha! Ginny snorted into her cup. Even
though Ron was one whole year, 5 months, 10 days, 16 hours, and 3 minutes older then herself (he
irritatingly enough did the math), Ginny always felt like the older sibling in their relationship.
Ron never seemed to quite 'get it'. Sometimes Ginny felt like she had to explain things
slowly for Ron. Not that he was dumb. Ron by no means was stupid. His learning curb was just a
tad...slanted. How else to explain the fact that Lavender Brown had already agreed to be his wife,
booked the honeymoon, and sent the wedding announcement to the Evening Prophet by time the poor boy
realized he had even proposed.




Ginny had to admit, she admired the woman's moxie if not her actual follow thru.




Ron would not make a good shoulder to cry on. He was too tangled up in *The Wedding* to
even concentrate on her little heartbreaks. She was sure that Lavender probably had every moment of
Ron's day planned for the next few weeks till the ceremony in June. Hell, the engagement party
was only in 4 days! Ginny would stand a better chance of getting in to the Department of Mysteries
again then getting near her own sibling if she knew Lavender well. Besides knowing Ron he would
probably defend Harry. That was Ron. Whenever she and Harry had a falling out Ron without fail took
Harry's side.




And therein lay another problem for Ginerva Potter. To her parents and brothers Harry
couldn't be anymore a member of the family if he dyed his hair the famous Weasley red.
Sometimes it sucked having her family love her husband as much (maybe even more) then they loved
her. She half suspected that if it came down to it Harry would get the Weasleys, the Burrow, and
the whole kit and caboodle in the divorce.




Divorce. Ginny shuddered at the word. In her mind that wasn't an option. Divorces simply
were not done. At least not in her family. Once again Ginny wished she had someone she could talk
to about her hurts, her suspicions, her fears.




Her closest female friend was a possibility. Luna always seemed to see every situation in
an...unusual light. However Ginny hated Luna's "lover" (Luna's wording, not hers)
so that cut out any idea of visiting the Lovegood home in Ottery St. Catchpole as the git lived
with her.




That only left her brothers various wives and girlfriends. Penelope was sweet, yet useless.
Glinda, Fred's wife, seemed to have a good head screwed on her shoulder. However she was a
muggle and as such just didn't understand the importance that came along with being the wife of
one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Fleur was simply out of the question! Although Ginny
long ago decided to get along with the beautiful French woman for the sake of the family, she never
warmed to her fully. Even in her expensively tailored robes with her good looking rich husband by
her side Ginny always felt like second hand goods when standing next to Mrs. William Weasley. It
also didn't help that she and Bill seemed intent on breaking her parents record for most
Weasleys under a single roof. After only seven years of marriage they were already on kid number 4
with number 5 on the way. Bill walked around with a serious case of perma-grin all year long. Yeah,
Fleur was really going to empathize with her plight.




With Charlie and George being confirmed bachelors that only left Ron's fiancée Lavender
Brown. Although in school she and Lav had never been close, despite being in the same House, she
had developed a sort of quasi-friendship with the pretty blonde girl ever since she and Ron began
to date seriously a few years ago. Ginny had to admit that Lav wasn't half bad once you got to
know her. She almost regretted not hanging out with her back when they were teenagers. Of course
back then Hermione had been the closest thing she had to a best friend but....




Stop it Ginny, she scolded herself. No use going down that road now is there? You have Lavender.
Delightfully air headed Lavender. Sex crazed, potty mouthed Lavender. Who felt that all
relationship problems could easily be solved by placing an order in the American lingerie catalog
Morgana's Mysteries. Ginny needed to get some new friends! Harrumph! As if sex could solve all
problems.




“Arg!” Ginny grumbled to herself in frustration. She pitched herself from her chair at the table
and threw her tea cup into the sink. It landed with a loud thunk. One more good piece of china down
the drain.




Ginny smiled as she thought of the last tea cup she had broken. She had thrown it at Harry's
head as he innocently strode into the kitchen calling her name one evening. They were supposed to
meet some old school mates for dinner in Hogsmeade that night. She had even bought herself a new
dress in a muggle boutique in London for the occasion. Harry liked it when she wore muggle
clothing. She had laid out a pair of khaki pants and a gorgeous navy blue jumper (she loved the
color on him, it made his hair look even thicker and damn near blue black) on the bed for him. She
had been fit to burst all day over their little date. Ginny relished every single chance she got to
show off her handsome, dashing husband. So of course Harry showed up home over half an hour past
the time they were supposed to meet the Lee Jordans at The Three Broomsticks. Ginny didn't even
bother to hear Harry's explanation as to why he was late. She was sure the names Kingsley,
Hanes, and Moody would come up. She didn't want to hear it, she just chucked the cup in his
general direction.










“*Hey! That was a gift from Minerva,”* he shouted as he came up from his crouched position
near the floor.




“*No it wasn't Harry. That came from my great-aunt Matildhe,”* Ginny replied just as
normally as if they were having a conversation about the weather. *“Minerva gifted us with the
crystal wine flutes that always keep your drink chilled.”*




“*Whatever,”* he exclaimed incredulously. *“You nearly took my bleeding head
off.”*




“*That my dear husband was the point.”*










After that she and Harry began screaming and hurling insults at each other at a frightening
pace. The passion that had been ever present at the beginning of their relationship seemed to
ignite all around them all of a sudden and Ginny shortly found herself 'making-up' with her
husband all over the kitchen table. Ginny blushed at the memory. She replaced the table the very
next day and sent a very apologetic note to Angelina by lunch time.




Ginny felt a tug at her waist.




“Missus Harry Potter miss, is you needing Dobby to re-heat the breakfast?”




Ginny looked down into the overly large green eyes that were staring up at her. Ever since Harry
and Ginny moved to the new house two years ago Dobby had lived with them. Ginny had wanted more
house-elves, but both Harry and Molly felt that Dobby was enough.







“*You don't want to get spoiled now dear, do you,”* her mother clucked at her.




It took all of Ginny's strength of will not to roll her eyes into the back of her head.
Ginny eventually came to agree with Molly. Dobby expertly took care of Harry's every needs and
by extension her own.










“No Dobby, thanks. Harry needs to learn to appear at breakfast at a decent hour.”




The poor house-elf looked forlornly at the cooling plate of eggs and rashers. Ginny knew that if
she even turned her back for a second Dobby would send a heating charm at the plate so fast it
might actually scorch the table. Dobby would rather take a months vacation then give his precious
Harry Potter sub-par service.




“Dobby,” Ginny asked, making the house elf turn his attention back unto her. “Is Harry finished
up there yet?”




“Missus Harry Potter miss, Master Harry Potter was just finishing his wash when Dobby went to
turn down the bed.”




“Just finishing,” she asked, barely hiding the shock in her voice.




“Yes miss.”




Ginny rolled her eyes towards the ceiling as if she could magically see thru it. If she could
she would then be able to see what exactly was Harry's fascination with long showers these
days. It was a pity that the kitchen wasn't located under the Master bedroom suite. Ginny knew
exactly what charm to cast.




“Very well then Dobby. You may go.”




Dobby once again turned to look at Harry's plate.




“You may go Dobby,” Ginny snapped.




The house-elf did not miss the note of steel in her voice. In the blink of an eye he
disappeared. Ginny exhaled softly as she turned her back and leaned her body into the corner of the
kitchen counter next to the sink. She hadn't meant to be so cool towards poor Dobby, but lately
it seemed like she couldn't help herself. Her temper seemed to flare up without the slightest
provocation these days. The giddy tingling feeling she had been feeling only a few minutes ago as
she remembered the night Harry had her for dinner on the breakfast table? Gone. It was replaced by
the the pitiful knowledge that that wonderful moment of time happened almost 4 months ago. Four
months! That was the last time Harry had shown any remote interest in her. The last time they had
been intimate.




Of course she and her husband still shared long and lingering kisses. Kisses so sweet that she
almost felt herself the 15 year old girl again, sitting by a lake, snogging her boyfriend into a
goofy stupor. And every now and then he would still hold her hand. If he saw her brown creased in
anxiety or sadness he would even give her little fingers a small squeeze and smile down at her
reassuringly. It was those moments that she remembered why she had fell in love with this
boy...this man when she was still a child.




But if she was being honest with herself she knew that there was something missing from
Harry's affection. Even the few scant times they had made love within the last year she could
tell that something was just...off. It was almost like Harry was just going through the motions.
Doing the things that were expected of him as a dotting husband.




Maybe she could talk to Neville again. Get a male's perspective on the whole situation. As
quickly as the idea came into her head she dismissed it. That wouldn't really be fair now would
it Ginerva, she ruefully thought.







“Ahem.”




Ginny looked up to see Harry standing in the archway of the kitchen door. He was dressed in his
Auror robes, his regulation black dragon hide boots peeking from underneath them. Ginny's
breath caught in her chest. Sometimes it almost made her head woozy too look at her husband. That
shockingly ebony hair that hung slightly past his collar, those serious clear green eyes. That
perfect complexion of his no longer marred by that blasted scar of his youth. Those pouty pink lips
that were almost too sexy to be believed. Harry had always been an attractive kid, just slightly on
the skinny side. But with maturity Harry truly grew into his looks. At 15 he was a rather cute boy.
Now, just a few weeks shy of being 25, he was a ridiculously handsome young man. Ginny trembled to
think of the stunning creature he would be at 35. All that Auror training didn't hurt either.
He had a slim yet muscular build that went well with his 5 foot 11 inch frame. In a word Harry was
simply delicious.




And he's all mine, Ginny sighed contentedly.




“Um...Gin?”




“Don't call me Gin,” she snapped, the dreamy look that had been in her eyes mere seconds ago
quickly fading.




Harry looked from his wife to the food on the table then to the fireplace. Ginny could
practically read the thought process that was going thru his head. Argument, bacon, escape route.
It was almost comical and Ginny would have laughed if she wasn't so sure that she was what
Harry wanted to escape from. She sure as hell wasn't the bacon.




“I'm sorry Harry.”




Harry quickly turned his eyes away from the floo access and looked at his wife, surprise working
it's self on his face. His eyes look as huge as Dobby's, she amusedly thought. This she did
chuckle at. Harry looked at his wife as though she were growing a spare head out the side of her
neck. The picture that created in her head sent Ginny into another gale of giggles.




Harry was definitely perturbed by how frighteningly fast her mood seemed to change. “Ginny...you
ok?”




“Yes, yes Harry,” she said as she brushed a tear from her eye. “I was only apologizing for being
so hateful to you earlier.”




Once again Harry gave her that 'Gee Honey, you have two heads', look.




Ginny just shook her head and drew her wand out. She cast a heating charm on Harry's plate
and then dropped the wand back into her pocket.




“Eat your food Harry before it gets cold again,” she said.




Harry ambled over towards the table and set himself before his plate. As Harry began to eat
Ginny turned back to the sink and fixed her forgotten tea cup with a "*reparo*". It
was lovely being a witch. Of course the value of the china did go down with each consecutive repair
spell that was placed on it, but that didn't matter to Ginny. It was a wedding gift. It was
tangible proof that she was Mrs. Harry Potter. That made it special to her.




“I just wanted to make sure you got to work on time.”




Harry looked up from his plate, his mouth stuffed to the brim with toast.




“Whaaa?”




Ginny snickered at this. “I said that I just wanted to make sure you got to work on time.
That's why I was so impatient with you this morning.”




Ginny walked back over to her chair across from Harry and sat down. “I know you said that Hanes
has been on your case as of late. I just didn't want to give him more ammunition against
you.”




Harry paused from trying to down his whole breakfast in one gulp. He looked her in her eyes and
she noted that he was touched by the gesture.




“Thanks sweetheart,” he softly whispered before returning to the meal at hand.




Ginny felt a soft warmth spread thru out her body. He called her sweetheart! He hadn't done
that in ages. At that moment she felt closest to Harry then she had in months. The only sounds that
could be heard were the clink of Harry's fork hitting the china as he ate ravenously,
Hedwig's merry hoots from his perch in the hall, and Dobby's humming as he started his
daily cleaning duties. To Ginny's ears these were the sounds of a content life. So of course
she had to go and ruin it.




“What were you dreaming about?”




Clink. Ginny looked down at the fork Harry had just dropped on his plate. She then turned her
eyes to his face. Harry looked at her as if she were Dolores Umbridge raised from the dead, playing
the piccolo. Starkers.




“W-w-what?”




“This morning, what were you dreaming about? I heard you moaning and groaning halfway down the
hall.”




Harry picked his fork up and returned to his meal.




“Nothing. I forget,” he said. But he didn't look at her when he said it.




“Oh.”




She hated it when he lied. Her body felt like an iceberg had just crashed into it.




“Aren't you going to eat Ginny,” he asked, trying to change the subject.




“Not hungry.” And as if to prove her point she pushed her plate a few inches away from her.




“You know in a matter of weeks I won't have to worry about Hanes ever again,” Harry began as
he gulped down his black coffee in one swallow. “Minerva said that Professor Lermontant definitely
would be heading back home to New Orleans after term ended and with...”




“Guess who stopped by the Burrow the other day?”




Harry paused in mid action as he was placing his coffee mug back on the table. He looked at
Ginny's face searchingly. She returned his stare with a haughty lift of her chin.. He sighed
resignedly.




“Who stopped by the Burrow?”




“Tonks and the baby!”




Harry glanced up from his plate as a genuine smile alighted his face.




“You saw little Wolfie Lupin?”




“Harry,” Ginny chided him, “his name is Wolfgang Romulus Lupin.”




“Heh. Never let it be said that Remus and Dora don't have a sense of humor.”




“You better not let Tonks hear you call her that name.”




“Remus does.”




“Yes. And Remus also rubs her feet and picks up her monthly potion from the apothecary.”




“Ginny!”




Ginny smirked at Harry's reaction. Men could be such babies most times. Sure a bloke could
go off and fight evil and fulfill prophesies, but mention a woman's monthly and they fall all
to pieces.




“Hey sweetheart, is there any more bacon?”




“Harry don't you think you've had enough? What about your girlish figure,” she scolded
him in good humor.




“Awww Ginny, I'm a growing boy!”




She smiled at him good naturedly. “You're going to be late.”




“What will a few minutes hurt?”




Ginny shook her head and gestured towards the oven.




“Let me,” Harry stated as he withdrew his wand from it's holster on the side of his hip. He
pointed it at the oven door and made it pop open.




“*Wingardium Leviosa*!”




The plate of bacon began to float across the room and softly landed it's self in front of
Harry.




“An oldie, but a goodie,” he affectionately remarked as he tore into a strip of the meat. Ginny
had no idea what he found so amusing, but she smiled at him indulgently anyways.




No matter how many ways she dissected it the results always remained the same. She was still
madly in love with Harry Potter. But somehow she feared that he wouldn't say the same about
her. At the very start of her marriage she had been blissfully sure of his devotion. From the
moment Harry proposed to the second she said "I do" there was no question in her mind
that they both were happily and deliriously in love. Sure all of that had taken place in the span
of one month, but as the newly wedded Potters enjoyed their cruise to Australia and then New
Zealand, Harry proved his love every night in their large stateroom. Every morning too. Sometimes
in the afternoon as well if they really didn't have anything else planned for the day. When did
things change?




Of course when they got back to the Burrow they had had to deal with the whole 'Hermione
Drama'. But after the dust had settled from that everything seemed to be alright.




Like in any marriage there had been a few minor squabbles. She wanted a huge house on a hill,
Harry wanted to settle down at his parent's old cottage in Godric's Hollow. Thankfully she
won that battle. When Harry wanted to leave behind his promising career as Seeker for Puddlemere
United and go into Auror training she hadn't thrown **that** big a fit. Of course she still
missed sitting in the stands with all the other player's wives and having her every move
tracked by all the tabloids, she soon recognized that being the wife of a highly decorated Auror
came with it's own perks and prestige.




The only big issue that stood between them now was when they would start having kids. The first
few years after they got married Ginny loved the care free life she and Harry shared. If they
wanted to apparate over to Nice for a few days there was never anything standing in their way.
Thanks to Dobby's assistance their house was always spotless. Her figure wasn't that much
different from when she was a girl. When people would joke and ask when she and Harry would start
having some sprogs he would always say that the two of them loved their life as is too much to
change it at the moment. Besides, they were much too young. She would always give an agreeing white
toothed smile to concur his statement.




But as the years went on and Fleur and Penelope began popping out baby Weasleys left and right
Ginny had to wonder, was this still true? Did she really not want change? The answer came after
Fleur had little Rosemary. As she held her small niece for the first time Ginny suddenly realized
the answer to her question. She did want change. She wanted a baby. She wanted Harry's baby.
Ginny thought that it was really that simple. She and Harry had been married over two years at this
point. Now was the time to get with the baby making. Harry however didn't seem to agree.







“*C'mon Gin, don't you love the our life the way it is? Why change it? We have years
to have kids.”*




This time she couldn't muster up that same smile.







Of course they had accidents. The time after the kitchen table encounter had almost ended up as
one. Ginny had been off her contraceptive potion for months and neither of them had their wands
handy at the time. Luckily for Harry it turned up as a false alarm. Other then that one time Harry
had previously never failed to cast a charm on himself. He really seemed adamant about not being a
father at the moment. And of course since then Ginny hadn't really gotten herself in the
position to get pregnant. So to speak. During her darker moments Ginny often wondered if Harry just
didn't want to be a father to any child she would have.







“Gin, I think I should leave.”




Ginny looked up into Harry's face startled. Was he using Legilemency against her?




“What?”




“I said I think I should leave. You know, go to work.”




Ginny released a sigh of relief. There she was being silly yet again. As Harry stood up from the
table she did as well. She noticed that the table was clean of the breakfast dishes. She looked at
him questioningly.




“While you were off in lala land I sent them to the sink,” he smirked. “Don't worry about
them, Dobby will attend to it. Why don't you go and have a day at the salon or something?”




He walked around the table and gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. As he made to walk away
towards the grate Ginny caught his hand and pulled him back to her.




“I have an even better idea,” she grinned naughtily. “Why don't I go out and buy us a new
kitchen table.”




Ginny snaked both her arms around Harry's neck and pulled him down more to her level so she
could whisper in his ear. “That is after we ruin this one first.”




Harry pulled back from her and before he could drop his usual perfect husband mask over his face
Ginny caught a quick glimpse of what was in his green eyes. They were full of disinterest.




“You know I'd love to Gin, but I'm late.”




“What will a few minutes hurt,” she asked working hard not to make the question sound like a
plea.




If he heard the near begging tone in her voice he ignored it. He simply kissed her demurely on
the mouth and unhooked her arms from around her neck. He looked her straight in the eyes.




“Seriously Gin, Hanes will kill me.”




With that he walked towards the fire place while removing a little brown pouch from inside his
Auror robes. He reached inside it and gathered up a handful of floo powder. He then shouted his
destination and disappeared in a hale of green smoke. His wife watched all this as if detached from
her surroundings.




She slowly sank back into her seat, her hands clutched together in a death like grip in her lap.
After a few moments she seemed to come back to herself. She realized she was still in her kitchen
and that the annoying droning tone she was hearing was just Dobby, perched on a step ladder,
humming a little tune as he cleaned up the dishes in the sink.




“Harry is right. I should go to the salon. I wonder if Lav has any plans for the day?”




Although Ginny was speaking to no one in particular Dobby turned from the sink, his cute little
KISS the ELF apron streaked with dish water, and smiled at her.




“Why yes Missus Harry Potter miss! A day at the salon sounds like a smashing good idea.”




“Yes it does Dobby,” she concurred as a single tear made it's way down her cheek. “Yes it
does.”




Ginny Potter liked to fool herself.

























*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*






3. Chapter 2
------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. H/Hr, with a
whole lot of other ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*







***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*











“You're late Potter!”




Shit. Harry had tried to discreetly enter into his cubicle at the Ministry without his
department head noticing, but it looked like his major stealth skills that worked so well for him
out in the field were a wash under the bright lights of level 2. Harry aligned his face into a
semblance of innocence and turned to face the voice of his hacked off boss.




“Commander Hanes. Good morning sir.”




Chief Auror Armistead Tiberius Hanes III was an imposing figure. He had been hand picked by
Rufus Scrimgeour to replace the late Gawain Robards as the Head of the Auror department. Robards
had fallen prey to an Imperius curse near the end of the war and had tried to assassinate the
Minister in his office. Luckily for Scrimgeour's sake (and Armistead's ambitions)
Robard's assistant was there at the time to foil the plot. In later years when asked if it was
necessary for him to use an Unforgiveable on his former mentor Hanes would always reply that he
just did what had to be done.




At 41 Hanes became the youngest Chief Auror in Great Britain's history. As such he tended to
over compensate when it came to showing his authority. He ran his Auror department as if it were a
well oiled machine. His Aurors were immaculate in dress, procedure, and attitude. Not a lapel was
out of place, not a case file was filed improperly, not an inner office fracas went down in his
department without his knowledge. He knew by heart every bullet point in taking down a dark wizard.
He expected no less from the young men and women under him.




He himself had become an Auror back in the dark days right when Voldemort was at his highest
power. He had witnessed firsthand several of his colleagues cut down in the prime of their life.
The fact that he was still fully capable of catching the bad guys (as well as fully limbed) spoke
volumes about his skill.




As a young man in his late 20's his hair had already begun to turn silver. This led to him
being dubbed the Silver Shadow by the Prophet after he helped track down and capture the
Lestranges. Hanes didn't mind the nickname. He felt the respect that came with the notoriety
was fully due him. Hanes was often heard saying, "I don't care if you don't like me,
just respect me". Respect was very important to him. That's why Hanes was hacked off at
the young man before him. Harry Potter neither liked, nor respected him it would seem.




“That's it? That's all your going to say to me? Good-bloody-morning?”




Harry chose a spot beyond the older man's shoulder to stare at as he coolly replied, “Yes
sir.”




“You do realize Potter that the morning is almost passed?”




“Yes sir.” Harry concentrated very hard not to cross his eyes.




“Do you have a good excuse for your being tardy then?”




“Yes sir.”




Commander Hanes stared at Harry for a good 2 minutes waiting patiently for an answer. That is if
you count having every blood vessel in his forehead throb painfully in rhythm patient.




“Well Potter,” he barked irritably when he couldn't take anymore.







“Bacon sir,” Harry clarified with a perfectly straight face. “I had to finish my bacon.”




Hanes stared at the seemingly arrogant young man before him. It was easy to see by the look on
his face that he couldn't stand the whelp. The feeling seemed to be mutual. For the first time
in his life Hanes felt the need to beat the hell out of a subordinate. This was both a terrifying
and thrilling feeling.




Due to his long years at the Ministry Hanes always seemed to be in command of somebody. He flew
up the ranks at a scary speed. He had never felt beneath anyone, even though he himself had
superiors. With that kind of self awareness Hanes always carried around a sort of detached
authority about his person. Since respect of your superiors was part and parcel of your job in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement he naturally expected that kind of treatment from everyone.
But not with Potter it would seem.




There was something about him that Potter didn't like, didn't respect and as such the
young man only acted as if he had his regard. This knowledge bothered the hell out of Hanes. Add
that to the fact that Hanes didn't even want Potter in his department. He liked to get his
recruits fresh from school. He wanted to mold young minds and break them to his will and ways
before they picked up any bad habits. Potter however didn't apply to the department until he
was 21. Of course he had had that minor little pit stop of defeating the Dark Lord of all dark
lords when he was barely still a kid of 17 years to take in consideration. However the next few
years he spent playing Quidditch. Quidditch!




Now Hanes was a Quidditch enthusiast just as much as the next wizard, he was a Falmouth fan
himself, however the idea of taking on some lazy playboy who had decided that it would be smashing
good fun to be an Auror held no charm for him. Even if the lazy playboy had an Order of Merlin,
First class. Hanes sniffed disdainfully at the thought. He himself only had a second class
designation.




When Potter first applied to the department Hanes had almost ignored his application until
Scrimgeour impressed upon him what a major addition Harry Potter would make at the Ministry. Rufus
even convinced him to speed along (wink wink, nudge, nudge) Potter's process in. The usual 3
years of training? Potter did an accelerated program of 1 and a half. All the children who were
supposed to have graduated from Hogwarts the year it was unfortunately closed due to the war were
granted a special dispensation in regards to their N.E.W.T.s. Their course work for the six years
prior to the closing as well as their O.W.L. scores were tabulated together somehow and that formed
their N.E.W.T. score. Potter barely got in due to his potions work. Hane's heard tell that
there was some young girl in that class who managed to attain the highest N.E.W.T.s in Hogwarts
history. Now that girl Hanes would have liked to have had in his command.




That was however neither here nor there. He was 'gifted' with Potter. Potter who despite
joining the department under questionable circumstances, was a damned good Auror. That was what
Hanes hated most about the kid, the way he seemed to naturally take to his assignments as if
defeating the dark forces were all in a normal days work for him. Of course for an Auror that
**was** a normal day, but in his opinion Potter was just too good at what he did. His first week
in the field after completing his training Potter single handedly apprehended Bellatrix Lestrange
in one of the half dozen polyjuice brothels down Knockturn Alley, *The Shrouded Asp*. Rufus
made Hanes promote Potter to Second Squad Leader the very next month.




Yes, Hanes definitely wanted to make Harry Potter's nose bleed. Although the two of them
were roughly the same height, Hanes easily had 50 pounds on him. He could take him! Chosen One be
damned....










“Sir?”




Hanes felt as though he was exiting some kind of fog. He shook his head as if to clear it and
glanced down at the pretty young woman trying to figure out just when she appeared by his side.




“Yes Miss Vane?”




“That transfer list you wanted for Darthmont has just arrived. I placed it on your desk.”




Hanes glanced at Potter. Harry's eyes were trained on Hane's clenched fist. His eyes
slowly traveled to those of his superior officer's and saw with out a doubt the distaste and
open hostility in them before Hane's adopted his neutral Auror facade.




“Yes...well...I'll just go take a look at that them. Thank you Rommy,” Hanes said as the
young woman placed a steaming mug in his previously balled up hand. He smiled at her, scowled at
Harry, and proceeded to make his way to his office.




Hane's final thought before entering his private room was that at least Potter hated his
partner. The little star of the department suffered some misery that Hanes was personally
responsible for. Hanes smiled. Sometimes you just have to make lemonade.




Harry exhaled the breath he had been holding.




“It looked like you could use a hand there Harry,” the former Gryffindor teased.




“And how! Thanks for saving my arse there Romilda.”




Romilda beamed a saucy little smile at the young man. “Ah, ah, ah. What did we agree on?”




Harry looked at Romilda for a second, face twisted in confusion.




“Err...”




“You and I are old school chums Harry. All my friends call me Rommy,” she flirted as she brushed
off an imaginary speck of dust from Harry's robes.




“Oh right. Sorry,” he said as he let loose the patented Potter grin.




Romilda had to use all of her control not to loose her balance. Her knees went weak.




“Hey,” Harry exclaimed, “Hanes called you Rommy too.”




“That he did.” Romilda placed her hand on her hip and struck a cheeky pose. “What do you think?
Romilda Vane-Hanes? Has a nice ring doesn't it?”




“Sorry sweets, I don't think he goes for your type. Your not nearly masculine enough,” he
joked.




She reached over and swatted him playfully on his arm. “Silly boy!”




The two of them shared a chuckle. Hanes who had been previously occupied in his office stuck his
head out at the sound of the laughter. He frowned at the sight of Potter and his secretary lazing
about.




“Miss Vane, a word please?”




Romilda swallowed her giggles and turned a serious face towards her boss. “In a crack sir.”
Hanes retreated back into his sanctuary. Harry was fairly dying to laugh out loud.




“I'm pretty sure that I'm the right type for Army,” she said showing just how close she
must be to the man to use his childhood nickname without the slightest sense of trepidation. The
last bloke who did that ended up being demoted down to Hit Wizard. Absalom Hanes never did forgive
his brother for that.




“Besides I've been told I have a rather handsome face.”




Harry was roused from his thoughts as he turned to look at the dark haired beauty fully. She
flashed her charming smile at him. Harry patted her on her arm and turned to sit in his cushy
office chair.




“You know...” Romilda began as she turned to walk off to Hane's office, “I am always open to
other offers.”




Harry paused in mid action. His eyes went wide and he looked at her as if she were on coming
traffic and he was trapped in the midst of it. He tittered nervously as she turned back and
flirtatiously winked her eye at him. Harry watched her make her way across the room before he felt
he could breathe normally again.




Better Hanes is the Arse then me, he thought to himself. Harry made to look at the files on his
desk, but before he could open the first one he felt the presence of someone near by.




“Tsk, tsk Potter,” a silky voice drawled. “And here I thought you were a model for committed
whipping boys everywhere.”




Harry rolled his eyes havenward and silently asked whatever deity present to make this day end
soon.




“Go away Malfoy.”




“Of course I can't say that I blame you. Rommy is a tasty lil' bit of crumpet.”




“Go away Malfoy.”




“She is fucking Hanes in the Arse though. Well not 'in' the arse...”




“Go away Malfoy.”




“Although she does have a rather extensive assortment of toys so I wouldn't be
surprised....”




“Haven't you ever heard of boundaries Malfoy,” Harry asked as he turned to face the young
man who was leaning at the opening of his cubicle.




Malfoy just continued to grin that creepy smile that usually made Harry's fist itch to
connect with his face. Ages ago, in a fit of boredom, he and Ron had once cataloged every Malfoy
smirk and it's underlying meaning. The smile that Harry was currently receiving had been dubbed
the “I'm smarter then you, plebe”. Malfoy winked his eye at Harry and when he got a disgusted
eye roll in return he chortled evilly.




“Oh come now Potter. We're all friends here. There are no secrets amongst us now is
there?”




“I hardly think your girlfriend would appreciate it if you started sharing her intimate doings
with your work mates,” Harry snotted. Draco merely bent over and laughed.




“Really Potter! It's all I can do to keep the woman from telling my mother what goes on in
our bed, during high tea.”




Against Harry's will his face cracked a small smile.




“I see you have the Ptolemy Cadmus file there?”




“Yeah,” Harry replied as he half heartedly thumbed thru the thick folder. “Has the team been
able to put a trace on him yet?”




Draco entered the cubicle and sat partially on the corner of Harry's desk. “No. The ruddy
berk seems to not want to check in at home.”




Harry sighed. They had been trying to locate this new upstart dark wizard for months. He went
simply by the name of Cadmus. He was a pyromaniac who used a Peruvian Vipertooth as both his means
of weapon and his way to escape the crime scene.




He was, what they dubbed in the department, a blood supremacist. He came from a very old, very
prestigious line of wizards and witches. Cadmus differed from most purebloods who placed such
emphasis on bloodlines in that he felt that all magical people (whether pure, half, or muggleborn)
had no business marrying people with no wizarding pedigree whatsoever.




According to his file his daughter from his first marriage, Harmonia, had married a muggle when
she was only 17. He was a theology student studying near where she lived in West Yorkshire. Cadmus
had been against the union, but he could never deny his precious child anything. If she wanted to
marry some Nancy boy so be it. The poor young woman however died a few months after the wedding.
Her husband burned her alive in their bed. As he was carted off to an insane asylum he calmly
maintained that he had to kill his wife. She was a witch and the baby that she was carrying would
be evil too. He was found in his cell burnt to a fiery crisp nearly seven years ago.




Although Harry and his team couldn't be positive they suspected that the muggle had been
Cadmus' very first victim. The very first couple that he was suspected of killing were murdered
just under 5 months ago.




The young muggleborn groom was a fellow who had attended Hogwarts around the same time as Harry
although he was a Hufflepuff a few years younger then him. Kevin Whitby was a pastry chef who had
opened a little bakery in Hogsmeade. Although it was located in a less desirable area of town next
to the Hog's Head, it had become fairly popular in the months before his death. He had recently
married his childhood sweetheart, the girl who had lived next door to him in his muggle
neighborhood since they had both been kids. Whitney Whitby took the good natured ribbing of her new
name in stride. She also seemed to take the fact that her brand new husband was a wizard equally as
well. Unbeknownst to most Kevin had long confided in the girl the reasons for his long absences
during their childhood. Most mornings Whitney could be found at the counter of The Enchanted
Truffle pouring coffee and cutting slices of pound cake for the early rush customers, while Kevin
was in back whipping up fantastic creations. Sometimes he would do it by hand, sometimes by
wand.




The Whitbys had 2 very happy months together. Before they made it to their three month
anniversary they both burned to death in the store right before the eyes of their usual morning
crowd. All the witness could agree on was that they had briefly seen the shadow of a small dragon
fly by. As far as the Aurors had been able to piece together Cadmus' death toll was up to 8
couples.




“Have we questioned the wife again,” Harry questioned his colleague.




Malfoy shook his head. “She isn't talking. All she says is that Toley hasn't been home
in a few months.”




Harry pinched the area right under the bridge of his glasses. He closed his eyes and slightly
leaned back in his chair.




“Then again,” Malfoy continued, “if my wife were fucking half of wizarding London I don't
think I would be too quick to come home either. The wench must have a vagina like a welly-top!”




Harry stifled a snort as Malfoy continued to babble on. Sometimes Harry marveled at how surreal
his life had turned out to be. Here he was, at his job at the Ministry of Magic, discussing the
sexual exploits of the wife of a suspected serial killer with his childhood enemy.













Had Trellawney foretold this scene years ago in one of those hateful Divination classes he
reluctantly attended back at Hogwarts no doubt he and Ron would have shared a hardy laugh and eye
roll at it. Then again Sibyll tended to stick strictly to death and destruction when it came to
Harry Potter. No matter, it seemed almost impossible to believe. Especially considering the events
that transpired at the end of Harry's 6th year. Although Draco hadn't been the person
wielding the actual wand, Harry strongly considered him partly responsible for the death of Albus
Dumbledore.




Back when he was 17 in Harry's put away heart he kept a list. The list was fairly short. It
only contained 4 or 5 names. The list were the people who Harry, before he took his last breath in
this world, wanted to make pay. Voldemort and Harry's old potion master Severus Snape held the
top two spots. Bellatrix and Greyback were next on the list. Malfoy was sitting pretty at #5.




In the end Harry settled most of his old scores. Although he didn't get to personally finish
off Fenrir he did watch as Remus, in his werewolf form, tore out the monster's throat.




Lestrange who had originally escaped from the final confrontation was found some years later
working as a prostitute in Knockturn Alley. The former proud concubine of Lord Voldemort was
reduced to shagging the dregs of society for the spare sickles in their pockets. When a thrifty
consumer asked to see the cheapest whore in the house they were shown to Bella's door. She had
become an halcyonian addict, a potion that left the drinker in a state of prolonged calm. She was
so completely under the thrall of the draught that when Harry walked in to the little room she
occupied she hadn't even batted an eye.




Later he found out she had assumed he was just another customer. Harry was horrified to discover
that his visage was one of the most sought after and in demand faces of the illegal polyjuice sex
trade. People either wanted to fuck Harry Potter or fuck while being Harry Potter. This was about
the time Harry started to grow his hair out. It now sat on his head as a overly messy mop of hair.
Long in front, even longer in back. Only Dobby was allowed to cut it. This alleviated him of the
worry that his precious strands would find their way into the hands of people who would make a
dollar from them. It also helped to cover his now bare forehead. It seemed that people eyes would
always drift up there, scar or no scar. Harry thought he had found the perfect solution to make
himself seem as ordinary as the next bloke. None of his friends and family had the heart to tell
him that he had helped create a mini rage in wizard's hair fashion.




After witnessing Bellatrix receive the Kiss from one of the few Dementors who had remained loyal
to the Ministry Harry had been able to cross out all the names on his list save one. He had killed
Tom after the final horcrux was destroyed. He had managed to separate Riddle's head from
it's neck with the use of Godric's sword. The same sword that Harry used to kill the
basilisk in his second year. With the last vestiges of Tom's cursed soul decimated he was
really an easy target.




And Snape...well...Harry preferred not to think of Snape. All that mattered was that
Dumbledore's killer received some sort of justice.




Malfoy was another story. What had been simply a strong dislike for the blond boy when they were
children had morphed in to a burning hatred once Harry reached 17. Although Harry recognized the
fact that Malfoy hadn't actually cast the Avada on Dumbledore, in fact the boy seemed terrified
to do it, Draco had been responsible for the destruction of one of Hogwarts towers, the year long
closing of the school it's self, and most importantly hurting many people's lives.




Bill Weasley was one of those most affected. Although he never showed signs of succumbing
completely to the werewolf curse, after being attacked by Greyback he never was quite the same.
Some of his wounds never fully healed marring his once dashingly handsome face. He also tended to
stare longingly at the full moon for long periods of a time. Harry always suspected that the
mauling may have left some psychological scars on Bill however his brother-in-law never really
showed any signs of it.




If Harry added in all the hurt, humiliation, and pain Malfoy had caused other people he cared
about he figured that Malfoy, as the common muggle saying went, had it coming. However since he was
low on the list Harry didn't spend too much time on thinking of ways to exact revenge on his
school rival.




Imagine then his surprise when Draco Malfoy showed up on the doorstep of Hermione's
parent's home in Notting Hill one balmy night in August.




After Dumbledore's death The Order needed new headquarters. He had been their secret keeper
and no one seemed to know how much a Fidelius charm would be compromised in case of death. Besides
with Snape back in Death Eater central it would be stupid to remain like sitting ducks at Grimauld
waiting for Riddle to make his move. The Burrow was not an option even though the Weasleys swore
that they didn't mind.




As usual Hermione offered a solution. Her parents had left for the summer to visit her
father's mother in Killarney. Hermione had opted to stay with Harry and Ron. First at Little
Whinging, then at Godric's Hollow. To put it simply her parents here not happy with her. If
they had known that the fate of the wizarding world be planned at their kitchen breakfast nook they
would have hog tied her and spirited her away to Ireland with them.










“*I don't bloody well care Harry,”* Hermione shouted at him one night after he asked
her one too many times if this all was such a bright idea. Dedalus Diggle had just exploded her
microwave and Hestia Jones was in the living room talking back to the people on the telly.




“*There are bigger things right now,”* she pressed as she tied her bushy brown hair into a
messy ponytail that sat high upon her head. She then walked away from him and went up the stairs,
he surmised, to her bedroom. He had seen Ron go up a few minutes before, but at the time thought
nothing of it.




Tensions were already high in the muggle house that night. So of course that was the very same
evening that Malfoy showed up.




The tiny group that was assembled together that night were waiting for some of their fellow
comrades to get back from a fact finding mission. Remus, Shacklebot, and Charlie Weasley had gone
to the Hog's Head to see Dumbledore's brother Aberforth. He had gotten a note thru
Mundungus that he had some vital information that would come in handy to the Order. Harry was
hoping it was information on where one of the missing horcruxes was. So far the Order knew what
three of them were. Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, and thanks to Hermione's
brilliant research, Ravenclaw's pensieve. They just didn't know where any of the bloody
items were or even how to destroy them once they found them. Harry was beginning to think that it
was going to take a miracle to solve this.




When Harry heard the doorbell ring he naturally assumed it was the Order members returning.
Hermione had put up repelling charms all around the house to ensure that no muggles came near. As
far as all of Hermione's neighbors were concerned the Grangers and their lovely daughter had
all gone to Ireland on holiday. She cast the Fidelius charm to ensure that no wizard or witch would
be able to find them. She made herself the secret keeper. That's why Harry was so shocked to
find the emaciated looking Slytherin standing on the door step. His hair hung limply on his head,
thick with grime. His eyes had no luster and were a dullish gray color.




“*Son of a bitch!”*




The surprise didn't last long. Harry hurled himself at Malfoy and the two went crashing down
on the cobbled mews in front of the house. So much adrenaline was running thru Harry's blood
that he didn't even think to use his wand. That is until Malfoy punched him in the nose.




“*Fuck,”* he screamed as he stumbled from off of the other boy. His shout brought most of
the inhabitants from inside the house out although Harry was too busy to care. As Harry head lost
the dizzy feeling it had been experiencing he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his wand.
By time he got it to Malfoy's neck he felt an object poking into his Adams apple. Malfoy's
wand.




“*What are you going to do Potter,”* Malfoy snarled. The little scuffle had left him winded
and he looked like any moment he would pass out.




“*Just you wait and see,”* Harry replied in a low steady voice. That's when the street
lights went out.




“*Expelliarmus*!*”*




When Harry came to he realized that he was back inside the house laying on Hermione's
parent's huge bed. The large orange blur that was sitting on his chest as he awakened came into
focus and he realized that it was Hermione's cat. Crookshanks licked at his paw oblivious to
Harry's return to the living.




Crookshanks wasn't the only party in the bed with him he soon realized. Malfoy was lying
next to him, still knocked out. The last thing Harry remembered was hearing Hermione's voice
shout out a disarming spell.




At the thought of her name the young witch in question came into view. She was standing at the
foot of the bed with her back turned towards him, there was very little light in the room, but he
could tell that she was wearing her red Gryffindor dressing gown. Although he couldn't see her
face from his advantage point he could see her reflection in the mirror across from her. Her head
was bent down examining the engravings of a golden cup she held in her hands. Harry's heart
froze. He had seen this cup before.




“*Hermione,”* Harry whispered, his voice strangled with fear.




She whirled around as if surprised to find him in the same room with her. Her big unblinking
eyes found his and her lips parted as if to speak. Before she could though her attention was drawn
to Malfoy's form. He was beginning to stir.




“*Hermione, put the cup down,”* Harry pleaded. Hermione brought her eyes back to his.




“*But Harry...”*




“*Please Hermione. You don't understand. I've seen that cup before.”* And he had.
In Dumbledore's pensieve.




“*Harry just listen...”*




“*He thinks your hand will disintegrate into dust.”*




Both Harry and Hermione turned their heads to look at Malfoy. For the first time Harry realized
that his head was about all he could move.




“*That's Helga Hufflepuff's cup you hold there my dear Granger.”* Malfoy pronounced
her name as if he was speaking a curse.




“*I know,”* Hermione softly responded.




She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed in front of Harry and half turned her body to
face the two boys. She held the cup in her lap. She shooed the half kneazle off of Harry's
chest and watched him pad across the room, swishing his bottle-brush tail to and fro before turning
her attention back to the pair on the bed.




“*Professor Lupin and the rest got back shortly after he,”* she looked pointedly at Malfoy,
*“arrived.”*




“*Should we be speaking of this in front of him,”* Harry asked, his brow creased in
worry.




“*If we need to we can obliviate him.”* She turned steely eyes towards their current
captive. “*I won't hesitate.”*




“*You would be a fool if you did Granger.”*




The way the two of them stared angrily at each other Harry almost felt as if he were intruding.
If he could he would have left the room. Except that he seemed to be frozen in place.




“*Ummm...Hermione...”*




“*I cast a body-bind on you two.”*




“*Why me?”*




“*Because I figured we had better find out why Malfoy came here before you tried to kill
him,”* she sniffed. He really hated it when she talked to him like he was 5 years old.




Harry turned his body towards the Slytherin as best as he could.




“*How the hell did you find the place ferret?”*




“*I followed Mublood's stench here,”* he nastily quipped.




Harry made a guttural sound in the back of his throat and thrashed around on the bed as if he
could throw off Hermione's spell that way. He was going to annihilate Malfoy!




“*Harry be still,”* Hermione chided.




She put down the golden cup and pointed her wand at her empty hand. Before Harry could blink a
glass vial filled with what looked like water appeared in it.




“*Is that what I think it is?”*




Harry could barely hide the awe in his voice. The making of Veritaserum was not an easy thing.
Besides being very difficult to brew there were also strict Ministry regulations on it. Hermione
was violating some serious rules. He figured she really must have been serious when she said that
there were bigger things.




“*Do you know what this is Malfoy,”* Hermione asked. Her voice took on a chilling tone.
Harry had heard her speak this way once before. Cold. Threatening. Inhuman almost. It made
Harry's blood run cold to hear it again. She then proceeded to crawl on the bed and before
Harry realized it she had straddled Malfoy's lap.




“*C'mon Drakey-poo. Surely you know what this is?”*




Malfoy looked at her as if he were staring into the face of a banshee. He gulped.
*“Veritaserum.”*




“*Good boy.”* She smiled at him. There was nothing of the Hermione Granger that Harry knew
in that smile. She looked at the vial in her hand.




“*You know Drakey, if I were to pour all of this down your gullet...”*




Malfoy gulped again.




“*It would make you spill all of your deep, dark secrets."* She looked him in his eyes
again. "*Got anything to hide Drakey?”*




Neither Harry or Hermione missed Malfoy's quick intake of breath.




“*Like if you've ever had a homoerotic dream.”* Malfoy's eyes got huge. *“And of
who. How old you were when you last wet the bed.”*




She giggled wickedly as if a brand new terrible idea had entered her mind.




“*I might even bring Ron in here and make him watch as I ask you when the last time you
fantasized about me.”*




At this Malfoy began pitching around the bed madly trying to shake Hermione off of him. Ron
might not be that scary with a wand, but he more then made up for that with his fists. Hermione
wasn't budging though.




“*Yes. That's what I think I'll do. And then I'll leave him alone in the room with
you and lock the door so you both can discuss the matter.”*




“*I've never...how dare you...you filthy bitch....”*




Hermione then leaned down and whispered something in Malfoy's ear. Harry tried his best, but
he couldn't hear what it was she said. Whatever it was made Malfoy stop cold. The two of them
locked gazes.




“*Of course you could just answer whatever question Harry and I ask you honestly and we
won't even have to resort to this,”* she said sweetly as a viper.




Malfoy looked at the vial in her hand. He turned and looked back at her. He sighed as his eyes
rolled to the back of his head. He closed them and a look of defeat was clearly evident.




“*Fine,”* he whimpered in a petulant little voice that reminded Harry of the eleven year
old boy getting his robes fitted.




Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and muttered something under her breath. Harry instantly felt
free of the binding curse. Hermione however didn't move from her position over Malfoy. She
really needs to get the hell off of him, Harry thought to himself.




Harry got up off the bed and walked to the end where Hufflepuff's cup was. He picked it up
and looked at the badger engraved on the front. Without question this was the right cup. Harry
shivered as he realized that he was now holding a piece of Tom Riddle's sick soul in his
hands.




“*How did you find my house?”*




Harry turned back to the bed.




“*You told me where it was,”* Malfoy answered.




“*Give him the potion Hermione,”* Harry shouted, his voice full of irritation.




“*Granger did tell me. Back when we were in 3rd year. I made a crack about her being nothing
but a poor dirty mudblood and Granger here was quick to inform me how wrong I was.”*




Malfoy then proceeded to do a surprisingly good impersonation of the Gryffindor girl.




“*My mum and dad are Denty-tist. I live in Notting Hill. I can walk to Portabello. My house in
on St. Luke's. Blah blah blah blah blah.”*




Hermione's face was molten red with embarrassment and rage.




“*I have a near perfect memory Granger. I figured I might need that information later so I
looked the rest up. It appears that I was right.”*




Harry had had enough. “*Malfoy I'm going to pour that truth serum down your throat
my....”*




“*He's telling the truth Harry.”*




Harry looked at Hermione incredulously.




“*I remember that day. He's telling the truth. If someone already knows where a house
under the Fidelius is they can still find it. They just can't tell anyone else where it
is.”*




“*Very smart Granger. Now could you please get off of me.”*




Hermione rolled her eyes as she removed herself from off of Malfoy and from off the bed. She
then walked over to stand next to Harry.




“*Gladly!”*




“*Finally!”*




“*Honestly!”*




“*Enough!”* Harry was ready for some real answers. “*Why did you bring this here,”* he
asked, raising up the cup.




“*I wanted to have tea and biscuits with you.”*




“*Malfoy!”* Harry and Hermione both bellowed.




“*Look Potter, my father was murdered during that raid at Azkaban prison.”*




At this news both Gryffindors looked at him shocked. The Great Breakout, as all the newspapers
were calling it, had only happened a few days prior.




“*His body just turned up last night in front of the Ministry. The Prophet tomorrow morning is
going to claim suicide, but the truth is is that my father had outlived his usefulness to the Dark
Lord.”* At this his voice choked up. His body was nearly coming from off the bed.




“*My mother has gone into hiding in Switzerland. Thankfully we have family there who have
remained neutral thru all of this so she should be for safe for now. I'm not sure if I'll
ever see her again though.”*




“*Malfoy I'm so sor...”*




“*Don't you dare pity me Granger,”* he spat.




Hermione was so taken aback by his outburst that she grabbed Harry's hand for comfort. She
looked down at their clasped hands and instantly let go, blushing.




“*You lot are supposed to be the good guys right? Well? I'm here! I'm throwing myself
at your mercy because I can't ever go home again. I've brought you the bloody cup. We both
know what it is, but I'm the only one in this room who knows how to destroy it. Now are we all
going to piss around each other all goddamned day or what?”*




The room was momentarily silent after his outburst. Malfoy crumpled back into the sheets
panting, his right arm thrown across his forehead. He looked like he had run a marathon. He was so
exhausted that he hadn't noticed Hermione lifting the body-bind from him. Harry did however.
Before he could ask her why she grabbed his arm and steered him out of the room. He was still
holding the cup. As she was closing the door her cat squeezed his way pass the door before Hermione
could trap his tail in the jamb. He turned up his squashed face and tossed them both a cross look
before heading down the stairs.




“*Sorry Crooks,”* Hermione called after the disgruntled ginger fur ball before turning back
to the bedroom door and muttering a locking spell on it. She then turned her attention to
Harry.




“*I still have his wand if that's what your worried about.”* It was almost unnerving
how she could do that. “*He's completely exhausted however. I doubt that he is going to get
up to anything tonight.”*




Harry agreed with this assessment. Malfoy looked as weak as a new born kitten. Harry almost
giggled at the comparison. One look at Hermione's stern face made that amusement die
quickly.




“*He's telling the truth you know.”*




“*I wish we could be sure,”* Harry replied. *“Maybe we should make him drink the truth
serum any way.”*




Hermione gravely shook her head. *“See the problem with that is the fact that we have no
Veritaserum. Bottoms up.”*




Hermione lifted the vial to her lips and downed the contents in one swift gulp.




“*Ahhhhh...refreshing.”*




Harry looked at her as if she had grown whiskers...again. *“Hermione!”*




“*Plain ordinary tap water,”* she explained as she dropped the vial and her wand into the
pocket of her robe. *“I haven't been able to get the necessary ingredients to actually make a
proper truth telling potion.”*




Harry looked at her in awe. She had just played the Prat of Slytherin house and gotten away with
it.




“*I still believe he is telling the truth. I've been doing research and have seen pictures
of Helga Hufflepuff's cup. That's it Harry.”* She pointed at the cup as if to emphasize
her point.




“*I know. But it makes no sense. Why would he bring us the cup?”*




“*If he is a spy why would Voldemort allow a very powerful weapon that we could possibly use
against him to walk right into our hands,”* she asked, arms flailing about.




“*I don't know ok! But I do know Dumbledore is dead because of him.”*




“*Stop it Harry!”* She had grabbed him by both shoulders and gave him a shake. “*Stop it
now! You told us that Snape was the person who put the Avada Kedavra on the headmaster.”*




“*Well he was but...”*




“*And that Malfoy tried to but he couldn't go thru with it.”*




“*He did but...”*




“*Well then! If the reason why he couldn't kill Dumbledore is the same reason he has
brought this cup to us you very well can't take out some childish grudge on him can
you?”*




“*But...”*




“*Well,”* she asked thru gritted teeth, her arms folded in front of her. The two of them
were damn near nose to nose.




“*I was right about him before. I told you that he was up to something and you didn't
believe me.”*




Hermione's tense expression softened into one of hurt and remorse. “*You're right
Harry. I should have trusted you.”*




She grabbed a hold of one of his hands and held tight to it as her eyes moistened. *“I am so
sorry for not believing in you. As long as I live I will never do that again. But can you please
just trust me on this,”* she begged.




“*Alright! Alright! You win! But so help me Hermione if he compromises
headquarters...”*




“*I'll be personally responsible for him,”* she primly replied.




Harry just rolled his eyes as she dropped his hand. Hermione could be so stubborn at times.




“*Look, like I said Malfoy isn't going anywhere tonight. I'm going to head off to bed
myself. I'm knackered.”* And as if to emphasize the point she stretched arms and yawned.




“*We can gather what Order members we have here in the morning and do an in depth question and
answer session then.”*




The three teens were all of age and had officially become members of the Order not too long ago
much to Mrs. Weasley's dismay.




“*Sounds good to me,”* Harry said mid yawn. Hermione crinkled her nose and gave him a small
smile.




“*You should go to bed as well.”*




“*Yeah, well maybe I wouldn't be so tired if someone wasn't using me as a human spell
cushion.”*




That made her giggle.




“*First you knock me around, then you bind me up. How did you make all the street lights go
out by the way?”*




“*Oh that? Moody gave me his put-outer.”*




“*Wicked. He seems to have taken a little shine to you,”* he teased.




“*Honestly.”* She rolled her eyes yet she couldn't hide the smile that was trying to
break across her face.




Harry looked back towards the bedroom door. “*I still want to kick his arse.”*




“*I tell you what, if we're all still alive by then, I'll let you two use him as a
pinata for Ron's birthday.”*




Harry could barely contain his guffaw.




“*Promises. Hey, where is Ron by the way?”*




For the first time Harry realized that he hadn't seen his other best friend since
Malfoy's arrival. Hermione blushed and fiddled with the tie of her dressing gown.




“*Oh, he fell asleep,”*she said, barely looking Harry in the eyes, *“in my bed.”*




Harry's eyebrows shot up.




“*Oh I like that. Like I'm some tart! We were just talking and he fell asleep,”*
dismissed Hermione. He snickered. *“Well what do you expect, the boy would sleep thru a goblin
rebellion even if it played it's self out on his duvet.”*




“*Well he slept thru enough lectures about them in Binn's class to last a life
time.”*




“*Laugh if you will, but as I recall Mr. Potter you used to be there drooling along onto your
parchment right beside him.”*




Harry mock scowled at her. Hermione innocently simpered at him. She then turned to walk down the
hall to her room.




“*Night,”* she called over her shoulder.




As Harry watched her sashay away, hips swinging back and forth enticingly, not for the first
time did he think to himself what a lucky bastard Ron was.




Five weeks after that night Draco Malfoy joined the Order of the Phoenix. Regrettably Harry and
Ron never got a chance to go at him with large sticks. Hermione welched on her deal. Although
Malfoy and Harry never really became friends, they both respected each other. Malfoy's
contribution to the fall of Tom Riddle was nothing small. After the end of the Second Great War
Malfoy remained a presence in their lives. Harry shivered at how much a presence he remained.




When Harry joined the Auror ranks Malfoy had already been in the department for a few years.
Harry's superior Hanes had thought it a perfectly brilliant idea to actually make Malfoy his
partner. And so their current relationship came to pass. In the field Harry couldn't ask for a
better back up. He trusted his old school mate.




He just didn't like the bastard.













“Potter! Did you hear a word I just said?”




Harry's attention was focused back onto the blond. “Err...”




“As I thought. Here,” Malfoy drawled slipping a picture into Harry's hands. “The wife gave
it to us. A picture of the darling daughter who started this whole mess.”




Harry looked down at the moving picture. It was so old that the sepia toned image moved slower
then usual. The 17 year old girl in the picture waved at him. Harry's heart stopped.




“My God!”




“You see it too eh,” Malfoy asked. “I nearly thought someone was playing a late April Fools on
me when she handed it over.”




Harry's hands, still holding the picture, began to shake. Although the hairstyle was
different the woman in the picture resembled Hermione Granger, Harry's best friend, at that
age. The same Cupid's bow mouth. The same large brown eyes. The same long dark hair.
Harmonia's was just bone straight as opposed to the bushy mass that belonged to the other girl.
They even appeared to have the same bone structure and be about the same height, 5'6".
Hermione however had been slightly heavier then this girl. Though never fat, Hermione did tend to
be rounder then her other female peers in her year.




“But how,” Harry asked, hoping his partner could make more sense out of it.




“No clue. But it is quite creepy in'it? Similar names too.”




“Could they be distantly related somehow?”




Malfoy shook his head no. “Already checked in to that. As far as we could find the answer is a
resounding no.”




“Bugger!”




“You're telling me,” Malfoy said as he lifted himself from off of Harry's desk.
“Although for once I'm glad that Hermione is off gallivanting in the Sates I tell you.”




Harry simply nodded his head.




“Well I better go before Hanes starts making his random desk checks. Ugh!” And with that Malfoy
exited the cubicle.




Five minutes later Harry was still looking at the old wizarding photo. What the hell is going
on, he wondered to himself! Eventually he placed the picture in with the rest of the Cadmus file.
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes closed. The resemblance between the two
females was not only mystifying, but also worrisome. If asked he wouldn't have been able to put
it into words, but without a doubt Harry had a bad feeling about all of this. He had to agree with
Malfoy, he too was glad Hermione was off in America. Harry just wish he knew where.







“*I'm right here Harry.”*




Harry quickly looked up to see the woman who had made him late for work this morning sitting
comfortably on his desk.




“Hermione,” he asked tentatively.




“*Who else would it be silly,”* she smirked.




You don't want to know, he thought.




Harry looked at the vision. Hermione was dressed in her old Hogwarts uniform; a pleated woolen
skirt, a white Oxford shirt, and a pair of white knee socks. She was however missing her Mary Janes
and her Gryffindor colored striped tie. Her shirt was also unbuttoned to her bosom. Harry could see
the smooth skin of her breasts that were not covered by the simple white cotton bra she was
wearing, it's pretty pink bow in the middle. Harry half suspected that she didn't have any
knickers on. She moved her right foot to rest on the desk. Yes, she definitely wasn't wearing
knickers. Some how Harry figured that none of this was regulation student wear. Harry leaned back
in his chair to peek out his office door. There wasn't another soul in the whole
department.




I see, the little voice in his head said, I'm sleeping. I'm having another dream .




Hermione grabbed his tie and pulled his chair back towards her.




“*You didn't answer the question. Who else would it be Harry?”* Her voice sounded far
sexier then the bossy words implied.




Harry gulped. “No one love.”




Of course he was dreaming. Even though Hermione was wearing her Hogwarts uniform she was as he
last saw her, a stunning 21 year old woman. As evidenced by the fact that she was practically
bursting out of her get up. Her chestnut colored hair was half way down her back. She had started
wearing it that long because it tended to wave and not look so frizzy at that length. Her skin was
the same medium tan colored shade. She had taken to sunning herself on her terrace every chance the
weather was right enough. After taking a vacation in Ibiza she had come back saying that she was
tired of looking like a pale colorless English woman. To which Ron replied that she looked that way
because she **was** a pale colorless English woman. Hermione then informed him that he better
get well acquainted with his hand because she was never going to allow him to touch her ever ever
again. Her eyes...




“*Ahem.”*




Harry looked back at Hermione. She now had her shirt fully unbuttoned and she was rubbing her
left breast thru the cotton of her bra. Harry could see the nipple straining against the material.
Her right hand seemed to be teasingly playing with the edge of her skirt giving him a full view of
what was underneath it.




“*Am I going to just sit here all day long and not do anything,”* she pouted.




I'm a sick sad bastard, Harry thought to himself. Then he moved his chair closer to the
desk.






















*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*





4. Chapter 3
------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**, but a
whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I realized
that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then decided to
throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at least to me)
story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first attempt at
writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if you would
tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.



Thank you for all the reviews and encouragement. It really means a lot to me. I've been
writing this story since August, went thru hurricanes Katrina AND Rita, almost a month without
electricity, and two computer crashes. But this bug would not die! I was really nervous about
posting it, but you guys have been awesome!



This chapter contains major **R/LB** with flashback **R/Hr**. Nothing too graphic, but I
have to show the past to advance the story. Don't kill me please.



Major thank you to the Harry Potter Lexicon. It's been like my bible thru all of this.



**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's J.K.'s, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.









“*I'm a house-elllllf for you*

*I can't fight it, I'm not trying to hide it*

*I'm a house-ellllf for you*

*I can't fight it, I'm not trying to hide it”*







As he opened his right eye, the one not pressed into his pillow, and caught his first ray of
sunlight Ron silently cursed his inability to no longer be a heavy sleeper. When he was a teenager
he could sleep thru any disturbance. Probably due to the fact that he had to put up with a certain
ghoul clanging over his head through out most of his childhood. His friends used to jokingly say he
could sleep thru a hippogriff stampede and they weren't really that far off. That was then.




After the war...not so much. Just about any creaking noise in the night would jolt Ron awake. He
had gotten progressively better however. At first he would always wake up, wand at the ready. Being
tortured by a sadist would have that effect on anyone. But 7 years since those dark days had
tempered that impulse reaction to defend his life.




Ron rose to a sitting position in his bed and stretched his sore and aching muscles. He was
exhausted! All day Wednesday he and the rest of his team mates had been put thru their paces by
Russell Talbot, his Wimbourne Wasp team captain. The team was a hair's breath away from winning
the English cup and just needed to defeat the Arrows to do so. The game would be played on June
4th. Ron was terribly excited! He was finally on a winning team. Although in his heart he would
always be a faithful Cannon fan (he always rooted for the under dogs in life) he had to admit that
his ego took one too many hits during his few years on the Chudley team.




When Wimbourne made the bid to bring him on as their Keeper Ron at first was annoyed that the
Cannons were so willing to trade him. But then he saw the money that the Wasps would be paying him
and that dried up his annoyance quickly. He soon realized that the Wasps wanted him because they
thought that his talents were being wasted at Chudley. That gave him a huge sense of pride. Back
when he was 18 he was barely able to get a job as the Canons reserve Keeper, but at 24 he was being
courted by the top team in the league. After one year with his new team he was about to play for
his first English cup and might actually get picked for the English national team. Plus he would
get to play against Wood's team. The thought of destroying Appleby made that thought that much
sweeter!




“*I'm a house-elllllf for you*

*I can't fight it, I'm not trying to hide it*

*I'm a house-ellllf for you*

*I can't fight it, I'm not trying to hide it”*



Ron winced as he heard the no where near dulcet tones of his girlfriend...fiancée...wafting out
out of the bathroom connected to his bedroom. Lavender was many things; gorgeous, sexy, funny,
caring, but a singer she wasn't. She usually sang when she was in the shower, much to his
anguish, so he usually tried to keep her occupied to spare his eardrums the distress. But this
morning he was much too tired to join in their usual morning activities.



Usually Ron's morning would begin with a quick shower romp with Lav before heading over to
the Burrow for breakfast while she went home. Lavender still officially lived with her mother in
Exeter, but she spent so much time in his and George's flat that most of her clothes and other
assortments were there. There was however no room for her shoe collection. She always had to pop
back home to get the right pair of shoes to match her outfit. She also had to pick up her 4 year
old daughter Violet from there. Then she and Violet would floo into the Burrow to eat with Ron, his
parents, Bill, Fleur and their four children; Marcel, Lionel, Rosemary, and Dashiel who all lived
there. Sometimes George would drop by as well.



After eating Arthur would portkey over to the Ministry with Marc, Leo, and Vi in tow. The
Ministry had instituted one of the best day schools for the children of wizards only a few years
ago and Arthur's high position made it possible for his grandchildren and Vi to be students
there. Rosie, not yet 3 years old, and Dash, just turning 18 months were still much too young to
attend.



With Vi taken care of Ron would then go to his team's pitch in Dorset and Lavender would
make herself busy...doing something. Ron was never quite sure what Lavender did in her spare time
when she wasn't at his side. He suspected it involved a lot of shopping.



Today however was different. Ron was taking the day off to go with Lavender into town to see
their wedding planner. He couldn't help but grin to himself every time he thought of his
impending marriage in little less then one months time. Asking Lavender to marry him was one of the
best decisions he had ever made. He was certain. Friday afternoon after practice he was going to
make another important decision that involved him, Lav, and a certain little strawberry blonde miss
who owned his heart as well. In his opinion life just couldn't get any better!





“*I can't fight it, I'm not trying to hide it”*





Although if Lavender decided to stop singing that would greatly help.



Ron heard the running water of the shower stop. He moved his long, gangly body to the end of the
bed, stretched out on his bare stomach, and patiently awaited for Lavender's emergence from the
bathroom. After a bit the lady came into the room.



“Morning love,” she said sunnily as she adjusted the large white towel wrapped around her still
dripping hair.



“Morning,” he gruffly answered as she stooped down and placed a quick kiss on his lips. The
movement made her short silky purple dressing gown gape open a bit and Ron caught a quick glance of
a milky mound before she righted herself and strengthened the tie of her robe. The little Weasley
in Ron's black and orange boxers instantly stood to attention. Maybe he wasn't as tired as
he thought.



“Eww,” Lavender admonished playfully, “morning breath.” She crinkled her nose as she said this.
“No morning nookie for you I'm afraid.”



She turned to walk to her dressing mirror but Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her down so that
she got on her knees before the bed and was face level with Ron.



“You usually like my morning breath. And the gunk in my eyes too,” he teased, his lips curling
in to a sexy little smile that almost made Lavender woozy.



She ran her fingers thru his flame colored hair and scratched behind his ear, an act she knew
turned him on greatly.



“Of course I do love. I love everything about you,” she said sweetly and kissed him again, this
time for a bit longer. “But this morning we have plans,” she remarked after breaking the kiss. She
then got up and made her way to the chair before her dressing table. “So no nookie!”



“We could always reschedule ya know.”



Lavender turned from her mirror and looked at Ron, a cute pout gracing her face. “You know we
can't do that. The engagement party is Sunday. Sunday! We haven't the time to spare.
Moreover our appointment is with the owner. She doesn't just take on any old body. We can't
miss it!”



Ron rolled his eyes. He didn't know why they even needed a wedding planner. He was certain
that his mother and Ginny could do a fine enough job for them.



“Besides,” she began nervously, “we still are going to the Ministry tomorrow to...you know,
right?” The unsure look that crossed her face almost tore at his heart.



“Of course we are,” he reassured her. “After tomorrow our little girl will officially be a
Weasley.” Lavender smiled prettily at that statement. “I just don't see why we can't be a
little...late,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.



“Won-Won,” she sing-songingly whinged using the pet name she gave him back in their school days,
“don't you want to marry me?” That pout was doing very bad things to his libido.



“More then anything,” Ron replied honestly.



That won him another glowing smile before Lavender turned back to her mirror and began her
morning beauty regiment.



“Did my singing wake you?”



Ron had momentarily closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep when her question
interrupted him. It was a long running joke between them that her singing left much to be
desired.



“What, wake me,” he said in a mocking tone, “never. These bags under my eyes, only
decoration.”





She stuck out her tongue at him teasingly as she began to vigorously rub a sweet scented cream
onto her hands, arms, and elbows.



“By the way, what was that you were singing anyways. It sounded like white noise.”



“That was only one of the biggest songs out right now. It's from the Gorgons, you know, that
witch group. One of them went to Hogwarts with us.”



“She was a few years younger then us wasn't she?”



“Yes, but still. Anythehoo they take these old muggle songs and totally revitalize them for the
Wireless. It's all the rage!”



“And still I say white noise,” he cracked derisively.



Lavender answered him in kind by tossing one of her bottles at him. It sailed over Ron's
head and bounced off of his bottom before hitting the floor.



“Oy! Watch the goods!”



“Oh I'd never want to damage the goods. Did I hurt you?”



“Yes, my bum is still sore from sitting on my broom all day.”



“Sorry love,” she innocently apologized as she lotioned her long lovely legs. Ron momentarily
forgot his annoyance at his girlfri..fiancée to admire them. “Talbot still working you lot like a
madman?”



“And how! But it all will be well worth it to see the look on Wood's face when we topple
Appleby.”



“I would think you would care about winning the cup more then some stupid old grudge against
Oliver Wood,” she muttered as she put the cream on at a more furious pace. Ron couldn't help
but hear the slight edge in her voice.



“Of course winning the title will be right nice Lav. It would be my first. Harry in his day won
three. I've got to catch up. But still it would be nice to take Wood down a peg or two,” he
confessed, narrowing his eyes.



Lavender merely huffed. Ron knew exactly why Lavender was annoyed. She thought he was still
jealous of the burly Scotsman. That couldn't be further from the truth. He just hated the
git!



Ron lifted himself up from the bed and walked over to Lavender. He knew he had to do some
serious damage control. He placed his hands lovingly on Lavender's narrow shoulders and placed
his chin affectionately on the top of her towel wrapped head. He gazed at their reflections in the
mirror as she willfully ignored him by trying to apply her make-up.



“Just think,” he said in a wheedling tone, “of all the bragging rights your going to have when
your future husband comes home the big winner.” She failingly tried to smother her smile.



Lavender met his eyes in the mirror and said, “You're always my winner.”



His heart fluttered and Ron briefly cursed himself for the pansy he was becoming. He kissed the
top of her head. He was about to make his way into the shower before his eyes landed on a thick
book on the table before her.



“What's this,” he asked as he reached to pick it up. “From Shakespeare to the Beatles: A
Comprehensive Study of the Muggle Arts,” he said reading the title out loud as he went to sit on
the bed. He could hardly contain his laughter. “Are you serious?”



“Don't you dare laugh. I was never more embarrassed then I was last week at the Burrow.”



A week prior he and Lavender had dinner with his parents and a few of his father's staff
from the Ministry. After the war a new department was formed, The Department of Muggle/Magical
Brethren Affairs. It's intention was to make the relationship between the two societies run
smoother. Arthur Weasley was promoted to head the office. His family couldn't have been more
proud of the newly minted Liaison to the Muggle World (his title). Arthur was ecstatic that he
could finally study his favorite subject in earnest without being made a laughing stock. He had a
small staff, but they were the most knowledgeable when it came to anything muggle.



“What the bleeding hell is a Posh and a Becks anyway,” Lavender grumped.



“Dunno, disease maybe,” he offered.



“Well whatever it is I'll know next time,” she said. “You know how important it is to me
that your father like me.”



“Dad does like you!”



“Maybe. But not as much as he liked...her,” Lavender said as the hand that was applying her
eye-liner slightly shook. She silently swore as she smudged the line and then tried to correct
it.



At first Ron didn't know how to answer that remark, but he tried to make his way around
it.



“Lav, I told you, if you want to stay in good with the Weasleys you butter up my mum.”



“Pish posh, your mum adores me,” she arrogantly said. “She's always after to babysit Violet
isn't she?” Lavender examined the various shades of lipstick on her dresser and selected a
frosted pink color.”Besides it's your father who always acts uncomfortably whenever I'm
around. You would think that he didn't want you to marry me.”



Ron hated to admit it, but Lavender sort of had a point. Arthur was a tad cool towards Lavender,
although he would deny this accusation wholly when confronted with it. The truth was that the
Weasley patriarch would always have a soft spot in his heart for Hermione, Ron's former
girlfriend. He had come to regard her as a second daughter over the years, especially after she
went to work for him at the Ministry as his assistant. It was a very lofty position for a girl not
yet in her 20's. After Arthur offered Hermione the job she mulled over the decision for days.
She had been torn between taking the offer or going into the two year training program at St.
Mungo's. Although the opportunity Arthur was offering her was tempting Hermione still had her
doubts.













“*Isn't it a bit like nepotism,”* asked Hermione unsurely.



“*No, it's a lot like nepotism actually,”* Ron replied.



It was the summer just after the end of the war and at that time his recent break-up with
Hermione was still fresh and he was still bitter. Despite that fact they were trying to maintain
their friendship, even living together with Harry in a Diagon Alley flat.



“*You know you would be brilliant at it Hermione. This job would be perfect for you,”*
Harry assured her. *“And who would be better at bridging the gap between muggles and wizards then
a muggleborn?”*



That answer was enough to make her smile.



“*Besides I'll wager three quarters of the stiffs at the Ministry got there because of
someone they knew,”* Ron said which earned him a swat to the head from Harry and barely a scowl
from Hermione. He had recently started dating Lavender again to make Hermione jealous, but all it
seemed to do was make her indifferent. “*Well it's true! That's how dad got in. Uncle
Gideon put in a good word for him to hear mum tell it.”*



“*Never mind that Hermione, just take the job,”* Harry pressed.



And she did. And as he predicted she was more then brilliant at it. Arthur would call her his
right hand. No one was sadder that Ron and Hermione couldn't work out the issues between them
more then Arthur Weasley.













“Maybe he is just in awe of your stunning good looks,” Ron mused trying to diffuse the uneasy
silence in the room made by Lavender's last remark.



“Or maybe I'm just not the girl he wanted for his daughter-in-law.”



Lavender rose up from her seat and walked to Ron's nearly bursting closet to the left of the
bed to choose something to wear. In truth most of the clothes in there were hers.



As Ron watched her every move he sighed to himself softly. He had hoped that Lavender
wouldn't notice Arthur's reticence to their relationship, but it looked like she did.
Lavender could be accused of being flighty, an airhead, and scatter-brained, but she was no idiot.
She was well skilled at reading people. That's why he supposed she tried so hard to win his
father's approval, even going so far as to read just about every book on muggles she could find
so she could have something to impress him with. Ron almost thought it was a gag when he found her
Muggles for Dummies book a few months ago.



Lavender had never really been interested in anything muggle before then. She didn't even
take the Muggle Studies course back at Hogwarts. But one thing Ron had come to learn over the years
was that Lavender Brown was one of the most determined witches he would ever meet. She had been
intent that eventually she would be Mrs. Ron Weasley and it looked like she was finally going to
get her way. So now she was unwavering in her goal to win over his whole family. His mother and
Ginny seemed to like her. Bill, Percy, and their spouses got along well with her. Charlie seemed to
find her charming. Harry, the twins and Glinda tolerated her. All that was left was for Arthur to
come around. Knowing Lav's commitment to achieving this goal he highly doubted that this
wouldn't eventually happen.



“I think the Prophet will run a notice about the party either today or tomorrow.”



Lavender was walking back towards the bed, an assortment of robes and other clothing in her
arms. She unloaded them onto the bed, rummaged thru them a bit, and chose a smart gray skirt set
out of the pile. She held it up along with salmon colored robes to go with. Ron nodded his head in
the affirmative. Ron loved the fact that she appreciated his opinion on her clothing and that she
seriously took in consideration his likes and dislikes when she dressed. It made him feel
appreciated.



“Is Daphne going to be at the party,” he asked.



“I should hope so. It will all be for nothing if it doesn't make the papers.” Lavender had
already crossed back to the closet with the reject outfits so she missed his quirked eyebrow at her
statement.



“Well even if she doesn't Luna will be there,” Ron replied. “Ginny said that The Quibbler
would definitely run something.”



Lavender walked back to the bed, a disgruntled look on her face. “Oh goodie, The Quibbler. I
wonder if it's going to be next to the article on how to breed a pygmy Cyclops.”



“Lav, be nice,” Ron warned putting down her book and folding his arms before him. Although he
would occasionally tell a joke at Luna's expense he did not take kindly to other's mocking
her.



“I am being nice,” she countered. “I invited your ex-girlfriend to my engagement party
didn't I?”



In answer to her question Ron only fixed her with a stern stare.



“Oh Won-Won, don't look at me like that.” Lavender walked over to Ron where he sat on the
messy bed and placed her arms lovingly around him. “It's just that Loony Lovegood makes me so
nervous,” she said trying to get him to understand her point of view. “She's just...it's
just...arg! She's so bloody weird Ron! You never know what she's going to say at a moments
notice,” Lavender cried clearly vexed at this conversation.



“Cor! That's half the fun of Luna Lovegood,” Ron answered her.



“I don't see why you're so bloody anxious to have her over at the Burrow. You know
she's just going to bring that wanker boyfriend of hers.”



“Git's not half good enough for her,” he said tersely.



Lavender looked down in to Ron's face stonily. “You know, if I didn't know better I
would think you still had feelings for Lovegood.”



Ron hardly payed the accusation any mind. He knew Lavender like a book and knew she was nowhere
near jealous of Luna. “I'm marrying you aren't I?”



“You almost married her didn't you?”



“Yes, and we both no why I didn't don't we,” he answered shrewdly. Lavender blushed at
the statement all the way to the edge of the towel still on her head.



“Point taken,” she bashfully said. He grinned at her embarrassment and she returned the
grin.



“Listen love, I'm going to finish my hair in the bathroom. Then after I'm done I suggest
you take a shower.” She gathered up the outfit that they had chose.



“Are you trying to tell me I stink,” he joshingly asked as he placed his rather large mitts on
either side of her waist.



“Hmmm...only of sky, and testosterone, and quaffles. My favorite smells,” Lavender said
dreamily.



“However I don't think Madame Borghesse will appreciate your distinct odour.”



He scoffed at her remark and she playfully kissed his nose before she turned to walk to the
bathroom.



“So just so we're clear, no more mocking of Luna right,” he called after her.



She turned back to him at the doorway and rolled her eyes. “You know I'm not jealous of
Lovegood.” She removed the white towel from her head and shook out her still damp hair. “Besides I
guess you really can't help it if you prefer blondes. It worked out in my favor didn't it?”
She then winked at him before closing the door.



Ron could only laugh at the statement. In a way he supposed he did have a thing for blondes. And
apparently women whose names began with the letter L to hear Fred tell it. But usually when out on
the street his eyes generally fell on a platinum colored witch here, an ash blonde beauty there.
Whenever George was able to get him to go to a muggle club for kicks he usually ended chatting up
women with golden locks. When he was a kid the first female whom he had a sexual thought about of
any kind was Hannah Abbot, a blonde pigtailed girl back in his third year at Hogwarts. Of course it
could also be argued that she was the first girl to grow breasts in his year and that was what
caught his attention.



He was willing to admit that a tawny lovely was enough to pique his interest. But oddly enough
the first girl with whom he fell head over heels was no blonde. When Ron Weasley first fell in love
the girl's hair had nothing to do with it, although he did think hers was rather wicked. No, he
fell in love with her courage, her intelligence, her confidence, her big heart. He fell in love
with his best friend. He fell in love with Hermione.









In fact he remembered the first moment he realized that he loved her. He had just woken up in
the Hogwarts infirmary after drinking Slughorn's poisoned mead. He was groggy and confused and
barely knew where he even was. Due to the darkness of the room he could tell it was late at night.
Before he could call out for anyone he heard a soft voice whisper “*lumos”* as the lantern by
his head came to life. His vision was blurry, but a beautiful worry lined face surrounded by an
expanse of bushy brown curls came in to focus. She grabbed a hold of one of his hands and gave it a
comforting squeeze.



“*Am I dead,”* he asked, voice aching from non-use.



“*No silly, your safe and sound here with me,”* she reprimanded, but her voice was warm and
thick with caring. “*Why would you even think you had died?”*



“*Cause you look like an angel.”*



Her eyes had gone wide at the statement, but she didn't look like she was upset by it.
“*Let's see if you say that next time you see me out of bed first thing in the morning with
my hair in tangles.”*



Her smile was enough to bewitch him in to saying things he normally wouldn't.



“*I'm just glad to be seeing you,”* he whispered as he finally squeezed her hand
back.



She gingerly took a seat on the side of his bed, hand still in his. She was wearing her school
robes, her Prefect badge pinned firmly in place. He would have been content to sit there with her
all day just holding her hands and looking in to her big brown eyes, but his curiosity demanded to
be answered.



“*Hermione, what the bloody hell happened to me?”*



She told him the story as best as she could from Romilda Vane's part in it to
Slughorn's. When she was done Ron could barely turn his horror struck eyes from her face.



“*I'm never eating again,”* he firmly pronounced.



Hermione softly laughed. “*I heard from Dobby that the house-elves were making Sheppard's
Pie tomorrow.”*



At that bit of news Ron's stomach growled. He looked down at at as if it had betrayed him.
Hermione only laughed louder.



“*Well, I'm going to go,”* she told him as she got off the bed. Ron felt an almost
frantic rush to keep her near.



“*Please...stay.”* His eyes pleaded with her as well as his words.



“*I traded with Padma so I could patrol the First floor and visit with you, but even Prefects
get in trouble for not being in bed on time,”* she joked. “*Besides, I should have gotten
Madame Pomfrey as soon as you woke up. She's going to be so cross!”*



Ron couldn't help but chuckle. That was Hermione for you, she hated to break rules even
though she did it time and time again for him and Harry.



“*If I hurry I can run up and fetch Harry. He'll want to know you're awake as well. We
can then sneak back down under his cloak and sit with you for a bit longer. Would you like
that,”* she shyly asked.



“*I'd love that,”* he earnestly replied. He then watched as she scurried out of the
room towards Madame Pomfrey's office, a goofy, gooey smile plastered all over his face .



He supposed he had always known he fancied her a bit before then. At least since he was 14. For
one he always thought she was kind of cute, even before teeth shrinkage. And he had to admit that
he did have a tendency to go a little nutty with jealousy if another boy looked her way. He even
caught himself looking suspiciously at Harry a time or two. How ridiculous was that?



But love? That was a whole other can of worms. You just don't go falling in love with your
best friend. Especially when your are dating her dorm mate to make her insanely jealous! Ron could
have kicked himself for the mess he had made of everything.



As soon as he got the nerve he chucked Lavender. She cried and wailed at him, but really if she
was what was standing in his way of being with Hermione he would have gladly pushed her into a room
crawling with acromantulas back then. Unfortunately for him he and Hermione's relationship
remained blastedly platonic for six more weeks. Ron was sure that it would take a miracle for him
and Hermione to finally get together. Instead it took a death to make it happen. Dumbledore's
death to be exact.



It was the night before the old Hogwarts Headmaster's funeral. A pall of deep and weary
mourning seemed to cling to everything and everyone on or near the Hogwarts grounds. He and
Hermione had escaped the doom and gloom of the castle to go walking near the lake. Ron didn't
know where Harry was, probably off snogging Ginny somewhere. His usual unease at what his baby
sister and his best friend could be getting up to was momentarily on hiatus. Ron figured that his
mate deserved a good snog after everything he had gone thru in the last few days. Just not
**too** good a snog.



There was a aura of unease surrounding him and Hermione, as though both of them were waiting for
the other shoe to drop. They were barely talking or even looking at each other. No holding of hands
whatsoever, this was no romantic stroll. They had come to her favorite tree near the lake when
suddenly Hermione came to a drastic stop. Her face was upturned to the sky and Ron turned his head
to look in that direction as well. What he saw made his heart throb painfully. It was the solitary
figure of someone flying solemnly across the sky. He needed no omnioculars to tell him who the
person was. Harry.



He turned then to Hermione, mouth open to say...something...he couldn't remember the words
he was about to speak because all he could do was gape at the girl standing next to him.



She looks as though her heart is being torn to shreds, he thought to himself in awe as he gazed
at her still upturned face. He had never seen an expression like that on anyone before. Sure he had
seen Hermione cry, a lot of times because of some stupid thing he had said to her, but he had never
experienced anything like her soundless, desolate weeping. She didn't even bother to wipe the
tears that were trailing all the way down to her charcoal colored jumper. Instead her arms were
wrapped tight around her middle as if she were trying to keep herself from falling apart.



Ron was at a loss of what to do. If Harry was bad at dealing with over emotional women he was
even worse. When he had broken things off with Lavender he had wanted her to stop crying because it
made him feel guilty and annoyed. But with Hermione Ron would have given his whole Chocolate Frog
card collection to get her to stop. He hated to see her hurt, even when he was the one doing the
hurting. Instead what he did was grab her by the shoulders, pull her towards his chest, and kiss
her hard on the mouth.



It was really over before it started. One minute he was kissing the lips he had dreamt of
kissing for the last few years. The next thing he knew he was flinging himself backwards from her,
eyes wide with terror, mouth opened in horror at what he had just done. She's going to kill me,
he briefly thought before he muttered quickly, “I'm sorry.”



If Ron thought he was shocked at his own actions he was doubly amazed when she answered
back.



“*I'm not.”*



Then she smiled at him as her eyes glistened from all the tears she had shed. Ron had been so
perplexed that he could barely enjoy the sensation of her taking his hand in hers.



“*It's late, we should get back to the castle. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day,”*
she said as she steered him back towards the school.



She held his hand all the way back. It wasn't until he was settled snug in his bed that the
realization of all that had just transpired fully hit him. He couldn't keep the big happy grin
off of his face. He was certain Harry had noticed, but he didn't tell his friend what the cause
of it was. Harry probably thought he was a gigantic prat for being so happy when everyone else was
in mourning for Dumbledore, but Ron didn't care! The time for being sad again would come
tomorrow. Tonight he would revel in the fact that he had finally kissed Hermione Granger and he was
in love with her. To top it off something in her smile told him that he would get to kiss her
again.



Of course that next kiss didn't happen for another month. Ron didn't mind it so much at
first. There was just always something to do. First there was the funeral to attend and then there
were Harry's stupid muggle relatives to deal with. He and Hermione had made the decision to
join Harry on his quest to defeat You-Know-Who and one of the first stops they had to make was to
his aunt and uncle's. The three teenagers friendship with one another blossomed in those few
weeks spent on that quiet street in Surrey and their bond became even stronger.



Never the less Ron couldn't help but wonder if he was ever going to get a spare moment alone
with Hermione. There were times before then that Ron would almost think that his kiss with her had
been all part of some beautiful, wonderful dream. But then she would squeeze his shoulder or send
him a cheeky little grin while Harry wasn't looking that would make his spirits soar. We got a
secret, we got a secret, we got a secret oh yes we do, that smile seemed to say. It was nice having
something that belonged to just Hermione and himself.



They stayed at the Dursleys up until the eve of Bill and Fleur's wedding and then made their
way back to the Burrow for the ceremony. As weddings go Ron supposed it was a nice one. Fleur was
mesmerizing in her snow white satin robes, Bill actually cried while reciting his vows, and nearly
all of Ottery St. Catchpole had turned out for the nuptials. After the ceremony, which everyone
kept commenting was very very French, he had danced with Hermione. Three times! Of course Neville
had danced with her twice. Git. Ron had thought it was a bit odd that Harry and Ginny seemed to be
avoiding each other like the plague. He briefly wondered if the couple had had a fight and almost
asked his sister, but before he could Hermione saddled up next to him looking very pretty in pale
yellow and sweetly asked him to show her his Chudley Cannon poster collection.



For a moment he wondered if she had gone barmy because a: he knew she didn't like Quidditch
and b: she had seen the same posters on his bedroom walls plenty of times. It wasn't until
Ginny nudged him in the side, hard too, that he realized that Hermione had no interest in seeing
his collection. He practically flew out of the Burrows backyard, up the stairs, and to his room on
the 5th floor landing. Quicker then you could say "Firebolt" Ron had Hermione on his bed
and on her back for a long, drawn out and highly anticipated snog.



It was brilliant kissing Hermione! It was Quidditch, and Christmas morning, and all the good
Bertie Bott's flavors mixed up in one. At first she was quite tentative, especially when he
first darted his tongue across her lips looking for entry. But as time progressed she gave in
equally to the passion of his kisses. Ron almost passed out from joy when she began to nibble at
the corner of his mouth. He felt like he was going to explode when she began to languidly graze her
nails back and forth down the back of his neck.



They had long since removed their restrictive dress robes so that he could feel her bare arms
wrapped around him. He could hear the sound of his dressy cotton slacks rubbing against her linen
pants. He wondered what her silken spaghetti strapped blouse would feel like against his bare
chest. Ron wanted to just get lost in all of the sensations he was feeling, seeing, tasting. If he
could just spend the rest of his life, lips fused to Hermione's he would pay any price to make
it happen. He was so caught up in waves of elation that his mind had momentarily gone on
auto-pilot. All he could think was: touch, squeeze, feel.



“*Ronnie.”*



“*Hmmm...,”* he answered, lips trailing their way down the side of Hermione's soft
neck.



“*Ronnie,”* she half whimpered, half sighed again.



“*What,”* he absently asked as he licked at the pulse point he found.



“*Your hand,”* she said as she began to tug half heartedly at his right arm.



For all he knew she was speaking Mandarin.



“*My what?”*



He was hoping that she wasn't going to interrupt what they were doing to talk about their
feelings or something Hermione-ish like that. Not now at least.



“*Your hand Ron,”* she repeated.



Ron slowly opened his eyes and looked up into her flushed rosie face. She looked wild and
ravished with her hair fanned out on his shockingly orange bedspread. Her eyes were foggy, yet
serene while her lips were kiss swollen. He almost bent down to kiss them again until he looked
down further and saw his right hand placed boldly and comfortably on her left breast.



Fuck me.



“*Oh shit...oh damn...bloody hell,”* he loudly exclaimed as he wrenched his hand from the
spot it had been resting on and rolled himself off of her.



His hand felt as though it were on fire, although he couldn't be sure that was because he
had liked what he was doing or because he was terrified that she was going to hex him. He imagined
she would do something drastic like turn him into gnome food.



“*Ronnie, it's ok.”* She pulled herself into a sitting position and brought her knees
up so she could rest her chin on them while she leaned against the beds headboard.



“*Oh Merlin Hermione...”* he continued.



A horklump. Gnomes like those little buggers don't they, he wondered. I'm going to spend
the rest of my life looking like a frilly pink mushroom. By this time he was on his hands and knees
on the bed looking at her as if he were a little boy waiting in fear for his mother's wrath.
Hermione merely stared at him as if he had lost all of his marbles.



“*Didn't you hear what I said,"* she questioned. *"It's
ok."*



“*You must think I'm some kind of animal,”* Ron answered, voice muffled due to the fact
that he had dropped his face in the palms of his hand to hide his shame. Hermione however reached
to pull his hands back and looked him in his eyes. Hers had an encouraging little twinkle in
them.



“*Really Ronnie, it's ok.”*



“*I mean I would never...”* take advantage of you he started to say, but he was interrupted
by Hermione's shocked gasp.



“*Never?”*



For a moment he was at a loss for what to say due to Hermione's comment. Quite frankly he
didn't know what she wanted him to say. That was until she gave an impish little giggle.



“*You should see the look on your face,”* she teased.



At first he felt a fleeting wave of irritation that she would make fun of him like that, but
then the surge of relief that she didn't want to turn him in to something slimy made that all
go away.



“*I'm not mad,”* she said finally, completely assuaging his fears.





“*It's just...”* he began pausing to search desperately for the right words to express
his concern.*“I...look, I know you want to take things slow. I want to take things slow,”* he
hurriedly stated. *“I'm scared shitless that I'm going to cock up every thing though. I
mean finally we are going to...”* he paused to catch her eye and bashfully turned his head to
blush, *“be together.”*



He looked back at her and was calmed to see that she was blushing too as she bit at the corner
of her mouth. This gave him the courage to continue. *“There is finally no McLaggen...”*



“*No Lavender Brown,”* she countered, left eyebrow raised.



“*No ickle Vickie Krum standing in our way. Sometimes I'm just terrified that I'm
going to do something to make you go away.”*



“*I'm not going anywhere Ron,”* Hermione said calmly as she turned her body to face his
more. She shyly played with his fingers on the bed spread while keeping her face down so he
couldn't see her blush. He felt like he could float right off the bed at that very moment, he
was so happy.



“*And why do you keep bringing up Viktor,”* she asked finally making eye contact with him.
*“I've told you over and over again that nothing ever happened with him. You know very well
that you're the first person I ever...”* she turned her face away to hide that blush again
and said softly, *“you know...kissed.”*



He did. She had told him so not too long after their magical night at the lake. He could barely
contain the joy he felt whenever she said that, just like now.



“*And tonight I had my first ever celebratory snog,”* she said saucily. The look on her
face made him want to get back to the snogging immediately.



“*And what did you think of it?”*



“*Definitely O worthy work,”* she answered him, her lips stretched into a naughty smile.
She was comparing him to school work. Hermione loved school work. This was definitely a good sign,
he thought. He chuckled along with her until his mind unfortunately drifted onto Lavender.



“*I wish you had been my first kiss,”* Ron wistfully remarked as their fingers continued to
twine themselves in and around each other.



“*It's ok,”* she replied. *“We'll have other firsts.”*



Ron's fingers instantly stopped their play as he stared back at her agog. Did she mean what
he thought she meant, he wondered.



“*W-what,”* he stammered. Smooth.



“*There are tons of firsts. First...date. And first fight, although I think you and I have
already covered that one ad nauseam don't you think?”*



He wasn't quite sure he knew what that word meant, but he was starting to think that she was
toying with him on.



“*First break-up, but let's not do that one shall we?”* She twirled a curly lock around
her finger as she humorously continued. *“Of course a first message would be nice, but only with
clothes on. And then there is first...”*



“*You're killing me Hermione.”*



“*....time,”* she continued as if he didn't interrupt her. *“There's always your
first time. The biggest first of them all. The one you can never get back.”*



Ron swallowed the lump that had began to form at the middle of his throat. You-Know-Who could
have fell from the sky in the midst of this conversation and Ron wouldn't have payed him any
mind.



“*When that time comes I want it to be the right time and for all the right reasons. I want to
be sure. I want it to be because he loves me and because I love him.”*



She demurely dropped her eyes back to the spread and traced the large letter E of the Cannon
emblem.



“*I want a lot of things, don't I,”* she asked, haltingly raising her gaze to his.



“*No,”* he barely choked out. *“I want that too.”* He took her hand and lifted it to
his lips. He kissed it and said, *“No rush.”*



Her smile at this was beatific. *“Good.”*



“*Someday.”*



“*Someday,”* she answered back to him.



“*Sunday?”* He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled forth from his lips when she
realized that he was having her on.



“*Prat,”* she muttered cutely.



“*That time you should have seen your face,”* Ron told her. *“Besides there is plenty of
time for that. We have to have something to look forward to on the honeymoon right?”*



Hermione drew back from him at that remark.



“*H-honeymoon,”* a surprised Hermione stammered.



Ron could understand her shock. Seventeen year old boys rarely talked about wedding nights, much
less getting married at all. But Hermione clearly underestimated Ron Weasley's determination to
never let her go. He was ready for the full commitment after dancing around her for years. Besides
his own parents had gotten married not too long after leaving school.



“*Just something to think about,”* he offered.



“*Yes...umm...well...,”* she stuttered clearly flustered, *“you are definitely a
marvelous kisser Ron.”*



“*And she changes the subject.”*



He was amused. It was hard to unsettle Hermione so moments like this were rare. Besides, she
looked so darned cute when she was discomposed.



“*Lav-Lav obviously taught you well,”* she continued, desperately trying to throw him off
of his game. She knew how much he hated those pet names.



“*Arg! Can we not discuss her please?”* It had worked.



“*And why not,”* she primly asked. “*she was your girlfriend was she not?”*



“*She never would have been if it wasn't for that precious lil' sis of mines. Telling
me all that rubbish about you and Krum.”*



At this Ron flung himself back on his back on the bed. He was always quick to anger whenever he
thought about the dirty trick Ginny had done him.



“*Ron, just let it go,”* she sighed.



The two of them had gone over this subject time and time again. It was a bit of a sore subject
between them. He personally wanted to pluck his sister's hairs from her head one by one over
it, but Hermione wouldn't let him.



“*Can't Hermione. I won't let it go. after Ginny told me that lie, I don't know, I
kind of went... loopy. All I could think about was you snogging that Bulgarian pillock.”*



“*So in turn you snogged Lavender.”*



There was no hint of malice, no hurt feelings in this statement. She was simply stating the
facts. Still he felt the need to impress upon her how much he wanted to be with her and only
her.



“*I swear I never cared for her half as much as I care for you,”* he declared.



“*But you did care? For Lavender that is?”*



Ron could barely meet her eyes. In truth he really did feel more for Lavender then he let on.
She had a way of making him feel like he could soar over mountains. With Hermione he usually felt
like he was desperately trying to catch up with her, but Merlin did he want to hold on tight when
he finally did.



“*It's alright Ronnie. You wouldn't be the boy I fancied since I was 12 if you
didn't care for Lavender at least a little.”*



“*I...”* he started to answer until the full meaning of her words reached him. “*Hang on,
you've fancied me since you were how old,"”*he cautiously asked. He could barely
believe what he thought he heard.



Hermione found his awe struck demeanor amusing.



“*A girl tends to fall for a bloke who vomits slugs in defense of her honor,”* she answered
as she slid her body down the bed and turned herself on her side so she could face him.



“*Your taking the piss!”* Somehow he knew she wasn't though.



*"I am not,"* she responded. *"My little girl heart nearly swooned at the
gallantry of it all."*



Ron just looked at his brown eyed girl amazed. He just never knew what to expect with her.



“*How come you never told me?”*



“*What would you have done if I had,”* she asked him.



“*Dunno. I might have at least gotten the nerve to ask you to the Yule Ball if I knew all of
that.”*



“*Honestly Ron if I had told you all of this beforehand you would have gone running for the
Forbidden Forest, never to been seen again. Trust me. Besides back then we had finally gotten to a
place where I believed that you really did want to be friends with me. You and Harry. There was no
way I was going to bugger that up.”*



“*Like we did this year?”*



Hermione made a disgusted noise. *“Don't remind me. However I am glad that you had
Lavender to get thru it all. And Harry had Ginny. It was really a tough year from start to
finish.”*



“*Your being awfully nice about Lavender,”* he said half mockingly, half suspiciously.
*“Especially for a girl who sent a flock of parakeets at my head.”*



Hermione furiously blushed as she remembered her little stunt with the birds in the deserted
classroom.



“*Look, I was all mixed up in the head. I mean forgive me for being a teen aged girl and going
all nutty with hormones,”* she playfully remarked before her face took on a more somber look.
She wasn't even looking directly at him. Instead her eyes seemed to be settled on some fixed
point over his shoulder.



“*I was confused about...something.”* She then shook her head as if coming from out under a
spell. Her eyes settled on him *“But I'm all better now. I can think clearly. I know what I
want.”* She said all of this while slowly twinning her fingers in his hair.



“*And they were canaries.”*



Both of them giggled.



“*Well they were bloody brilliant! I just wish they hadn't been directed at me so I could
fully appreciate them.”* She laughed outright at that and the sound of it made him puff out his
chest with pride.



“*Seriously though, I don't hate Lavender. I'm not her biggest fan, but I don't
hate her. Besides I can be magnanimous when it comes to her. I got the boy didn't I?”* A
smug little sly smile formed on her lips that completely captivated Ron.



“*Merlin! I think I actually understood that word. I think snogging you is making me
smarter.”*



“*Alas, I always knew you were only after me for my mind,”* she tittered loftily right
before her lips met his for another kiss.



Although that bit of snogging didn't last as long as the first it was still just as good.
When they finally came up for air Hermione turned herself onto her stomach. She folded her arms and
laid her head upon them. She was still looking at him, dreamily, but he could tell that she was a
bit worn out. He was resting once again on his back, arms folded behind his head. For a brief
moment he closed his eyes.



“*What are you thinking about?”*



“*Ginny,”* he replied, eyes still closed.



“*Goodness! Was I that bad?”*



His eyes snapped open and he turned his hear towards her quickly.



“*What? Of course not,”* he blustered. *“And eww.”*



That last bit made her giggle and he realized she had been joking with him again.



“*I'm still cheesed off at her ya know. I still can't believe she did what she
did.”*



“*Maybe she was trying to light a fire under you,”* Hermione limply defended Ginny. *“She
knew that I liked you and that you liked me.”*



Ron just stared at Hermione in shock. If it was true that Ginny knew all of this she had never
shared that info with him.



“*Maybe she thought if she got you good and jealous over some imagined Krum kisses you would
finally get off of your duff and ask me out.”*



Ron merely shook his head at the innocence that was Hermione. “*You see the only problem with
that argument love is that Ginny Weasley never does any thing that does not directly benefit Ginny
Weasley.”*



“*Ron,”* Hermione said, abashed at his candor, *“that's a horrible thing to say about
your sister.”*



“*Maybe. Still doesn't make any less true.”*



“*What about the Department of Mysteries? She almost gave her life just the same as you or I,
Neville or Luna.”*



“*Yes, but not for some grand cause or anything like that. It was more likely 'Oooh Harry,
look at me. I'm a great brave Gryffindor too'. Didn't you tell me she had never really
given up on him?”* Hermione said nothing to this, she knew he had her there.



“*Look, I love my sister. She's fun to pal around with and she's damned good at
Quidditch. That still doesn't stop me from seeing straight thru her. When Ginny wants something
she isn't above playing dirty to get it. She wanted to hurt my feelings, she knew just what to
say to set me off. See.”*



Hermione just stared at him disbelievingly. She couldn't believe that the girl that Ron was
describing was the same girl she had shared secret after secret on many a summer night.



“*I don't blame her really. She's just used to getting what she wants. She just was
spoiled.”*



“*Your mum,”* Hermione tentatively asked.



*"No, mum was more apt to spoil Bill or Charlie. Percy even. You know before she had Bill
the Healers told her that she might never be able to have any children."*



“*Come again?”* She was completely dumbstruck at this bit of information.



“*It's true! I figure that's why she coddled them so much. But then by time Fred and
George came mum was letting them swing from the ceiling,"* he joked.



“*No, dad was the one who spoiled Ginny. I guess he was just so happy to have a little girl.
He would do anything for her.”*



She looked at him sadly. “*Who spoiled you,”* she wondered aloud.



Ron rolled over on his side to face her and began to trace the lining of her face. It was a
tough question for him to answer.



“*No one really, I guess. I mean, I know mum and dad love me. Just sometimes I can't help
but feel that they forget me. It doesn't matter.”*



*"It matters to me,"* Hermione announced resolutely. The firm set of her jaw told
him that she meant every word.



“*Merlin help me, but I'm in love with you.”*



His heart was in his eyes as he softly said this. Hermione stared into the deep blue of them and
knew that he was speaking the truth. She honestly didn't know what to say to a pronouncement
like that. No one had ever said those words to her. The first thing that crossed her mind was to
repeat back his words to him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ron cut her off.



“*Don't say it.”*



She looked at him perplexed at his manner.



“*Don't say it unless you mean it.”*



Her eyes narrowed the way they usually did when she was about to start a row with him. She
wanted to ask him who the hell did he think he was telling her that she didn't know what was in
her own heart. Ron saw every word written out on her face as if she had spoken them aloud.



“*For me it's enough that you want to be with me. It's all I could have hoped for. I
mean, I'm a right lucky bastard to have gotten you,”* Ron bashfully admitted.



“*I'm just waiting for the day that you come to your senses and realize that you don't
really want me.”*



“*Never,”* she declared.



“*Hermione, I want you to tell me that you love me only when you're sure that you love me.
I'll be ready to hear it then.”*



“*Well can I at least spoil you till then,”* she flirted at him.



Ron tried to make a joke of it. In a exaggeratedly serious voice he said, *“I don't know,
it's a tough job. Do you think you can handle it?”*



“*Depends I guess,”* she volleyed back to him. *“Am I your girlfriend?”*



“*Depends I guess,”* he teased then closed his eyes as though he were going to sleep.



His eyes were closed for no more then 10 seconds before Hermione began playfully beating him
across the face and chest. He then pounced on her and began to tickle her all over. She shrieked
and yelled and threatened to curse him as soon as she got a hold of her wand. The clamor then
awakened the ghoul upstairs which caused them both to only giggle more. They twisted and turned all
over the spread until eventually they both somehow ended up at the bottom end of the bed, Hermione
laid out on her back with Ron straddling her hips. He held her arms above her head by her wrists so
she couldn't tickle his stomach any longer, he was quite sensitive there.



As he held her down he couldn't stay immune to the burst of sexual tension that seemed to
instantly permeate the room. Hermione was flushed all over, from her hairline down to her chest.
Her erratic breathing made it hard for him to take his eyes from the swell of her bosom. With her
arms held back the way they were it only helped to make her breasts seem more enticing. Inviting.
Her pearl colored camisole barely covered them. Ron was so enraptured by the sight of her that he
didn't hear the shocked gasp from the doorway. He didn't even know that there was another
person in the room until he heard Hermione's embarrassed voice.



“*Hello Mrs. Weasley.”*



For almost two weeks after that incident Ron could not look his mother fully in the eye.
Hermione would go running from the room in terror if Mrs. Weasley entered it. In spite of their odd
behavior no one else seemed to realize that the dynamics of Ron and Hermione's relationship had
drastically changed. Certainly not Harry. There were times that he seemed to be in his own little
world and there was nothing his two best mates could do to draw him out. Hermione hypothesized that
Harry's dour mood had something to do with the fact that in a few days the three of them would
be leaving the Burrow to head off to Harry's parent's home in Godric's Hollow, a tiny
little village in Nottinghamshire. Hermione had already told them that appatating there
wouldn't be possible since they didn't know the physical location of the place yet.
Otherwise they would end up splinching themselves. Ron was not looking forward to this part of the
journey. Everyone knew the story of how the Potters met their end. The scene they were going to
encounter more then likely was not going to be pretty. Thankfully for him he would have Hermione by
his side.







“*You've been calling me Ronnie.”*



He and Hermione were sitting out by the pond in the garden. Ron had his head in her lap as she
played with his ginger hair. They were positioned so that no one could see them if they happened to
look out of one of the Burrows windows.



She stopped what she was doing to his hair. He let out a little whigning sound that let her know
that he wanted her to resume.



“*What's wrong, you don't like it,”* she asked as her fingers resumed their
play.



“*No, it's not that,”* he assured her. “*It's just what my mum and dad call me
sometimes.”*



He saw her bite her bottom lip pensively. “*I know. I just thought it was...affectionate. But
I guess it is kind of weird for your girl...for me to call you by something your mother does
huh?”*



“*No,”* he grinned, *“I like it.”* He closed his eyes as he said, *“Now what should
I call you?”*



“*Hermione will do just fine thank you very much. My mother gave me a perfectly lovely
name.”* She teasingly pinched the tip of his long nose.



“*I've got it,”* his vibrant blue eyes shot open. *“Herms.”* Loud guffaws erupted
from him at the affronted frown she made.



“*Goodness, that sounds like some sort of disease. 'Say, what did your first cousin die
from',”* she said in a fake deep voice. *“'Oh, just a bad case of the Herms',”*
she replied in sotto. She crinkled her nose in disgust. *“No thanks.”*



“*Ok, ok. What about 'Mione then?”*



“*Might as well call me your elbow, your ear, you big left toe,”* she grumbled as she
rolled her eyes to the sky in exaggerated exasperation. She looked so cute when she did that.



“*Hermy then.”*



She lifted her nose primly. “*Only one man in my life is allowed to call me that.”*



“*I knew it! I knew I saw Gwarp making eyes at you at the funeral,”* he said playing along
with her kidding manner. *“I was ready to go up to him and make my intentions known. Only reason
I didn't was because...you know...giant and all.”*



She giggled madly at that and he felt his head go light at the sound of it.



“*Well I like my name, although it did take me a while to grow into it. When I was little it
was just one more thing that made me...”* she paused in search of the right words, *“different
then the rest of the kids.”*



He imagined just how different his brave, brilliant Hermione would have been at that age. All
big haired and big named. She probably was smarter then some of her teachers even then. She had
shared with him and Harry that the children used to tease her relentlessly before Hogwarts. They
thought she was odd. The ruddy idiots! They just didn't know what they were missing knowing
her. It always made Ron wonder if not for a blundering Mountain Troll would he have been
permanently left in the dark as well.



“*Eventually though I began to appreciate the things that made me different. Although I
don't know how well I would have handled being saddled with Perdita. Luckily dad put his foot
down on that one. Imagine, you would be dating Perdita Granger right now.”*



Ron's smirk at her story wavered slightly as he cleared his throat to bring up a slightly
touchy subject between them.



“*I think we should tell him,”* he said seriously.



“*Tell who what,”* Hermione mumbled absentmindedly.



Ron rolled his eyes at her dimness. And they say that I'm thick, he thought.



“*Harry. I think...I think we should tell him about us,”* he clarified.



Hermione dropped her hands from his hair. “*Ronnie,”* she whigned, *“I thought we already
discussed this. I...I don't think that's such a good idea right now,”* she awkwardly
responded.



Ron sprung up from where he was laying and turned hurt eyes towards her. *“And why not?
Don't want anyone else to know that I'm your boyfriend eh?”* His body language was
combative.



“*What? Oh come off it Ron, let's not play the injured prat yet again shall we.”* He
bristled at the fact that she would bring that up so soon after he thought they had settled
it.*“Harry has a bit too much on his plate to worry over. We shouldn't burden him with our
drama as well. Especially now after Ginny...”*



“*What about Ginny,”* he asked, baffled.



“*They broke up Ron.”*



“*So that's why they've been acting so strangely,”* he said finally understanding
his sister and Harry's odd behavior at the wedding and for the last few days at last.



Hermione looked at him in constrained disbelief. *“Sometimes I think I seriously over
estimated and that you really only have the emotional depth of a thimble!”*



“*Well how was I supposed to know,”* he exclaimed indignantly. *“And why did he do
it?”*



“*To protect her. He didn't want the huge bulls-eye of being Harry Potter's girlfriend
on her back,”* she replied. *“And to tell you the truth I've been living in abject fear
that one of these mornings were going to wake up to find Harry gone off to face Voldemort
alone.”*



“*The git would do something like that. He would think he was 'saving' us.”*



“*Precisely. That is why we can't let him. You and I Ronnie, we have to get Harry thru
this! Until then every thing else is trivial.”*



“*You're right of course,”* admitted Ron anemically.



“*And above all else, none of us are allowed to die,”* she stated forcefully. *“Or
I'll kill you both myself, I swear!”*



She had said it such a half joking, half serious tone that Ron wasn't quite sure if she
meant it or not. *“Somehow I don't doubt that,”* he sniggered.



“*Then afterwards, when the dust settles, Ginny and Harry can be together again.”*



“*And you and I....”*he timidly took her small hand in his.



“*And you and I,”* she demurely answered back. *“We'll all get our happily ever
after.”*



Ron wrinkled his nose. “*That sounds a bit girly.”*



Hermione shook her hear jovially. *“How's this then: Snogs for all!”*



He dropped a quick kiss on her lips before jumping to his feet and grabbing her hand to help
pull her up with him. *“Now that sounds more like it.!”*











Lavender came gliding out of the bathroom looking radiant as usual. She had changed in to her
clothes already and had her hair pinned up.



“Daydreaming are we,” she beamed at him.



“Only about you love.” She smiled even brighter at that comment. “What took you so bloody long
in there?”



She walked over to her mirror and bent down to get a better look at face. He sat up on the bed
so he could get a better look at her bum.



“I couldn't decide if I wanted to wear my hair up or down. I finally decided to go with up.
Makes me look older don't you think?”



Ron knew that the proper way to answer that question was to just nod his head ambiguously. The
same went for the perennial 'Do these robes make me look fat'.



“I want Madame Borghesse to know that she is dealing with a mature young woman and not some
little girl she can just push over.”



“I don't even see why we need a wedding planner,” Ron grumbled.



He watched in the mirror as Lavender rolled her eyes again, just as she did when she first told
him of her idea to hire someone to organize their ceremony and all of the other events leading up
to it. She turned to face him.



“We need a wedding planner because this wedding is just going to be too big for your mum to
accommodate everything for the Burrows paddock,” she explained as though she were teaching a small
child his letters.



“The Burrow was good enough for Bill,” he muttered.



“Yes, I'm sure it was. But need I remind you that Fred got married in that simply gorgee
cathedral, Percy and Penelope were joined at the Ministry, and Ginny got married at Hogwarts.”



Ron looked at her aghast. “But those were completely different circumstances! Perce...well Perce
is a show-offy prat. Fred had to get married in that church because his wife is one of those
Cathalalics. He said her mum would have had a fit if she didn't. And Harry and Ginny had their
wedding at Hogwarts because the whole bloody world wanted to attend! You know that.”



“Yes. And the whole wide world will want to attend ours just as well,” she huffed. Her voice was
steeped in annoyance. “Why are you fighting me on this? Is it the money? You can afford this!”



Ron got off the bed and walked over to his girl...fiancée and grabbed her hands. He knew that
she was one step away from throwing herself on the floor and having a cry. He knew the signs well.
He wanted to head it off before it got out of hand.



“I just wanted you to have a wedding you could be proud of,” she sniffed, her eyes slowly
watering. “So you could be proud of me.” He gathered her into his arms as she wailed, “A girl only
has once chance to plan the perfect wedding!”



She cried a bit onto his bare shoulder as Ron gently stroked her hair. He neglected to inform
Lavender that this would actually be her second chance at her dream wedding. In his old age Ronald
Weasley had learned a very important skill, diplomacy.



“There, there,” he comforted her. “Of course I'm proud of you,” he said as he softly rocked
her to and fro.



Lavender sniffed. “You mean it?”



“Of course I do. I'm marrying you aren't I?” This earned him a smile as she pulled back
to look in his eyes. Their heads were slowly drifting towards each other until there was a knock at
the bedroom door.



“You lot decent in there,” a voice bellowed.



“No,” Ron shouted back. “I'm having my way with my lusty wench as we speak.”



“Oh good, I'm not interrupting anything important then,” said George as he barreled into the
room. He was already dressed for the day in his black robes with the WWW stitched in swirling loops
at his left corner. He and Fred had adopted this quasi-uniformed look after they acquired their
second Weasley Wizarding Wheezes joke shop in Hogsmeade village. Fred ran that one while George was
in charge of the one in Diagon Alley. “Lavender, your mum in on the floo and she seems to be in a
strop over something.”



Lavender rolled her eyes havenward. “When isn't my mother in a strop over something?” She
disentangled herself from Ron's embrace and passed by George to head out the door.



“Going over to mum and dad's,” George asked after Lavender left the room.



Ron, dispirited over the lovely meal he was going to miss, sighed forlornly.



“No, we'll probably eat at the Cauldron later. Me and Lav have an early appointment with
some wedding planner.”



George's eyes went bright with mirth and Ron instantly regretted his slip.



“Damn,” he said under his breath.



“Ooooh, la dee da! Ronniekins is off to see a wedding planner.”



“Shut it you,” Ron said, grinding his teeth in irritation. “It's what Lavender wants.”



“Of course,” George said in a cloyingly sweet tone. “Just remember Won-Won that if the planner
tries to get you to wear white you can't, you brazen hussy you.”



George was already out the door by time Ron threw one of Lavender's face cream bottles at
him. It hit the door with a limp thud before Lavender came back into the room. She did not look too
happy.



“Violet threw a tantrum again,” she explained to him. “I've got to go home real quick to
settle everything. Circe! How in the world my mum managed to raise three girls is beyond me when
she falls to pieces every time my child cries for more then a minute.”



Ron took her in his arms again. “Go on, go see about the midget.”



“I'll have you know that my daughter is not a midget. She's a perfectly lovely little
girl,” Lavender said in mock indignation. Her arms slowly came around his neck.



“Of course she is. Just like her mum.” He kissed her forehead and then her lips. “Go on.
I'll be ready when you come back.”



“You had better,” she said before giving him a quick kiss in return and walking out of the
room.



Ron hoped that Violet was alright. She could be a bit fussy at times and was known to cry over
something as simple as her peas touching her meat. She also seemed to have an aversion to maroon,
just like him. As he walked into the bathroom he made a note to buy his little girl a gift as soon
as he got a chance.



His little girl! Ron's heart soared every time he thought of her as such. Although
biologically she wasn't his daughter Ron had practically helped Lavender raise her child since
her first husband died. He was certain he wanted to adopt Violet even before he was fully convinced
that he wanted to marry Lav.











He still remembered the day that Lavender came to him and told him that she was getting married.
It was the day before Valentine's Day. He and Hermione had only been back together for 21 days
(he counted). This was their third shot for a reconciliation and Ron was certain that this was
going to be their last. He still had the engagement ring he had bought her (with the twins help)
way back when he was 18. He had tried to give it to her two time before, but they had broken up
after each proposal. But this time Ron had hope. He was counting on the third time being the
proverbial charm.



He had contemplated doing it on Valentine's Day, but he nixed the idea for seeming too
cheesy. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of Hermione, and rings, and weddings that he barely heard
it when someone rang the doorbell. It was Lav. She showed up at his and Harry's flat to tell
him that she was going to marry her boss, Cornelius Pye. Lavender had worked as a personal
secretary for the man since leaving Hogwarts. Pye was the last remaining heir of a pureblood family
that once owned a profitable broom company, Pye in the Sky. Even though they had long since sold
the company the Pyes still remained a wealthy bunch and Cornelius would often hire pretty little
things to help him run his philanthropic organizations and take care of his personal needs.
Lavender was the first one he had actually asked to marry him though.



“*I think I could grow to love him,”* she had told Ron that day. She sounded as though she
was desperately trying to convince herself.



“*I think I could be happy. He even reminds me a bit of you. I like to think that's how
you'll be when you grow-up. He even had Weasley red hair once,”* she joked referring to his
now bald pate.



Ron was dismayed at her plans. Even though he had been a lout to Lavender over the years,
quickly discarding her every chance Hermione looked his way, he had still grown very fond of her.
In his own way he figured that he even loved her. He was surprised to find that he was actually
jealous over the prospect that she would be another man's wife. Besides Cornelius was much too
old for her. He was 78 for Merlin's sake! Dirty old coot!



But Ron told Lavender that if marrying Pye would make her happy then he would be happy for her.
She bravely informed him that the only thing that would make her happy was if Ron married her
instead. Ron reluctantly told her that he couldn't. Not as long as there was a chance that he
could be with Hermione. She said that she understood. Two weeks later he read in The Prophet that
Lavender and Olde Pye (he, Harry, and the twins had taken to calling the bastard that) had run off
and gotten married in Gretna Green, Scotland on Valentines. Nearly 8 months later Violet Elvirah
Pye came into the world.













By time Lavender got back to his place after settling things with her daughter and her mum Ron
was dressed and ready to go. It was 10 o'clock. Their appointment was for 10:30. Since he lived
in Diagon Alley, in a sky rise building that stood where Ollivander's used to be, he and
Lavender were able to walk arm in arm to the wedding planner's shop. It was a dazzling white
building located right before the turn into Knockturn Alley, across the street from Gringotts.
There was a mannequin dressed in a lacy bridal robe in the store front. She winked at them as they
walked up. The gold block lettering on the window said Blissful Brides by Borghesse.



“Try saying that three times fast,” Ron cracked. Lavender smacked his arm.



“Behave,” she warned him.



When they finally entered the shop they were both surprised to see that it was much larger on
the inside then it appeared to be from out on the street. That didn't stop it from being packed
to the gills with people. Young girls running here and there before mirrors trying on bridal robes.
Groups of women walking back and forth, some wearing olive robes jotting down notes on pads. To the
right of the entrance way Ron saw a flock of women examining a table full of expensive looking
dinnerware as an older woman, who clearly worked there judging by the color of her robes, explained
the prices and details of them all. Ron was quite bewildered by the whole scene, but Lavender
merely pulled him along to the receptionist table across from the door. As they walked to her a
pretty dark haired girl, dressed in olive as well, looked up and greeted them.



“Welcome to Blissful Brides by Borghesse,” she said perfectly and perkily. Ron fought down the
snigger at the back of his throat.



“Hello. I'm Lavender Browne-Pye. I'm here to see someone about my wedding.”



“But of course,” the girl answered. “Let me see if I can get one of the associates to squeeze
you in. You have to forgive us though, it's summer and everyone wants to get married,” she said
as she stood up from her chair and looked around the shop for an available planner.



“No, no, you don't understand,” Lavender smugly interrupted. “I am Lavender Browne-Pye and
this," she gestured over to Ron, “is my future husband. Perhaps you have heard of him, Ronald
Billius Weasley? As in Ron Weasley star Keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps, finalists for the English
cup. Also known as Ron Weasley, co-defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named. Does that ring any
bells?”



The upset young girl looked at him and Lavender with huge awe struck eyes. The whole
congregation by the table had gone quiet during Lavender's speech and were still watching
them.



“Gracious me! The Weasley wedding. I'm so sorry! The Madame asked me to let her know as soon
as you arrived. I'll just go run and do that,” the flustered girl said before she turned on her
heels and fled the room.



“What,” asked Lavender as she turned to see the nonplussed look on Ron's face.



“Bit rough on her don't you think Lav? Poor kid looked like she probably just stepped off
the Express.”



“Listen love,” Lavender said as she wrapped her arms around Ron's neck and kissed his cheek,
“you deserve the best. And I,” she placed a hand on her chest, “am always going to be here to make
sure you get it.” She then kissed his cheek again. He could only smile at her balls-iness.



Soon the kid, who introduced herself as Paloma, was back escorting them into a back office of
the shop. At least it was supposed to be an office, but instead it looked more like a boudoir.
Decorated in all dark mauve and lilac colors there were large pillows on the floor and silk veils
and beads every where. To the left of the door there was a statue of a pair or dancing cupids. They
were currently doing the Cha Cha.



But the soft sensuality of the room was dominated by a large ornate desk. Sitting at the desk
when they walked in was a stately looking woman with obviously dyed red hair. She was an older
witch, perhaps in her 50's or 60's, but she had the air of a vital, energetic young woman.
Ron figured that it must be her bright green eyes that gave that impression. Her face still
retained a bit of the prettiness that must have been hers in her youth although now it was greatly
lined with age. Instead of the olive uniform that everyone else wore her robes were an aqua shade.
She was stout, yet not fat. Regal, yet not imposing. She was standing up to greet them.



“Buona mattina.”



Both he and Lavender turned to the receptionist with perplexed expressions.



“She said 'morning,” the girl answered brusquely.



“That will be enough bella. Could you run down to Tom's and see if he has any more of that
sinfully delicious pumpkin spice latte from the other day,” the woman asked in a voice that still
carried a slight Italian accent though it was obvious that she had been living in England for a
while.



“Si Madame.” The girl exited the room after briefly curtsying.



“Come, sit,” Madame Borghesse entreated pointing towards the two comfy looking wing back chairs
before her desk. She took her own seat as the two of them sat as well.



“The Cauldron may not be very chic, but those lattes are to die for. Course they are so good
that they must be a sin. But I'm sure a little sin in the morning never hurt anyone. Don't
you agree Signore Weasley?”



Ron was at a loss for words. The woman seeing Ron's stunned face merely grinned at his
stunned reaction. He turned to Lav hoping that she would help him out.



“She's just teasing you love,” she reassured him as she placed a calming hand on his
knee.



“Your charming fiancée is correct Signore Weasley. Forgive me, I tend to flirt with my impending
grooms. I am an old woman, it is my way,” she said giving a nonchalant wave with her hand.



“Now, to the business at hand,” she said as she drew her wand out of her right robe sleeve. She
conjured a gorgeous looking quill, Ron suspected it was made from a Phoenix feather, and a note
pad. “I believe we are here to discuss your wedding.”



“My favorite topic,” Lavender squealed, voice bubbling over with excitement.



“And are you doing things in the old Briton ways,” the Madame asked, hands clasped before her as
her quill began to record their conversation.



“Oh yes, Ron and I both come from families that would like to retain some of the old rituals.”
Lavender looked over to him and gave him a sweet smile. “But at the same time we would like to add
some modern influences as well.”



“Of course, of course. And I will be more then happy to help you with that,” said the Madame as
she pointed her wand at the desk and an object that looked like an old muggle adding machine
appeared on it. She pressed a few buttons and a slip of paper printed it's self out. She tore
the paper off and read it.



“Let's see, that would make the wedding date...June 24th, si?”



“No, no,” Lavender quickly corrected. “Won..er...sorry...I mean Ron proposed Tuesday.”



“Dio mio! Cara, you should have come to me since yesterday. Don't you know that the old
rites are the number of days of a complete lunar cycle?”



“I know, I know,” Lavender nervously said.



“That would mean that your commencement is...”



“Sunday.”



“Dio mio,” she exclaimed again. “That only leaves me two days to plan.”



“Plan what,” Ron asked. Up until that moment he had felt completely useless in the whole
conversation, but talk of the engagement party caught his attention. “My mum has already taken care
of the whole thing.”



The Madame let out a sigh of relief. “Ah,that's good then. In the first years it was the
mother of the groom's responsibility to host the commencement besides.”



The Madame then began to calculate the new information. Once the paper rolled out she looked
over the information and then handed the slip to Lavender.



“All the things I handle and the fees are listed there. Thankfully the party Sunday gives me one
less thing to worry about. That would just mean that I would take care of the Naming Tea, the
Reception, and the Wedding ceremony it's self. I'm sorry, but I don't do the
Temptations. That's completely up to the Maid of Honour and the Best Man.” The Madame sniffed
her nose at that as if the very idea that she would handle something so base.



“Have you decided yet on who will fill these rolls?”



Lavender looked up from the sheet. “Oh of course! Ron's sister Ginerva Potter and her
husband, Ron's best friend.”



“Ah yes,” said Madame Borghesse. “Harry Potter. This is going to be quite the wedding
indeed.”



Lavender had brought up Harry's name innocently enough so that if one didn't know her
one would think Lavender's vague mention was completely innocuous. But Ron knew her quite well
and he didn't appreciate her use of Harry's name to score her points with Madame Borghesse.
He let her know by shooting her a hard stare the moment that the Madame took her eyes from them and
looked back at the door.



Paloma had arrived with the Madame's latte and even brought steaming cups of coffee for the
couple. While the Madame held a short conversation with her receptionist in Italian Lavender looked
over to Ron and mouthed the word sorry. Ron merely nodded his head back to her. Paloma exited the
room again.



“Now if you want, Blissful Brides can help you with other important things. We help with ribbon
selection, finding the new home. We even offer instructors who can coach you and your party on the
various charms and spells. As I'm sure you glanced in our show room up front we also have a
wide selection of bridal robes. Only the latest fashions, of course,” she said as though anything
else would be sacrilege. “The prices are listed as well, but my basic fee is what is circled. I
think it's more then reasonable.”



Lavender nodded her head in response as she handed Ron the slip with the fees. Ron causally
looked down at the paper. Then did a double take.



“Bugger me!”



Lavender turned cool, angry eyes on him. “Ron,” she fumed. She was able to sound both terribly
embarrassed and wrathful at the same time.



Madame Borghesse merely chuckled at the couple.



“It's quite alright dear. I've yet to have a prospective groom who didn't react much
the same way.”



Ron didn't like to think of himself as cheap, but having grown up being a tad...improvised
he learned early on the importance of a galleon. When he became a young adult and first started
earning a wage he earned the reputation of being thrifty and smart with his gold. Although the
money the Wasps payed him was a hefty amount he didn't believe in being extravagant with his
money. The figure that the Madame was offering for her services was more then he got for his
signing bonus! What did Lavender take him for? Bloody King Midas!



“Signore Weasley, let me see if I can help you understand,” Madame Borghesse said making her way
from behind her desk and settling herself in front of the couple. She plucked the price sheet out
of Ron's hands before leaning against the desk.



“In the days since past all the services that I and other wedding planners like myself take care
of used to be the responsibility of the Maiden, what we now call the Maid of Honour. She was
supposed to be a representative of the bride's purity. She was also responsible for executing
the wedding Cycle to the bride's exact wishes. Back then there was no more important job for an
unmarried witch! Essentially she would want to do a good job because soon it would be her turn to
choose the proper Maiden.”



The Madame left her perch and crossed the room to a bookshelf on the right side wall. She drew
out a heavy book, brought it over to Ron, and placed it on his lap. She then went behind her desk
and took a seat again. Ron opened that book, a photo album, and began turning thru the pages. Page
after page were the animated photos of wedding ceremonies. He assumed that they were former
Blissful clients.



“Times have changed however,” she said returning to her subject. “Some say for the good.
Some...disagree. Things have been taken from and added to the Cycle. Once upon a time the grooms
family would be in the room as the marriage was first consummated.”



“Blimey!”



“Indeed Signore Weasley,” she softly laughed. “Thankfully that was done away with. Why now there
are even Matrons of Honour. Trust me that fact scandalizes anyone born before the 1900's.”



Ron began looking at the pictures as he listened to Madame Borghesse continue to speak. He had
to admit, the couples in the pictures looked blissfully happy.



“Now days though not as much importance is put on the ancient rites. Some wizarding couples opt
to have muggle religious ceremonies. Some even elope. The old ways are not greatly enforced and
because of that sometimes a bride will choose a Maid of Honour who isn't...how does that clever
little saying go...up to snuff. As your planner I ensure that every thing goes according to plan
under my watch. I am thorough, I am attentive to details, and more then anything else I live for
making young bride's dreams come true.”



Ron's attention was caught by a photo of a young couple kneeling before a feeble, nearly
bald old wizard who was dressed in shiny golden colored robes. Ron recognized the man immediately.
It was Armando Dippet, the fellow who was Headmaster before Dumbledore. Ron recognized him from his
portrait hanging in Dumbledore's...McGonagall's office. The picture was taken in profile
but he couldn't see exactly see the couple's faces because the two tiny images were too
enraptured with each other.



Soon that's going to be me and Lav, he thought excitedly.



“Do you love your fiancée Signore?”



Ron answered the question so quickly that he didn't even have time to be offended by it.



“Course I do,” he exclaimed forthrightly.



“Wouldn't you like to make your bride's dreams come true?”



Ron looked at Lavender, his sunny, funny Lavender. She meant everything to him! From the very
beginning she always let him know that she put him first before anything. She knew that they
belonged together long before he finally figured it out. He knew deep down that there was nothing
he wouldn't do for her. She was his heart! She was his fiancée.



“Of course I would,” he answered Madame Borghesse.



A smile spread across the old woman's face. Then let me give you and the Signorina a dream
wedding. One that will live in your memories and dreams forever. Let me plan your wedding.”



She handed him back the sheet of paper with her fees on it and he leaned across her desk to take
them. He could feel, rather then see Lavender go stiff with anxiousness. He looked at it again
briefly before plucking the Madame's quill from it's spot where it was still writing. On
the line where it asked for his form of payment Ron wrote down his Gringotts vault number. He then
handed the slip back Madame Borghesse.



“Whatever Lav wants, do it.”



You could have heard a pin drop in the room for a moment before Lavender sprung to life beside
him and reached over to grab him. She placed a big smacking kiss on his cheek before squealing for
joy.



“Quello è buono,” said the Madame. “We will meet in a few days to begin making plans in
earnest.”



She stood up and he and Lavender followed suit.



“Thank you, thank you Madame Borghesse,” Lavender cried jubilantly, extending her hands to shake
the older witch's own.



“Cara bella, it is I who should be thanking you,” she said as she clasped Lavender's hands
and placed first her right cheek, then her left against either side of Lavender's and made
kissing sounds.



“It's when I meet a couple so obviously in love as the two of you that I remember why I
started this company.”



If those words had come from anyone else Ron was sure that it would have been a load of dugbog
dung. But something in the Madame's demeanor told him that she meant her words
wholeheartedly.



“And you may call me Filomena. After all we are going to be spending an awful lot of time
together these next few weeks.”



Filomena then bade farewell to Ron in the same manner as she did Lavender.



“Trust me Signore, you will not regret your decision. I will make your wedding perfect and not a
thing will go wrong.”



“I sure hope not,” he responded. “Cause I'm going to be paying for this thing all the way to
the Old Wizards Home!”























*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*

















5. Chapter 4
------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**, but a
whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I realized
that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then decided to
throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at least to me)
story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first attempt at
writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if you would
tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.



I'm sorry for not giving ample enough warning in that last chapter. I honestly thought that
I was being subtle with the **R/Hr**. I edited down the original version like crazy, but I will
try harder to be cautious with the non-**H/Hr** stuff. I just really wanted to explore the
dynamics of the **R/H**r relationship because it does play it's part in the upcoming
**H/Hr** relationship. It's funny, even though I am **H/Hr** all the way the **R/Hr**
interaction in HBP didn't bother me. Kinda shocked me actually. I read the other five books
thinking that sure the hints were anvil sized, anvil sized that they pointed to a one sided
**R/H**r. She just never seemed that into him. Then in book 6 I was like, oh snap, **Hr**
likes **Ron**? Wild! But be that as it may I can't help but see something deeper going on
between **H/Hr**. So that's how I wrote the story, that she felt something for Ron but
nothing like she felt for Harry. Speaking in the past sense the poor thing just hasn't realized
it yet. But when she does...oh boy!



**Warning:** This chapter contains flashbacks of some **ONE SIDED D/Hr**. I repeat this
chapter contains some **one sided D/Hr**. And it ain't coming from her side. Just wanted
y'all to be clear on that before you come after me with the torches and the pitchforks. There
is also mention of **D/Lu**. Because I know y'all want some **H/Hr** I've thrown in
the next chapter as well. Even though I'm not happy with it. At all! But once I finally figure
out what I want to do with it I'll just re-edit it.



Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! They really have been helping me.



**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.









He had finally decided to do it. He was going to do it! He was going to walk right in to that
store and buy that ring for her. I'm going to walk right in, buy that ring, and by Merlin
I'm not going to loose my nerve, the little voice in Draco's head assured himself. Of
course if he hadn't been so agitated he would have asked himself why the hell he was hearing
little voices where there shouldn't be little voices. But Draco didn't have time for all
that self analysis mumbo jumbo. He was about to make a very important commitment to the woman who
he was almost certain he was in love with. Scratch that, he was sure he was in love with Luna. This
was serious business! It wasn't everyday you asked a girl to think about marrying you.




Draco had come to the little town of Hogsmeade to reinterview a witness for his current case.
His division of Aurors were tracking some pureblood nutjob who had a hard-on for torching people.
The problem however was that no one was exactly sure what Cadmus, the nut in question, looked like
or where the hell he was.




They knew basics. According to Ministry records he was born in a small Devon village, Denbury,
around 1890 to a witch and wizard of apparently low status. Neither had ever been students at
Hogwarts it would appear even though Cadmus was a very ancient wizarding name. Ptolemy Cadmus never
crossed those hollowed halls himself. Instead sometime around 1904 he was employed as a stable boy
for a family in St. Catchpole, the Stonefeathers. The Stonefeathers were a very old, very powerful,
very rich wizarding family that only employed human servants. The patriarch, Elias Stonefeather,
once lost a card game to his elf valet and since that heinous transgression no house-elves were
allowed near him. Cadmus apparently stayed with the family for only a few years before disappearing
from the world.




The next time he showed up on any wizarding radar was when his daughter entered Hogwarts in
1923. There was no record of Cadmus marrying, but according to the daughter's schoolmates she
was very proud of her paternal name and always maintained that both her parents were of magical
birth. It was assumed that Cadmus had simply lived muggle for all those missing years. They were
still waiting for paper work from Arthur Weasley's office to determine if this was fact. They
did know that by time the daughter married her muggle husband the unnamed mother was dead. The
cause of death was uncertain, but Draco wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't been tuned in
to a crispy bit herself.




Some years after his daughter's death he married a stupid bint by the name of Cady Bishop
who had been a barmaid at the the Haggling Hag. From what Draco had been able to gather Cady had
also been a small time whore who picked up her tricks from the Hag's clientèle. If Cadmus knew
this when he married her he apparently didn't care. After the 1952 wedding, that shockingly
enough took place in the Ministry it's self, Cadmus once again laid low.




That is until he killed Kevin and Whitney Whitby right in their Hogsmeade shop. It would seem
that for Cadmus, Whitney was too much of a muggle for his taste, though they didn't find that
fact out til later. At first there were no suspects. The few eyewitnesses they had to the crime
could only report seeing a dragon leaving the scene shortly after the shop began to burn to the
ground. The thinking was that it was all some freak, random, dragon attack. Experts from the
Magical Creature department were called in to investigate. But when the second couple, a Cloinda
and Desmond Forbes, were torched in the husband's home the Ministry knew that something was
up.




The Second Squad, Potter's Posse as they were secretly called much to their department
head's chagrin, were officially put on the case and called out to Peckham to investigate.
Before a dispatchment of Obliviators went to work on them, the Forbes' neighbors reported
seeing a dragon flying away. That now made for two random dragon attacks. And what was more
confusing was that from the descriptions they were able to attain the dragon was a breed that
wasn't known to live in Europe.




For weeks the Aurors were stumped as to what was going on. That is until Langdon Moon and his
new bride of 2 weeks, Sarah, died while trying to escape from the blazing inferno that had been
their Diagon Alley flat. As was usual the witnesses reported seeing a copper colored dragon, a
Vipertooth. For the first time Draco and his partner Potter were able to fit a pattern to the
crimes. They both realized what all three couples had in common: they were all newlyweds and they
all were mixed marriages. Kevin and Langdon were wizards, Cloinda was a witch. Their respective
spouses were muggles.




But the pièce de résistance came in the form of a ring that was found in the wreckage of the
Moon's home. It was a woman's class ring. A gold Hogwarts class ring with the Ravenclaw
seal embossed on it, class of 1930.




Of course they naturally assumed that the ring was a Moon family heirloom, Langdon came from a
Ravenclaw legacy. But after the ring was thoroughly examined the name Cadmus was found scrawled in
a fancy script along the inside of it. That was when Harry's researchers went to work. They
found the name of Harmonia Cadmus, Ravenclaw, listed as one of Hogwarts former Head Girls. They
found out that Harmonia left school that Christmas break of her last year to marry a muggle named
Heinz Andrews and that her husband killed her not too long after the wedding. They also learned
that Andrews died in a freak fire in 1998. The mental clinic the old man still lived in since he
killed his wife burned to ashes with him in it. He was the only casualty.




Soon after the ring was identified an article, published without the Department's consent,
appeared in The Daily Prophet detailing the gruesome murders of the Moons. The ring was mentioned
and a few scant hours after hitting the stands Cady Cadmus was at the Ministry headquarters to
claim her family's possession. The sapphire ring was priceless, or so she said. It rightfully
belonged to her husband Toley she told Whitmer, the Auror who took her statement. From what the
slightly inebriated wench told them her husband Ptolemy wore the ring on a gold chain around his
neck and never took it off. She gabbled on for hours more, but it didn't matter. They finally
had their man!




Or so they thought. The problem was that Cadmus seemed to always be three steps ahead of
Potter's Posse. They would arrive at a country B&B and find simply "Cadmus"
written in the ledger days after the man had already left. They would find "Cadmus"
written on slips of paper in the drawers of pawn shops the man unloaded one item after another in.
The biggest problem of them all was that no one could give them a clear idea of what the elusive
Cadmus looked like. Not even his wife. And she slept with him for Merlin's sake, Draco was
known to grumble. All they knew was that they were looking for a rather large man, about 6 feet
tall, 6 inches who was built like a manticore. Although he was of a considerable age, well over 100
years he supposedly didn't look a day over 75. According to Mrs. Cadmus he walked with a limp
due to a run-in he had with an abraxan when he was a young teen and he wore his long white hair in
a plait down his back. He also had an equally long snow white beard that he kept immaculately
clean. Harry called in a sketch artist to do a rendering of what the lunatic could look like. There
didn't seem to be a single photograph of the man in existence. The wife told them it was
probably a pretty good depiction. If you asked him, Draco thought the barmy eejit looked like the
muggle Father Christmas on steroids. When he mentioned this to his partner Potter told him, rather
nastily, that he in fact did not ask him his opinion..




They had a good sketch and they had a few good leads, that should have been enough. From the
description they were given Cadmus was the sort of gent you would remember if you ran into him. But
an odd thing happened. Every person the man came in contact with seemed to remember speaking to
him, but couldn't quite recall anything else. What they talked about, what he was wearing, if
there was anyone else with him. Nothing. Harry had surmised that Cadmus was either using a strong
cloaking charm or was confunding these people. Draco was quick to agree. Draco also believed that
whatever screws might be loose in the loon's head they were also dealing with a very powerful
wizard. The man could control a Vipertooth! A fucking Vipertooth! They were mean little buggers. A
Peruvian would rather have a human for lunch then allow one to trot it about like some over grown
St. Bernard. This bloke however seemed to be able to command and ride one.




And how else to explain his apparent control over so many people's mind, even months after
the fact? The witness that Draco had just spoken with, an Winnona Bettany, still seemed to be
slightly mentally frazzled. Winnona contacted the Ministry to tell them that she was remembering
some more details of the day she watched Kevin Whitby's bakery burn. Harry dispatched Draco to
Hogsmeade to get her testimony, but when the young Auror arrived at the tiny old woman's
cottage she appeared surprised to see him. She didn't recall floo'ing the Ministry that
morning at all. She then promptly offered Draco a plate of cookies that looked like they were
covered in kneazle hair. Draco graciously declined and hot tailed it of there. Winnona still seemed
to be confunded and Draco wouldn't be surprised if they found most of Cadmus' second hand
victims in the same condition.




Although this fact finding mission had been a wash Draco did find something else to do with his
day. He was currently standing in front of *Magical Moments*, an antique shop next to
*Madame Puddifoot's*. *Magical Moments* specialized in one of a kind pieces of
furniture and jewelry. It was a piece of jewelry in fact that held his attention.
















He had first spotted the ring after leaving *Puddifoot's* one day a few weeks ago. He
had met Pepper Warrington, one of the few Slytherin housemates of his that would still associate
with him, there for lunch. Back in his fifth year Pepper had been a member of the Inquisitional
Squad that he, and a bunch of the other kid's Draco ran with, joined. The slightly older black
haired, turquoise eyed girl was also the hot piece of ass that introduced young Draco to the world
of sex. Luckily for him right under Pansy's nose. The two of them remained acquaintances even
after she married the man she had been betrothed to, Sylvain Warrington. Warrington was another
fellow Slytherin and Inquisitional Squad member. Pepper had asked Draco to lunch because she needed
a shoulder to cry on. She was afraid that Sylvy had a mistress. Over scones and tea Draco patted
her hand and reassured her that he was almost certain that Warrington wasn't stepping out on
her with another woman. Draco neglected to inform her that the Warrington he remembered from school
seemed to prefer blokes. Once Pepper was calmed down Draco exited the little cafe.




Merlin how he hated *Puddifoot's*! The tacky decor always seemed to him to look like a
muggle greeting card exploded inside. Pepper is going to have to choose a better locale next time,
he thought to himself. As he walked pass the Madame's neighboring shop he just happened to
glance over and look in the window. He caught the gleam off of a silver object lying on a purple
velvet pillow. As he walked closer to inspect he saw that it was a ring. The ring was a shiny
sterling silver with a ebony onyx stone in the center of it. The sides had some kind of engravings
on them, but from his vantage point Draco couldn't tell what they were. With his curiosity
piqued, Draco entered the store to investigate. Upon hearing the little bell that went off, the
shops owner came rushing up to him.




“*Can I help you fine sir,”* the rather plump middle aged witch asked him. She was dressed
in dark gray robes that seemed to match her up-swept hair. She had a rather pleasant face that
looked like it gave easily to smiles, like the one she was giving him now.




“*Oh it's nothing really. I was just curious about that ring in your window. It kind of
caught my eye,”* he said, sending her a sexy little smirk that made most women want to fling
their knickers at him.




Apparently this witch was no exception. She giggled as she waddled quickly over to the window.
Draco did a quick survey of the neat little shop and saw that although the items in it appeared to
be old, they also seemed to be quite pricey.




“*This is a rather nice little place. How long has it been here,”* he asked
conversationally as she came walking back to him, ring in palm.




“*Oh, I just moved in here not too long ago,”* she shared as she handed the ring to Draco.
*“I had a lot in Diagon, but the rent was just far too much for me.”*




Draco listened to her talk as he examined the ring closely. It was truly an exquisite thing. The
large onyx stone almost seemed to entrance him and the silver brilliantly gleamed as if it had
it's own inner shine.




“*Gorgeous, isn't it? And right clever too! It reshapes it's self to fit perfectly
whose ever finger it is on.”*




Draco looked down at the woman who was standing right in front of him. He felt as if he were in
a daze. She smiled back up at him and clucked her tongue.




“*That right there is the last remaining bit of the Swinhufvud treasure.”*




“*Swinhufvud,”* Draco asked, pronouncing the name awkwardly.




The woman gave a small laugh. *“An old Swedish noble family. Well, they lived as nobles
rather. They all were wizards though. The line died out unfortunately.”*




Draco nodded his head although he had barely heard her. He was still looking at the intricate
design on the sides. It sort of looked like a...pig. A very odd looking pig with weirdly shaped
horns.




“*A poor young wizard, hard on his luck, sold it to me a few years ago,”* she continued.
*“Not a member of the family of course. He probably got it from a past relative who worked as a
servant for them. But in my line of business you don't tend to ask questions, eh?”*




Draco nodded affirmatively and then held the side of the ring out to the woman. *“It's
something special all right. But what the devil are these things,”* he asked.




The woman giggled again and took the ring gingerly out of Draco's hand. *“You wouldn't
be the first person to ask that question. It's a snorkack.”*




Draco, who had been looking at the ring longingly, quickly brought his eyes back to the witch.
Surely she didn't say what he thought she said.




“*Come again?”*




“*I said it's a snorkack. At least that's what that young man told me when I asked
him. The Swinhufvud's seemed to raise the things,”* she answered him.




Draco looked at the the woman in comical disbelief for a moment before he doubled over in
laughter. The woman looked at him confusedly.




“*Well yes, I gather it is a rather odd looking beastie,”* she said. She gave a half
hearted, nervous laugh.




When the attractive blond first strode in to her store Lucretzia Boothe had taken one look at
the well groomed man in his expensive looking robes and rather prideful air and smelled a sale in
the air. Lucretzia could spot money when she saw it and this well built Adonis with the light gray
eyes had bucket loads.




But she didn't count on him being a nutter.




Draco, still laughing, ran his fingers thru his shortly shorn head of hair as he looked in to
the perplexed face of the store's owner.




“*I'm sorry. It just really is an odd looking...beastie,”* he said. Seconds later he
was out the door.




For weeks afterwards Draco would find some reason or another to come to Hogsmeade and walk by
*Magical Moments*. Each time he would hope against hope that the ring would still be in the
window, and each time he would be pleased to see that it was. He figured the reason for this was
that there weren't many woman who would wear a bauble decorated with a pig. Well, maybe there
was one woman, Draco thought affectionately.




No one would have ever expected Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood to get together. Sure she came
from a good pureblood family, but that didn't negate the fact that the woman was a few bats
short of a belfry. Draco had known her in school of course. You couldn't miss her, what with
her bottle cap necklaces, radish earrings, hats that would roar or flap about. She wasn't just
eccentric, she was bloody mad. Draco and his gang took great pleasure in harassing her when she
showed up at Hogwarts for her first year. That is until they realized that the shoddy treatment
didn't seem to phase her. It was no fun kicking someone in the teeth if they didn't at
least acknowledge that their mouths were a bit sore, Draco mused. It was so much more fun to have a
go at Potty and the Weasel King. Now there were two people who made teasing worth the while. Draco
soon lost interest in Luna.




After the war he would still run in to her occasionally, but she wasn't really a person who
was on his radar. That all changed one fine spring day. Chief Hanes had told him the day prior that
a brand new reporter from a fine and reputable paper was coming to do a personality piece about a
young man's first few months as a new Auror. Hanes volunteered Draco. Draco didn't mind
much, he rather liked the idea of reading an article in the Prophet or even the International Seer
detailing all of his daring exploits and heroics.




The day of the interview Draco came to work dressed in a pair of finely tailored black trousers
and a black cashmere pullover. His platinum hair set against his usual dark apparel made him look
like a sinisterly sexy angel. As he waited for the reporter at his neatly ordered desk during his
lunch break he briefly wondered if he was going to be interviewed by a woman. And if said woman
would be yummy enough to bed. That should get him a front page exclusive surely! All these thoughts
were dashed however when the the journalist herself walked in.




“*You,”* he exclaimed accusingly, voice dripping in disdain.




Luna Lovegood looked much the same as she did way back in school. Her hair was still dirty
blonde, although now she wore it in large curls that hung to her shoulders. Her eyes looked like
molten silver. The way they bulged gave her a constant look of surprise. Her straight thin nose and
thin pale lips were features found commonly on pureblood girls. She was slightly pale as well, but
she didn't look washed out. Her complexion went well with her rather waifishly thin prettiness.
Luna Lovegood was in a word, cute. This fact was not lost on Draco as she stood at the entryway of
his cubicle dressed in stylishly cut chocolate brown robes. But she still is mad as ever, he
thought as he noted the far off look on her face.




“*You,”* Draco sputtered again.




“*Yes me,”* she said in a low and dreamy, melodious voice. “*At least I think I'm
still me. I was when I first walked in here. I think.”*




Draco gaped at her, mouth opened wide. He was slightly relieved that most of his office mates
had gone out to lunch and were not around to witness this. He would have never lived it down.




“*You should be careful, you know. Although a wrackspurt usually comes in thru the ears you
never know when they might adapt and jump in any old hole.”* She then placed her hand on his
chin and closed his mouth for him.




Draco was so annoyed that he didn't even notice the slight tingle he felt where she touched
him. He jerked his chin away. This was not how he expected his day to go.




“*What the hell are you doing here Loony,”* he demanded, his temper steadily rising.




“*I'm here to interview you. Didn't Uncle Army arrange all this?”*




At this point Draco didn't care who Uncle Army, Uncle Navy or Uncle bloody Royal Air Force
was. He wanted the woman out of his office!




“*He and daddy played chess together just a few days ago. When I told Uncle Army about the
article I wanted to write he said he would handle it. Armistead Hanes is your boss is he not,”*
she asked, silver eyes boring in to his own similarly colored ones.




“*Hang on, Chief Hanes is your uncle?”*




She gave a disturbingly loud laugh, more like the bray of a horse, and shook her head. “*No.
Uncle Army and Dad are just good friends. Dad even lets him cheat at chess.”*




Draco silently cursed under his breath. Hanes in the Arse had set him up. Fine and reputable
paper indeed! *The Quibbler* was a piece of garbage that most people used to line their pets
cages. It advertised spells to help you raise a sphinx army and published feature articles on
goblin/Vampire secret alliances. It was a joke and just so happened to be the paper that Linus
Lovegood, Luna's father, owned and edited. Draco sighed. There would be no front page exclusive
to look forward to now.




“*Look Loony, I think there has been a mistake,”* Draco said as he slowly stood from his
chair.




“*Is there? Did I come on the wrong day? I can come back,”* she said, her voice for the
first time diverging from it's whimsical tone.




Draco gritted his teeth in agitation. Why couldn't this loon get the picture and just leave,
he thought moodily.




“*It's not that,”* he said. *“I just don't think I'm the right person for you
to write your little story on. I'm not in some torrid love affair with one of the Gorgons and I
don't know anything about Scrimgeour's pet Golem.”* He said the last bit rather
nastily.




“*Oh,”* Luna said in a slightly soft, slightly dismayed voice.




Draco looked at Luna again and was almost horrified to discover that her eyes were wet. He hated
a crying woman. Unless she was a drunk crying woman. Those he knew how to handle. Lovegood on the
other hand was a different story.




“*Loony, please do not cry. I just don't think you will get the story you want from
me.”*




Luna sniffed loudly. *“Maybe your right,”* she admitted. *“I told Uncle Army that I
wanted to write a story on how people can change. For the better that is. And that it is possible
to get a clean slate. But I guess your are right. You aren't the person I wanted to write
about,”* she said pointedly. She then turned on her low booted heel and proceeded to walk
away.




Draco stared dumbly at her turned back for a split second before he grabbed her arm and turned
her back around to face him.




“*You wanted to write what?”*




Luna gazed strait at him and tilted her head proudly. *“I know that my father's paper has
a reputation for publishing rubbish. But there is a lot of good in there if people would take the
time to read it. I wanted to write an article about you.”*




Draco let go of her arm and tugged distractedly on his ear. He felt like Loony Lovegood was
turning his brain to mush.




“*You mean to tell me you asked Hanes specifically for me? For your interview?”* Luna gave
a little nod. *“But why?”*




A small smile appeared on his face. *“Because you fascinate me.”* Draco snorted. Her smile
grew larger. *“You don't even realize just how interesting you are, do you?”*




Draco rolled his eyes. *“Listen hon, there are over a half dozen of Aurors you could have
gotten for your little piece,”* he said. And most of them wouldn't have made you cry he
added in his head.




“*Oh, I'm not talking about the fact that you are an Auror. Daddy says that half you lot
are nothing more then glorified babysitters for Fudge's...well, I guess now Scrimgeour's
secret heliopath stash.”*




Draco made a loud noise in his throat that was half way between a laugh and a scoff of
derision.




“*What I'm talking about is what you have done with your life. And not even the fact that
you helped bring down Voldykins.”*




At this Draco did laugh. He had never heard Lord Voldemort referred to as such.




“*What's so special about me Loony? I mean, I know I'm rather gorgeous but...”*




“*Oh, are you,”* she asked just as innocent as could be. Draco didn't detect a hint of
malice in the question. *“You see I always sort of went for redheads.”*




Draco recalled that this was true. Luna dated the Weasel King not too long ago. And if he was
remembering right it did not end well. At all.




“*Back in school I always wondered if that,”* she looked up at his short blonde buzz cut,
*“was your real hair color. It makes you look rather peaky doesn't it.”*




Draco's feathers were ruffled. He did not look peaky! He was a handsome enough fellow, if he
said so himself. And he did.




“*But that is neither here nor there,”* Luna added as she clasped her hands in front of
her. *“I actually admire you Draco Malfoy.”*




Draco was so astounded at this revelation. Luna Lovegood admired him? What the devil for? And
why did her her revelation sound eerily like another pronouncement he'd heard before?




*I'm very, very proud of you Draco Malfoy.*




Draco shook his head as if to clear it. He found that Luna was staring him steadily in his eyes.
He cleared his throat.*“You um....admire me,”* he asked.




Luna smiled.*“Well, yes. Are you feeling ok? Did a mugumpwa bite you? They are rather nasty
things, pixies. They bite you and all you hear in your head is Celestina Warbeck warbling away til
it drives you mad. I'm not sure why Celestina though. Do you figure she put them up to
it?”*




“*Listen Loony you lost me at mugumpwa.”* Draco closed his eyes as he placed his hand to
his brow line. He felt a headache rapidly approaching.




Luna gave that horse like laugh again. *“Very well, very well. You just looked so confused
when I said that I admired you,”* she replied.




At this time some of the other Aurors were making their way back in to the office. Draco opened
his eyes and watched them as they filed in.




“*I do, you know.”*




Draco turned his attention back on Luna.




“*I find people who defy conventions interesting,”* she said. *“You were born in to a
world where you were taught that you were better then most. Where you were taught to despise that
which was different then yourself. You learned these lessons from the people that gave you life so
you shouldn't have questioned them”*




Draco swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, headache forgotten. Why did he think
Loony was so loony again?




“*But you did question them. You turned against everything that was programmed into your head
because you knew deep down it was wrong. Do you know how hard it is to do that? It would have been
easier for you to turn to the Death Eaters....”*




“*Which would have had me dead now or in Azkaban...”*




“*But you didn't know that then did you?”* Draco shook his head. “*Of course not.
Back then none of us knew who would come out on top in the end. But you knew that you could no
longer fall in step with whatever Voldykins had planed. It's a very hard thing, to think on our
own sometimes. We go to this restaurant because were told that it's the so called spot to be
seen. We glorify certain people because we are told that they should be put on pedestals. We
degrade others because we are told they should be scorned.”* She said this last bit not without
a touch of bitterness in her voice.




“*But to think for one's own self? Some fear that more then death. If you die your are
just dead. Nothing else can be done about that. But when you think for yourself you have to live
with that decision and accept the consequences. For most that can be a terrifying thing.”*




“*Ok Loony, now you've really lost me. I think my head hurts.”*




Luna covered her mouth to hold back the laugh (thank Merlin) that wanted to bubble out.
*“I'm simply saying that it was brave of you to side with Harry. Especially since you hated
him once. You made a decision that has seemed to change your life for the better. But that change
never would have come if you hadn't made the first step. That took courage.”*




Draco tried to fight the blush of embarrassment that he feared was spreading across his face.
Luna was assigning motivations to his deeds and actions that were not necessarily true, but they
sure sounded good to hear her tell it. He could almost believe them himself.




“*And then the way you fought the Ministry when they didn't want to let you into the
Department to train! Holy cricket that took erumpent sized balls!”*




Draco was quite certain his face was boiling now. Not too many people knew that last bit. After
the war, even after all that Draco had done to help bring down Voldemort, he still wasn't
trusted. He was a Malfoy and as such was considered a traitor to the Ministry. That little incident
back in 6th year where he let a horde of homicidal followers of the Dark Lord into Hogwarts, an act
which resulted in Headmaster Dumbledore's death, also did not help his standing. So
unsurprisingly when Draco suddenly decided that this whole saving people gig might not be so bad
and wanted to become an Auror there were many people in positions of power who were determined that
Draco would not get his wish. Everything worked it's self out in the end and Draco eventually
got to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There was one person who wouldn't have
had it any other way.




“*You could have taken all the Malfoy galleons and been done with it. But you stuck to your
guns and you fought for your right to do so.”*




When Luna noticed Draco's questioning look she simply said, *“Hermione told me. She was
very proud of you, you know.”*




“*Yes. Yes she was,”* Draco said, heart swelling as it did every he thought of a certain
brunette or someone even said her name.




“*Well, I should be going now,”* Luna said as she looked around the room and saw that it
was almost full. *“I'm sorry for wasting your time Mr. Malfoy.”*




Luna turned around and made for the exit of the office again. Draco watched her go until he
heard a small voice chide him to stop her. He couldn't be certain, but he had a sneaking
suspicion that the voice sounded like Hermione's.




“*Loony wait!”*




Heads all over the department turned to see who was making the racket. Luna who had been half
way out the door turned to look at him, that dreamy look returning to her face. Draco shyly
shuffled over to where Luna was standing and stood before her.




“*Listen Loony, um...if you still want to do the interview I'm for it. Just say when,”*
he said as he stared at the floor, too scared to meet her eyes. Because of this he missed the huge
smile that spread across her face.




“*Well now would be just lovely,”* Luna said, beaming.




“*Sadly I'm a working stiff and we have frittered away what little break I had,”* said
Draco jokingly.




Luna grabbed one of Draco's hands and wound her arm thru his own. Draco was slightly
startled by this move of intimacy, but shrugged it off. It felt nice.




“*Uncle Army will understand if I steal you away for another hour. This is going to be my
first big feature article and I'm sure that he will want it to turn out well.”*




“*Sounds good enough to me,”* Draco said as he steered Luna towards the door. *“Why
don't we get something to eat so our stomachs will be full as I tell you how wonderful I
am.”*




Luna gave a girlish giggle that was tons better then that horsey thing she did.




“*That sounds just marvy. Oh I know! We could go to* Madame Puddifoot's *in
Hogsmeade. I haven't been there in ages. I always loved the decor when I was a little
girl.”*




You would, Draco thought in bemusement.




Draco ended up taking a 2 hour lunch that day. Luna turned out to be a pretty excellent
reporter. She asked questions that no other journalist would generally ask and for the trouble got
insightful answers out of Draco. When the article was published a few days later it caused such a
sensation that *The Daily Prophet *and *The International Seer* payed *The Quibbler*
a nice sized amount to run the piece in both of their publications. There was just something so
juicy about a son who could turn his back on his family in order to fight for the Side of Light.
And the personal demons he dealt with in order to do so...sexy. Draco became a minor celebrity over
night. He practically had to beat the women off of him with a stick. Which he almost invested in
seeing as how he was now dating Luna.




He didn't end up in bed with Luna the night of his interview. Luna was after all a pureblood
girl and they tended to be uptight when it came to premarital sex. But after sharing cozy lunches
for two and heading out to the muggle cinema just about every night for a couple of weeks it seemed
a far gone conclusion that they would end up sleeping together. Draco was almost terrified of the
prospect. He was shocked to discover that he actually liked spending time with Luna. Sure she was
off beat, but he kind of liked that aspect of her. She also was one of the least judgmental people
he had ever met. She respected the fact that he could be sarcastic and surly. He liked the fact
that she was slightly insane. She loved it when he called her Loony Love, said she had never had a
pet name before. He would nearly jump her every time she called him her lover in that low dream
like tone of hers. Draco feared that once they eventually had sex he would loose all interest in
her. That was his usual pattern.




In fact when he and Luna first started dating he had been seeing Pristine Pringle. She was a
auburn haired, pureblood princess he had been dating on and off for years. His mother had
introduced Draco to Pristine at a luncheon she hosted. It would be too kind to call her simply a
husband hunting harpy. Hermione hated her! Said she was silly, mean spirited, and most importantly
could afford to eat a sandwich a time or two. Pristy was very pretty though and was good for a lay
every now and then. Draco barely tolerated her! When Draco dumped Pristine for Luna he was almost
certain that she would soon follow her predecessor. But it never happened. Nearly a year and half
to the date of that fated interview Draco ended up moving in to the Lovegood home in St. Catchpole.
He had never been so happy in his life!




Two years later found him still ridiculously happy. That was why he was still standing in front
of *Magical Moments*. As soon as he had seen the ring he knew that he wanted to give it to his
Loony Love. Once the shopkeeper told him about the snorkacks (crumple-horned snorkacks lover, his
girlfriend would have said had she been there) that were engraved on it he knew that he had to give
it to Luna. It was made for her. He didn't even care about the price, 2200 galleons. Nothing
was too good for his Loony.




In fact what he really wanted to give her was the Malfoy Pearl. The Malfoy Pearl was the family
heirloom that was passed down to each first son of the family. Upon choosing a bride the heir would
place it on the young lady in question's finger and thus begin the Rites. The Pearl was
currently sitting on his mother's vanity table waiting patiently for Draco to choose his future
bride. As far as Draco was concerned he had found her. The problem was was that he knew that Luna
was slightly gun shy at the prospect of another wedding. For this reason above all Draco wanted to
curse the Weasel King and turn him in to a self swallowing flobberworm. He had read in the Prophet
that the Weasel was planning on marrying the very same bint that had disrupted the redhead's
wedding to Luna almost 4 years ago. Good riddance, Draco thought to himself. I hope she wrecks his
fucking life! Draco sometimes forgot the fact that it was his own good luck that Ron called off the
wedding. If he hadn't Draco wouldn't have his Loony now.




No, Luna wasn't ready for the Malfoy Pearl. But the Swinhufvud gem was just right. They
could consider it a pre-engagement engagement ring. A promise of a promise. Draco knew he was good
for fulfilling that pledge. He had never felt this way about any other woman before...save one.




Draco could never be sure when he and the walking Spellopedia named Granger had actually become
friends. He knew it was before she almost launched her one witch campaign against the Ministry to
get him into the Auror program. He thought it might have been that Christmas, trapped at Hogwarts
as the Second War raged on outside, that she knitted (badly) a jumper for him. She said that he
deserved a present too, but the truth was that her big heart couldn't stand to see him be the
only Order member empty handed that year. He was sure it wasn't the time he slapped her silly
for calling his father a monster. She was quite sore (literally and figuratively) for days after
that incident. She had been right, but at the time Draco didn't want to hear it. No, Draco
could never say for certain when the bushy haired swot that he had teased and berated all thru
school had become his closest friend and confidant. But he did remember the night, in vivid detail,
when he figured out that he wanted to shag the living daylights out of her.




In a way Draco had always been unconsciously attracted to the girl back when they were younger,
though he would have rather died then admit it back then. She sort of reminded him of his mother,
fiercely intelligent, crafty, and obviously not above using her feminine wiles to get her own way.
When Hermione had threatened him with a vial of Veritaserum the night he defected to the Order she
mounted his very lap and deftly grinded herself on him to get a reaction. Of course Potty missed
all of that, the blind git! Hermione taunted him with cruel threats and when Draco vehemently
denied her claim that he wanted to shag her she leaned down and whispered in his ear, *“Your wand
says otherwise”*. He knew she wasn't talking about his beech wood. It was positively
Slytherin of her and well played. Draco had to wonder if the girl had been sorted into the wrong
house. Against his will Draco's esteem of the Gryffindor girl went up many notches that night.
But he didn't think he wanted her in his bed just then. That revelation came not too long
after.




It happened a couple of weeks after what they were calling “the cup incident”. Hermione was wide
awake and grumpier then usual while Draco had just become a member of the Order of the Phoenix,
much to the surprise of all.




It was late September, and Draco felt the first chill of the season in the air as he walked
around the nearly deserted Hogwarts castle late one night. Once upon a time Draco had been able to
sleep like a baby secure in the knowledge that he was a little prince and that his fairy godmother
dark lord would banish all the muggles in the world so that everything could be perfect. Draco
never realized that for this to happen some people would have to die. A great deal of people to be
exact. The point was driven home when he was called on to murder his headmaster, an act that should
have never been left to a child. Draco couldn't do it! He had always thought that Dumbledore
was a dithering old fool, but that didn't mean he wanted the dithering old fool dead. Even with
the fates of his parents swinging in the balance before him Draco could not throw the Unforgivable
at the professor. In fact what he had done to Katie Bell, even unintentionally, secretly weighed
heavily on his mind. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but he was no killer. And because of that
simple fact Draco was now holed up in Hogwarts with a rag tag group of rebels who were relying on a
near sighted, barely 17 year old ponce to defeat quite possibly the greatest dark lord ever known
to wizarding kind. Yes, Draco was having a hell of a time getting to sleep these days.




Draco decided to head up to the Astronomy Tower to think. Well technically he went there to
relive some of his former glory. Draco had become a man in that tower. Draco had deflowered Pansy
and a lovely little Ravenclaw named Su Li back in his 5th year there as well. This was no small
feat. Most well bred witches learn at their mother's knees early that no man wants the mooncalf
if he can get it's dung for free. Luckily for him Pans and Su missed the lesson. Pepper was a
slut so she just didn't care. He once tried to get his housemate Daphne up there, she had legs
that seemed to go on for days, but she always seemed disinterested. He tried to sooth his battered
ego with the knowledge that she and all her family were blood traitors and would eventually meet
their preferably gruesome end at the feet of the Dark Lord.




As Draco walked out on to the ramparts of the tower he was shocked to see that he wasn't
alone. Granger, dressed in a red satiny dressing robe, was leaning against the rampart walls, her
back turned to him. Briefly Draco entertained a sick dark fantasy of just pushing the cranky,
know-it-all mudblood over. No one would ever know it was him. He could almost hear the splat her
body would make as it hit the ground. He smiled to himself before he noticed the up and down
jerking moves her shoulders were making. Shit! The bitch was crying. Draco tried to silently make
his way back out the door, but unfortunately for him his shoes made a sound on the stone that
attracted her attention. She whirled around to face him, face wet with tears sporting a look of
utter shock and bewilderment. Draco did not miss the fact that her wand was drawn on him.
Still.




“*Malfoy? What in Circe's name are you doing up,”* she asked as she fiercely wiped at
her face.




“*I could ask you the same question Granger,”* he sneered. “*At least I had the good
sense to put on some appropriate clothing.”* Draco had changed in to a pair of slacks and a
shirt before he had gone wandering.




“*Just because your bumbling buffoon of a boyfriend gets to see all of your little girlie bits
doesn't mean that you have to subject the rest of us to such torture.”*




“*Fuck you Malfoy!”* But she put the wand back in her gowns pocket.




“*Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid I will have to decline,”* he said snottily.




He practically wanted to rub his hands in glee. An enraged Hermione Granger was truly a sight to
see. Her pert little nose would get all red and runny. The faint dusting of freckles across it
would stand out. Her already large round eyes would appear to double in size and the coil of tight
brown spiral curls that ran riotously all over her head would damn near stand on end. Although she
was of average height when she got hacked off, like she was now, she always seemed to draw herself
up in such a manner that she resembled a fierce Valkyrie. Draco wondered just how far he could push
her as he swaggered on to the parapet.




“*In your dreams ferret!”*




“*More like nightmares,”* he scoffed. “*Actually I'm surprised that the whole castle
isn't greatly disturbed by you and Weasel King's antics. You're loud enough about
it.”*




Although he, Granger, Potty, and Weasel were all sleeping in the Head's suite in the South
Tower (neutral territory) it was a lie that he could hear the two when they snuck away to plan
'strategy'. Ha! He didn't have to let her know that though.




“*Bastard,”* she hissed, one hand clutching the side of her robe while the other held on to
the rampart wall.




“*No, my parents were married thanks.”*




He grinned evilly. This was fun! That is until she broke out in a fresh gale of tears




“*You...I...just...”* she spluttered as she turned her back to him once again.




“*Sod off Malfoy! Just leave me the hell alone.”* Her shoulders shook with the great force
of her sobbing.




Draco was at a loss for what to do. Although Granger was providing him with ample material to
taunt her with he could never stand the sight of a crying female. His mother tended to throw crying
fits whenever she wanted his father to buy her something expensive. Pansy would give into tears
whenever she felt that Draco wasn't paying her ample attention. But somehow Draco felt
confidant that Granger didn't want those things. The girl was weeping as if her heart was being
cleaved in half.




“*Ummm...do you want me to get Potty or Weasleby for you,”* Draco nervously asked. She
shook her head firmly as she tried to control her crying.




“*No. Don't bother them. Harry barely sleeps thru the night as is. Don't wake them,
please.”*




Draco slowly walked up to the rampart wall and stood next to her. Although he was looking at
her, her face was turned to the night's sky.




“*The boys worry about me so. The last thing I need is for them to see is me loosing it like
this,”* she said as her tears began to slacken.




“*Well what do you expect after that stunt you pulled with the cup,”* he asked while
noticing for the first time that her plain brown eyes were actually almost a dark amber shade.




“*Yes, yes I know,”* she said tartly. *“Brilliant Hermione did a really dumb thing
didn't she? I've heard that enough from Harry, Ron, Professors Lupin and McGonagall,
thanks. Even Hagrid wanted to get in on the act.”*




“*Well it serves you right! You really had no idea what was going to happen to you after you
drank from it. Those two dunderheads you call best mates hardly left your bedside, they were so
worried. They were like little girls. Little bawling girls.”*




“*I know,”* she said, a hint of remorse in her voice. “*But something had to be done. We
really have no more leisure time to sit and wait for Voldemort to make the next move. He's
playing for keeps now.”*




“*Yes,”* Draco muttered bitterly turning his gaze to the same skyline she was looking at.
*“I know.”*




She turned to look at him. *“Yes, I suppose you do,”* she said.




For a moment the two stood there in silence, each stewing in their own thoughts, until Draco
broke it.




“*For the record I think what you did was ballsy,”* he said begrudgingly. *“Mental. But
ballsy.”*




Hermione cracked a small smile. He could actually hear it in her voice.




“*Well gee Malfoy, I think somewhere in that insult was a compliment.”*




“*Yes, well...don't let it go to your head.”* His tone was only slightly condescending.
Hermione chuckled softly.




“*I wouldn't think of it.”*




Draco glanced over at her and saw the smile on her face slowly turn into a grimace. For the
first time he wondered what had brought the girl out on this tower at such a late hour to have a
cry.




“*So,”* he queried in a mock disinterested voice, “*are you going to tell me why you were
blubbering up here like some little ninny?”*




She looked at him searchingly as if trying to figure out a complex problem.




“*I mean you don't have to if...”*




“*I'm scared,”* she said.




Draco looked at Granger as if she just told him she was going on tour with The Weird Sisters.
That would almost be as preposterous as what he thought she said. The gutsy lioness herself,
scared? He must have misheard.




“*I've been up here for hours actually. I came up shortly after I got dressed for bed.
I'm not sure exactly when I started crying,”* she said, shrugging her shoulders. *“I guess
it just sort of hit me all at once. I'm fucking terrified.”*




Draco was shocked at how candid Granger was being with him. He wanted her to continue talking so
he silently nodded his head to assure her that he was listening.




“*When I was 12 and first became friend's with Harry I knew that he had a great destiny to
fulfill. I didn't know the specifics of it, but I knew what ever that destiny entailed I would
be right by his side helping him all the way. I would carry him if need be.”*




Draco tried his best to hide the amusement he felt at the image of Hermione Granger carrying
Potter the Prat on her back like a old pack mule.




“*But you know what I'm starting to figure out,”* she asked, voice choked in so much
sorrow that Draco quickly got over the mental picture. *“Some of us just might not make it out of
this.”*




She was voicing concerns that Draco had gone over in his own head nearly a dozen times. No
matter what side he chose the prospect of him dying was pretty high. He tried to assure her the
best way he could.




“*Such is war Granger.”*




She rolled her eyes disgustedly. “*I know that. Don't you think I know that,”* she
asked. *“I'm fully prepared to sacrifice my own life for Harry if I have to."”*




Draco didn't doubt her statement.




“*But I can't loose...them,”* she said haltingly. Big tears started to well up in her
eyes again. *“I would gladly die a million times over if it meant that I could spare them any
pain.”*




Draco thought to himself that Potty and the Weasel didn't even half deserve devotion like
this. He wondered what it would be like for someone to care so deeply about him.




“*But that's just it,”* she continued, *“they could die and the realization of that
fact is sending me around the twist. I'm cracking up Malfoy,”* she confided in a
conspiratorial whisper. She even looked over her shoulder as if she was fully expecting to see the
men there ready to cart her away.




“*Bah! Your not going crazy Granger.”*




“*But I am,”* she insisted. *“Why do you think I did what I did with that bloody cup! My
mind completely shut down Malfoy. I...I was running off of pure adrenaline. When the three of you
stood there...there bitching...”*




“*I do not bitch!”*




“*...about who was going to destroy the damned thing all I could hear in my head was a
pounding voice telling me over and over again to end this, end it now. I-I didn't even know
what I had done until I woke up.”*




Hermione dropped her head into her upturned palms. Her voice came out muffled and Draco had to
get closer to her to hear her.




“*My head is a mess and I can't afford for it to be that way right now.”*




She raised her head up and looked Draco directly in his eyes. *“I'd do anything for Harry
Potter, but I'm scared that that's just not going to be enough.”*




Amber eyes met gray and held each other's gaze for a moment. Forget those daydreams of
flinging the Mudblood Queen off the tower, Draco was now worried that the tortured soul would take
care of that herself. And Draco knew that he couldn't allow that to happen. Hate it or not,
Granger was the whole brains of this operation. Potty might be The Chosen One, but without her they
might as well just hand themselves over to the Dark Lord tied with a neat little bow. He knew that
drinking from Hufflepuff's cup would induce dreams, he had been warned about that. He wondered
what she could have saw to set her off so.




“*What about you Malfoy,”* she asked, breaking Malfoy out of his reverie. *“What are you
scared of?”*




Draco looked down at the girl, the rather pretty girl whose hair seemed to form a halo around
her head, and weighed his answer. He could tell her that he was scared that he would never see his
mother again. She was a good mum, for all her pretenses, and Draco missed her with all of his
heart. The thought of never seeing her face again nearly wrecked him inside.




He could tell her that by virtue of him being a Gooder now the Light was bound to loose this
war. He was a curse, an abomination. He was almost certain of this fact. People died because of
him; Dumbledore, his father. The list might be short now, but he was sure it would grow.




Or he could tell her his deepest fear, that no matter what he did he would always be his
father's son. Draco loved his father. All he ever wanted was the older Malfoy's approval.
But Draco was smart enough to know that it was because of men like his father that monsters like
Lord Voldemort thrived and made it possible that children would have to fight an adult war. Draco
could tell her any of this.




“*Clowns,”* he said instead.




Hermione looked at him for one moment in slack jawed surprise before she huffed and turned to
walk away from Draco.




“*I don't even know why I bloody well bother,”* she angrily seethed. Draco grabbed her
arm to hold her in place.




“*Hang on a tic,”* said Draco moodily. *“You just can't get your knickers in a twist
because you don't like my answer.”*




“*Clowns Malfoy? Honestly,”* she retorted.




She crossed her arms in front of her chest and went in to her Perfect Prefect pose. Her chin was
held at an imperiously high height..




“*Yes Granger, clowns. I can't stand the buggers! When I was 7 my nanny, this great
she-hulk of an Austrian my mother picked up some where, snuck me out of the Manor to go to a muggle
fun fair not too far from where my family lived. Grizzelda was a halfblood so she was used to going
to the things. I was so excited to be at the place that at first when we walked in I didn't
even notice the grinning fool making his way to me. That is until he got in my face. That false
demonic grin still haunts me til this day. I got so agitated that I began unconsciously flinging
people and things about. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad probably had one hell of a mess to
clean up after Zelda threw me over her shoulders and got me back home.”*




As Hermione listened to Draco's story she fought down the belly aching laugh that wanted to
escape from her mouth. She even clamped her hand over it as if that could keep it in. She could
almost see the blond little tyke that Draco must surely have been once loosing his shit over the
sight of a harmless red nose.




“*Yuck it up Granger, but it really isn't all that funny. If I ever needed further proof
that muggles were dotty it's the fact that they let those painted demons around their
children,”* said Draco snidely. He turned around so he could lean his back against the wall and
folded his arms across his chest.




At this Hermione finally let out a loud and mighty guffaw. She wiped a tear of mirth from her
eyes.




“*You do realize Malfoy that there are 3 year olds who would probably think you are a bit of a
chinless wonder, don't you?”*




“*I don't care. I still can't stand the ruddy things.”*




The two of them shared a companionable laugh. Draco wasn't sure what a chinless wonder was,
he had suspicions that it wasn't quite a compliment, but he didn't care. Standing up on
that parapet, high above the world, laughing over some silly childhood fear with Granger seemed the
perfect place to be at the moment. In all the craziness that had followed the attack on this very
school only a few months ago he had almost feared that he would never hear laughter again. The
sound was almost balm for his soul.




“*You know I know, right?”*




Draco cocked his head at her, his lips still bearing a smile. His face barely had time to change
in to a confused expression before she dropped a bombshell.




“*I know that someone is helping you.”*




Draco's whole body froze. Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocksy-bollock-bollocks!




“*Er...I, um...don't know what you are talking about.”*




She smiled at Draco ruefully. *“Come now Malfoy, did you think I had come over stupid all of a
sudden? I've know from day one that someone was helping you. How else could you have gotten the
cup and found out how to destroy it? And how else did you know what it was and to come to us with
it?”*




“*I'm a fairly brilliant boy,”* he said, puffing his chest out too cover up the fact
that his mind was a riot inside. She knew! She fucking knew!




“*While I don't doubt that,”* she tittered, *“I also know that you knew too much
about the inner workings of the Order when you first got here. No need to hide the fact. I'm
pretty clever, or so they tell me.”*




Of course she was. She was Hermione-fucking-Granger, Draco thought to himself sourly, smartest
bitch of her age. How did they ever think they could get one past her?




“*I also know that whoever this person is, they appear to be on our side. And for whatever
reasons they need to keep their identity a secret....”*




Draco turned to face her and stared her intently in the eye. *“Damned good reasons,”* he
insisted.




“*Yes, damned good reasons...I think it would be best if this remains our little secret for
the moment.”*




Draco could hardly believe it, Granger was actually taking him into her confidence. Had the
world gone mad?




“*You mean you aren't going to mention this to your precious Potty,”* asked Draco.




She bit at the corner of her lip, a pained expression on her face. It was a rather cute
expression. “*Not just yet,”* she said slowly as if weighing her words. *“We have bigger
things on our plate at the moment.”*




Hermione then did something that almost knocked Draco on his own ass. She got up close enough to
him that he could feel her breath on his face. It had a minty smell, as if she had recently charmed
her teeth clean. He could also smell some flowery scent on her skin and in her hair. Her close
proximity to him nearly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.




“*But eventually Malfoy Harry is going to need to know about him. Bad things might happen if
he doesn't.”*




The way she was looking at Draco and the way she emphasized the word **him** let Draco know
that she had sussed everything out.




“*I understand,”* he said. *“But as you said so yourself there are bigger
things.”*




She sighed. “*Yes there are.”*




The two of them stood in silence once again, each weighing their own thoughts. Then suddenly
Hermione let out a long, lazy yawn and stretched her arms, feline like, to the sky. Draco
couldn't take his eyes off of her.




“*Well, I think it's time for little witches to be in bed. I'm going to turn
in.”*




Hermione walked to the exit of the parapet without a glance backward at Draco. Which was a good
thing since at the moment Draco was admiring her nicely round arse. He caught himself in mid-ogle
and reluctantly brought his eyes up higher.




“*Um...Granger,”* he said. Hermione, who had reached the door at this point, turned back to
look at him. *“Since were all sharing tonight, what did you really see when you drank out of that
cup?”*




Draco didn't particularly want to hear her answer, he just wanted to keep her up on the
tower with him chatting for a little while longer. He was bored, he told himself.




Hermione stared at him hard for a moment, as if weighing what she was going to say. Then all of
a sudden a sad yet endearingly pretty smile crossed her face.




“*It doesn't really matter Malfoy. It can't ever happen. I won't let it.”*




Draco had no clue what would make her so melancholy, but as the light of the moon crossed her
face he was almost astounded at just how lovely she actually was. Had she always looked like this
or was it just a trick of the lighting, he wondered. Before he could ponder the question further he
saw her inch closer out the door.




“*Why don't you get some sleep too Malfoy. I'm sure we are going to have another long
day ahead of us tomorrow.”*




“*When don't we,”* he grumbled.




She merely smiled saucily. *“Night Malfoy. Don't let the bed pixies bite,”* she said in
a low husky voice as she winked her eye and was out of his sight.




Draco never figured out if it was the smile or the wink that did him in, but once he was alone
out on the tower he had to control his urge to plunge his hands in his pants and have a wank right
there on the spot. Draco had fallen in lust.







Which he found odd. Prior to that chilly autumn evening he had always thought of Granger as some
sexless creature. She hardly was even a separate entity in his mind. He always grouped them
together in his head pottyweaselmudblood, the Tiresome Threesome, the Terrible Trifecta. But that
next day in the Great Hall during breakfast he was so enthralled by the beauty of the girl sitting
across from him that he could barely eat his porridge. Had her eyes always been that large and
sparkling? Had her lips always worn that sexy little pout? Was her skin really that flawless? The
ridiculous brown bush he was used to seeing on her head suddenly turned in to a mass of coppery,
chestnut colored, cinnamon, and chocolate hued tendrils battling it out for dominance over her
head. Draco had always prided himself on his long and silky blond locks, but for the first time he
truly understood the term crowning glory. She was goddess! Draco quickly looked around the table to
make sure he hadn't said it out loud.




As a general rule everyone usually ate at the High Table, the table the professors sat at during
the school year, although now it was placed level with the other tables so everyone could sit
around it. Across from him Granger was slowly stirring her spoon in her tea cup as she read from a
book propped up on the table entitled Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes. Potty and the
Werewolf were having some intense discussion a few seats down to his left. The brown skinned, older
Weasel was sharing a laugh on the other side of the table to Draco's right with that Moody
bastard who had embarrassed him back in 4th and a young-ish looking witch who he could have sworn
had neon pink hair just the other day. It was now an electric blue with white streaks. Bah! He
couldn't keep up with Potty's Merry Band of Do Gooders.




But where was King Weasel? He wasn't in his usual spot, spellotaped to Granger's hip.
Seriously, how was the poor girl supposed to breathe? And just like that, as if Draco had called
his name out loud, the redheaded idiot came striding thru the entrance door and bumbled his way up
to Granger's side. Draco watched them like a hawk. Hermione, unaware of Weasel's presence,
continued to read her book and stir her tea. The prat then snuck up behind her and plucked the book
out of her hand. Granger, spinning around in her seat, grinned up into the face of the gangly red
head when she saw it was he who filched her book. But her eyes didn't smile. At least Draco
tried to convince himself of that, but had to admit he could have been inventing it. King Weasel
plopped down in the seat next to her and shyly handed the book back to her. For his reward she
placed a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. The idiot turned almost as red as his hair. They both made
cow eyes at each other. Draco told himself that she was just over doing it. Draco wanted to empty
his stomach on the table. He quickly stood up from his seat, tossed a few insults at the lovebirds
(and Potty for good measure) and grumpily stalked away from the table.




When Draco was 7 or 8 his mother took him into *Twillfit's* to buy him a dress robe for
a party she was throwing. As the diminutive store owner Thimbalina Twillfit measured him, his
mother's attention was caught by a family of red mopped children being led by a rather plump
looking woman with similarly colored hair. The troop marched into the second hand robe shop across
the street from them. His mother turned back around to face him and said in her cultured, posh
voice “*poor*”. She said it with the same sneer she would have uttered “*house-elf*” or
“*mudblood*”. That was the first time he knew the Weasleys for what they were, lower then him.
However, nearly ten years later, a Weasley would have something that he was shocked to discover he
wanted. Granger.




And he did want her. Sometimes he imagined himself rogering her good and proper all over the
school. No place was sacred: The Slytherin common room, the Quidditch Pitch, the Potions dungeon
classroom, Greenhouse Number 3, the Astronomy Tower. Especially the Astronomy Tower. One time he
woke up during an Order meeting surprised to see Hermione looking at him queerly across the room.
Only moments before he could have sworn she had been sitting on his lap. Heh.




When he told Hermione about these dreams years later he was treated to a playful, yet slightly
painful, swat to the head followed by a prissy declaration of “perv”. They were friends by this
time. That didn't negate the fact that Draco still found her quite beddable. He just
wouldn't mind cuddling afterwards now.




For Draco, Hermione became the first woman, besides his mother, that he ever respected and
honestly liked as a person. And most importantly wanted to shag rotten. All at the same time! It
was an interesting conundrum. He thought she was one of the most brilliant witches he would ever
meet. Her knowledge of obscure potions and charms often astounded him and she would often take
standard spells and improve on them to suit her needs. Power radiated off of her in waves. Her mind
came monstrously in handy when he was taking the tests to get into the Department. She would often
tutor him for hours if he needed it.




Draco also discovered not too long after he joined up with the Gooders that Granger was actually
quite fun to be around. As long as she wasn't stressed that they were all going to die any
minute. She had a clever personality and a quick witted sense of humor that could be right cheeky.
She was always good company to have if you wanted to go for a pint at the Cauldron.




And to top it all off she was sex walking! The cute young girl matured into an attractive
looking woman. And the most alluring part was that she didn't even seem to recognize the
fact.




In actuality a bloke would probably think her plain if they just gave her a passing glance.
There were far prettier faces, but Hermione Granger had more sex appeal in her pinky then half a
dozen other witches combined. Sometimes Draco wondered if she didn't have some distant veela
ancestor that she didn't know about. He didn't know how else to explain the effect she had
on men. Maybe it was the way she would stare intently into your eyes, looking up from hooded lids,
as she talked to you. Maybe it was the naughty little way she would nibble on the corner of her
full lips as she puzzled something out. It might have been the way she would throw her head back
and let out a full throaty laugh, exposing mile after mile of her creamy neck, when she found
something particularly humorous.




Or it could have been the ass, Draco thought. Definitely the ass. And the hips. And the thighs.
And the calves. And the gloriously ample sized chest. Granger was all curves. Her baby fat had
worked it's self in to a nice little pattern that gave her a drool worthy hour glass figure. In
Draco's opinion her body was made for sex, a fact that she could not hide as she strode boldly
thru wizarding society in her muggle clothing. He might not have that high of an opinion of
muggles, but Draco surely wanted to thank the fellow who had come up with the idea for tight, low
slung designer jeans. They were truly a wondrous thing to behold! Most trendy young witches liked
to be waifishly thin, slim figures went well with French cut robes, but not Hermione. Despite her
best efforts to slim down; eating like a bird, running in the mornings, cutting out sweets entirely
she steadily maintained her pleasingly rounded figure. Draco didn't see why she bothered to go
to all the trouble to try and look like all the other sickle a dozen witches anyways. In his
opinion she always looked like a million galleons.




Without a doubt he was captivated by her. Sometimes he would almost get the impression that she
felt something for him too. A lingering stare here. A seemingly more then platonic caress there.
But he could never be sure. That is until the night of Scrimgeour's party, nearly six and a
half years ago.




Rufus Scrimgeour had decided to throw a little fete for the the people in the Ministry he deemed
his Rising Stars. In truth the shrewd Minister of Magic was determined to keep tabs on the heads of
his various departments. He was not above using the young and impressionable new recruits under
those heads to do so. Scrimgeour rented out a section of a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley and
invited a few select people and their dates to attend.




Hermione was most definitely a star at the Ministry. She and Arthur Weasley were making great
and exciting strives in the MMBA office. She also had a formidable reputation due to the work she
did with the Order during the war. Draco figured that he had been invited because Scrimgeour wanted
to make it look like there was no hard feelings about the hassle they had given him when he joined
up. Bunch of divs! Nadia Fallowes was there from the Magical Creature Department, while Terry Boot
and McLaggen were representing Games&Sports and Cooperation, respectively. Amy Kitterey was
there for the Accident&Catastrophe office, though unsurprisingly not one Unspeakable bothered
to show up. Fabian Bole and Roger Davies were both mover and shakers in Transportation, but Draco
knew that the only reason the latter was at this dinner party was because he was currently dating
the Ministry's Golden Girl.







Hermione had been going out with Davies for only a few months. Draco thought that Davies was a
tosser. He was a notorious brown noser who Draco was sure was using Hermione to improve his
standing at the Ministry. When he shared these suspicions with Hermione however she didn't seem
too fussed.




“*He's pretty and he's a nice distraction*,*”* she told him in a bored
sounding voice. *“I don't really care about the rest*.*”*




“*So you would have taken up with any old pretty face then*,*”* Draco asked, trying
desperately not to sound bitter.




“*Maybe,”* she said innocently.




She then smiled slyly at him. The woman was such a bloody tease!







Hermione took up with Davies a few months after the Weasel dumped her. At least that's what
the Prophet said, but since they seemed to take glee at putting Hermione down Draco payed them no
heed. Although Hermione never quite gave him a solid reason for the break (we grew a part) Draco
wasn't able to take advantage of the situation for his own ends because he was on his first go
round with Pringle at the time. He had tried to dump the simpering miss once Hermione had become
free, but it was no good. Pristy was determined to marry and she was determined to marry a Malfoy.
She had practically invited herself to this dinner in fact. Pristy, even with her longish face was
pretty enough to turn heads whenever she walked into a room. But to Draco, in comparison to
Hermione, she didn't stand a chance.




The Golden Girl had come dressed to the gathering in a strapless silky coral colored dress with
a low cut bodice. The skirt of the dress clung to her as it drifted down to the floor. It would
have been a miracle for her to be able to move in it if not for the slit that started indecently
high on her right thigh and allowed her luscious leg to peek thru. She topped the outfit off with a
pair of fashionably strappy matching heels.




When Hermione first walked in the restaurant Draco had nearly been made speechless at the sight
of so much skin. It was December so the temperature was cold. He figured she must have used a
heating charm on pretty boy Davies and herself. He was very thankful for heating charms. As she
slid into a seat next to Draco and smiled sweetly at him he felt an overwhelming urge to punch out
Davies, throw Hermione over his shoulder, and make for the nearest room with a Do Not Disturb sign
on the door knob. Who was he kidding, he would do her right here on this very table in front of
Scrimgeour himself if she would let him get away with it.




Draco felt like slapping himself. He had to get over these wild fantasies of his. He decided to
turn his full attention to Pristine and ignore Hermione the rest of the evening. It almost worked
too. That was until he felt Hermione go stiff beside him. He looked at her face and saw that her
attention was drawn across the room at a table where two couples were being seated. One of the
couples was She Weasel and the Prat Who Lived. Unfortunately the other couple was Hermione's ex
and the scattered brained tart he had been dating since the split. What was her name again, Draco
tried to recall. Beige? Lavender Beige? Blue? That wasn't it. All he knew was that the blonde
bubble head had been in the same year as them back at school.




Draco turned to look back at Hermione and was surprised to see that she was trembling. She
wasn't quite angry, he knew full well what a hacked off Hermione looked like, but she did seem
extremely upset as she gazed steadily at the two currently cozy couples. They each were so wrapped
up in one another that they didn't notice the Ministry party table at all. She Weasel was
currently trying to make her way into Potty's lap so she could put her tongue down his
throat.




Draco was about to ask Hermione if she was ok, when suddenly she rose up quickly from her seat
and stalked across the floor in her high click clacking heels. For a moment Draco wasn't even
sure what had happened. No one at the table even blinked an eye at the brunette's hasty
departure. Her own boyfriend was too busy forcing all of his nose up Scrimgeour tight arse. Her
friends were in their own world and probably didn't even know that she was in the same
restaurant. Draco quickly got up from his chair and made for the direction that Hermione exited.
Pristy was so busy being entertained by the overgrown behemoth McLaggen that she didn't pay
Draco the slightest attention.




Draco eventually found himself in a a dimly lit hallway walking pass a door that said Witches
and another one that said Wizards. He could smell Hermione's scent near by. Chanel No.5, she
once told him. He had gone into muggle London and purchased a bottle of the fragrance for Pristy,
but it never quite smelled the same on her. Like a mix of wild flowers and newly bought parchment.
The same scent that was getting stronger and stronger as Draco continued to walk down the hall as
it veered right.




“*Hermione,”* he asked tentatively. *“Are you back here?”*




Draco heard not a peep, although he was certain that Hermione was indeed near. Just last month
Shacklebot, one of his trainers at the Department, had taught Draco's Auror class the subtle
signs of detecting a disillusionment charm. It was one of those times when you really had to rely
on your senses instead of your wand. He could hear the faint ruffle of silk on skin. He imagined he
could almost hear the soft staccato beat of a heart that wasn't his own. As he neared the end
of the hall he suddenly turned to the wall on his right side and stuck his hand out. He came in
contact with something warm and firm yet at the same time deliciously squidgy. He had his hand on
Hermione Granger's silk clothed breast.




“*Get your bloody hands off of me Draco before I hex them into hooves!”*




Draco reluctantly pulled back his hand.




“*You can be such an enormous prat sometimes you know,”* she said irritably as she cast the
charm to make herself appear again. Seconds later Draco was looking in to a set of furious angry
eyes. The lovely dark amber that fascinated him seemed to turn a murky shade that went well with
her cheesed off demeanor.




“*What the bleeding hell do you think you're doing feeling me up like that,”* she
yelled as she dropped her wand down the front of her dress. Lucky wand!




“*No need to throw a wobbly pet*,*”* Draco said nonchalantly. *“I just came out here
to make sure you were ok. That's what friends do.”*




Hermione rolled her eyes. “*Gee Draco, thanks for the lesson. I don't know how I ever got
along with out you sharing your worldly wisdom.”*




“*Now see here Miss, no need to get all shirty with me,”* he said barely holding back the
aggravated tone in his voice. *“I was just worried about you.”*




“*Well you needn't be. I'm a big girl, thanks,”* she said nastily. *“I just came
out here cause I needed to go to the loo.”*




“*Oh of course,”* snickered Draco condescendingly. *“That's all it was. Had nothing
to do at all with a certain wanker who walked in.”*




Hermione's eyes went up two sizes when he said this. *“I don't know what you're
talking about,”* she said.




But she did know. He could tell by the way her teeth went to work on her mouth!




“*C'mon Hermione, you are far too smart to play dumb. I saw Weasley and the little blonde
of his walk in. You don't have to pretend with me.”*




Hermione looked at him oddly for a second before shaking her head and leaning back dejectedly
against the hard sea foam green wall.




“*Go away Draco,”* she said miserably as she threw her head back. *“You have no clue what
your talking about.”*




Draco took a step towards her. “*I don't, do I,”* he asked. *“Weasley only dropped
you like so much rubbish and is currently tap dancing all over your heart. Beside that fact you
still love him. Am I right?”*




“*Draco,”* Hermione said in a pained voice, *“you don't understand. I almost
don't understand!”* She turned her head to the side and willed herself not to cry.
*“It's not Ron. Not really.”*




“*I know what it's like,”* he said getting so close to her that he could count every
single freckle on her nose. His voice was low and thick, choked up with an emotion he was afraid
would over power him soon.




“*I know what it's like to want someone, even though you know that that person might never
feel the same way about you.”*




Hermione turned her large round eyes to his. Though she struggled to remain aloof a riot of
emotions played themselves on her face. Fear, confusion, loneliness. But most importantly there was
relief. Sweet relief. Draco did know what she was going thru.




“*I know what it's like to try and talk yourself out of what you know you feel.”*




Hermione slowly closed her eyes as Draco's words washed over her.




“*And most importantly I know what it's like to think you'll go mad if you never
tell.”*




Her eyes opened wide in surprise as she let out a gasp. Draco's right hand had somehow found
it's way to her left shoulder and was gently messaging it. She looked up into his eyes and
nervously swallowed as she saw them burning with desire, desire for her. She chuckled awkwardly
trying to defuse the situation before Roger or Pristine came in to the hall. Or worse, Harry and
Ron.




“*Methinks you've mistaken my friendship for something else Draco,”* she said
coyly.




“*No,”* he drawled as he innocently gave a squeeze to her shoulder and for his trouble
watched Hermione swallow, *“I think I know exactly what this is.”*




He placed his body slightly against hers and leaned his head on her forehead. Their noses were
almost touching.




“*We can not do this Draco,”* Hermione whispered, her voice sounding very fragile. She
seemed to be having trouble breathing.




“*Why not,”* he asked huskily as a hand crept into her hair.




“*Damn, damn, damn...”* she whispered as Draco's thumb began to slowly rub at her
temple. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as they closed.




“*I want you Hermione. Merlin only knows how I want you! I have for a long time.”*




She opened her eyes and looked at him intensely. It was that moment that he knew that she had
known how he felt all along. 




“*And I know you want me too,”* he pressed boldly. *“If you didn't you would have had
your wand out ages ago.”*




Hermione swallowed the meek denial she was going to make. He was right, in a way. She could have
stopped it a long time ago, years ago if she had wanted to. It's just that some sick, twisted
part of her reveled in seeing someone else go thru the same hell she continuously occupied.




But she honestly never thought it would go this far.




She grabbed his wrist to stop his hands movement.*“No Draco. We could never work. We just
won't fit,”* she said firmly.




By this time Draco was inching his lips towards her neck.




“*I think we could fit just fine,”* he said in as he began to trace his other hand up the
inside of her barely clothed thigh. It was about to go up her dress. *“If you give it a
chance.”*




“*And then what?”*




Draco stopped what he was doing and looked up at her, a bewildered expression on his face. His
hand however remained on her thigh.




“*Why won't you just let this happen,”* he pleaded petulantly. His hand left her
shoulder and he placed his palm on the wall next to her head instead.




“*You didn't answer the question Draco. And then what,”* she questioned him again as
she tried to push her body closer to the wall, arms laid limp by her sides. *“We shag once.
Probably enjoy it. Shag again.”*




“*Yes, and,”* he said in a terse, obstinate voice.




“*And we might even get together.”*




Draco removed his hand from her thigh and brought both of them to her face. He looked at her
beseechingly. *“Would that be so bad?”*




Hermione's eyes burned from the achings in her heart. It was all there to read if anyone
took the time to do so. Desperation, anxiety, fear, reluctance and something else. Regret?




“*No,”* she said. “*Not at first at least. We'd probably have a few wonderful months
of dinners, and dancing, trips to the cinema. Picnics. And then inevitably it would all come to an
end.”*




“*You don't know that,”* he countered. *“You don't Hermione. The Know-it All
doesn't always have the answer. We could be perfect together. I...I care for you.”*




Draco hadn't even realized the truth of his words until he spoke them. But he knew he
couldn't take them back. He was tired of the charade.




“*So much.”*




“*And I care about you,”* she exclaimed, grabbing his wrists in a tight grip. *“Just not
like that. That's why I know this could never happen. When this would eventually end, and it
will, I would end up loosing you. Us. This thing we have between us. You would come to hate me
because I could never give you what you wanted.”*




Draco felt as if he was drowning in desperation. *“Are you confusing me with Weasley now?
I'm not him Hermione. This is different!”*




“*Is it,”* she asked. *“Ron and I were the best of friends until we let a relationship
bugger it all up! Things are so weird between us now. Our flat is like a war zone. Poor
Harry....”*




“*Fuck Harry,”* he shouted irately.




He wrenched himself from her hold and backed away from her. He was so angry that he felt as
though he couldn't look at her face. He turned his back to her.




“*This isn't about Harry bloody Potter. Not everything is about Potter!”*




“*No,”* she said, voice strained. *“It's not,”*she said, thankful that his back
was turned.




She crossed the short distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed
her right cheek against his muscular back. She could feel him tense at her touch.




“*It's about me being selfish. And not wanting to loose a friend. A friend who I
didn't ask for,”* Draco grunted, *“Merlin knows I didn't ask for, but who I got none
the less. You are my friend Draco. A friend I've been thru hell and back with. A friend that I
couldn't bare to loose.”*




A few tears fell from her eyes and soaked thru his slate blue robes.




“*You mean that,”* Draco said, voice thick.




He felt her gently nod her head against him. He turned to face her, wrapping his own arms around
her small waist and pulling her flush against him.




“*Can we at least be dear friends with benefits,”* he asked innocently.




“*Honestly!”* She slapped his arm. One day he was going to be black and blue if she kept
that up.




Draco chuckled. *“You can't blame a bloke for trying, can you?”*




She giggled as she pulled Draco into a bear hug. He couldn't help putting his face in her
hair and breathing in it's jasmine scent.




“*You know it could have been brilliant,”* he whispered into her ear.




“*I think this is brilliant,”* she said pulling back from him and looking him squarely in
his eyes. She meant it.




“*Yes, well...I guess it is.”*




They stood there for a moment, gazing regretfully at one another, before Draco loosened his hold
around her and grabbed her left hand.




“*Let's head back in. I think Cormac McLaggen is trying to make off with my date,”* he
said, making her laugh.




They began to walk back up the hall, their linked hands swinging freely between them.




“*I wouldn't be surprised. The man is a sex fiend. Though he could do better.”*




“*Come now pet, jealousy does not become you,”* Draco teased.




“*Jealous,”* she exclaimed. “*Of that cow? Please! If she turns sideways she's liable
to slip right thru a crack!”*




Draco guffawed. They were almost to the door.




“*No Draco, I can't say that I'm envious of a girl who prides herself on the fact that
her weight and her her I.Q. match, thanks,”* she said in that tart little voice that always made
his John Thomas stand to attention. Like it was doing now. Thank Merlin for robes!




“*You could do so much better then her. I don't know why you let your mother bully you in
to dating these prissy little princesses. I swear if you would just...”*




Before she could heat up on one of her favorite topics to lecture him about, his sex life, he
stopped her at the door of the restaurants main room and turned her to face him.




“*Are we ok, I mean...”* he asked.




He knew he couldn't help the fact that he still was attracted to her. That he still wanted
to know her spirit and her body in every possible way that law would allow. But he also knew that
he would rather die then do anything to endanger their friendship. He hoped his momentary slip
hadn't done that.




As if knowing that he needed the extra added assurance she squeezed his hand and said,
*“We're ok.”*







For years Draco would play that scene over and over in his head. He knew something held her
back. Sure it was partly because she felt that they had a good thing in the dynamics of their
relationship. She was telling the truth when she said she was scared that adding sex to the mix
would ruin it. But Draco sensed something else. Something deeper that Hermione wasn't willing
to share with him. He wondered if Hermione was even aware of it herself.




At first he assumed it was that she still loved King Weasel, but wasn't willing to admit it.
He wasn't surprised, no one really was, when the two sweethearts reunited later that summer.
But he quickly changed his mind when they broke up again just a few months after the reunion. Draco
began to wonder just what their problem was. It was like they couldn't figure out if they
really wanted to be with each other or not. No, it wasn't Weasley. But whatever that unnamed
thing was it didn't stop him from still wanting her. For Draco, the platonic lines that were
drawn around their friendship would get blurred time and time again until she finally left
England.




Draco never felt the same way about another woman until he finally found himself with his Loony
Love. He dated gaggles of attractive witches of course. Women threw themselves at the sexy
Slytherin on a daily basis. He dated women from the office. He dated women he met out at local
pubs. He dated women his mother set him up with. He dated Pristy so often that the girl naturally
assumed that she was destined to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. She even went so far as to have the
engagement announcement written up and ready to owl over to *The Prophet* as soon as Draco
asked. Unfortunately for her all of that hard work would be in vain. He unceremoniously chucked her
for Luna as soon as he got the chance. Hermione had been right, the silly bint wasn't that
bright.




In Luna Draco found what he had been searching for without even knowing it. Luna met all of his
needs, physically and emotionally. She challenged him, whether it was debating the existence of her
beloved snorkacks or opening his eyes to the prejudices that his parents instilled in him and he
unwittingly still held. She took care of him, making sure he was warmly dressed in the winter or
properly fed at night. She made him laugh; with her, never at her. Luna was his lover. But most
importantly Luna was his friend.




And Luna was the woman he believed he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.










“'Scuse us buddy.”




Draco was roused from his deep thoughts and turned to see a squat, scruffy man in a brown bowler
hat and matching patched robes staring at him irritably.




“Whaaa....,” Draco said, a confused expression on his face.




“Your blocking the way Guv'.”




“Sorry,” he said as he turned his back to the window he had been staring at and stepped back to
allow the man to pass. The fellow walked by, still brassed off.




Draco watched him walk away before turning back to the display. Draco wasn't sure how long
he had been standing in front of *Magical Moments*. He was sure that when he got back to the
office Potter would be none too pleased to find out that he had not made head way on their case. He
would also be annoyed to learn that Draco had spent all day in Hogsmeade for no good reason. But
Draco didn't care. This was his life he was deciding here. By buying that ring he was about to
make a huge, monumental move. If Luna wasn't quite ready yet to be the next Mrs. Malfoy he
believed that he was at least ready to let her know that he wanted her in his life long term. He
was prepared to wait for her. He loved her. He was certain of the fact. Even if sometimes, late at
night with Luna fast asleep and curled in his arms, he still remembered amber eyes.




Draco walked into the store.
















*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*























6. Chapter 5
------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**, but a
whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off, post-HBP

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I realized
that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then decided to
throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at least to me)
story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first attempt at
writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if you would
tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.



Not happy with this chapter. I particularly am unhappy with the ending. But I wanted to give
y'all some **H&Hr** for sticking it out with me. It's still flashback though. It
ain't fluffy. I don't think it's angsty. But it's drama for your mama. Enjoy!



There is a quote from Chapter 30 of HBP.



**Warning:** If you like the idea of a poor little Hermione sitting in the corner while
pining away for Harry, step away. I mean, she pines, but she is also a logical girl. What do you do
you do when you think you can't have what you really want? Substitute!



**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.









Harry Potter believed he was falling off the broomstick. He had no evidence to support this
theory, in actuality he seemed perfectly normal to the outside world. He still went to work
everyday at the Ministry. He still met up with Ron, George, and a few other of their mates for a
pick-up game of Quidditch every other Saturday. He still made time to clean and tinker with his
antique Silver Arrow whenever it suited his mood. And every evening he ate his meal at his rather
imposing diner table with his lovely wife Ginny. He fit the picture of a perfectly normal bloke
going about his life. But in his head, Harry was sure he was cracking up. How else to explain the
fact that every time he closed his eyes for more then five minutes he would have frighteningly
unfriendly yet delightful dreams about one of his best friends. Dreams in which he did things to,
(and with) that best friend that would make a sexual deviant blush. The only relief that he seemed
to get from his conscience was that at least it was the female one. Unfortunately for Harry that
did not provide as much relief as he would like.




The dreams began back in late November, early December. Harry's team of Aurors had been
tracking a dark sorceress by the name of Bath'sheba Holliway all over the English countryside.
Sheba, as she liked to be called, had a penchant for marrying wealthy older men. That in and of
it's self was no crime. But Sheba had a tiny habit of destroying the souls of the men she
married, and not in the usual wifely way either. She would wed a perfectly healthy and robust
middle aged merchant or a spry old gent of sixty years who happened to own a large parcel of land
and little less then a week after the wedding the new husband would be found dead, a withered shell
of his former self. Sheba would have already left the village to find her next prey.




Her scheme luckily was uncovered by a young medical examiner from one of the larger towns Sheba
hit. The gentleman discovered that there were large trace of amounts of belladonna, lovage, aconite
and the venom from the fangs of a runespoor in the system of one of the deceased. These were the
most important ingredients found in a powerful poison called Animatentia, a potion that the
Ministry banned the making of because it shriveled a person's soul from the inside. It was like
a Dementors kiss, but in liquid form. It also was a poison that only a magical person would know to
brew. The medical examiner just so happened to be a Squib.




After the MMBA office made the arrangements with the proper muggle authorities, fifteen victims
were discovered in neighboring villages who had all died from Animatentia . Two other things linked
the poor stiffs. All of them were very well off and all of them had days prior to their death
married a woman named Bath'sheba.




Though the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now knew that they had a rouge witch on their
hands, Harry, Draco and the rest of their team had a difficult time finding the woman because she
changed her appearance from town to town. Eventually Harry and Draco came up with a plan to smoke
Sheba out. They set up a sting operation in the town of Hever; they had reason to believe that
Sheba might strike there next. They used one of their fellow Aurors, a fresh faced 20 year old who
had just made it out of his training class, as bait.




Jacoby was a Metamorphmagus. He transformed himself into a well to do peer of the court who was
retiring in his old age to his books in a newly renovated manor house near the castle. Sheba was
upon the man in no less then a week, this time disguised as a willowy strawberry blonde. She was
engaged to him two weeks later. Their wedding went off without a hitch on their one month
anniversary. The night of their honeymoon she sent her brand new husband to bed with a hot toddy
and a kiss. As soon as Jacoby believed his 'accommodating' bride was asleep he owled over
the contents of his drink to the small pub in town where the rest of Potter's Posse were
waiting. After the necessary charms were done on the evidence and Animatentia was indeed
discovered, the Second Division roared into action, wands cocked. When they apprehended Sheba at
the manor house she was so unprepared for the invasion that she momentarily dropped the glamor she
had been employing.




The woman was a hag! Literally! All long gray hair, crooked nose, and rotting teeth to prove it.
Jacoby was delirious with joy that she had never allowed him to exercise his husbandly duties. As
she was dragged off to be sentenced she petulantly wailed that she did it all for love.




Catching Holliway was a big get for Harry's career. Even though Malfoy helped with the
capture, Harry was considered the whole brains of the operation. There was even departmental gossip
that when Shacklebot eventually retired Harry was most likely to take his position as First
Division Lead. His family and friends were very proud of his accolades and the attention it
brought, especially Ginny, but for Harry all the praise fell on deaf ears. He no longer felt any
passion for his career. He was a highly accomplished and decorated Auror who had an uncanny knack
for the job, but the drive that made him quit Puddlemere and join the training program almost 4
years ago was now missing.




The same thing happened when he was playing pro. He was Puddlemere United's star player and
Seeker from the moment he was drafted at 18. No one was better at catching the snitch then him. He
even beat the British record during a game with Tutshill, two and three quarter seconds. But to be
fair the silly snitch was slightly batty and flew right at his nose.




Regardless of the fact, by time Harry was just a few months shy of his 21st birthday the
Quidditch fire in his belly was extinguished. He felt set adrift, as though he had nothing to hang
on to. He figured he was having these feelings because he no longer found the game challenging. He
had already played for England in his first World Cup against Bulgaria and won, stealing the snitch
right from under Viktor Krum. He no longer had anywhere to go.




Then he hit upon a thought. In Harry's mind the last time he felt any real rush or sense of
meaning was back when he, Hermione, and Ron were out quite frankly saving the world. So Harry
decided to do something drastic. He played his final game for Puddlemere in May of 2001 and August
of that same year he became an Auror trainee.




At first he had a difficult time of joining up, the Department Head seemed to be a real hard
arse, but the Minister of Magic cleared the way for him. It was even arranged for Harry to be sped
thru the program. Harry could only assume that his defeat of the greatest dark wizard of all helped
earn him extra credit. Either way Harry soon found a purpose again. He enjoyed his work. The fact
that he was responsible for making the world one dark wizard shorter, one witch with an apple
fetish less was comforting. Ginny even eventually got over the fact that he wasn't in Witch
Weekly on a regular basis. Interestingly enough, all of the little Quidditch fangirls who cried
into their pillows over the news of him retiring from the game soon became Auror groupies. They
followed his exploits in the Daily Prophet and even carried around scrapbooks full of his clippings
with them. In the end it would seem that Harry made the right choice.




Then the usual unhappiness found it's self inside his heart again. Harry could not deny to
himself that he felt that he was missing something. What that something was he had no idea. He had
an attractive wife, a lovely (though much too large for them) house, great friends and an exciting
career path. What was wrong? Was it the job again?




The night that Sheba Holliway was sentenced before the Wizengamot Harry came home to a sumptuous
diner prepared by Ginny. After eating he floo'ed Ron to discuss the game between Portree and
the Harpies that happened the week prior and to arrange a lunch get together for the next day. He
gave Hedwig a few extra owl treats before letting her out of her cage for her nightly hunt. Then he
settled down with his wife in the lounge to listen to the Wireless before heading up to bed with
her a few hours later.




Once nestled in their master bedroom suite he enjoyed a quick satisfactory romp with Ginny
before turning over to go to sleep and to his dreams. Once there he made love over and over again
with a brown haired, brown eyed beauty that made his skin feel as though it were made of fire. He
awoke in the morning to find that his night time gallivanting left a mess of the sheets. Ginny was
kind enough to pretend that it wasn't that big of a deal. Just joked, as she was collecting the
linen to be laundered, that he had better have been dreaming of her. Thankfully for him she was
half way out the door when she said it, thus missing the shamefaced look of her husband as he
remembered just who the woman who had occupied his dream that night was. Hermione.




The next day when he met Ron at *The Cauldron* he almost blurted this shocking news to him.
Ron was his best mate. His brother. And that little bit of truth is what held Harry's tongue.
He wasn't about to share with his wife's older brother the news that he had a kinky dream
about a woman that said older brother once knew biblically and still might love. Phew! He might as
well perform hare kare on himself, especially since Ron was the sort of bloke who preferred to let
his fists do the talking for him.




When it came to woman the two men usually never held anything back. There were no hidden
peccadilloes between them and they were often quite frank with each other when they discussed the
opposite sex. Only two women were unofficially on the DO NOT Discuss list: Ginny and Hermione.
Ginny, because Ron would have rather committed ritual suicide then hear that Ginny liked it when
Harry pulled her hair in bed. And Hermione because...well...Hermione was as good as Harry's own
sister wasn't she? He didn't want to hear about Ron doing those kind of thing to her.




That only left to discuss the other women in Ron's life that he had shagged; Lavender, Luna,
Laura Madly (a Hufflepuff from their year who was a notorious Quidditch groupie), and some muggle
woman he had picked up in a pub one night. Sometimes Harry's virility felt a bit inadequate in
comparison to Ron's track record. Ginny had been Harry's school sweetheart. They had
married not too long after she graduated from Hogwarts. She was the only woman Harry had ever been
with. This often led to Harry being only a captivated audience to Ron's fond reminiscing. Harry
normally didn't have anything to contribute to their male bonding. If the illicit little
fantasy had been about someone, anyone else Harry probably would have told Ron about it. But as
such....Bollocks to that!




So Harry kept his little dream to himself and despondently half listened to Ron detail the on
going drama of his romance with Lavender (the woman wanted an engagement ring like yesterday). He
brushed the Hermione dream to the back of his mind and tried to convince himself that it was the
stress of the job and the after effects of too little sleep that caused him to have such a heady
vision. He assured his conscience that it was a one time thing and that it wouldn't happen
again.




That night he dreamt of Hermione chanting his name over and over again as he took her from
behind.




Ginny was slightly less understanding about the mess that next morning. She hardly cracked a
smile as she changed the sheets and sent Dobby on his way with the soiled ones. Harry half
suspected that he might have called out Hermione's name in his sleep and that was the cause of
Ginny's peeved attitude with him. But then Harry conceded that if that were the case he would
not currently have testicles because his wife would have hexed them off promptly. No, Ginny just
seemed to be annoyed that her 24 year old husband seemed to be suffering from a condition that most
teen aged boys had under control by the age of 16. Harry almost wanted to tell her that this whole
situation was a little more serious then a simple wet dream, but once again he remembered his
testicles and kept his mouth shut.




This went on for weeks. Whenever Harry would settle down to even a cat nap within minutes
Hermione would be there before him. Under him. On top of him. Distracting would be the best way to
describe it.




Ginny was starting to become aggravated at his nightly pastime though she tried her best not to
show it. At one point she moved out of the bedroom they shared and down the hall to one of the many
guest rooms complaining that his snoring was keeping her up at night. They still slept together
though. But quite frankly nothing he did with Ginny in the real world could match the heat and
passion of what he felt when he was with Dream Hermione. This bothered Harry greatly. Hermione was
his friend and only his friend, Ginny was his wife. He married her. She was still the pretty,
funny, athletic girl she was when he proposed to her over five years ago. She was still the girl
that helped him forget who he was and made him feel normal, something he had never felt til he
first dated her when he was 16. She was like a warm blanket, covering him and shielding him from
the world and it's problems. Why then could he not get off his mind a woman who had never been
more then one of his dearest childhood friends? A woman who he hadn't seen in years.




He and Hermione practically went thru the fire together when they were still just barely kids.
Ron too. The three friends faced adventure after adventure by each other's side. They became an
inseparable team not too long after he and Ron saved Hermione from that troll their first year.
Thats why he shouldn't have been so shocked when at the end of their 6th year, when Harry was
preparing to embark on one of the hardest journeys of his life, his two best friends refused to
leave his side. Harry had just attended his wise old mentor Dumbledore's funeral and broken
things off with Ginny to protect her. Dumbledore had set before him a quest to find the 4 horcruxes
that held Tom Riddle's soul and he knew that as his girlfriend Ginny could be used as a target
to get to him.




He also knew that his friends could be hurt, but the idea of parting from them as well was
almost too much to bear. He needed them. He relied on them. Ron barely left his side when he had to
travel into the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione helped him change time to rescue his godfather Sirius.
Both of them fought valiantly at the Ministry when he dragged them on his ill fated rescue mission.
Now he was about to go on a crusade that seemed almost too daunting for him. How could he possibly
manage without them by his side? How could he make it thru without Ron's bravery? How could he
manage without Hermione's brilliance?




Deep down he knew he needed his friends' help, but how could he ask? How could he ask them
to quite possibly sacrifice their own lives for his cause? No he couldn't do it. Even if it
meant going it alone and being the tragic little hero the papers tried to make him out to be. Harry
should have known better though. Right after the funeral Ron and Hermione let him know of their
intentions to go with him wherever he chose to lead them.







“*You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had
time, haven't we?”*







As Hermione spoke those words Harry knew that he wouldn't have to go thru this nightmare
alone.




Their first stop after school let out was Number 4 Privet Drive. Dumbledore had stressed the
importance of Harry going back there for the last time before he became of age. Harry figured it
had something to do with the blood protection he got from being around his mother's sister Aunt
Petunia.




When the Dursleys came to pick him up from the train station they were as disgruntled to have
him back in their presence as ever. But Uncle Vernon's temper almost reached an apoplectic
pitch when he pulled the car into the drive and discovered Hermione and Ron, both dressed in jeans
and t-shirts similar to Harry's, standing in front of the house. After getting off the Hogwarts
Express the Trio decided that Hermione would apparate Ron and herself to the Dursley's house.
They figured that Uncle Vernon wouldn't let them in the car and besides there wouldn't be
too much room in the back since Dudley was the size of a baby pachyderm. Harry barely fit in there.
They had already sent Crookshanks, Pig, and Hedwig ahead with Ginny to the Burrow so as not to
further complicate matters. Uncle Vernon looked like a charging gorilla as he made his way to the
doorstep. Hermione however held her ground. Ron, seeing the determined look on her face followed
suit.




“*What is the meaning of this,”* he bellowed quite loudly at the two teens. He then turned
an accusatory eye toward Harry. *“What have I told you about letting these freak friends of yours
come here boy? That's it! I've had just about enough of this nonsense. First that senile
old fool assaulted us this summer and now....”*




“*Silencio*!”




Hermione cast the spell at all three Dursleys simultaneously. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley gaped
at her dumbly as she held her wand steadily out towards them. Harry and Ron even looked at her in
amazement. Was this Hermione Granger using magic against 'innocent' muggles?




Vernon still worked his mouth to and fro as he spat out silent ugly words, if his purple face
was any indicator of his feelings. Aunt Petunia fainted at the disgrace of it all, there was no
telling how many of their neighbors were viewing this display. Dudley tried to make a run for it
back to the car, but Hermione threw an impediment jinx on him to stop him. She also shot one at
Uncle Vernon.




“*Err...Hermione, what do you think your doing?”*




It wasn't that he minded watching the Dursleys be humiliated, it was loads of fun seeing
Dumbledore mess with them the summer before, Harry just didn't like the fiery look that was
burning in Hermione's eyes as she spelled the family.




“*Blimey Hermione,”* concurred Ron, *“you could get in terrible trouble for all of
this.”*




“*Don't worry, no one saw,”* she told them. *“Besides, right when the car pulled up
the drive I surrounded the doorway with a confunding spell. If any of your neighbors happened to
have glanced over all they would have seen was the six of us having a jolly little chat on the
front steps.”*




Harry and Ron looked at Hermione as if she were a creature they had never encountered before.
All Harry could do was thank whoever was responsible for fate that Hermione was on his side. It was
scary almost sometimes the spells she was able to perform.




“*Now Ron if you please, levitate Blondy over there into the house. I'll take Mr.
Reasonable over here,”* she said sarcastically walking up to Uncle Vernon and plucking the house
keys from his frozen hands. Harry was just about to whip out his wand to levitate his aunt when
Hermione furrowed her brows together and shot him a disapproving glance.




“*No Harry, you're still not of age yet. If Ron or I catch hell for this at least we will
have that argument to back us up. We can't afford for you to get in any unneeded
trouble.”*




Although Harry felt slightly annoyed and hampered in by Hermione's words he did have to
accede that they made sense. So instead of using magic he lifted his aunt Petunia in his arms so he
could carry her in the house. It wasn't an easy task either. For such a bony looking woman she
was quite heavy!




Once Hermione unlocked the door and all three teens managed to get their perspective Dursley in
the house everyone settled into the living room. Hermione had the boys place Harry's aunt,
uncle, and cousin on the couch. Ron took a seat in a chair nearby and Harry went to stand by the
fire place. Hermione sat down on the little coffee table in front of the Dursleys. She then ended
the spells on them and sprayed a shot of water out of her wand on Petunia to rouse her from her
faint.




“*Hey now girl! What is it you think you are doing to my wif-”*




Hermione sighed as she daintily crossed her legs in front of her and rested her wand arm on her
knee.




“*I was actually trying to wake her up so we all could have a pleasant chat. But silly me
Vernon, you seem incapable of doing anything that even remotely resembles the word pleasant.
That's why I had to shut you up again,”* Hermione said looking Harry's uncle straight in
the eye, a hint of edge in her voice.




“*You may also notice that you can't move your legs or arms. I've made you incapable
of doing so.”*




Ron and Harry looked at each other across the room. They hadn't even noticed Hermione saying
the incantation to do such.




“*What do you want from us,”* Aunt Petunia asked in a tremulous voice. Apparently Hermione
had only silenced Harry's uncle.




Hermione studied Petunia's face before speaking in a low, yet clear voice.




“*What do I want from you? What do I want,”* asked Hermione mockingly, her eyes never
leaving Petunia. *“Hmmm. There are many ways I can answer that question. Let's see, I want
you to learn how to make your husband shut his gob a time or two so we could have a civil
discussion.”*




At this Uncle Vernon began pitching back and forth in his seat. He was beyond upset and began to
make a blustery noise at the back of his throat. Regardless Hermione's spell still stuck.




“*I want that beady eyed whale of a child of yours to stop leering at me as if I were a
chipolata.”*




Dudley indignantly gasped at the comment. Truth be told he had been looking at Hermione as if
she were good enough to eat.




“*And I want a nice helping of steak and kidney pie this evening because I'm famished and
would like to enjoy a decent meal if I have to put up with the present company. Those are just some
of the things I want. Truth be told what I want could fill up Buckingham palace.”*




Ron looked on at Hermione concernedly. He had never seen her in such a state. He slowly moved to
get up from his seat, but with a simple hand gesture Hermione waved him back into it. Oddly enough
she had never took her eyes from the Dursleys so Harry couldn't figure out how she was aware of
anything else going on around her. He himself was entranced by the picture of Hermione working
herself into a right proper rage. Even the bird incident in Flitwick's classroom had nothing on
this.




“*But what I need,”* she continued, “*oh, what I need, that is an entirely different
question.”*




Hermione scooted closer to the edge of the table making the Dursleys scoot back on the sofa in
trepidation.




“*You see my dear Petunia, I need for the three of you loathsome...”*




She looked at Uncle Vernon.




“*Miserable...”*




She looked at Aunt Petunia. 




“*Disgusting people,”* she said turning to stare Dudley down, “*to act like human beings
for once in your petty little lives.”*




Aunt Petunia had had about enough of this.




“*Now you listen to me you silly little girl,”* she said, voice rising, eyes popping out of
her skull like face. She opened her mouth to continue but Hermione *silencioed* her as well.
Harry almost wondered if Dudley was going to speak up so she could make it a hat trick.




“*No,”* Hermione countered forcefully, “*you listen to me. You see that man there,”*
she asked gesturing to where Harry was on her left. “*No Vernon, he no longer is the boy
you're so fond of calling him,”* she said nastily as she turned to stare at the still fuming
man. “*No one can remain just a child after the horrors he's gone thru in the last few days.
Ha! Few years!”*




Hermione was heating up to her subject now and the sheer power that hung about her was enough to
give even the Dursleys pause. She had their full attention now.




“*Albus Dumbledore died just a few days ago. Did you know that,”* Hermione asked, looking
back and forth between the three on the couch. “*No, I suppose you wouldn't. Pity information
like that wouldn't be found in the muggle news. Information that is about to affect a great
deal of muggles very soon. Muggles like you, in fact.”*




At this news Harry's Aunt Petunia's eyes seemed to outgrow her head. He figured out of
all of them she would be the one who most understood the significance of Dumbledore's
death.




“*Harry has barely just come from Dumbledore's funeral. A man whom he loved and admired. A
man who was the last thing close to a father figure he had in this world. But can he mourn for that
man? No. Why? Because he has to go save the whole bleeding world, that's why,”* she said
angrily brushing a single tear that rolled down her cheek. She took a few seconds to collect
herself before continuing.




“*Let me speak plainly and in small words so that your tiny inept brains can process.”* At
these words Hermione's voice dripped with malice. “*There is a very bad man out there. A very
bad man with a superiority complex. A very bad man who wouldn't right give a damn if you or I
were to die right now. You see I,”* she said putting a hand to her chest, *“I have the bad
grace to have been born from two parents that can't so much as transfigure a hedgehog into a
pin cushion. To him I'm filth.”*




Hermione spat out the words. It hurt Harry almost as much to hear her say it as it must have
hurt for her to say. Looking at Ron he could tell that he felt as much the same.




“*But you? Ron what's lower then filth,”* Hermione asked, barely looking at the
redhead.




The question stumped Ron for just a second before he answered light-heartedly, *“Mountain
troll dung?”*




“*Ah yes,”* she said as she shot Ron a pleased smile that made him blush to his roots,
*“Mountain troll dung.”*




She looked back at the Dursleys. *“You three are the the parasites that live in Mountain troll
dung.”*




Hermione was being unflinchingly cruel to Harry's family, but Harry couldn't have
stopped her from her tirade even if he wanted. Which he didn't.




“*If you were wiped off the face of the planet I'm not sure that there would be too many
people who would give a damn.”*




She paused and looked at him then. Their eyes locked and for a second Harry felt as though he
couldn't breath. But the moment passed as soon as Hermione looked back to her captives.




“*But Harry would care. Oh yes, he would. Even after you have treated him like rubbish all
this time. Even after you made him a slave in his own home. Even after you left him to grow up in a
cupboard for the first few years of his life.”*




“*Hermione please...”*




“*No Harry, let me have my say,”* she pleaded fiercely. He simply turned his back to the
room. The emotions that were pouring forth from the girl was becoming almost too much for him to
bear.




“*Harry would care, because his heart is too big not to care. Harry Potter was put in this
world to save so many countless lives. Not because he loves the glitz and glamor of being a hero.
But because he would rather sacrifice his own life then see others get hurt. That trait is as much
a part of him as the green eyes he was born with or his black hair. And that is what he has to do
now.”*




Harry turned back to watch her, amazed by her words.




“*He has to face that big bad man, that megalomaniac who wants to fix the world to suit his
image. That man wants to take away all that we hold dear. Freedom. Love. Life. I might think that
you people are vicious, heartless beasts, but even I don't think you deserve to die simply
because you were born what you are. And neither does Harry,”* Hermione cried as she fought for
breath. Her nose was red and running and her hair stood on top of her head, a beautiful mess. Ron
was gazing at her as though she were the most lovely thing he had ever seen. In that moment Harry
would have been hard pressed not to agree with him.




“*Harry is the only person who can make sure that such a tragedy doesn't happen and right
now he hasn't got that much time to do so. Now for some reason he has to come back to this
godforsaken place before he can start. Due to some, thankfully,”* she stressed the word,
*“insubstantial amount of DNA he shares with you lot he needs whatever protections this place
affords him. He has to stay here for a few weeks before he can be on his way, never to be seen by
the likes of you again,”* she said pointing between them. *“Ron here and I need to be with him
on every step of his journey.”*




Hermione dropped her head into her hands. Her tremendous amount of hair fell in her face veil
like. When she looked back up at the Dursleys Harry thought he caught almost a pleading look on her
face.




“*I don't ask for your hospitality. I don't ask for your kindness. I don't even
ask that you to pretend to care if your nephew lives or dies. But what I do ask is that you
don't fight us on this. Do it for your own sorry existences if that will help you sleep at
night.”*




At this Uncle Vernon made a noise that sounded like the cross between a scoff and a cackle. His
trollish eyes still burnt with a furious fire. Hermione seeing this rolled her eyes and pointed her
wand threateningly at the man.




“*You know what, scratch that! I'm telling you,”* she steamed, her voice sounding
bitter and caustic. *“Simply put, the three of us are staying here. Harry, Ron, and I are going
to be staying in your house for however long we need to and you won't even think to object. You
won't, or God help you...”* Hermione aggressively added, *“because we won't.”*




For a moment silence reigned in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. All the other
occupants seemed fixated on what the bushy haired girl would say next. Even Uncle Vernon had the
good grace to take the threat in Hermione's words seriously. Then Dudley, being his usual
cloddish self, broke the spell.




“*But Harry can't do anything to us. Dad said,”* Dudley smugly retorted. *“Harry got
in all that trouble when he blew up Aunt Marjorie. Harry can't perform magic until
he...he...gets of age. That Dumbly man said that won't happen til he's 17.”*




Uncle Vernon turned his large head as much as he could on it's fat neck to shoot his son a
proud smile. Hermione however seemed to find the whole thing a joke. She even laughed a bit before
she turned all of her attention to Dudley.




“*You really are stupid aren't you.”* It wasn't said in the form of question.
Dudley looked almost humiliated at such a reply. 




“*But your right, Dudley is it? Harry isn't 17 yet,”* she said in an almost sickeningly
sweet tone. *“But I am.”*




Everything began to happen fast after this. Harry was so perturbed by the chilling note in
Hermione's voice that he almost didn't move out of the way quick enough when she pointed
her wand quickly at the fireplace behind him and shot a bluebell ball of flame into it. The hearth
instantaneously exploded into a roaring fire that not only scared the Dursleys, but seemed to
frighten Harry and Ron as well.




But Hermione wasn't finished yet. In a loud crack that echoed thru the house Hermione
disapparated herself in front of the cowering family. Harry then heard the second crack of her
reappearing in a room above them on the second floor. He couldn't tell if Hermione was upset or
not by her powerful outburst, but he figured that she would need one of her friends desperately. He
asked Ron to lift the jinxes off the Dursleys while he went to see about Hermione. It also
didn't hurt to let the sniveling people know that there was also one other guest who was
allowed to perform magic in the house.




Harry ran into the hall and up the stairs. At the sound of feet on the steps Harry's door
shot open. Standing in the frame, looking none the worse for wear, was Hermione.




“*I figured this room was yours,”* she said, eyes twinkling. *“It reeks of unkempt
boy”*




Harry could only stare at her in awe. It was as if the Hermione standing in his room was an
entirely different person from the one who was almost terrorizing the Dursleys downstairs. In fact
Harry wouldn't be shocked if Dudders had left a dudder in his pants at that fabulous display of
wand skill she gave.




“*So what did you think? Was it a bit much?”*




“*W-what,”* Harry stammered out.




Hermione grabbed Harry's hands and pulled him quickly into the disorganized room, that
hadn't been cleaned since the last day he was in it, and brought him over to his bed. They both
sat down facing each other. Harry was still perplexed as Hermione grinned a mischievous, naughty
little girl smile at him.




“*I figured that for people as obtuse as your aunt and uncle I would need to put the fear
of...well...,”* she said pausing, *“a crazed witch with PMS into them. I remembered you
telling me and Ron how Dumbledore messed about with them last summer and figured that something
similar would do just the trick again. So did it,”* she asked hopefully.




All Harry could do was laugh. Hermione truly was the brightest witch of her age! Hell, of any
age!




“*Are you kidding me? I think Aunt Petunia is trying to figure out just what you'd like to
have for afters once you've finished your steak and kidney pudding,”* he delightedly
said.




Hermione only rolled her eyes mirthfully.




“*Silly woman. I said pie.”*




They stayed at the Dursleys for the rest of the month of June. The three teens slept all in
Harry's room. Hermione was given the bed, while he and Ron slept on the floor on either side of
her. At first Harry offered Hermione the use of the spare bedroom. He half suspected that now that
the Dursleys probably thought that Hermione was insane they wouldn't object. At least not where
she could hear them. But she declined the offer. She believed that the three of them needed to be
within arms reach if needed. Harry couldn't disagree with the idea.




The three of them would hold themselves up in that tiny room for hours. At times they would talk
about the murky path ahead of them, but those were rare moments. Mostly they laughed and joked
together, sharing warm memories of their childhoods (Harry didn't have much to add to this of
course), silly antidotes about friends and schoolmates, and fond thoughts of people who had passed.
Sometimes they didn't even speak, just sat near each other content to be in one another's
presence.




The Dursleys mainly let them alone and the Trio returned the favor in kind. The only time when
their paths would cross was if Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to the kitchen for a bite to eat or if
they needed to use the loo or take a bath. But there were no big altercations. Except for the day
that Ron turned Dudley into an albino piglet.




Harry and Ron had been downstairs in the hall waiting for Hermione to come down so they could go
out to eat for a change. Hermione was still in the room changing. As of late her tendency to be
even more girlish was becoming increasingly bewildering to Harry. Ron on the other hand didn't
seem to mind. He said he would pop upstairs to see what was keeping her. Five minutes later Harry
rushed up the stairs due to the commotion. All he could hear was the angry squeals of a pig, the
high strung shrieks of his aunt, and the crazy giggles of Hermione and Ron. When he reached the
landing he saw Petunia cradling a baby pig in her arms as she shouted angry words at Ron. She
wouldn't so much as glance at Hermione. Upon seeing Harry they each both grabbed a hand of his
and took off down the stairs and out the door laughing like hyenas all the way.




They were so tickled because Ron caught Dudley watching Hermione change her clothes in
Harry's bedroom. Luckily he didn't get a good peek thru the crack he made in the door while
Hermione's back was turned to it. When Ron discovered the Peeping Tom he angrily jinxed the
other boy. Ron was in such a strop that he didn't even know what he had changed Dudley in to
until the little pig began to run around the upstairs hall in a panic, the sound bringing Hermione
and Aunt Petunia out of their perspective doors. All three kids had a good laugh at the incident.
Hermione even told Ron that it was N.E.W.T. level worthy work. Ron blushed at the compliment. Harry
realized that his friend was doing that a lot around Hermione these days.




On July 2nd Harry prepared to leave Privet Drive for the very last time. He didn't know if
he wouldn't be back due to bitterness or death, he just knew that whatever the cause he would
never walk thru those doors again. As he and Hermione waited in the hall for Ron to appear, Harry
turned to stare at the tiny cupboard under the stairs. That small cramped space had been his home
for almost all of his life. Harry knew as he gazed at it that he should be feeling a sense of anger
and disgust at the treatment he endured at the hands of his aunt and uncle. That cupboard was the
embodiment of that treatment. But all Harry could feel was a cold, dead numbness within. What if
the road ahead only led him to just one more small box that would trap him in? This time forever.
As if answer to the questions hurtling thru his head Hermione grabbed his hand in both of hers and
brought his attention to her.




“*You'll never have to go in there again.”*




She spoke plainly and her eyes glistened. Her fingers felt warm in Harry's surprisingly much
larger hand. He wondered briefly when nature wrought that change before squeezing it to let her
know that he believed her. Ron came bustling down the stairs and the two dropped their hold on each
other. The Trio then departed the Surrey neighborhood to begin the next leg of their journey.













If Ron was his brother, Hermione was his sister. She stuck by him thru all his endeavors much
like a sibling would. So then why do I see her naked every night when I close my eyes, he now
wondered. I'm sure there must be some law against that kind of sibling bonding*,* Harry
thought. He had no solutions. At least none he would like to try twice.




He tried having sex with Ginny as much as he could at first, but then that only seemed to
increase the strength of the fantasies. They started coming at him during the day. Slowly but
surely he stopped sleeping with his wife altogether. It started to feel like he was betraying the
woman in his dreams instead of the other way around.




Harry then decided to wear himself out in a different way. He threw himself into his work.
Harry's group of Aurors started making collars at an amazing speed. So much so that the Second
Division started to get even tougher cases assigned to them. But after a few weeks of great success
he started to have daydreams about Hermione while at his desk. Actually the dreams took place
**on** the desk, but that was beside the point. It all was becoming increasingly too much to
bear.




Harry next decided to try a muggle therapist. If he tried a mental healer he was sure that word
would get out all over the wizarding world. That would be a disaster! So he found the address of a
well recommended psychologist one day when he was in muggle London and made an appointment to see
him. Once Harry was laid out on the man's expensive leather couch he unburdened everything
about the dreams on him. Unfortunately the stupid git only wanted to ask questions about
Harry's marriage and Ginny. Harry only saw the man the one time.




Then in April Harry hit upon a brand new idea. When Hermione disappeared back in the spring of
2000, she didn't tell anyone of her plans. He later found out that at the time she was being
courted by several foreign ministries and even a school. At first it hurt Harry deeply that
Hermione hadn't confided this information in him, they shared everything with one another, but
Harry soon came to the conclusion that Hermione might have actually left the country under some
sort of duress. According to the detectives he and Ron hired she didn't take any of the jobs
she was offered. They checked every foreign ministry for any sign of her. They payed close
attention to the French speaking countries since she was fluent in the language. They scoured all
of Ireland thinking she may have gone to the place of her grandmother's birth. They checked all
of the warm weather countries since she seemed to like the hotter climates. Nothing turned up.
Except for one occasion, her wand was never used again. For all intensive purposes it would seem
that there had never been a witch named Hermione Jane Granger. Harry wondered just what could have
happened to make her give up her life.




For the first few years after she left Harry worried sick after her. He didn't think
anything foul had happened to her, he and Ron felt in their hearts that if something unfortunate
were to happen to Hermione they would both feel it. He still worried though that if she was out
there somewhere needing his help she wouldn't be able to reach him. His Quidditch game began to
suffer. He began spending hours and hours at the Ministry trying to find out if they had any leads
on the Granger case. He even turned to Malfoy to see if he and any of his contacts in the Auror
department could find any leads on her. Harry was a desperate man! Eventually Ron and the rest of
the family convinced him that when Hermione was ready to come home she would let them know. Harry
decided that they were right and tried to move on.




That is until the dreams started attacking him with frequency. Harry came to the conclusion that
Hermione must be trying to reach him thru these dreams. Riddle had used similar methods with Harry,
sending him visions and messages while he was sleeping. No one knew this more then Hermione. As
soon as the theory waltzed thru Harry's head he popped over to Hogsmeade so he could go use the
library at Hogwarts. It was one of the finest wizarding libraries in Great Britain, in fact in the
world. If he could find out the answer if Hermione was using his dreamworld to call for help, it
would be here.




Soon Harry found himself ensconced at a table in the back of the library. The librarian, Madam
Pince, helped him find the books that would come in handy for his research. She even barely looked
down her nose at him this time. Harry figured growing up and becoming an adult came with some
rewards.




Harry paged thru book after book dealing with the astrological importance of dreams, the
significance of numerology in dreams, and books dealing with oneiromancy. He wanted to tear his
hair out when he realized that all these books were about some form of Divination or other. Surely
what he was looking for could not be found in this garbage, he thought. He even read thru a book
about astral projection. The theory was that the soul could inhabit an astral body that can travel
outside it's physical one. Although Harry was intrigued by the notion he soon brushed the idea
to the side. Somehow the idea of Hermione Granger sending her astral body across the cosmos just so
she could sit on his face held no merit.




After an hour of searching thru musty old books Harry dejectedly decided to give up his research
mission and go home. As he was exiting the library he ran straight into Head Mistress McGonagall,
his former Transfiguration teacher and Head of House. The older witch had come to the library in
search of him. The Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, had spotted him in the library and reported the
news to the professor. The Head Mistress, never one for beating around the bush, got right down to
business with him as soon as he took a seat in her office. She told him that her current Defense of
the Dark Arts teacher, Vervain Lermontant, was vacating his position at the end of term.




Vervain was an American wizard from New Orleans. He was said to be a descendant of the famous
Voodoo Queen Marie Leveau. Harry had met him a time or two at various functions and found him a
good enough chap. Just oddly magnetic. Women flocked to him. Men aspired to be like him. His charm
even seemed to work on animals. He had been the Defense teacher since the war ended and Hogwarts
reopened. It would seem whatever curse the position held died with Riddle. Now after 7 years of
teaching young minds he decided that it was time to go back home to the city of his birth.
McGonagall was sad to see the man go, he was a fabulous and dedicated teacher.




He also wasn't too hard to look at, though she would have never shared that thought with a
single soul.




Although there were no Dark Lords hiding behind every corner any longer Minerva still believed
that it was important for her students to have a strong defense curriculum. She didn't want to
just hire any old body for the job. When she heard that Harry Potter was currently in the building
she felt that her prayers had been answered. Potter would be perfect for the job! Sure, he had
little regard for rules per se, that however did not negate the fact that the young man's
Defense O.W.L. had been exceptionally high, he had been the leader of his own dark arts defense
league, and was now currently a well trained and high ranked Auror. There was also that little
thing of him defeating Lord Voldemort. Potter was made for the job!




Minerva was certain that the school governors would agree with the choice. Even after the war
some families were a bit reluctant to send their children back to Hogwarts. Many opted for home
schooling their children. The school never reached again the full capacity it had held during the
Golden Age of Dumbledore. But Minerva figured that with Harry Potter as a professor there they
might have to turn back applications.




When McGonagall made her offer to Harry he was at first shocked, then pleased, then elated by
it. Harry Potter, professor. It sounded right to him. Never mind the fact that he would be teaching
the subject that was closest to his heart in the first place that he truly called home. It was a
perfect fit! Harry left Hogwarts that day with a renewed vigor. He would leave the Department and
teach at Hogwarts. Maybe this was the answer to the emptiness that wouldn't quit his heart.




The new career prospect did not however alleviate the Hermione situation. He was still dreaming
about her constantly. So much so that she began to fill his waking thoughts. If it had only been
about sex he could have handled that. If all he wanted to do was shag her just one good time to get
it all out of his system he would have accepted that completely. Maybe the old adage was true, men
and women couldn't just be friends.




But Harry was never good at lying to himself, at least not for long. He longed for her. He
longed for her in much the same way he wanted his parents' care, Dumbledore's guidance, and
Sirius' companionship. It began to seem like he lived and breathed Hermione. Memories of their
years together played themselves inside his head constantly. He soon realized that he was truly
happy only when he had his brown haired witch in his arms. Even if it wasn't real, it was real
in his heart. And that's when the horror of it all struck him. He wanted a woman that could
never be his. He wanted a woman whom he had no idea where she was. He wanted a woman who
technically was just a figment of his imagination. He wanted a woman who he should have never
wanted in the first place.




It wasn't that he didn't think of Hermione as attractive. In fact there were times in
those last few years that he would look at his voluptuous best mate and wonder where the bossy
little know-it-all girl went to. Not to say that she stopped being bossy, or being an insufferable
know-it-all. It's just the package that all that came wrapped in became infinitely more
pleasing to look at. He never dwelt on those thoughts long though, because it always felt like he
was betraying his other best friend, Ron. Even when the two of them were broken up. Which they
always seemed to be.




Then there was Ginny to think about. Ginny probably wouldn't have taken kindly to the idea
of Harry checking Hermione out. More importantly the idea that he could view the girl who was as
good as his better half as just some bit of skirt seemed sacrilege to his mind.




So Harry compensated by trying to view Hermione only as some asexual being. Which was hard
especially when Hermione began to flaunt and indulge in her burgeoning femininity. She wore
clothing that was entirely too provocative for her (Harry secretly blamed her flat mate for that).
She even went to muggle nightclubs every now and then (once again, the flat mate). But worst of all
she began to notice other men and Harry couldn't help himself from noticing men noticing her
back.




When Hermione and Ron were a couple Harry didn't mind it so much. One new bonus of their
relationship was that arguing decreased dramatically. Harry was never certain exactly when the two
of them had officially gotten together, he suspected sometime around the period when the three of
them went to Godric's Hollow, but he was thankful for the cease fire. Although Harry valued
their camaraderie he wasn't so sure that he would be able to do the task at hand with their
constant bickering. But instead Ron would just shoot puppy eyes at Hermione while she blushed a
maddeningly pretty shade of pink. It was then that Harry would wish they would go back to fighting
like the olden days. Thankfully they didn't do too much of that. Harry wasn't sure his
stomach could take it plus it made him envious. He would have liked to have someone to cuddle with
too. Ginny would have been nice. But whatever exactly encompassed Hermione's relationship with
Ron they did a good job keeping it hidden away from Harry. He figured that was Hermione's doing
as well, she was always rather modest. Sure he saw a quick kiss here and there, but really nothing
too much to make him **that** queasy.




By time the three of them lived together shortly after the war Hermione and Ron, or the
*Heron* as the twins jokingly called them, were entering Break Up #1. Harry was very happy he
didn't have to encounter any hanky panky on the living room couch. He figured it would be too
weird, seeing his brother going at it with his sister in the room he liked to eat his bowl of
cereal. Sure he wanted them to be together, he just didn't want to have to see it.




With their relationship over Hermione and Ron's arguing returned in full force, especially
when she began to date. Her first paramour was Roger Davies, a former Ravenclaw Quidditch captain.
Although Harry wasn't certain how well Hermione knew the bloke back in school he naturally
assumed they had become close by working together at the Ministry. What started out as a few
harmless outings soon turned in to a full fledge relationship. Ron would seethe at the sight of
them. Harry was just happy that whatever Hermione and Davies chose to do he never spent the night
at the Trio's flat. It would have been too awkward, what with Ron glaring at the ponce from
across the table as his current (ugh!) squeeze Lavender buttered his toast (double ugh!). He could
just see Hermione finding the whole scene boring, stuffing her head instead into a muggle law book
or something while he himself tried to pretend that he didn't want to throw a plate of hot
kippers at Davies face. Harry might think he was an ok fellow, but that didn't make him think
he was good enough for his Hermione. Quite frankly Harry was relieved when she broke up with the
jackass after only seven months of dating him.




Soon Hermione and Ron got back together. Harry never knew if it was a passionate reunion because
Hermione was living in a flat in South London by this time and the couple spent all their time
there. But the happiness was short lived. Hermione and Ron got back together in June of 1999 only
to break up again in August. It was Ron who chucked her this time. He really wanted to be married
and Hermione just seemed disinterested in the idea.




Harry almost didn't know who to be angrier at, Ron for doing the dumping or Hermione for not
saying yes to his friend's proposal. His irritation with her only increased when at the start
of Quidditch season she began a steamy in your face affair with Oliver Wood, Harry's team mate
at Puddlemere. Sure Ron was being a git as usual by taking back up with Lavender (Merlin!), but
that didn't give Hermione rights to go snogging Wood in the locker room after games, he
nauseously thought. He tried to forget that he might have been the person responsible for them
getting together.




Usually after every big win Harry, Hermione, and his team mates would go to a nearby pub to
celebrate. Even after all these years Hermione still faithfully came to every single one of
Harry's games, Quidditch fan though she was not. Most times he could also schmooze her into
coming out with the team afterwards. Ron would come to the victory benders occasionally, but since
he was the enemy (proud wearer of the orange and black) he didn't make it a common
occurrence.




One night at the start of October after a particular grueling game with the Magpies Hermione was
at his side as usual as he, Wood, Casey, Haversham, Wadcock, and the rest celebrated their hard
fought win with bottles and bottles of Firewhiskey. Hermione had been looking particularly fetching
that evening in a snug black jumper, painfully tight black jeans, a matching calf length sweater,
and pencil thin heeled boots. Malinde Wadcock, one of Puddlemere's chasers and the daughter of
one of the team's former players, seemed to think so too as she flirted with a clearly
inebriated Hermione, tugging on the chestnut curls that were falling on her shoulders.




A very beastly, very male fantasy of what the two very attractive women would look like sliding
together on satin sheets rose up in his head before he very sternly beat it down in shame. Hermione
was his friend, he had no right to think of her in such a way. He decided then to leave at that
moment so he could clear his head. Plus he needed to go to the Burrow and see Ginny who was
expecting him. She couldn't join them at *The Horse's End* because she got stuck baby
sitting Marcel and Lionel.




Harry told Hermione that he had to leave and go see Ginny and asked if she wanted him to
accompany her home first. Hermione declined the offer. He was worried that she might have had too
much to drink, her eyes were rimmed in red, but she told him to hurry and get to Ginny so the
younger girl wouldn't worry about him. Malinde half jokingly told him that she would make sure
Hermione got home safe. Harry, not liking the appraising look in the woman's eye as she looked
at the comely brunette, asked Wood to see Hermione home instead. Harry then darted out the pub and
apparated over to the Burrow. He enjoyed a few nice snogs with Ginny before heading home. In the
morning he popped over to Hermione's to check on her and was shocked to discover Oliver Wood
looking at him sheepishly from the couch while dressed in one of Hermione's much too small for
him dressing robes. Crookshanks was nestled in the other man's lap, purring lazily as Wood
petted him. Traitor!




That relationship sold Daily Prophet issues for weeks much to Hermione and Harry's dismay.
She and the Prophet seemed to have a long lived love/hate relationship. She hated anyone involved
with it and they loved to portray her as some social climbing, bed hopping vixen. It would seem
that Rita Skeeter's portrayal of her all those years ago had affixed it's self in
people's mind. But the Prophet wasn't the only publication that exploited the new couple.
Hermione and Oliver were constantly seen on the front cover of all of the papers and tabloids
snogging. It was a sensationalist wet dream, what with Ron (Hermione's long put upon ex-beau)
playing Keeper as well on one of Puddlemere's rival teams. It got to the point that Harry
stopped reading the news all together save for the Quibbler. Out of respect to Hermione and
Luna's friendship the editor, Mr. Lovegood left her alone.




Ron was heartbroken over these turns of events. Though he still dated Lavender his heart just
wasn't in it. It was with Hermione. The flat the two boys shared began to feel like a funeral
to Harry now that his flame haired friend went from being chipper and sarcastic and turned in to a
morose shell of his former self.




Harry felt cut a drift from Hermione as well. Where once he wouldn't hesitate to apparate
directly into her apartment, he now was apprehensive to do so. Once Hermione's flat mate Glinda
discovered that Hermione and just about all her friends were witches and wizards Hermione chose
Harry to be her fail safe. A fail safe was the one person who could apparate and floo into a home
at will by bypassing whatever elaborate wards the caster had set up on their place. A fail safe
came in handy in cases of emergency. When Glinda started seeing Fred it made it possible for
Hermione to have a fail safe and since she was on the outs with Ron at the time she unsurprisingly
chose Harry. Even during the short periods that she got back with Ron she never changed their
status. Harry took advantage of the situation to have breakfast with his best friend on many
mornings, the two of them sitting at the comfy little breakfast nook that once sat in the kitchen
of the Granger's old home. They would dine on black pudding or French toast as Harry babbled on
about his girlfriend or the joy he got out of playing Quidditch. Hermione never seemed to mind him
popping in on her and she always was there to listen to him.




But now with Wood in the picture Harry was reluctant to continue the practice. What if he
floo'ed in only to see them going at it on the lounge room floor. Harry would rather pluck his
own eyes out at that prospect. So he stopped coming over to visit Hermione all together. It was
painful for him to break off contact with her like that. Since their days spent hiding from Riddle
during the war Harry had never gone more then a few days where he didn't see her face. But his
feelings were too conflicted on the subject now. Harry felt that Hermione should be with Ron and he
didn't like the idea of some random bloke, even one he saw naked in the locker room shower,
pawing all over her. He ended up spending even more time with Ginny, which wasn't such a bad
trade off. He just wished that everything would go back to the way that it was so he could have
Hermione back. Then, like an answer to his prayers Hermione and Wood ended their relationship
amicably before Christmas.




Harry was ecstatic over the news! Of course he didn't show his joy to Hermione. He did let
her know that if she wanted to cry on his shoulder over the break-up he was there for her. Hermione
however didn't seem too upset over the end of the affair. Although she wasn't so
forthcoming on details, thank Merlin, she really seemed to see the relationship as nothing more
then a fling.




If she was really broken up over it she didn't have time to stew because her grandmother,
Bridget Granger, passed on Boxing Day. She and Harry went to Ireland shortly after to bury the old
woman and to handle her estate. Hermione then decided to go to Hyères, a town on the Côte d’Azur
for a week so she could recharge her batteries. She promised to meet up with Harry after his
upcoming game with the Kestrals on the 13th of January. They would then go have a few drinks at
*The Spotted Jack* afterwards.




Harry was despondent over his teams loss to Kenmare, but even more so when he realized that
Hermione missed his first game since his Hogwarts days. She didn't show up at the pub either.
Harry had barely gotten Ginny home with little more then a quick kiss and a pat on the head when he
immediately apparated over to Hermione's.




His usual point of entry was her living room. The flat was small, just two small bedrooms in the
back, a bath, and a tiny lounge area that seemed to barely fit the comfy furniture, Hermione's
bookshelves, her computer, and the telly. Crookshanks cat bed stood empty by her desk. The ginger
cat hadn't been back home in weeks much to Hermione's despair. The living room was
separated from the kitchen by only a bar and half of a wall. Despite the size it always felt cozy
in that as soon as you walked into the place you could smell and see what was cooking in the
kitchen. This day however Harry did not like what was on the menu. In fact what he saw almost made
him vomit every meal he had ever eaten.




Though Hermione and Malfoy separated themselves rather quickly, the familiar sound of apparition
alerting them that they were not alone in the flat, they did not do it soon enough to save Harry
from the picture of Hermione bent back slightly over her small kitchen table while Malfoy leaned up
seductively over her. Both of them were fully clothed, mercifully, but the damned Slytherin's
pasty hand had been on her waist.




She tried to make her self look presentable, smoothing her skirt and patting down her wild hair,
as Harry slowly and icily stalked to the kitchen doorway. A look of murder and rage sat upon his
face. While Hermione had the good sense to look mortified at his discovery of them Malfoy simply
treated Harry to one of his signature smirks (the one he and Ron designated the “wouldn't you
like to know”), kissed Hermione's hand (making Harry's temper reach near Uncle Vernon like
status), and exited the kitchen past Harry's wrathful form. He let himself out the front door,
his training robes billowing out behind him dramatically. Twat-face!




Harry watched Malfoy walk out before turning the full brunt of his ire on Hermione. She had
backed herself into her refrigerator and was staring at Harry with big, child like eyes. The eyes
of a child who knew that their parent was about to give them what for.




“*What the bloody hell was that,”* he asked in an oddly even and steady tone. He enunciated
each and every word.




Hermione looked between Harry, who was blocking the nearest escape route to the low bar to her
right. Harry could almost see the screws and wheels turning in her head, as though she were trying
to figure out just what her chances of jumping over it might be. Obviously in the heat of the
moment the woman forgot that she was a witch. She then turned fully towards him, Harry surmising
that she realized that she was not athletic enough to make the jump, and swallowed deeply before
squeaking out, *“Imperius,”* in a meek little voice.




She wasn't serious and Harry knew she wasn't serious and this only helped to further
enrage him. Harry stared at her unbelievingly for a second before he chuckled lowly. There was no
humor in that laugh.




“*You know I would almost believe you too if it wasn't for the fact that I know you can
throw off an Imperius almost as well as I can.”*




He stepped further in to the kitchen.




“*And then there is the little thing about Malfoy's wand being registered with the
Ministry when he joined the Law Enforcement Department,”* he said eying her crossly. *“If his
wand had cast an Unforgiveable in here there would have been Aurors swarming the place by now,”*
said Harry as he folded his arm across his chest imperiously.




Hermione looked like she had about enough of his attitude. She stamped her foot angrily, crossed
her own arms in a belligerent pose and said, *“Oh hang it all! I don't have to explain myself
to you!”*




She then apparated herself into her living room and began to head for the door. Harry was too
quick for her though. He was by her side in a moment, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to face
him. She made a sound like a scalded cat.




“*Oh really now? You don't have to explain to me why Malfoy was just manhandling you in
the kitchen before I popped in,”* he asked, grabbing both her upper arms and shaking her
slightly. *“You don't have to explain to me why you looked like you liked it?”*




“*No,”* she shouted back at him, wrenching herself free. Luckily for them Hermione made the
place imperturbable when she first moved in or all her neighbors would have been getting an
earful.




“*No I don't! In case you missed the memo I am an adult. As in of age. And this is my
flat. And you know what? I can bloody do what ever I want in it,”* she yelled.




He got right in her face and asked frigidly, *“Does that include whoever you want as
well?”*




It was a low blow and Hermione returned it. She slapped him. She slapped him so hard that
momentarily Harry saw bright flashes of light before his eye. He reached his hand to the spot where
her hand met his face and felt the swollen flesh there. Harry had fought a basilisk. Harry had
flown rings around a dragon. Harry had battled an army of Dementors. But never in his life had
Harry been smacked by a girl, especially this girl. Harry stared down at his friend and she seemed
to be in as much shock as he was over the situation Her whole body was an angry flush and her
breath came out in angry puffs. Her hair looked like it was flying off her own head.




“*Oh my,”* she faintly whispered as her hand traveled to her chest in a motion to stop her
heart from jumping out of it .




She wandered slowly over to her beige couch and plopped down forlornly on it. Her hands then
covered her face as she began to rock back and forth at a slow and steady pace. Harry shuffled over
to her and sat down next to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder, but she just shrugged out of
his grip.




“*I think you should go home now Harry,”* she said huskily, not even looking at him.




Harry wasn't about to have this. He took both of her hands and held them in a tight grip as
he tried to gain eye contact with her. She wouldn't let him.




“*I can't Hermione. Not when something is so obviously troubling you,”* said Harry in a
soothing voice. *“So much so that you actually hit me. You hit me Hermione! You've never done
that, no matter how much we have ever argued. Hell, you never even hit Ron!”*




“*I was angry alright,”* she explained irritably as she tried to squirm her hands from
Harry's grip. He wasn't letting her go. *“You got in my face and that's how I
reacted. I'm sorry ok?”*




“*No, not ok. Why didn't you come to my game today?”*




She huffed angrily before giving up on getting her hands free. *“I didn't feel like it. I
was tired when I got home from my trip and I lost track of time. Besides, Ginny was there.”*




He looked at her mystified by the statement. *“What does Ginny being there have to with
anything?”*




She finally made full eye contact with him before rolling her eyes. *“Well I figured with
Ginny and the rest of your little Potterhead fangirls at the match all the adulation you needed to
boost your ego was there. One less would be no great travesty really.”*




She said it so scornfully that Harry almost felt like she had slapped him again. It hurt just
that much.




“*Do you think that's why I like you there,”* he questioned dolefully, *“to boost my
ego? Hermione, you are my good luck charm. I've never played a game without you, you know
that.”*




The tenseness that radiated off of Hermione seemed to lessen at that. Harry took this as a good
sign and scooted closer to her on the sofa.




“*Even when I loose it's makes me feel better to see your face there. It helps me to know
that no matter what there is one person who doesn't think I'm a looser.”*




Hermione's eyes pooled with tears before she sniffed and wiped at them harshly, forbidding
them to fall.




“*Your girlfriend...”*




“*Once played the game. Remember? Seconds after I came out the shower Ginny was already
telling me how I let Donahue fake me out. And giving me tips on what to do next time.”* Ginny
could be quite annoying that way.




“*What I needed was you to tell me how you were going to burn some chocolate chip cookies
special, just for me.”*




It was true. Whenever Harry lost Hermione wouldn't even bring up the sore subject. Instead
she would do something for him to show him just how special she thought he was. Usually she would
try to cook or bake him one of his favorite treats. It always came out inedible or at best burnt,
but Harry dutifully ate every crumb.




Hermione sadly smiled at Harry as she tentatively touched her hand to the spot where she hit
him. He winced only slightly as she barely grazed the area.




“*I'm sorry,”* she said as her hand came down. She then gazed into his eyes as if to
apologize for every hurt she caused him this day. *“I'm sorry.”*




For a moment their eyes held. Harry felt intoxicated by the way she was looking at him. His head
seemed almost too heavy for his neck. Like he was feeling a strange cocktail of too many emotions
all at once. He felt like he was about to fall...into what he did not know. The spell however was
broken when Hermione pitched herself from the sofa and walked over to the bar, her back turned to
him.




“*I'm sorry Harry, but I really think you should go.”* Her voice sounded like a mix of
bitterness and regret.




Harry knew he had a decision to make. If he left right then he knew that his friendship with
Hermione would be intact, safe and sound. But if stayed and continued to push her, find out what
exactly was going on in her head, he might get his other cheek smacked for the trouble. Especially
if he brought up Malfoy again.




“*Sorry Hermione, but I'm not going anywhere till we have this out!”* Harry always knew
he was a masochist.




She turned to face him, perplexed. *“Have what out? You wanted to know why I didn't come
today. I told you.”*




“*Yes you did, but you seemed to have glossed over the pink elephant in the room. Or should I
say blond ferret?”*




Hermione looked down her nose at him. “*I refuse to have this conversation with you,”* she
said snottily.




“*Oh really,”* Harry asked mockingly. *“You refuse to have this conversation with me?
Well would you prefer to discuss this all with Ron?”*




At that Hermione's eyes bulged in disbelief.




“*I can have him over here as quick as a shot if you'd like.”*




“*You wouldn't dare!”*




“*Oh you bet I would.”*




“*This doesn't even have anything to do with Ron,”* argued Hermione.




“*Oh doesn't it? Him so heartbroken over you that he can barely stay on his broom during
games now. All the while your carrying on with Malfoy!”* As Harry said this he had to fight the
urge to cross the room and shake her again.




“*Harry,”* she said as if trying to plead her case, *“Draco and I...”*




He cut her off before she could finish.




“*Exactly! Draco and I...Draco and I...,”* Harry mocked. *“Tell me Hermione, when exactly
did it become Draco?”* Hermione looked gobsmacked at this line of questioning.




“*Cause see, I know when it happened, but I'm wondering if you even realized it?”*




It was true. For the last few years Harry had become aware that Malfoy might have more then
friendly feelings towards Hermione. It was never anything blatant Malfoy did to worry his
suspicions, it was just a hunch he had. He always kept close watch where the jerk was concerned. He
would watch Malfoy like a hawk to see if he would make any unwanted advances towards Hermione.
Harry just never thought he should have been paying attention to Hermione as well.




“*This thing that's been going on between you and Malfoy,”* began Harry noting
Hermione's horrified look. *“Oh yes, I've noticed. I've noticed it for a long time
now. At first I thought it was just coming from his side. The way he would stare at you like you
were the last sip of water in the Sahara. The way he would follow you from room to room. The way he
would call you...ugh...'pet'. But I told myself that what ever was going on in that little
tow-head of his I didn't have to worry because our Hermione is a smart girl. If he tries
anything she'll let him have it . Ha! I guess I was right eh?”*




“*How...dare...you,”* fumed Hermione, her face turning pink from anger. She looked like she
was ready to deck him this time so he jumped up from where he was sitting and backed further away
from her reach.




“*Did I hit too close to the mark?”*




“*You have no fucking idea what you're talking about! Draco just came over here because he
wanted to check up on me!”* Harry snorted at that.




“*It's true,”* she said as she stepped closer to him. “*Draco was out of town when
Nan passed. He knew how much she meant to me, just as much as you did.”* Harry scoffed at this.
*“He wanted to see if I needed anything. If there was anything that he could do for me.”*




Harry chuckled darkly. *“Oh yes, Draco Malfoy, the benevolent.”*




“*Draco is a good man,”* she countered. *“You would realize that if you took your head
out of your arse long enough to see it.”*




“*My God. He really has done a number on you,”* Harry said as he met her in the center of
the room. He cupped his hands around her face as though determined to get thru to her.




“*Draco Malfoy is evil Hermione,”* he said, searching her face for any sign of
understanding. Seeing none his voice took on a begging tone. “*You used to know this, back in
school. What happened? What did he do to you?”*




Hermione's eyes took on a fervent glow. *“How can you say that,”* she asked him
desperately. *“He saved your life once Harry. I...we wouldn't still have you if not for
Draco.”*




“*For which he is still awaiting a thank you very much for,”* Harry indignantly said.
*“Is that what you are Hermione? His thank you.”*




Her hand must still have hurt from the last time she hit him because she simply pushed him from
her.




“*He gave his life for the Order. Just like the rest of us. He helped us bring down
Voldemort.”*




Harry turned his back to her. He didn't like the look in her eyes as she detailed the
greatness that was Draco Malfoy. Hermione wouldn't let it go that easy.




“*He's going to be an amazing Auror. He's at the top of his training class.”* She
was unrelenting on this subject. *“Why I had lunch with Alastor just the other day. All he could
talk about was Draco. He says that Draco just might be the best he ever trained. Like he was born
for the job.”*




Harry forced down the jealousy that surfaced at the praise. He was getting angrier with Hermione
by the minute.




“*Oh, so is that it now? Did you run thru all the Quidditch players in Britain Hermione?
You've decided to collect Aurors now?”*




Even he was shocked at his venom. He turned to face her and ignored the pang he felt in his
heart at the destroyed expression on her face.




“*You should have at least given Wadcock a turn. She's fancied you for months.”*




“*Why are you talking to me like this,”* she barely sobbed out.




“*Because it hurt Hermione,”* he spat. *“It hurt to fly around that stadium and not see
your face in the crowd. It hurt thinking that you just blew me off when I needed you. It hurt not
being able to be with you these last few weeks. And most of all it hurt to see Malfoy all over you
when...”*




“*Wait a tic,”* she franticly said, grabbing hold of him and focusing her eyes on his.
*“You were hurt by seeing me and Draco?”*




Once again that tangled emotion that he experienced earlier rose up in Harry. He was confused,
he was flustered. He didn't quite get what Hermione was getting at. Of course seeing her with
Malfoy hurt him. She was his friend. He wouldn't want to see a friend hurt would he? Why else
would he be mad?




“*Well I would have to keep this all from Ron wouldn't I,”* he asked her. She looked at
him as though she couldn't understand his meaning.




“*This is about Ron,"* she exasperatedly asked. “*You're upset because you
don't want to tell any of this to Ron?”*




She searched his face and not finding what she was looking for sighed desolately.




“*Of course that's it.”* She turned and crossed back over to the bar. *“Silly
Hermione,”* she muttered so quietly that Harry barely heard her. She was confusing him more and
more.




“*Do you even realize how much this is going to pain me not to tell Ron,”* Harry asked as
he walked up to her.




“*He is still crazy about you Hermione. I mean, yeah there's Lavender. She's like a
right leach, Lavender is,”* he paused hoping to hear her snicker at least. Hermione always
enjoyed a good Lavender dig. This time however it did not do the trick.




“*But if you gave him any indication...any sign...”*




“*I can't Harry,”* she keened. *“I can't do this any more. That ship has
sailed.”*




Harry was becoming even more confused by Hermione's shifting mood by the moment.




“*But you can **do**,”* he emphasized the last word, *“Malfoy.”*




She irately glanced over her shoulder at him. *“Would you drop that please. I've told you
before, Draco is only my friend.”*




Harry didn't know what made him say it. He really didn't want to say it. It was as if he
came down with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had
crossed the line of all lines.




“*Oh, so do all your friends bugger you on the breakfast nook?”*




As long as he lived he would never forget the homicidal look on her face right at that moment as
she swung around. She was fairly frothing at the mouth. He had never seen her in such a rage, at
least directed towards him. Hurricane Hermione was about to make her first appearance.




First one book from her bookcase on the far wall flew at his head and struck him. Then another.
Then several pelted him simultaneously. He was so shocked that he completely forgot that he was The
Chosen One and let his ass get kicked by a bunch of books. That was when the telly in the living
room shut on and the lights in the kitchen begin to blink off and on in a syncopated rhythm. Harry
knew that he could take down an over emotional witch in a strop, even without his wand, he just
didn't want to do anything to hurt Hermione. Or better yet, wind her up further.




She advanced on him menacingly, a malicious gleam in her eye. *“Pardon me, but have you never
met Ron Weasley,”* she raged in answer to his question as everything else went still.




Harry could have kicked himself. At this point he would have preferred the books again. Sure he
wanted his two friends together, but he didn't want to hear about it. He began pacing back and
forth in front of the box, his hands placed over his ears as if that could block out her voice.




“*I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear it.”*




Hermione, sensing Harry's discomfort decided to go in for the kill. *“What don't you
want to hear? That I let Ron....”*




“*Argh! Stop it right now,”* he practically begged.




“*Stop what,”* she asked innocently. When she got no answer she said, *“Let me get this
straight. You're the bloody Heron cheerleader, but you don't want to hear about what goes
on between us?”*




“*Of course not!”*




“*Why is that,”* she asked forcefully.




Harry was stumped as to how to answer that. *“B-because,”* he stuttered.
*“Because,"* he tried again. *“Because it's too weird!”*




“*Weird,”* she asked and he shook his head affirmatively. “*Do you and Ron ever talk
about any of the other girls he's been with? Yes, I know about the Hufflepuff.”*




Why did he ever think he could best Hermione Granger in an argument? *“Of course.”*




“*But that's not weird,”* she countered.




“*No!”* He was starting to get flustered. Why was she badgering him so?




“*So what exactly is so weird about me and Ron? If it's not Ron? Is it me?”*




“*Well, yeah. I mean...well...well Hermione it's like your my sister,”* he blustered
out.




Hurt flitted thru her eye for one brief moment before her lips curved into a hard, embittered
smile. *“Of course I am. I'm like the bloody baby sister you never had.”*




Harry nodded his head, glad that she was finally understanding him.




“*And you just can't stand the idea of sissy getting any, can you?”*




Shit! This wasn't going to well, Harry thought to himself. *“Hermione,”* he tried to
interrupt her.




“*That sissy is a sexual being. I bet you never even noticed that fact have you?”*




Just what was she on about, he wondered. *“Hermione!”*




“*What did you think I did with Ron,”* she waspishly asked. He began to inch away from her
as she came closer to him.




“*With Roger?”* He inched farther still.




“*With Olie?”* The back of his legs hit her recliner and he automatically sat down. She
bent over him, arms on either side of the chair.




“*Played a rousing game of exploding snap?!”*




He hopelessly tried to say that he didn't want to know, but she cut him off.




“*Sex Harry,”* she bellowed in his face. Harry was horrified at the outburst.




“*I've had sex with them. Every single last one of them. I've done things that would
make you blush Weasley red, I have.”*




It wasn't like he didn't know Hermione was no innocent, he just preferred to pretend
that such was the case was. It kept him sane doing so. But here she was, flaunting the truth of it
in his face. Why didn't she understand that he didn't want to discuss it? But Hermione
continued. She would have her say.




“*But you know what,”* she asked hotly. “*Believe me or not, I have never slept with
Draco Malfoy!”* Her words were angry yet edged in sincerity.




Harry looked in to her large brown eyes and saw the truth of those words. *“No?”*




She took a hand in hers. *“No.”*




Once again Harry's masochistic tendencies shone through. *“Do you want to,”* he
asked.




If asked Harry would have described her pause as being the size of the World Cup pitch, but
really it wasn't even a second in length. 




“*No. Draco isn't who I want.”*




Before he could ask her who she did want she got down on her knees in front of him, cutting him
off. *“Look, this thing with me and Draco it's...complicated. But it's never going to go
that far. It hasn't before.”*




Harry looked at her, eyes agog. *“Before?”*




Realizing that she might have made the situation worse Hermione tried to smooth his ruffled
feathers.




“*Listen, I don't want to be with Draco. I don't. He's my friend and that's
all he is ever going to be. So what you walked in on today, that's never going to happen again.
Ok?”*




She looked up at Harry so innocently, so desperately. She needed for him to believe her.




“*Let's not argue anymore. I don't want to fight with you. Yelling at Ron has it's
moments, it's cheap thrills. But arguing with you...it's...it's...”*




“*Yes?”*




“*Draining.”*




“*Just answer me this Hermione,”* he asked as he clasped her hands in his own. *“Is he
the reason you won't take Ron back?”* Of course Harry was referring to Malfoy.




She went to answer his question but choked on whatever words almost came out of her mouth.
Instead she said, *“I know why you think you still hate Draco.”*




Harry scoffed at her delusion.




“*No, it's true. You haven't hated Draco in ages. But you still see him as the
Slytherin ponce. The demon seed of Lucious Malfoy. When he hasn't been either of those things
for a very long time. You refuse to see that he has changed. That's because you barely have
yourself.”*




Harry tried to untangle his hands from Hermione's grip but she wouldn't let go.




“*No, it's true. You're still that dashingly noble boy you were when we first met. The
kind that would stick up for a child you barely knew when a bully tried to take his gift from home.
The kind that would risk his own life to rescue his best mate's kid sister. The kind that would
save a hellion of a little bint from a full grown troll.”*




Harry tried to protest, but she covered his lips with a single finger.




“*The kind of big hearted young man who actually befriended said girl who up til then never
knew the meaning of the word, but desperately needed a friend. That is who you are Harry Potter.
That's why I love...,”* she paused, *“...that's why I love you. Why we all love
you.”*




Harry felt filled with warmth, his cheeks were flushed, his head felt light. He fleetingly
wondered if he was coming down with a winter cold.




“*You were already too good to be true to start. You had no place else to go.”*




She gave him an adorable half smile that made his heart seize up, but as quickly as it appeared
it melted into a frown.




“*But not everyone is like you Harry. People are not static. We...we don't all just stand
still. Sometimes we change.”*




“*Like Malfoy,”* he grumped.




“*Like Draco,”* she answered. She then turned her eyes away from him and to the floor.




“*And like me.”*




Harry couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of her words.




“*Sometimes the thing you thought you wanted at 12 years old may not be what you want at 21.
You can fight it and deny the truth of it to yourself as long as you like, but eventually the
lie...it wears you down.”*




The full meaning of her words pounded into Harry's head. She just couldn't mean what she
was saying though.




“*Hermione,”* he asked, *“don't you love Ron still?”* If he had to pick anyone for
his Hermione it would be Ron.




She wouldn't look up and meet his eyes. It seemed the carpet design was more important.




“*I..I still love Ron. I think I'll always love Ron. But this thing between us,”* she
said, her melancholy gaining momentum, “*it's getting old. All we do is hurt each other and
try again, hurt each other and try again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Well I'm sick of it. I'm
tired of dancing around...dancing around...”*




Harry lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. Once again he felt that pull. *“Dancing
around what?”*




She grasped at the hand under her chin franticly as Harry held her gaze. He almost wondered if
she felt the same unnamed emotion he did, but was too scared to ask. When she could no longer stand
the strength of his stare she wrenched his hand from her face.




“*Nothing Harry. It doesn't matter,”* she whispered.




Harry was becoming increasingly annoyed with Hermione. He knew that there was something else
going on with her, in her head, but she wouldn't tell him. This was unlike her, Hermione told
him everything. He briefly wondered if she had mentioned whatever it was to Malfoy and instantly
felt his anger rising at the thought. Instead he changed the subject.




“*Hermione, you and Ron...you belong together. Everyone says so.”* He slid out of the chair
and on to the floor next to her. *“Just like they say about me and Ginny,”* he finished as if
trying to prove a point.




“*Merlin,”* she exclaimed, irately pushing herself away from him. “*Not everyone was
meant to be like you and Ginny,”* Hermione said, voice full of scorn. *“Not everyone was fated
to be together. Just because she has red hair! And just because you look like your dad. It's
not that simple for the rest of us you know!”*




She quickly got up from the floor and stamped her way back in to her kitchen.




“*Hey, hey, hey,”* he said as he got up to follow her, barely withholding his own anger,
*“no need to take my head off. That's not what I said!”*




Once again he was in the kitchen doorway. She was seated in the corner at her table, head in her
hands.




“*Why are you trying to put words in my mouth?”*




When she could provide no answer he continued. *“Hermione, Ron misses you.”*




He walked over to her and slid next to her. *“Quite frankly I think he's going spare
without you.”*




Hermione looked up at that. Her face was impassive. *“Really?”*




“*He's writing poetry.”* He made a face. *“Bad poetry. It's really
awful.”*




The utter absurdness of this made her chuckle. The sound almost made Harry's heart swell. He
wanted to keep her smiling.




“*I need you to put the bloke out of his misery. Take him back. Do it for me.”*




The small grin that had begun to spread on her face stopped midway. She looked lost. She looked
hesitant. She looked wrecked. Harry searched his head for anything that would make the smile return
to her face. She started to say something.




“*Harry...Harry I...I...”*




He cut her off. “*You know I always pictured us together.”*




Once again the smile appeared. It then stapled it's self to her face as he said,
*“Someday. Me and Ginny. You and Ron.”*




He threw his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him.




“*We would all live next door to one another. I always pictured us being in the Hollow, but I
wouldn't mind St. Catchpole. We would be in and out of each other's home. Our kids would
all be in the yard playing. You and Ron would have a cute little flame haired kid, named Harry of
course. And I...I don't know how good a dad I'd be, but me and Gin might one day have our
own little Ron.”*




All thru this speech Harry's eyes were set before him as he pictured this perfect future. It
was the simple desires of a man who only wanted peace and tranquility. Some might say it was
sedate, and boring, but Harry only saw it as normal. And that's what Harry wanted more then
anything, a simple normal life.




“*And what if you had a girl,”* Hermione asked, her eyes very wet. He saw that his dream
touched her as well.




“*I 'spose Rondah will do,”* he said jokingly. Hermione gaped at him, unsure if he was
joking or not. 




“*Then again Ronilla also has a nice ring to it,”* he continued, enjoying the playful way
she slapped his arm once she realized he was indeed joking.




“*That child would hex you and Ginny as soon as it got of age,”* she responded.
*“Probably Ron and me too for allowing it to happen.”*




Harry just smiled contentedly. *“Well it's just a silly little fantasy I've
had.”*




Hermione turned her head to get a good look at him. *“And that's really how you see us?
The future? That's what you want,”* she asked him.




“*Well I'm no Trellawney, or anything,”* answered Harry giving her a small squeeze,
*“but it's a nice dream. Don't you think?”*




She regarded him carefully before saying, *“It sounds perfect.”*




Except Harry never got his dream. Not exactly. He and Ginny came home from their Honeymoon in
early May of that same year to find some shocking news. The newly wedded couple had been in
Australia and New Zealand since the day of the March wedding. They indulged in their time alone
together, never even checking in at home while they were gone. As soon as the couple got back from
their trip they headed to the Burrow. They were met by several grim faces.




The whole family knew that they would be arriving that day in late May. Harry had to be back to
join up with his team for the British Cup and he needed to begin practice soon. He and Ginny were
all smiles as they walked into the Weasley family kitchen. Molly and Fleur were standing at the
sink, whispering in each other's ears as both held one of the half veela's small sons in
their arms. Glinda was breast feeding her newly born baby girl at the table as Fred stood behind
her chair, hands resting protectively on her shoulders. She seemed upset but Penelope Weasley,
Percy's wife, awkwardly tried to comfort her with soft words all the while balancing her own
infant son in her lap. Bill, George and Ron came busting into the room while discussing something
in low, ominous tones. Everyone seemed to pause as they realized all at once that the happy couple
had finally arrived. Ginny amusedly asked who died. When no one laughed both she and Harry
nervously asked the question again.




All the other occupants in the room looked at each other apprehensively. Harry felt a cold fear
amass in the pit of his stomach. He realized that Hermione was no where to be seen. He caught
Ron's eye and asked him anxiously where his girlfriend was. He didn't know that the two,
who had gotten back together not too long before his engagement, had broken up again shortly before
his wedding. When only silence reached his ear he ran into the living room to look at the family
clock, the rest of the troop filing in after him. It displayed the status of all of Arthur and
Molly's brood. He and Hermione had been added to it long ago. While Harry's hand rested on
HOME, Hermione's was pointing to LOST. Before Harry could go into hysterics Arthur and Percy
floo'ed home and joined the rest where they were. The two men had just come from the Ministry
where they apparently had been seeking leads on Hermione's disappearance. Arthur was sad to
tell the family that so far they had none. Hermione was gone.













Now here Harry was, years later, having fallen in love with her.


























*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*



7. Chapter 6
------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**, but a
whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I realized
that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then decided to
throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at least to me)
story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first attempt at
writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if you would
tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.



I know I kind of messed up on the ages of the Weasley boys. At first I thought there wasn't
a verified age for Bill and Charlie so I filled that in. Then I discovered that there are birth
dates listed for them. Anyhoo, tired to rework that bit but it's still a titch off. Hope you
don't mind it.



I know a lot of people want real time-Hermione in this fic like yesterday. Trust me, she is
coming. I've got an outline! I've been following it! Hee. She is on her way. I think
something that may not be so obvious, and is totally my fault, is the time frame of these chapters.
Believe it or not, minus the flashbacks, it's only been three days since the start of the
story. I'm moving things along pretty darned slow, placing all my chess pieces on the board.
Please be patient. I understand that some people become impatient when you get to chapters that are
not exclusively H/Hr. I've even had reviews that tell me that I should only focus on H/Hr. But
that is difficult for me to do because even though a chapter may be a Ron chapter or a Ginny
chapter that does not mean that it is not important to the story as a whole. It's kind of
Rashomon-esque(best damned movie EVER) in that you basically get the whole story from different
points of views. But all the views are there for a reason. TRUST me.



**Warning:** It seems like I am always giving y'all warnings. LOL! So remember the many
times I've mentioned I hate Ginny Weasley? Yeah, still do. Just keep that in mind as you are
reading the first half of this. I have not lost my mind, promise. This chapter might make you
squirm at the beginning. There is some **ONE SIDED H/G**. But trust me; you are going to want to
hang in there. Everything is not what it seems. If y'all don't end up killing me I should
have an **H/Hr-centric** chapter up soon. Merry Christmas!



**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.











“That cow!”




Ginny looked up from her plate of Death by Chocolate cheesecake.




“That complete and utter cow!”




When Lavender had floo'ed that morning to ask her out to lunch, Ginny jumped at the
invitation. She had been feeling forlorn and inconsolable since dawn. Only a few hours before she
and Harry had had an encounter. Of the frustrating kind.










Ginny had awoken during the middle of the night to hear Harry whimpering loudly in the room down
the hall from her own. She had been worried about him as of late. Something seemed to be weighing
heavily on Harry's mind.




For the past few night's at the dinner table Ginny would look up from her stew or her salad
to see a detached and far away look on her husband's face. Ginny surmised that whatever was
disturbing Harry had a lot to do with the big case he was working on currently. Draco Malfoy had
even stopped by the house late one evening 2 weeks prior to drop off some important looking
parchments. Harry made it a point to never socialize with Malfoy outside of work so Ginny could
only view this breach of normal conduct as important.




Ginny hardly minded that Harry showed so much devotion to his job. The thought of the great and
powerful Harry Potter, taking on all evil doers and making the world safe for all wizarding kind
was far more of a turn on then she cared to admit. When Harry left Puddlemere to become an Auror
Ginny told herself that for Harry chasing after the Snitch would never compete with saving the
world. Harry Potter was a hero. And that was who Ginny married, a hero. Ginny's only wish was
that he show as much devotion to her and their marriage as well. She cooked for him. She kept his
house clean (with a little help from Dobby). She attended to his every whim. How could she love him
any more? Here she was even, leaving the comfort of her cream colored duvet to see why her husband
wasn't sleeping well.




She was in such a tear to get to him that she didn't even bother to slip on her bedroom
slippers or throw on her dressing gown. He's seen me in less, she mused as she smoothed down
the front of her ankle length midnight blue peignoir and pulled its left strap back on to her
shoulder. As she padded down the oriental patterned runner of the hall she could hear the sounds
from Harry's room getting louder. When she reached the oak door of the bedroom she knocked
tentatively on it.




“*Harry,”* she nervously queried.




All she got back were jumbled, muffled groans that sounded like “stop” and “don't”. Ginny
gently pushed open the door, thankful that it hadn't been locked. She had foolishly left her
wand back in her room.




As she stealthy entered thru the door she looked towards the bed. Although she could barely see
due to the darkness surrounding her, she could make out Harry's form writhing on the mattress.
Ginny's heart sped up in fear. Back when they were still dating Ron had once joked that if
Harry and Ginny were ever to get married Ginny would need to invest in crash padding for their bed.
Ginny had assumed that her prat of a brother was making an off colored joke, so she hexed his
eyebrows off in retaliation. She had used a non-verbal spell so that Ron wasn't even aware that
his brow line was now as smooth as a new born babe's bottom. That is till his girlfriend at the
time, Hermione, entered the Burrow's kitchen and collapsed on to the floor in a fit of tears
and laughter. When Hermione would answer his questions of “what's so bloody funny” with only
more giggles followed by pointing, Ron retreated to the bathroom to go have a look see.




Ron didn't speak to Hermione for 2 whole days after that. It took him one week to forgive
Ginny.




Hermione later confided in her that in the last few months before Voldemort's defeat Harry,
who had been prone to nightmares before, had almost gone mad from the visions Riddle would send him
at night. The Dark Lord, sensing that the end, either way, was near decided to go for broke and use
the connection he had to Harry's mind like a weapon against him. As soon as he would fall into
a deep sleep Harry would see before his eyes scenes of death and destruction. Mangled bodies would
be everywhere and all of them would resemble the people that he loved and cared about the most. The
insides of Harry's own head had become a battlefield. No matter where he laid his head at
night; the Hollow, Hermione's, Hogwarts those dreams would follow him. Since Ron usually slept
near by his best friend it usually fell to him to try to comfort Harry during these episodes. Ron
would even get in the bed and hold him while he whispered comforting words to try to help both of
them sleep. This went on for months with poor results until Hermione ended up in the bed with both
boys as well. She and Ron, on either side of Harry, all three faces pressed together so closely
that you could hardly tell who's tears were who's. Eventually Harry was able to sleep thru
the night.




“*I'm sure that after Harry and I get married I'll be able to take care of him just as
well*,*”* Ginny high handedly told Hermione.




However Ginny never got the chance to make good on that claim. After the wedding, once she and
Harry began sharing the same bed, Harry never once roused her from her sleep. Ginny began to half
suspect that Hermione had exaggerated the story. Typical. However when Ginny questioned Harry about
it not too long after they got married he confirmed the truth of it.




“*Well you don't dream so awfully any longer*,*”* she petulantly replied.




They were both lying in bed at the time preparing to go to sleep. He turned on his side to face
her.




“*That's because I have you*.*”* He reached over and kissed the tip of her nose.
*“Your the best security blanket a bloke could have*.*”* Of course no sleeping was done
after a response like that.







As Ginny reached the bed and leaned over Harry she couldn't help but think such was the case
no longer.




By this time her eyes had adjusted to the dark. Harry was lying on his back with the sheets
thrown off him. His right leg was bent on the bed while the other was twitching slightly. He was
clad only in a pair of satiny black pajama bottoms, his nicely sculpted chest bare. This was the
closest Ginny had been to her husband in weeks and her mouth nearly watered due to the close
proximity. She bit down on her lip to withhold the groan that wanted to come out at the sight of
all that smooth, hairless skin. Harry's head was turned facing her and his usual untidy, shaggy
mop of unruly long hair was even more tousled. He looked like an angel. A ravished angel. He had
his right arm thrown across his head and his left was at his side, the hand clutching at the bed
slip.




Even though she knew that he was having some kind of nightmare Ginny couldn't help the
tingly feelings she was experiencing. To put it bluntly, she was in heat. There was just something
unquestioningly erotic about his pose. His tensed body just seemed to hum with some kind of kinetic
sexual energy. Why, the way his face was all screwed up in concentration it looked damn near
similar to the way Harry looked when he was about to...




“*Please...”*




Ginny furrowed her brow, her train of thought lost.




“*Please don't...”* Harry moaned.




Ginny ducked down nearer to him and placed her hands softly on his shoulder.




“*Harry wake up,”* she gently said trying her best not to spook him.




“*Stop...”*




His voice sounded so whinny and pitiful that Ginny had a hard time believing that it belonged to
her big strong husband and not to some snotty nosed little brat begging his mum for a lolly. As
Ginny pondered on this further she felt two strong hands latch on to her upper arms in a vise like
grip. Before she knew what was what she had been flipped on to her back, her body being pressed in
to the bed by the man straddling her.




“*What the...”*




Ginny didn't get to finish her sentence. A pair of soft full lips were in the way.




Yessssssss! Ginny nearly wept from the sheer relief of it. This was it. This was what had been
missing all this time. This was what had been lacking in her marriage. Passion! Fuck devotion.
Passion was what she wanted, she thought as their tongues tangled over and over again. Why Harry
hadn't kissed her like this since...Harry had never kissed her like this. Like he was trying to
pour his very soul into her. Ginny almost protested. It's just all too much! It will never fit,
her thoughts screamed in her head. But her body? Her body didn't seem to mind. Parts of Harry
were touching parts of Ginny that they hadn't touched in ages.




When Ginny had been thrown on the bed her nightgown had ridden up to her hips. Without even
realizing it she had wrapped her legs around Harry's waist and tried to urge him as close as
she could by pressing her heel to his bum. The only thing keeping him from sliding right in to
where she desperately needed him was his pajamas and her knickers. Damn the luck! Ginny would have
reached down and removed the offending garments herself if her two hands hadn't already been
busy, fisted in Harry's shock of cool crisp hair.. Harry's own hands were caressing the
sides of her face. His calloused fingers rubbed at her skin gently and the two sensations combined
made her almost scream in delight. Instead Ginny moaned into his mouth as Harry slowly moved his
hands across the planes of her face. His fingers crept slowly into her hairline and began to thread
in her hair. Her silky, straight hair. Her baby fine hair.




All of a sudden everything stopped. Fingers stopped stroking. Lips stopped caressing.
Harry's pelvis stopped pushing furiously at hers.




“*Ha-Harry...”*




To Ginny's confused mind she couldn't figure out why all of the good tingly feelings had
ceased. As she slowly opened her eyes and dropped her legs and arms to the bed she caught the soft
glow of light that was emanating from Harry's wand tip. He was still on top of her, but he was
in a sitting position. Though his whole body was stiff with tension Ginny could feel that
his...arousal...had deflated somewhat.




“*Harry, I don't understand. What's wrong?”*




That was when she looked fully at his face. As long as she lived Ginny believed she would never
forget the look on his face. Shock. Harry was completely surprised to find that the woman
underneath him, the woman he was about to make love to, was his wife of five years.




“*Ginny?”*




“*Yeah. It's me. Why did you stop?”*




Harry looked at her with wide, dark green eyes clearly confused as to how they had ended up in
this particular situation.




“*I...um...I...”* Harry stuttered out. *“I guess I had been dreaming.”*




Ginny rolled her eyes and swallowed back her irritation.




“*That much is clear. You were making so much noise that I came in here to see what I could do
for you.”*




“*Oh,”* he said dully.




“*Yeah, oh.”*




Ginny sat up and Harry practically leaped off of her, kneeling on the bed to her left side.




“*Then we started...well, you know. And then you stopped.”* That last bit came out a mite
bitter. *“Why did you stop,”* she asked again.




Harry ran his hands thru his hair and looked around the room as if he was searching for answers
in the wallpaper.




“*I don't know Ginny. I guess I was just tired and confused. I really didn't know what
I was doing,”* he casually said. But he didn't look at her when he said it.




“*Oh.”* Ginny closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. At least not now.




He spoke the incantation to extinguish his wand and slipped it back under the pillow where he
usually kept it. The room once again was shrouded in darkness.




“*I'm zonked,”* he said as he stretched his body out and gathered his poor rumpled
sheets over him. *“I think I'm going to turn in. Tomorrow is Friday and I need to be in early
for a briefing.”*




He closed his eyes as he laid his head back on the pillow. *“Are you staying,”* he asked,
half stifling a yawn.




If she had been Ginny Weasley she would have snapped at this point. She would have jumped on
Harry and beat at him with her fists till he were black and blue. She would have jumped on Harry
and shagged him good and proper till he was black and blue. She definitely wanted to jump on Harry
and cry on to his chest, be it black or blue. But she was Ginny Potter. Her husband was tired and
he needed to be up bright and early so that he could save the world.




“*No Harry, I don't think so. I'm afraid my feet are too cold and they will keep you
up the rest of the night,”* she said as she removed herself from the bed. The false cheer in her
voice nearly made bile rise up in the back of her throat.




A dreamy sort of smile crossed his face and Harry turned over on his side, his back facing her.
*“You’re just too good to me Ginny,”* he murmured sleepily.




Ginny wasn't sure how long she stood at the side of that bed, but it was well after sleep
descended on Harry making his breathing shallow. Eventually she found herself back in her room. She
walked over to her nightstand in a trance like state and picked up her wand. She then went into the
bathroom connected to her bedroom suite. She cast a spell to lock the door and then one to block
all sounds from leaving the room. She then cried herself to sleep on the tiles of the bathroom
floor.




Harry had already left for the day by time Ginny came downstairs to prepare breakfast.













“I don't care if she has the most read column in *The Prophet*. Daphne Greengrass is a
no talent hack!”




Ginny picked up a morsel of cake on her fork and lifted it to her lips. This is almost better
then sex, she thought as she swallowed the delectable confection down. Well, definitely better then
not having sex.




“What are you on about Lav?”




They were having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron that day with plans to go into Diagon Alley after.
Lavender was sitting across the table from her, head lowered over a copy of The Daily Prophet, her
plate of fruit salad untouched.




“This,” she exclaimed irritably. She practically shoved the page she had been reading in to
Ginny's hands. “Just look at this tripe!”




Ginny dropped her fork on her plate and picked up the paper. The first thing she saw was a small
picture of the witch who covered the society section for the paper by her byline. Daphne
Greengrass. The cute dark haired, coal eyed woman had been in Lavender's year back at Hogwarts.
Her column was called Daphne Tells It All. It covered the big social events of Great Britain's
wizarding elite. Engagements, weddings, baby announcements, parties, promotions; all of it was
spread out over 3 to 4 pages. If you also wanted to find out who were living in separate houses,
who were having torrid affairs, and who was going to kill his wife if he walked in on her with the
Wireless repairman again, Daphne told that all too. It really was little more then a gossip sheet.
It was also the first section most people usually turned to in the morning. Daphne's pic winked
at her. Ginny and Harry's comings and goings had often been featured daily.




“What am I supposed to be looking at again,” Ginny asked trying to figure out what had her
friend all in a tizzy.




"My Morgana Ginny! The bloody mention of the engagement party!”




Ginny spread the paper out on the table and looked all over for the announcement. She eventually
found it at the bottom of her right hand side.




“Aha! Found it.”




“Took you long enough,” she grumped.




Ginny ignored the comment. She scanned the notice quickly and finding nothing wrong looked at
Lavender again.




“I don't get it. What's so bad about this,” a confused Ginny asked.




“What's wrong with it,” Lavender exclaimed. “What's wrong with it?”




Ginny sighed. Lavender could be so dramatic.




“*What happens when two Gryffindors fall in love,*” Ginny read from the paper in a fake
announcers voice. “*Wedding bells! Ronald Billius Weasley, charming Keeper for the Wimbourne
Wasps and Lavender Brown-Pye, the young widow of broom entrepreneur* *Cornelius Shepfield Pye
will be joined on June 23rd at an as yet unmentioned location. Since the banns were
announced just a few days ago all of Great Britain has been a-twitter over the news. If you always
knew that these two lovebirds were destined to be together, like I did, come join the happy couple
this Sunday evening begin the Rites to start their blessed union. The fete will be held at the
Weasley family compound in Ottery St. Catchpole. Although this will be the bride's second
wedding, we here at the Prophet are sure it will be her last marriage*.”




Ginny had to stifle the giggle that bubbled up at that last bit.




“Why did she have to mention Corn?”




“Well you were married to the man Lavender.”




Lavender looked at Ginny as though she were simple minded. “That was ages,” she said, a bored
expression on her face.




“The man only died 3 years ago.” Lavender scowled at that so Ginny quickly switched topics.
“Other then that though you must admit it was a perfectly fine mention.” She then handed the paper
back to Lavender.




“Sure, but who is going to read it,” she said in a loud whinging voice as she snatched the paper
back. At this point most of the other customers at the tables around them turned to see what the
fuss was about. Lavender gave them all the stink eye.




“Ron and I got tossed to the bottom of the page as if we were rubbish,” she pouted as she turned
back to the table.




Lavender loved her social standing almost as much as she loved Ginny's older brother.




“But did you see who got a big photo and interview?”




“It looked like McLaggen and Pug Face,” Ginny said as she took a sip of her butterbeer. Lavender
had opted to try a frothy fruity drink that would pop and fizz and put on a little firework display
every few minutes. After she swallowed down a bit of it she opened the paper back to the society
section again.




“*Pansy and Cormac: Tales from a happy Slythedor marriage*,” she read, voice oozing
disgust. She turned back to Ginny. “What's so special about a Slythedor marriage?”




“Well you know there has always been a long standing rivalry between the two houses. Some say
the grudge goes back as far as Godric and Salazar. You hardly ever hear about inter-marrying
between the two.” Ginny shrugged, “I guess some think the McLaggens are rare.”




“Well it's not like they re-wrote the bleeding Magna Carta!”




Ginny snorted. Lavender was really taking her muggle studies seriously.




“The Pug and her lil’ bitch are always in this thing,” Lavender said as she shook the paper
furiously. “The happy couple this...the happy couple that. When we all know that Cormac can't
keep it in his pants.”




“He used to chase Hermione around her desk when they worked together at the Ministry.”




“Gabby Delacour says that he is always over at Beauxbatons 'recruiting' the pretty young
things for his department. Ha! She can hardly keep the silly little bints in class when he comes
around.”




“I hear he does the same thing at Hogwarts. Never chats up any of the blokes.”




“Humph,” said Lavender as she speared a melon chunk off of her plate and chewed it furiously.
“Of course Parkinson probably doesn't give two shits. She only married the brute because he had
the three things she loved most. Money, connection, pureblood,” Lavender counted out on her
fingers.




Ginny tittered. “Well...” she took another bite of cake, “...I bet I know one thing McLaggen has
that Pansy doesn't love.”




Lavender looked at Ginny, half listening as she sipped on her Pink Pixie.




“A penis.”




Lavender's drink went shooting out of her mouth. Once again they drew stares.




“Sorry,” Ginny said sheepishly to those sitting nearest her. Lavender scooted her chair closer
to the table.




“No.”




Ginny shook her head affirmatively.




“No.”




Ginny chuckled.




“But what about Malfoy? Weren't they an item once?”




“Yes. Then in my 5th year, your 6th, Draco Malfoy became He Who Must Not Be Named's errand
boy. Pansy needed someone to keep the loneliness at bay didn't she?”




Lavender hung on to Ginny's every word. It was as if V-Day had come early this year.




“Tell us who Ginny, tell us who” she pleaded.




Ginny looked at her with an evil gleam in her eye. “I don't know if I should,” she
teased.




“Ginny please?”




Ginny laughed. “Ok, ok.” She looked around them to make sure that their conversation wasn't
being listened to.




“Let's just say that Parkinson might make that gossip section constantly, but I'm pretty
damned sure that dear Daphne isn't telling it all.”




For a second Lavender was totally at a loss as to what Ginny could mean. And then it hit
her.




“You are fucking with me!”




“No my friend, you and I don't have that kind of relationship. But Daphne and Parkinson did.
Moaning Myrtle told me.”




“Myrtle,” asked Lavender bemusedly. “Forgive me Ginny, but I have a hard time believing anything
an emotionally challenged 14 year old dead girl would tell you.”




“Don't knock the dead Missy. The Hogwarts ghosts knew all the best gossip,” Ginny confided.
“And if it went down anywhere near the plumbing you can believe Myrtle saw it.”










When school re-opened after the war Ginny found herself back at Hogwarts being named Head Girl
and Gryffindor House Quidditch captain. She also was Harry Potter's newly re-established
girlfriend. This should have made her the most popular girl in school. Instead Ginny never felt so
isolated.




The boys avoided her as if she had the plague. None of them wanted to get too friendly with The
Chosen One's girl. If he could take out the dark lord of dark lords what couldn't he or
wouldn't he do to them. Since Ginny only had eyes for Harry she didn't mind the lack of
male attention.




Most of the females ignored her as well. She had a gorgeous, rich, older boyfriend who was being
recruited by all the top teams in the Quidditch league. It also didn't help that said boyfriend
was the savior of all wizarding kind. Oh how the girl's hated her! At first it had hurt, but
eventually she came to see that all the other girls were jealous of her. Ginny could hardly blame
them. She would be jealous too if she wasn't so damned lucky. Ginny had prestige, power, and at
last she had her man. She convinced herself that if it meant having Harry in her life, she was
willing to suffer the abuse. She just wished she had a friend she could talk to. With Colin dead
and Luna off in her own world usually, Ginny realized that she wasn't really close to anyone
else in her year. Before she had spent most of her time hanging with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Now
she was all by herself. Neville was once again living in Scotland, in the city of Aberdeen going to
school, and would visit her on the weekends. But other then those too brief moments spent with him
Ginny felt terribly alone. That was how she and Moaning Myrtle became friends.




Before, Myrtle had always held a grudge against Ginny because of the whole chamber opening,
Riddle possessed, diary throwing incident back in her first year. What most people didn't know,
and what Ginny was far too embarrassed to tell, was that for years Myrtle would harass Ginny
whenever she could. If the ghost caught the poor girl in the bathroom on her own she would soak her
from head to toe. The harassment only got worse after she and Harry officially started dating in
her 5th year. Myrtle had always had a bit of a soft spot for Harry.




By her final year Ginny felt that it was time to bury the hatchet with the dispirited spirit.
One night after making rounds Ginny entered Myrtle's sanctuary in the first floor girl's
bathroom. Before the usually high strung ghost could attack her Ginny told her that she wanted to
call a truce and be friends. Myrtle made crying like noises for ten minutes straight before happily
agreeing. After that Ginny would spend an hour or two with Myrtle after her Head Girl rounds almost
every night. Ginny would gush about Harry to the enraptured ghost and Myrtle would tell her all of
Hogwarts secrets. It was a relationship of mutual benefit.










“You remember that bathroom on the first floor, the one that Myrtle haunted?”




“More like terrorized,” Lavender huffed.




“Yes, well, let's just say that a lot of...interesting things went down in that bathroom.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron stole some ingredients from Snape and brewed up a potion in there once.
Myrtle told me.”




Lavender arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “You're sure that's all they did
in there?”




“That's sick Lav.” Ginny snapped. When the pretty young blonde looked perfectly chastised
Ginny immediately regretted loosing her temper.




“They were only 2nd years back then. Besides Myrtle gladly told me all of the sex
stuff.”




“Like?”




“Filch bawling like a baby crying '*Selene, Selene. Why can't you love me Selene? Why
can't you notice I'm alive'* while whacking off.”




“Selene? As in Professor Sinistra? That Selene?”




“That Selene.”




“Gracious,” said Lavender as her hand fluttered to her chest.




“Yes. Then there was the story of Terry Boot. He would sneak in there every Tuesday night with a
duffel bag filled with girl's knickers and knee socks he filched from the laundry. He also
would carry around a large pair of Marry Janes. He liked to strip all of his own clothes off, slip
on a pair of the panties, the socks, the shoes and nothing else. He would then study his Arithmancy
book till the crack of dawn.”




“I always knew he was a poof.”




“You only thought that because he didn't ask you to the Yule Ball way back when,” Ginny
teased.




“I had a perfectly lovely time with Seamus, thank you very much.” Ginny laughed as Lavender
stuck her tongue out at her.




“But finish tell me about Parkinson and Greengrass.”




“Nothing much to tell. They would just have these passionate little trysts and Myrtle would
watch.” Ginny snickered. “She would even act them out for me.”




Ginny gave a little cough and changed her voice to sound eerily enough like Pansy's, high
pitched and annoying. “*Oh Daph, your hair is as soft as a demiguise.*”




Lavender chortled.




Ginny adopted a lower, silkier Welsh accent. “*I'll love you forever and ever
Pans.*”




Lavender could barely control her laughter. “You know, her plumbing might not work any more, but
Myrtle sounds like a right perv.”




“And how,” Ginny agreed.




The two women entered in to a comfortable silence for a few moments. Ginny finished her cake and
Lavender plopped a grape she lifted off of her plate in to her mouth.




“Think they're still doing it,” asked Lavender curiously.




“Parkinson and Daphne,” Ginny queried. “I don't right know. But I have been at a Ministry
function or two where you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”




“Goodness,” exclaimed Lavender. “But you know it all makes sense now. All the little write-ups
she gives the Pug. You know Slytherins never believe in giving something for nothing. I always knew
Greengrass was an old snake thru and thru.”




“Awww Lav, Daphne isn't that bad.” Lavender scoffed. “She isn't, as far as Slytherins
go. She's always been nice to me.”




“Probably wants in your knickers!”




"Lav!"




“Well it's true.”




“No, really. Daphne never fell into that whole pureblood rigmarole that most Slytherins hold to.
In fact her parents backed the Ministry during the war,” Ginny said.




Lavender picked up the paper again and began to skim it.




“Be that as it may, I still don't like the bitch,” Lavender said as she gave a toss to her
summery blonde hair.




“And I'll never be able to read this thing the same way again. Listen to this: *As I was
having supper at Presto's, the place to see and be seen, late Monday night Perfect Pair
-*rubbish*- the McLaggens popped in for a bite. Being on such intimate terms with the
couple...*”, Ginny sniggered, “*...I made my way to their table to sit down and have a chat.
As the three of us reminisced over our happier years in school, Hogsmeade visits, the Yule Ball,
getting caught after curfew, I couldn't help but be in awe of the affection that lay between
the couple. As Cormac, the Assistant Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical
Coorporation, left the table to discuss important Ministry matters with his colleague Galeta
Hersh...*”




“Oh come on now, she doesn't even work in his department,” Ginny interrupted. Lavender
continued to read.




“*Pansy and I got down to business* -goodness, at the table, in front of everybody
ladies...kinky.”




“You're so bad Lav!”




“Shush! I'm still reading,” she said in a mock stern voice.




“*Pansy, I asked, please tell all the faithful readers of Daphne Tells it All just why you
have a lasting strong marriage. The stunning, statuesque -*oh I think I'm going to be ill
now*- blonde smiled a peaceful and content smile. My marriage is strong because I make sure my
Cormmy is happy. I didn't need to bind him to me to keep him by my side* -sanctimonious
little- *He's there cause he wants to be there. I wasn't one of these pie in the sky
little girls who think that marriage is all rainbows and unicorns. I knew that if I wanted a long
lasting, healthy relationship I would have to work for it*.”




As she read from the paper Lavender had raised it in front of her. The view of her redheaded
friend was blocked. She gabbed on and on and was unaware of the enraged woman who was sitting
across from her.




“*My work paid off. You know Daph, there are mornings when my darling husband won't even
let me out of bed*. -I doubt that- *As Pansy and I laughed over this* -I bet they did-
*she slowly leaned in and left me with this final thought to share with you dear readers: If you
have to question the strength of your marriage, you might want to question your marriage.*”




Lavender lowered the paper. “The woman has no shame,” she said turning to look at her
friend.




She was stopped cold.










When a magical child is born its lineage doesn't guarantee that the small babe will grow up
to be a witch or a wizard. In fact the question of whether or not a child would have substantial
powers or be a Squib(a condition that had once been rare but was now growing steady prevalent due
to the marriages of such closely related purebloods) could not be answered until said child showed
any magical aptitude. Generally this occurred around the ages of 4 or 5 once the child expelled
their first bit of accidental magic. This was a small blessing in and of its self. No mother would
like to have a tot going thru its terrible twos that could make it's porridge fly about the
room. Of course there are always exceptions. Yevgeny Murat was fabled to have somehow charmed his
stuffed chimaera to stalk and eat his older sister's pet crup all at the tender age of 18
months. But such cases are rare.




In the Weasley household Molly and Arthur's boys' powers tended to pop up at age 5.
Percy's actually presented themselves when he was 3. Even then he was an over achiever. But the
only Weasley daughter did raise questions. By the summer of her 8th birthday Ginny
Weasley still hadn't shown any magical abilities. Her parents were not overly concerned though.
They still had a couple of years before drastic measures that would 'encourage' her powers
to come out would need to be taken. George had once helpfully proposed they lock her in a pen with
a half starved quintaped...and was promptly boxed in the ear for the suggestion.




Ginny by all accounts seemed to be unaware of her deficiency. She appeared to be a cheerful,
boisterous child who lived for fun and mischief. But this was an act. Ginny hated not having what
others had! Although Ginny's parents made due for their large nest as best as they could, she
still felt their lack of wealth keenly. Her being a female didn't even exempt her from having
to wear her brothers' old hand me down robes and trainers. Ginny valiantly soldiered on thru
this degradation.




But the idea that she might not grow up to be a witch, something that should be her
birthright...Ginny couldn't even bear the thought of it. She would rather die then be a Squib!
She never told a soul any of this though, just buried it deep down inside and put on a sunny smile.
She took Ron's teasing. She withstood pitying pats on her head from her mum followed shortly by
a murmured "poor dear". She even ignored Percy's adult like quips of "at least
she can't cause more trouble". She did plan to turn him into a pigeon the first chance she
got however.




Then that fateful summer the whole family, minus Bill, went to visit Charlie in the Ukraine.
Charlie, having recently graduated from Hogwarts, was in Chernihiv to apprentice under the
acclaimed dragon huntress Gerda Winkler. She was a petite older witch whose grandmotherly
appearance often disguised her fierce nature. She was the foremost expert on all dragon species,
both living and extinct, in the world. She was also missing the limbs and an eye to prove it. She
could hog tie a baby Fireball, smoked imported Salem cigars, had a voice like a brass gong, and
liked for the young men in her tutelage to call her mother. Charlie simply adored her. He wrote
home, sometimes 3 letters a week, gushing about Gerda. Molly couldn't stand the woman, sight
unseen. As soon as Arthur got some leave time from the Ministry and Percy finished up his fourth
year while the twins were leaving their second at school she packed up her family to go visit her
second oldest boy.




They spent two weeks camped out by the Desna river. Arthur and the boys would go out in the
field with Charlie and his mates, while Molly would watch Gerda like a hawk from the sidelines.
Ginny usually was forced to stay with her mum. All in all though, Ginny enjoyed the trip. On their
last day there Arthur gave Molly a wad of muggle money, to Ginny's eyes what looked like a
small fortune, to go buy his little princess something nice for her birthday.




They walked into town and Molly looked for a shoe store to buy Ginny a nice new pair of
girl's shoes. But as they walked the streets Ginny's attention was caught by the display in
a nearby shop window. The store sold expensive porcelain figurines. Ginny instantly fell in love
with a statuette of a Ukrainian noble woman dressed in a lilac colored Renaissance gown holding a
small brown puppy. Ginny wanted to be that girl, but she would settle for being able to buy her and
put her on her bureau. She tugged her mother into the store.




Molly at first tried to refuse her daughter's request, but after seeing Ginny's pleading
face acquiesced. The two Weasley ladies entered the store and waited for someone to serve them. And
they waited. And they waited. They stood there for 20 minutes and watched customer after customer
get served, some who had even come in after them.




After awhile an embarrassed Molly tried to shuffle her child out of the store, but Ginny would
have none of it. She had to have that pretty lady! And her little brown dog. Didn't her mum
understand that? But before she could ask her Ginny saw one of the very attractive, well dressed
shop girl's lean over to her colleague and say "bidnny" (poor) and then look at her
mum and her. Ginny may not have spoken the language, but she knew what that look meant. It was the
same look she received from the other children when she showed up to Mandy Brocklehurst's
birthday party in patched robes. It was the same look her mother got from passerbys as she walked
into the second hand stores in Diagon Alley. It was the same look in little Meleficent Avery's
eye as she told Ginny her mum said they couldn't play together any longer.




Oh yes, Ginny knew that look. Usually she would force down the anger that would swell up inside
her at those moments. But not this day. Something inside of Ginny just snapped. She felt a heated
wave pulse, vibrate all thru her body. It felt coarse. It felt sickening. It felt ugly. It felt
powerful. For the first time in her life Ginny Weasley was experiencing rage. Molly, who had been
half way out the door at this point, felt the pulse in the air of powerful magic being expelled.
She turned to see her child's eyes turn indigo and her long red hair nearly stand off her head.
Molly yanked her daughter out of the store as a porcelain swan sitting on a stand nearest to her
exploded.




Ginny ended up breaking every figurine in the store that day. All save the girl and her little
brown puppy. Ginny was officially a witch. She was also grounded. Molly stressed to her that if she
let her temper get out of control it could be disastrous. Ginny would need to control her temper.
She usually did. She never had another episode like that one in Chernihiv. Until now.










Lavender tore her gaze from the near purple face of her future sister-in-law and placed in on
the now empty flute she had been drinking out of. The glass rattled on the table as if it were
doing an angry jig. As Lavender looked at the tables nearby, all of the glass and tea cups were
doing the same thing much to the astonishment of the other customers.




“Um...Ginny....” she fearfully said. Ginny snatched the paper from her hands.




“Let me see that,” she snapped as the glassware came to a halt, thankfully.




“Why this is just a pile of tosh. Absolute rubbish! Daphne obviously left a few things out.
Ahem...” Ginny said before adopting Daphne's tone. “Pans, love, how have you and your man whore
of a husband managed to not kill each other after all these years?”




She then gave an airy toss of her head and began to simper like Pansy.




“Why Daph, dear, I simply allow my husband to chase after anything in knee socks and pig tails.
And when I'm feeling a bit peckish myself I invite you over, spread you wide open on my
marriage bed, and put my mouth on your crotch!”




Ginny then threw the newspaper across the table.




Lavender looked at Ginny in shock. “Ginny!”




Ginny looked at her defiantly and crossed her arms in front of her chest.




“What's gotten into you today?”




More like what hasn't gotten into me today, she broodingly thought.




“Well whatever it is, I like it,” Lavender enthused, eyes bright with mirth.




Ginny looked at Lavender's big cheerful grin and couldn't fight the small smile that
appeared on her own.




“I've missed this you know. Having a close female friend. I haven't had one since Parv
ran away to New Guinea to chase after that mad muggle she was in love with,” Lavender said as she
reached across the table, grabbed Ginny's hand, and squeezed them affectionately.




“I'm going to love being your sister Ginny.”




Ginny squeezed back. “I'm going to love having you for a sister Lav. I wouldn't have
chosen anyone else for Ron. I'm really glad he is marrying you.”




Lavender squealed at this and clapped her hands merrily. “I am too. Now let's pay the bill
and get out of here so we can do some shopping.”







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







Ten minutes later the two nattily dressed women were walking down Diagon Alley, arms linked,
chatting away. They made a lovely picture and men couldn't help but gawk. Both girls were
slender and stunning, though Ginny was a tad petite. Their elegant robes (both had an account at
Twillfit's and Malkin's) and stylish coifs (Ginny's long auburn locks were up in a
French twist while Lavender's fell just above her shoulders in golden waves) spoke of money.
Though Ginny was easily the prettier of the two, Lavender's naturally vibrant and vivacious
personality radiated from her and made people watch her. They were the cream of the wizarding elite
and every little girl wanted to grow up and be them. They knew it, and relished it.




“Oh, did I tell you? Ron and I are going to file the adoption papers later today.”




“Oh Lav, that's brilliant,” Ginny said and squeezed her friend's arm. “Mum will be so
excited.”




Lavender smiled. “She treats Vi just like she was one of her own grands.”




“And spoils her rotten too,” Ginny clucked. “I never had it so good. Rosemary, Felicity, and
Violet get away with murder.”




“Violet Weasley. That has a lovely ring to it, doesn't it.”




Even though it was not really said as a question Ginny still shook her head affirmatively.




“Much better then Vi Pye by any accounts. Could you imagine! That's what the kids at
Hogwarts in a few years would have called my child, Vi Pye. Why that's tantamount to child
abuse,” Lavender proclaimed.




Ginny was too amused. “Well you did marry Olde Pye Lav.”




“I declare a change in topic,” she stated primly.




“Alright, alright,” she said while giggling.




“Did you see that bit about Blaise Zabini in the paper?”




“No, what?”




“Looks like he got married.”




“Do we know the witch?”




“The name didn't sound familiar. Someone named Amparo Leon.”




“Hmmm. Probably just left Hogwarts.”




“Back in school Blaise was a scrumptious bit of arse.”




“Lav,” Ginny exclaimed, scandalized.




“You know I never got to date a black bloke.”




“Lav!”




“Did you and Dean ever...”




“Don't you dare finish that sentence!”




“Ok, ok. Spoil all my fun,” she said in mock seriousness.




As they came to halt suddenly, Ginny felt the dark cloud she had been under all day begin to
disperse. She really did enjoy the times she spent with Lavender. And she felt just horrible about
loosing it like that in front of her. It wasn't Lavender's fault that Pug Faced Parkinson
was a horrid little slag. Ginny could barely even remember what had upset her so much. Everything
about Pansy's life was a lie. Her secure marriage, her happy husband, all lies. And what's
more, Ginny thought to herself, the woman probably has even begun to buy into her own self invented
delusions. Ginny could almost feel sorry for her. In fact she did feel sorry for her, she convinced
herself. Ginny Potter pitied Pansy McLaggen.




“Oh look, there goes Susie. She must be on lunch from Mungo's.”




Ginny turned to look across the street at the slightly over weight, short woman with her dark
blonde hair tied in a severe top knot on her head.




“Sue! Oh Susan,” Lavender shouted failing her arms about. The woman in the lime green
healer's robes walked into Obscurus Books, oblivious to Lavender's shouts.




“Oh poo! She must not have heard me. You know I heard Parkinson is seeing her. I wonder how
Susan in putting up with that nightmare. You would think she would have gone to one of her little
Slytherin mates. Tracy Davis has her own practice over in Hogsmeade. Course Tracy Davis was as dumb
as a garden gnome back in school. I wonder how she managed that.”




“Hang on Lav, why would the Pug be seeing Susan Goldstein,” asked Ginny, a perplexed look on her
face. "Susan treats pregnant witches."




“Well...yes,” Lavender said, turning to look at the younger woman. “The McLaggens are expecting.
I thought everyone knew that. It was in the paper just last week. Though how they managed
that...”




Lavender turned to look behind at the store front she and Ginny had stopped in front of and
instantly lost her train of thought.




“Ooooh, looks like *Persephone's* is having a sale today. Goody for us,” she said as
she turned back to her friend. Her happy smile turned in to a frown of worry.




“Hey, your eyes are watering.”




“Oh, are they,” Ginny asked as she took the white handkerchief with her monogram, GMP, out of
her robe pocket and rubbed at her eyes madly. “I think I'm allergic to this new scent I'm
wearing.”




“Oh, I hope it isn't that *Chased* garbage. It's made by Cordelia Hunting, she
plays chaser for Appleby. I tried a sample of it just last week and it turned the back of my neck
pea green. These barmy celebrities! Just because she can fly a broom real fast does not make her
qualified to make perfume,” Lavender prattled on, never noticing her friend's half hearted
laughter.




“Next thing you know the stupid bint will have her own line of womens robes. Imagine!”




Lavender strolled in to the lingerie store and immediately walked over to the sheer night gowns
that left nothing to the imagination. Ginny followed slowly behind her. Lavender picked up a rose
colored baby doll and held it against her body.




“You know, I bought one of these last year for Ron's birthday. He wouldn't let me out of
the bedroom all weekend long,” she beamed proudly.




Must be nice, Ginny gloomily thought as she by passed the gowns and headed to the back to look
at the thermal underwear.






















*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*







8. Chapter 7
------------

**Title**: *All Roads Lead Back*

**Keywords**: *Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. H/Hr, but a
whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

**Summary**: *Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

**Spoilers**: *All six books.*

**A/N**: *I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres as much as I could manage to
canon. This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out,
but would appreciate it if you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*



*It's flashbackpalooza time! I hope you like it because I really enjoyed writing this one.
A lot of stuff happens in this chapter so I hope it isn't confusing. It's chock-full of*
**H&Hr *so*** *I hope I'm forgiven for any believed past and future
missteps.*



*I had no idea where Godric's Hollow could be. I've heard somewhere in Wales and
Yorkshire suggested, but I decided to base the Hollow on the village of Bulcote in
Nottinghamshire.*



*I definitely go off canon a bit with the horcruxes. I also take some liberties with the
Founders. Believe it or not, the Auld Alliance that I briefly mention was real.*



*In my universe there are several different kind of wedding practices for magical people, but
the one that I use heavily and have mentioned before is called the Olde Rites. A lot of you have
asked how am I going to get Harry out of his marriage. After reading this you probably will really
wonder just how and the hell I'm going to pull it off. But there is a method to my madness.
;^)*



*The scene that takes place in Grimmauld Place is supposed to be reminiscent of Chapter 9 of
OotP. Of course it's changed up.*



*For once I think there is no warning needed. So sit back and relax cause this one is a long
one! I don't know when I'll be able to post again because I an trying to recover my files
from a MASSIVE crash, but hopefully it will tide you over for awhile.*



**Seriously I have gotten some awesome rocking reviews and I can't express how much they
mean to me. The reviews that ask me “bitch are you crazy?” (heh) don't even faze me anymore
because the rest of you guys have been so great. THANK YOU SO MUCH!**



**Disclaimer:** *If it looks like it's J.K.'s, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*









Harry was sitting at a table in a pub located a few steps into Knockturn Alley. The place was
called the Haggling Hag and because of it's prime location was able to serve both the dregs of
wizarding society and those that wanted to associate with the dregs. It was the kind of place where
a hag didn't have to hide her face, a fellow could openly buy a poisoned potion with no thought
of recrimination, it wasn't too uncommon to see a goblin picking up a human trick for the
night...and everyone knew your name.





It was also the kind of place that a respected Auror could meet with an informant and no one
would pay either any mind. That was what Harry was doing there. He had come to the Hag to meet with
Mundungus Fletcher for lunch, a few pints, and whatever information the ginger haired criminal
could give him. Mundungus had sent an owl to Harry's house earlier that morning. According to
him he had some information he felt that Harry would be interested in hearing.





When Harry got up from the breakfast table to leave the house for the day Ginny had thrown a
fit. She was furious that he would actually use his Saturday off to do Department business,
especially when most of the family would be over at the Burrow helping prepare for the engagement
party. Harry tried to explain to his wife how important it was to close up the case he was working
on and that he was sure that Ron wouldn't be too upset that he couldn't make it. Knowing
Ron he probably would be hiding out somewhere himself.





It turned out that Fletcher did not have info on any of his current cases, but instead had heard
some gossip pertaining to a plot to kidnap the very popular W.W.N. personality, Glenda Chittock.
There were some people who felt that their favorite group, The Hobgoblins, were not featured nearly
enough on the program that she hosted and were determined to rectify the situation. Never mind the
fact that the group had broken up ages ago. 'Dung, who was a devotee of the stunning Miss
Chittock and a big fan of The Witching Hour, felt that it was his duty to make sure that Harry knew
about this nefarious plan. He also was hoping to score brownie points with the Auror.





Mundungus had recently gotten in trouble due to his involvement in the selling of some
malfunctioning

sneakoscopes to muggles. The things were being billed as personal alarm systems and were being
sold to poor little grandmothers in Hackney all the way to young mothers in Chessington. The stupid
things didn't work a bit, but that didn't matter. The Muggle Protection act had been
violated and due to Mundungus' very extensive rap sheet he was guaranteed a nice long stay in
Azkaban as soon as someone from the Hit Wizard Squad caught up with him.





What Fletcher desperately needed from Harry was a recommendation. Even with the dementors now
gone, Azkaban was still a dreary soul destroying place. Misery clung to the prison as if it resided
in the very stone walls. This after all was where Lord Voldemort made his last stand. Some said the
essence of the monster practically permeated the air and that alone was enough to make a man go
insane if he stayed there for more then a fortnight. After the war ended and the prison was
reopened this was where the Ministry sent all of the wizards who hoped to fill Voldemort's
shoes as well as the career criminals they hoped to be done with. 'Dung fell in this last
category.





A few years ago, to curb over crowding, the Ministry built a new prison village on one of the
Outer Hebrides Islands, St Kilda. It was named Darthmont and it was the place that wizards and
witches were sent if they were guilty of smaller petty crimes. Sure the place was volcanic and the
landscape foreboding, but in comparison to Azkaban, Darthmont was a bloody holiday resort. This was
where Mundungus was hoping to get sent to if he was caught. All he needed was for Harry to put in a
good word for him.





Harry was not pleased with Mundungus' news. He had been hoping that 'Dung had some
information on any possible whereabouts of Ptolemy Cadmus. That was the biggest case that his team
of Aurors were working on and the case that he most wanted to close. Some alleged kidnapping, that
was probably just drunken talk heard in a pub, was of little interest to Harry. 'Dung was quite
lucky that Harry didn't call in a team of Hit Wizards right there on the spot. It was only
because of Fletcher's past ties to the Order that Harry stayed his hand.





Harry's relationship with Mundungus Fletcher had been contentious for years truthfully.
'Dung was a useful snitch, but Harry never fully trusted him after the day in Hogsmeade that he
caught the crook with goods he had stolen from Grimmauld Place. In Harry's mind Sirius was
barely gone yet and here was Fletcher already picking the meat off the carcass. In fact when he,
Hermione, and Ron cottoned on to the fact that they might have actually come across the Slytherin
locket just two summers before Harry automatically thought that Mundungus had it.





It wasn't that large a leap for them to deduce that the R.A.B. that stole the locket horcrux
might actually have been Sirius' younger brother Regulus Black. It was during one of their late
night brain storming sessions on Little Whinging that Ron remembered seeing a locket just like the
one Harry described to them. It had been one of the many objects they came across in the drawing
room of Number 12. As Ron recalled none of them could get the thing opened. Harry shared the fact
that Regulus had been a Death Eater who for some unknown reason went on the run shortly before he
was killed. Hermione provided them with the information that the Black brothers' father was
named Arcturus. She found that in a book she was reading that she had removed from Grimmauld back
when Sirius was alive and had given her permission to. Nature's Nobility was a book on
genealogy and listed every pureblood magical family of worth. It was a veritable Who's Who of
the wizarding world so of course the House of Black had its own chapter. Why Hermione was reading
the book she wouldn't say, but it did seem plausible that Regulus could have taken his middle
name from the father. Could Regulus have become disillusioned with Voldemort's plans? Could
that be his reason for stealing the horcrux? Could that have been the reason why Voldemort had him
killed?





Harry himself had no clue to these answers, but he did know that if that mysterious locket that
they found once was the Slytherin heirloom they needed to find it again posthaste. When Harry
noticed Mundungus at the Burrow after the wedding he quickly cornered the fellow near the broom
shed. 'Dung denied ever seeing the locket of course, but Harry didn't believe him. He was a
thief, wasn't he?





It had taken the combined efforts of Ginny, Neville, Fred, and George to pull Harry off of the
older man. Harry was incensed! His judgment was so clouded by anger and fear that he barely
listened to a word that Mundungus said in his defense. Hermione and Ron, looking rumpled and
harassed, soon entered the melee. Both of them grabbed an arm each as they pulled their friend away
from the throng.





To say that Hermione read him the riot act wouldn't come close to describe the tongue
lashing that she dished out.





“*Are you bloody mad?! To attack poor Mr. Fletcher like that? An Order member Harry?! An Order
member! How could you? And then on top of that you announce to anyone within hearing distance that
you're looking for something important. Way to go Potter! Why don't you just alert
Voldemort to all our plans right now, it would be easier!”*





After he and Hermione had a screaming match that put any she had ever had with Ron to shame it
was agreed upon that Mundungus more then likely didn't have the locket. Their next course of
action was to search Grimmauld Place. Harry wanted to go off then and there that very night, but
Hermione and Ron vetoed the idea. Or rather Hermione said that she didn't think it was a very
good plan and Ron agreed with her. When the hell did Ron start taking her side over mines, Harry
briefly wondered as he fought down the wave of irritation that for some odd reason reared its
head.





“*In a couple of weeks the Ministry is going to have a testing day. We can all floo into
Diagon Alley and while Ronnie is taking his apparition test you and I can search the house.
We'll stay the night at the Cauldron then we can take the train into Nottingham station.
Hopefully someone can take us the rest of the way.”*





He also wondered when the hell she started calling him Ronnie. What the bollocks was that all
about?!





With a course of action set the three friends spent the remaining few days at the Burrow
enjoying what freedom they had left before they got down to the serious business of searching for
horcruxes. At least he assumed Hermione and Ron were enjoying themselves. Harry instead preferred
to isolate himself from them, Ginny, and everyone else in the house. He was beginning to feel the
burden of his destiny settling about his shoulder. It was cumbersome, it was wearying, and most of
all it wasn't fair.





What happens if I fail? Why is this my job to do? What happens if I fail? When do I ever get to
live my life? What happens if I fail? How am I to manage this? What happens if I fail? Where are my
parents' happy ending? What happens if I fail? What happens if I fail? What happens if I
fail?





Will anyone even care?





That was the mantra that played its self inside of Harry's head for days. The Boy Who Lived.
The Chosen One. Saviour of the Wizarding World. All of those were just meaningless titles to him.
Down deep in the dark recesses of Harry's heart he knew who he really was, the child so
unlovable that he had to be locked away for most of his life. He could try all he wanted to live up
to the accolades and the praise that was heaped upon him, but in the end it would all be for
naught. He would die. How could he not? He couldn't possibly win. There was no way he could
really take on Riddle. Never mind that scene in the graveyard after the Tournament. That was just
dumb luck. Plus he had had his parents telling him what to do then. According to the damned
prophecy neither of them could live while the other survived. When he still had Dumbledore behind
him he believed he was strong enough to do this, but now with his mentor gone...he would die. And
no one would care. There was no future for him.





The day that he and Hermione foraged thru Grimmauld Place he was still holding on to these dark
thoughts. It was nearing afternoon and they had been searching the house since morning. The two of
them came straight over to Grimmauld after renting two rooms at the Cauldron and dropping off their
shrunken trunks. Ron would be meeting them back there after he was done with his test.





Currently they were separated having split up to make the search go faster. They had already
went thru the kitchen, Kreacher's filthy little cubbie hole, and a few of the bedrooms. Now he
was upstairs looking in the dusty, cobweb filled attic while she was on the first floor in the
drawing room. Harry had just uncovered a box that contained two wands and a toy model motorcycle
when he heard a scream that shook him to the core. There was only one other person in the house
with him, there was only one person it could be.





He ran, on legs that felt too heavy, for the stairs. He practically jumped to the first floor
landing. Once he got to the door of the drawing room the sounds of sorrowful weeping reached his
ears. Someone was sobbing inside.





“*Hermione,”* he said as he opened the door.





There was no answer, but the sobbing continued. As he fully stepped into the room he saw the
shape of someone, a girl, cowering near the wall. Her wand was in her hand. Spread out before her
on the dusty old carpet was a body. His body. Dead.





That unmistakable sinking feeling of déjà vu hit him all at once. His head felt almost
weightless as he recalled the night he walked into this very room and stumbled on to a scene
similar to the one before him now. Same dirty, moth eaten curtains? Check. Same creature infested
couch? A-yup. Opened writing desk? Oh yeah! The only difference was back then it was Molly Weasley
whose worst fears were being played upon by a boggart.





“*R-r-riddikulus,”* sobbed Hermione.





Another difference was that the boggart back then had the good grace to not only change into
him, but every Weasley son as well as the father. But no, Hermione had used the spell to banish the
creature and yet it still remained and still looked like him.





Blood was matted in his dark hair, his glasses were cracked and dangling off of his nose, and
his usually bright green eyes were dull and sightless. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was
now a livid looking red welt that stood out on his pale, bloodless face. Harry closed his eyes and
shook his head hoping to clear the vision from his mind, but when he opened them again he still
remained dead on the floor in front of him. The only difference was that now Hermione had draped
herself over the lifeless Harry corpse.





“*Oh Harry,”* she woefully wailed.





She hadn't even realized that the living version was also in the room with her. All of her
attention was trained on the deceased young man. Harry watched, spellbound, as she lifted her head
and ran her hand tenderly thru the blood soaked hair on boggart Harry's head. As a tear fell
from the tip of her red, raw nose she closed her eyes and silently mouthed his name again. It was
this that forced Harry to finally take action.





He noiselessly crept across the room and settled himself on his knees on the other side of the
boggart. Hermione was facing him.





“*Hermione love,”* Harry said gently, *“make it go away.”*





He knew she heard him because she shook her head childishly, as though she were trying to ward
off the boogey man in the room, but she didn't raise her eyes from the body. Harry tried again,
this time with a little more force behind his voice.





“*Hermione, you know it's not real. Please Hermione, make it go away.”*





Her eyes drifted up and bulged at the sight of him. She quickly looked back at the body on the
floor as her mouth began to work its self open and close wordlessly. He'd never seen Hermione
that upset. He could see the confusion and turmoil in her eyes and he also saw as some type of
realization snapped into place.





“*No, no, no, no...”* she cried frantically as she scurried away from the body like a bug
and pressed herself into the wall. She continued to moan and wail the word “*no*” over and
over again as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her ears with her hands, dropping her wand.





Seeing that Hermione was going to be of no help, Harry pulled out his wand from his jean pocket
and pointed it at his own image. But in the blink of an eye his body vanished and in it's place
a black robed figure stood over him, reaching it's scabbed, slimy-looking hands out to him.
Harry felt the dementor's rattling breath to his very bones. His glasses fogged due to the
rapid temperature drop in the room. But either he no longer feared fear or he was more concerned
with his friend's continuous whimpering to pay the creature any heed. Whichever it was, Harry
pointed his wand at the dementor as he rose slowly from the floor.





“*Riddikulus,”* he shouted very firmly, and very clearly. And just like that the boggart
disappeared in a puff of smoke.





The silence that remained after the boggart was banished was almost deafening. The two people in
the room said not a word to each other. By this time Hermione opened her eyes again and was
watching him with a wary expression on her face. Harry didn't really now what to say to her,
how to react. What he did however was bend down so he could scoop her wand up from the floor and
stepped over to her prostrate form. As he offered her the wand her large brown eyes, glistening
with the tears that still wanted to be shed, gazed between the piece of thin vine wood to
Harry's eyes. She reached out her hand, hesitantly, eyes never leaving his own. Harry opened
his mouth to speak, but before any words could leave his lips Hermione grabbed her wand from out of
his hand, leapt up from her position on the floor, and ran out the door so fast that one would have
thought a grim was nipping at her heels.





Harry was astounded. It all happened so quickly that Harry hadn't realized she was making a
run for it until he heard her footfalls on the stairs. He turned on his heel to follow her out. By
time he got to the musty, dimly lit entrance hall the place was a cacophony of shrieks and shrills.
Hermione had apparently made such a ruckus in her haste to exit the house that she roused the hated
portrait of Sirius' mother from it's rest. Harry could hear the Black matriarch screaming
about disgusting creatures of dirt spoiling the purity of her home and half breed monsters who
didn't have the decency to die correctly. Harry simply ignored her and the rest of the family
portraits who had begun to yell and complain as he headed for the wide opened door, nearly tripping
over the over turned troll leg umbrella stand that was lying on the floor. By time Harry got
outside there was no trace of Hermione to be seen. She had obviously apparated away. Harry sighed
wearily to himself. It was going to be a long walk to Charing Cross from here.





Almost an hour later Harry was greeted by the sight of his two best friends sitting at a table
in the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron chatting animatedly to one another as their near empty
plates sat before them. Ron's back was facing the door so Harry couldn't see what kind of a
mood he was in. Harry was hoping that it was a good one because that would mean he had passed his
apparition test. With Harry not being eligible to take his test until August they could use another
person who was legally allowed to apparate. It would come in handy in cases of emergencies like if
one of them got separated from the others. Harry would still be able to side along with the other
one. This thought and his aching feet brought his attention over to Hermione.





She had changed from the faded blue jeans and red and white striped cotton shirt she was wearing
that morning into a light weight yellow jumper and denim skirt. Her hair was pulled into a neat
pony tail. She looked fresh faced and cheerful and if Harry hadn't seen it for himself he would
have never guessed that this was the same girl who had seemed practically broken only a couple of
hours ago.





As he walked over to their table Hermione looked up from her conversation and smiled sunnily at
him. He momentarily lost his footing and almost tripped over his own feet. The total 360 degree
turn of her personality must have unnerved him to the point that it actually disturbed his
equilibrium. Yeah, that had to be it. Ron, wanting to see what or who Hermione was beaming at,
turned in his seat and offered up his own large grin at the sight of his best friend. Harry
couldn't help but return the smiles.





“*Guess who passed his test with flying colors,”* Hermione said brightly while turning to
look at Ron affectionately.





Harry took a seat at the table and turned to look at Ron as well. *“Since I see both eyebrows
are still firmly in place I'll wager a guess and say Weasley here. Although...your nose does
look slightly higher then it did this morning.”*





Ron chuckled humorously. *“That's it, take the mickey. I don't mind much,”* he
quipped as he threw a dinner roll at Harry. Being the brilliant Seeker that he was, Harry caught it
expertly and gnawed off a piece hungrily. During his walk he had worked up a fierce appetite.





Hermione stood up from the table as she took a couple of galleons out of her pocket and laid
them on the table. Ron picked the money up and handed it right back to her. An argumentative look
crossed her face before it faded causing her to only shake her head complaisantly. Harry watched
all of this with an odd detached interest.





“*I think I'm going to go into Diagon for a bit, probably get a new quill. Do you lot want
anything?”*





“*The twins have these new sweets called Sour Apes. Your mouth puckers so much that you can
barely talk except make sounds like an orangutan. Then you are filled with a sudden urge to climb
up a tree. They're wicked! Get me a few packs of those please,”* Ron asked sweetly while
grabbing on to her hand.





Hermione rolled her eyes skyward in false seriousness. “I'll enable you, but my poor dentist
parents might need to deprogram me once I finally get back home after all of this.”





Both boys laughed.





“*Would you like anything Harry?”*





Harry looked up into her large brown eyes and didn't see even a trace of the frightened girl
he had encountered in Grimmaulds drawing room. He wanted to tell her that he needed to know what
was going on in her head. Why did that boggart turn into him? Why was her reaction so extreme? But
the girl seemed determined to act as though nothing was amiss between them.





“*No, nothing thanks.”*





As she walked out of the room both boys watched her go. Ron looking as though she were a
chocolate éclair and he was a starved man while Harry's face wore a thoughtful, pensive
expression.





“*So Hermione tells me that Grimmauld was a bust,”* Ron mentioned as he turned to face
Harry. Harry had been looking out the doorway still, so he missed what Ron said at first.





“*Come again?”*





Ron frowned at him exasperatedly. *“The horcrux Harry,”* he said, a little too loud for
Harry's liking.





“*Ron!”*





“*Sorry,”* the redhead mumbled sheepishly. *“She just said that you two didn't find
anything at the house.”*





“*No,”* Harry dolefully replied. *“And we looked high and low.”*





“*Rotten luck.”*





“*Yeah,”* he said dejectedly. *“Say Ron...is that all Hermione mentioned,”* Harry
asked curiously.





Ron pondered on the question for a moment before answering in the affirmative.





“*Why, did something else happen? Is that why you hung back after she left?”*





Harry looked at his best friend for a moment as he tried to decide what he was going to say. For
some reason Harry knew that Ron wouldn't take this boggart story well. When both he and
Hermione had been invited into Slughorn's Slug Club, Ron was not quiet about his unhappiness at
being left out. And there were times still that his hot tempered best mate would get almost jealous
if he and Hermione were off alone for even a moment. Although that had lessen somewhat as of late,
that still didn't make Harry want to share with Ron what had gone down at Number 12 any more.
He wouldn't lie to his best friend, but he wouldn't tell him the full story either.
Besides, Harry reasoned, how can I explain something that I don't understand myself?





“*Well there was no horcrux there,”* he began as he motioned to Tom across the room in
order to place an order, *“but you'll never guess what I think I did find.”*







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







The next morning the three Gryffindors took a cab to St. Pancras station and bought tickets to
Nottingham. They were costly and Hermione and Ron tried to put up a fuss when he payed for them all
to ride, but Harry eventually prevailed. The trip reminded them of so many journeys on the Hogwarts
Express to and from school that they all half expected Ginny to run in at any moment to share the
goings on of the rest of the train or Luna or Neville to join them. But it was just the three of
them in a car by themselves. They didn't even speak, just left each other alone to their own
thoughts as Harry sat across from Ron and Hermione. It wasn't that long of a trip, just under 2
hours, but at one point she fell asleep against Ron's shoulder. He carefully maneuvered her
into a position where she could stretch out her body on the rest of the seat while her head laid
comfortably on his lap. As Ron adoringly ran his fingers thru the sleeping girl's hair Harry
had to turn his head from the image. It reminded him too much of the day before, Hermione doing the
same thing to his dead body. Ron was absentmindedly staring into space so he didn't notice
Harry's unease.





Once they reached their destination they decided to eat first. Although none of them exactly
voiced it they were not sure what would be waiting for them once they got to the Potter cottage.
None of them wanted to meet that prospect on an empty stomach. Hermione suggested the old Inn, she
had read that it was actually carved into the castle and wanted to see it. She also figured that
they could find someone to give them a ride to the Hollow there. The two boys were so famished that
they didn't really care where they went.





It was when the cabbie refused to drive them to the former Potter home that they first realized
that something was off. The bloke let them off in front of the church and told them that he
wouldn't go the rest of the way. The house they wanted to go to was haunted and if the three of
them had any sense they would stay the hell away from it. Hermione payed the man and thanked him
for his advice. Luckily all of their trunks and belongings were nicely fitted in Hermione's
book bag so the walk wouldn't be that difficult. The two boys took turns carrying it although
she continuously reminded them that she was no helpless female. They were all dressed comfortably
in trainers and jeans and looked like just the average uni students from town. No one payed them
any notice as they walked down the main road, Harry and Ron on either side of Hermione.





Remus had already told them that the house would be at the far edge of the village so they at
least knew where they were going. Remus had also told Harry that his parents were buried in the
small cemetery of the village church. Harry tried not to focus on that bit of information, tried to
keep in mind on the task at hand, but all he could wonder was if his parents had a nice shaded spot
under a tree. If there was anyone who took pity on their poor untended plots and maybe put flowers
on them from time to time. With his head held low as he walked and his mind wrapped up in these
thoughts he almost missed it when Ron and Hermione came to a halting stop. He was confused by their
awestruck faces until he turned to face the cottage in front of him.





“*It's beautiful,”* Hermione whispered in wonder.





And it was. It was the kind of cottage where you expected a beautiful princess from a storybook
to live with her Fairy Godmother. Or you thought that any minute a troop of singing dwarves would
make their way out the door. Hansel and Gretel would have marveled at the spacious two story
Gingerbread cottage standing before the three teens, though they wouldn't have been able to
satisfy their sweet tooth on it. The thatched roof looked whole and perfect and there was a little
chimney stack protruding from it while the wide bow window in front sparkled from the rays of
sunshine hitting it. On the right hand side of the foyer door stood a well tended rose bush while
the rest of the house was surrounded by bushes of various blossoms. The whole splendor of the place
was almost too much to bare. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, he knew he had finally come
home.





“*I thought you said the house was rubble,”* Ron stage whispered to the still enthralled
girl.





“*I thought it was,”* she hissed thru her teeth back at him. *“At least it's supposed
to be. According to The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth
Century the place was completely destroyed.”*





“*That doesn't look like a heap to me,”* he smartly replied under his breath.





“*Well what do you want me to do about it Ron,”* she retorted shrilly.





“*You guys know that I can hear you right?”*





Hermione and Ron turned to Harry as though just realizing he was even there.





“*Sorry Harry.”*





“*Sorry mate.”*





Harry hadn't taken his eyes off of the house. He felt spellbound to the spot and his nerves
tingled thru out his body. It felt almost as if he had entered an electricity field.





“*What do you reckon happened here,”* he asked.





Hermione's face wore an expression of unease and apprehension. *“I'm not sure, but you
do feel it don't you?”*





“*Yeah,”* Harry stated, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, *“the hairs on my arms
are practically on end.”*





Ron looked at his two friends incredulously. *“What the bollocks are you two yammering
about?”*





“*Magic Ronnie! Very powerful magic. It's all around this place. It's fairly humming
in my ears,”* she said in answer. *“Can't you feel it too?”*





Ron's face scrunched up in concentration for a moment before settling on a frown. *“Nope.
But I do feel my stomach talking to me. I'm starved.”*





Hermione was fuming. *“Well Ron if you weren't so concerned with that bottomless pit you
call a belly....”*





“*Guys, please,”* Harry pleaded, *“if you two start in on each other now I don't
think I could take it.”*





For their part, Ron and Hermione looked ashamed for starting up at a time like this.





“*Sorry Harry,”* they both said.





For a moment none of them said anything to each other. Harry just continued staring at the
cottage while the other two stared at him, waiting for some sign. After a while of this Hermione
caught his attention. He looked at her as she raised her palm to his face and wiped at the tears on
his cheek. Harry hadn't noticed he was crying.





“*Why don't you show us your home Harry,”* she fondly said as she gave him an
understanding, reassuring smile.





He smiled back and nodded his head firmly.





“*Well,”* said Ron breaking the moment,*“let's do this on 3 then.”*





The other two nodded yes in agreement.





“*One,”* Hermione began as she took Ron's hand in her empty one. They all inched
forward.





Ron smiled down at her as he said, *“Two.”* The Trio moved closer to the house yet
again.





“*Three,”* Harry called as all three friends squeezed each other's hands for courage,
stepped off on their right foot....and promptly fell back into the grass.









*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







When Harry came to he was lying on a soft comfortable bed. It was very similar to the one he had
at Hogwarts, but only larger with dark blue hangings. They were currently pulled back. He felt a
cool hand on his brow and didn't want the comforting feeling of calm and security they filled
in him to stop. As he opened his eyes it was Hermione's face he saw.





“*Finally decided to join the living?”*





“*Where am I,”* he huskily asked, his head feeling like someone dropped bricks on it as
soon she removed her hand.





She got up from the chair she had been sitting on and walked into an adjoining room. When she
came back out with a wet cloth Harry surmised that it was a bathroom. She laid it across his head
and took her seat again.





“*This was your mum and dad's room. I figured you'd like to stay in here,”* she
began. *“The only other bedroom in the house is your nursery across the hall, but I didn't
think you would fit in the crib.”*





“*My crib...”*





“*Uh huh. And your bassinet. And about fifty gazillion toys and games.”* She smiled
impishly at him. *“You were a spoiled little monkey weren't you?”*





Harry tried to sit up on the stack of pillows on the bed, but she had to help him. *“I
don't really remember,”* he said frowning sadly.





Hermione's smile faded slowly. *“No, I guess you don't.”* She gave his knee a
comforting squeeze.

“*But I left it all there for you to see, although I am going to need a place to sleep myself.
I figure I can take one of these pillows and transfigure it into a cot or something. Fit it in the
corner or maybe just sleep downstairs.”*





“*Not on your life,”* said Harry shaking his head furiously. *“You can sleep in here and
I'll sleep on the cot.”*





“*And where will Ron sleep,”* she asked tartly. Harry's face went beet red at the
implications of that question.





“*Let's compromise,”* she suggested trying to withhold a smirk. *“We can move
lil' Harrykins stuff into the basement downstairs later on and I'll conjure myself up a
sparkley pink canopy. How does that sound?”*





He grinned at the thought of Hermione sleeping in something so girlie and monstrous.
*“Excellent.”*





“*It's really a beautiful place Harry,”* she enthused. *“You can tell that there was
love here.”* She then blushed at the boldness of her statement. All Harry could think was how
she endeared herself to him more and more each time she did that. 





“*Goodness, I'm making no sense.”*





“*You are to me,”* he said smiling.





“*Well your parents must have owned a car at one time because there is a huge garage. And
there's this great big kitchen. Almost makes me wish I could boil water. There also is this
absolutely lovely wrought iron porch glider on the outside patio, and a great big green backyard
with a tree swing.”*





Her excitement was rubbing off on him.





“*And the tree! You should see this tree Harry, there must be magic on it. It's
gargantuan. And loaded with dozens of different fruit. Ron nicked a few before he went
off.”*





He couldn't wait to see all of this for himself. Harry's mood was almost taking an
upswing till he went to run his fingers thru his hair and felt the lump on his head.





“*Ouch, bugger,”* he groaned. *“What happened to us Hermione? One moment we were outside
and then the next I have a lump the size of Millicent Bulstrode on my head.”*





“*It was a snow globe,”* she simply answered.





When Hermione gave no further explanation he gave her a baffled look. *“Obviously I have a
concussion because you are making no sense whatsoever.”*





She chuckled at that.





“*No, no concussion. That lump might take a bit to go down though. I'm not nearly as good
at my healing charms as I would like,”* she admitted.





This truly was a day of surprises. It wasn't everyday that Hermione Granger admitted to not
knowing something.





“*What we ran into was a snow globe charm that was surrounding the house,”* she explained.
*“It's kind of like the bubble head, but much larger and infinitely more complex to produce.
They don't even teach it for the N.E.W.T.s. You've seen a snow globe before, haven't
you? They are usually tacky little tourist gifts you pick up on vacation. Shake them up and snow
falls on a little cabin or glitter on a sandy beach.”*





“*Dursleys never really took me anywhere.”*





“*Beasts,”* she sniffed disdainfully. She shook her head as if to clear it of their foul
image. *“Didn't you see the ones the twins got for their shop? They were showing all the
guests at the Burrow. Poor Filch.”*





Harry answered yes. George had given him one on the house. The twins had designed a miniature
Hogwarts inside a small glass ball. When you shook, it four little figures dressed in the four
house colors came out the building and flew around the castle on their tiny brooms. Then when they
flew back in the door a minuscule gray haired, balding Caretaker would jump off of the Astronomy
tower. It was brilliant!





“*Well that's how the charm works. Everything inside that ball never changes and nothing
from the outside can get in and disturb it. That is unless you break the enchantment.”*





She told him how she was the first one to wake up after all three of them were knocked out.
Since she had read about the snow globe charm over the Christmas holiday she had an idea that that
was what they hit although she had no idea how to cancel the charm. A simple “*finite*”
wouldn't work. She apparated herself to her house because she accidentally left the book that
had the spell she needed there.





“*Did your parents leave on their trip yet,”* he asked nervously.





“*Sadly no. Dad got so happy when he saw me. He thought that I decided to change my mind and
visit Nan after all. When I told him that I had no intention to go to Killarney with them he was
not pleased. Even tried to use Nan against me. Gave me some old song and dance about how the poor
old dear might not be with us much longer and that I needed to be with my family.”*





“*You know Herm...”*





Before the words could even leave his mouth she cut him off with a firm glare. *“Don't say
it. Don't even think it,”* she stated as she folded her arms across her chest and crossed
her legs. *“My Nan is a tough as nails. She'll outlive us all, I swear. Besides if she knew
what all of this was about she would tell me herself that my place was beside you.”*





She said this with so much conviction that Harry could almost believe it were true.





“*So I got the book and popped back over here. Ron was already coming to by then. We floated
you in and I sent him off to that muggle grocery we walked pass earlier. Unfortunately whoever put
the snow globe up didn't leave us with any food.”*





“*I'm still confused. Why isn't this place in ruins?”*





She shrugged her shoulders at the question. *“No idea. But I figure it was the same person who
put the place to right as well. I think this may even be the original furniture. Would have taken
something far stronger then a reparo. All I can think is a very powerful wizard was here before
us.”*





Harry really didn't have to ponder too long on who that powerful wizard could be.





“*Dumbledore.”*





“*My guess as well.”*





“*He must have known that...that I would want to come here. To see it in case...that is...if I
don't...”*





His voice had become choked up and he had to pause a moment before he could speak again.
Hermione stroked his hand with care, urging him to go on.





“*And he must have known you would be with me.”*





“*We don't know that at all,”* she said blushing charmingly again.





“*No, it's true. He told me that I needed you. And Ron. More then ever and he was right.
Who else could have taken down that charm? He had to know you two would follow after me.”*





She gave him a fond look. *“Well you do yourself a great disservice. I'm sure you could
have broken the snow globe yourself somehow. You didn't need me. I told you that you were a
great wizard once, a long time ago. Remember?”*





“*Yes, but you were 12. Twelve year olds don't know any better,”* he answered in false
solemnity.





She stuck her tongue out at him. She then got up and headed to the door, but before she could
walk out Harry called out her name.





“*Yes?”*





He knew he should have left it alone, but Harry felt that something had to be said.





“*About...about t-the b-boggart?”*





A queer look ghosted her face for a moment. It was the kind of expression you wore right after
you've tasted something sour and displeasing. She quickly smiled shyly at him as she came back
in the room. But instead of coming closer to where he was lying on the bed she wrapped her arms
around the bed post at the end of it.





“*Big difference from the little swot who went running out of the room because she thought
Professor McGonagall was going to give her all Trolls eh?”*





Harry smiled to himself as he remembered that day in Remus' class. It had taken forever to
calm Hermione down back then.





“*Good thing Ronnie wasn't around to laugh at me again.”*





That remark curbed his amusement. He didn't know why, but her bringing Ron up in conjunction
with this whole boggart mess made him feel highly uncomfortable and mixed-up in the head. She must
have thought that he was going to suggest that she go back home to her parents or something because
she quickly became defensive.





“*Look, I'm not going mad or anything like that. Don't think I'm becoming some
swooning girl or something.”*





“*I don't think that.”*





“*Good,”* replied Hermione. *“Besides, it's not really a big deal is it,”* she
continued nonchalantly. *“Ronnie and you are the people I care the most about in the world, save
my mum, dad, and Nan. And with everything that's going on with Voldemort it's no big shock
that that...thing would turn into you. It very easily could have been Ron.”*





She let go of the bed post and once again headed for the door.





“*Trust me Harry, it really isn't that big a deal,”* she said before heading out the
door.





Except it was a big deal. It was a big deal to him. But if she wanted to brush the whole thing
under the cauldron so be it.









*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







They stayed in the Hollow for two weeks, up until Harry's birthday. Because the tiny village
contained only 300 souls altogether, including the three friends, and because of the isolated
location of the cottage they didn't have to worry about anyone prying into their affairs. The
three of them soon settled into a cozy routine. After Hermione nearly burnt the kitchen down in a
sweet, but misguided attempt to cook breakfast one morning they began apparating into Nottingham
for meals. During the day he and Ron would practice their wizard dueling outside on the
Potter's wide expanse of backyard and at night they usually played chess or exploding snap in
the living room. Hermione would read and make suggestions nearby. Ron also helped him go thru his
parent's belongings and store what he wanted to keep in the basement.





He visited his parents' graves by himself. He knew that all he had to do was ask and Ron and
Hermione would have accompanied him, but he felt that it was something he needed to do on his own.
He gathered a bouquet of cabbage roses, daisies, peonies, and wild flowers from the bushes outside
the house and brought them for his mum and dad. Hermione told him that the bushes had an ever
blooming charm on them so that even when plucked the flowers never withered and died. That made him
happy, that meant that the flowers would remain fresh and beautiful as the day he placed them
there, muggles be damned. Harry was also pleased to discover that the Potters did indeed have a
beautiful shaded spot under an old English oak.





What Hermione did with her days they didn't discover till later. She was always rushing off
to the small village library/town hall. At first Harry assumed that she was looking up information
on the Founders, but that didn't make sense. Why would she be looking thru a muggle
library?





During the evenings she was usually obsessed with looking thru books after books about
Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Since they already knew that Riddle had broken his soul in pieces and put
them into objects that belonged to the other two Founders they were trying to figure out what
heirlooms of Godric's or Rowena's Riddle could have gotten his hands on and turned into
horcruxes. Harry and Ron tried to give her a hand, but she got so frustrated at their efforts that
she forbid them to touch her books. She had gotten special permission from McGonagall to borrow
most of them from the Hogwarts library and she was under strict orders not to mess them up. One
night she went almost mental over those books.





“*Arg!”*





Hermione was sitting on the floor in front of a little wooden coffee table, a pile of books on
it and spread out around her. Ron was in the kitchen looking for food and Harry was sitting before
the empty fireplace. He turned to look at her.





“*What's the matter Hermione?”*





“*These bloody books,”* she screeched, tearing at her hair. *“They all are so bloody
useless!”*





Ron came walking out of the kitchen holding a plate with a sandwich and a large cut glass bottom
tumbler filled with juice.





“*Hermione's putting down books,”* he wondered aloud as he sat down on the sofa she was
leaning back against, *“Has the world gone mad?”*





Although Harry wanted to laugh one look at Hermione's face told him that it wold be a
suicide mission.





“*I've been going thru all these books on Ravenclaw and they all say the bloody same
thing,”* she grumbled. *“Moving floor plan, moving floor plan, bleeding moving floor
plan.”* As if to prove her point she pointed at all of the books closest to her. *“Can't
any of them come up with anything original?”*





“*That's all you've been able to find,”* asked Harry anxiously.





She wearily sighed. *“I'm afraid so. I mean the older texts suggest that she might have
fashioned the first Pensieve, but I've yet to find anything to substantiate that. For all I can
tell it's just hearsay rot. I can't even find proof that Rowena Ravenclaw even owned a
Pensieve much less made one,”* she said morosely.





“*Well what's this one about,”* asked Ron as he leaned over to place his now empty
glass on the table and picked up a smaller paperback book that had been lying on the sofa.
“Ravenclaw of Gaul,” he said, reading the title of the book.





“*Oh that,”* she said dismissively, barely looking up from the huge tome she held open on
her lap. *“It's* *some stupid historical novel. Historical, please! It's supposed to
be about her years after Hogwarts.”*





Harry's interest was piqued. *“After Hogwarts?”*





“*Yes, she left Hogwarts. Sometime around...1169. She got called before the Wizengamot, but
refused to appear before the court and instead went into exile. According to that book she lived
out the rest of her life somewhere in France. This tripe is practically a bodice ripper. Ravenclaw
would have been, at the least, over 300 years old. Bunch of over romanticized claptrap if you ask
me.”*





Now she had both boys attention. This wasn't the kind of thing you heard in Binn's
class.





“*What'd she doosh,”* Ron barely mumbled out as he munched on his sandwich.





Hermione made an exasperated sound at the back of her throat and looked between the two of them.
*“Do you two really want to hear this? Cause if either of you so much as yawn I'll turn you
both into kumquats.”*





The two male members of the troop grinned at each other before smoothing their faces into
studious, serious expressions.





“*Alright,”* she said as she moved the book off of her lap and folded her legs under her.
*“Have either of you ever heard of the Auld Alliance?”*





Harry and Ron both answered no.





“*Well it was this agreement, you see, between Scotland and France. They became allies. It was
decided that if ever England entered into conflict with one country the other would invade English
territory.”*





“*But what does this have to do with Ravenclaw,”* a baffled Harry asked.





“*Well, although there is no proof, it's believed that the Auld Alliance was initiated
back in 1168. Malcolm Canmore was the Scottish King and it was rumored back then that he had a
secret adviser. Some even said she was a witch.”*





“*Ravenclaw,”* Harry asked, thunderstruck. In answer to his question Hermione nodded her
head in the affirmative.





“*England and Scotland's relationship with one another was contentious for hundreds and
hundreds of years. They say she brokered the deal, was Merlin to Canmore's Arthur. No one
really knows if any of this was true of course because she took off.”*





Ron continued to munch on his food. *“Sh-o, wha-'s sh-o wong 'bouth at.”*





Hermione turned to Ron irritably. *“What's wrong is that it totally violates the most
important tenet of the Wizengamot and wizarding society as a whole. As magical people we are not
allowed to interfere in the affairs of muggles. We don't play Fairy Godmother for them. Wars,
disease, weather, famine, if it doesn't affect wizards and witches on a whole the problems of
muggles are not our concerns.”*





“*But say if a power mad, self styled Dark Lord wants to clean the slate of them,”*
pondered Harry aloud.





“*Then yes, that is when we step in. But monsters like Hitler, Napoleon, Vlad Tepes? When it
comes to them we just sit on the sidelines as casual observers.”*





“*Hardly seems right, does it?”*





“*Well Harry it protects the natural order of things. Look at it this way, Merlin was the
greatest wizard of all time and he felt that wizards should help muggles. That's what he
created the Order of Merlin for. And yet even he screwed over the lives of a lot of the poor
muggles he came into contact with. No,”* she said resolutely, *“there is a reason why we have
these rules.”*





“*So let me get this straight,”* said Ron as he finished his sandwich and placed the plate
on the floor by his feet. *“Ravenclaw breaks this big bad rule and so she decides to make a run
for it?”*





“*That is what is believed. No one knows where she went off to though.”*





“*Except she might have gone to this Gaul place,”* Ron said as he thumbed thru the book he
was still holding.





“*Which is the ancient name of France. Like I said, it's garbage.”*





She had her body turned around to face Ron when she noticed his plate on the floor.





“*Ronnie! Must you leave your dishes all about the place,”* she exclaimed as she picked the
plate up and went to place it on the table. That was when she noticed where Ron had placed his
tumbler.





“*Ronald Weasley!”*





She practically roared his name. Harry at first didn't realize what had set her off until he
noticed Ron's glass sitting on one of the open books on the table. Harry knew that this
wasn't going to be pretty.





“*These books are not meant to be bloody coasters! How can you be so careless,”* she said
bitingly as she rose up from the floor.





Although Ron was huge in comparison to Hermione he cowered before her wrath appropriately.





“*Madame Pince will murder me in my sleep if I bring back one of her books with a ring on
it!”* As she said this she reached to lift the glass off the book it was resting on when
suddenly she stopped. She was looking strangely into the bottom of the glass.





“*Bloody hell!”*





Harry was by her side in an instant. Ron stood up on the other side of her.





“*What is it Hermione,”* Harry asked nervously.





“*Look at this picture,”* she said. She was wound tight, ready to burst.





Ron and Harry looked at the portrait in the book. It was of a woman dressed in an ornate
medieval dress robe. Her dark hair was threaded with elaborate hair accessories. She looked out of
the book at them with keen intelligent eyes.





“*Rowena Ravenclaw right,”* asked Harry.





“*If Ron hadn't been such a clever prat I would have never seen this.”*





She took Ron's glass and put it back over the picture. *“This makes a right nice
magnifier,”* she said in reference to the glass. *“Now look at this picture again.”*





First Ron looked, but he shook his head dazedly. He saw nothing. Then Harry looked.





“*In her hair,”* he said in a strangled whisper. *“That's a Pensieve! A miniaturized
Pensieve fastened in her hair.”*





“*Indeed,”* she replied. Her brown eyes were filled with glee and Harry briefly thought she
had never looked prettier or more vivacious. She picked up a few more of the books and turned it to
the pictures of Rowena.





“*All of them have the Pensieve in them. It was quite common for noble women of that time to
wear jewels threaded thru their hair. Some even fastened gold balls on the end of their curls. She
must have carried it around like a hair decoration to hide it. It looks more elaborate then the
stone basins of today. No one would have been any the wiser. Guys, I think that this may be what we
are looking for.”*





Harry grabbed her in a fierce hug. *“You're brilliant Hermione!”* As he looked over her
shoulder he saw Ron's jealous scowl. He quickly let her go to the sound of awkward silence.





“*Yes, well...,”* stuttered an overwhelmed Hermione trying to break the tension in the
room, *“if it wasn't for Ron we would have never figured it out.”*





She then gave the redhead a tiny smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek. But before her lips
could reach their intended target Ron turned his head, ever so slightly, and their lips met
instead.





Harry hardly felt his feet move. He didn't even remember opening up the sliding glass doors
that led to the patio. Just one moment he was watching his two best friends play grab the Snitch
with their tongues and the next he was sitting outside on the grass under the large fruit tree in
the backyard. He couldn't explain his strong reaction. He remembered back to that day in
Herbology just last school year when it looked like Ron and Hermione were about to finally figure
things between them out. He had worried then that if they got together and then broke up it would
ruin the Trio's friendship. But the two practically killed each other (well if he was being
honest it was Hermione that attacked Ron) last term over petty jealousies yet here they all were,
still close. So that couldn't be what was bothering him now, could it? Maybe he still thought
that the two of them would abandon him. Would Hermione actually do that to him? Right when he
needed her most?





“*Sorry about that.”*





Harry looked up to see the girl he was just thinking about sitting on the tree swing, pushing
herself back and forth slowly with her big toe.





“*About what,”* he asked evenly although he felt like his stomach was at sea.





“*That kamikaze kiss you were witness to just now.”*





Harry laid back on the grass, propped up by his elbows, and tried to put on an air of
indifference. *“You and Ron kissed?”* Of course it would have helped if his voice hadn't
gone up an octave on that last word.





If she noticed the tone of his voice she ignored it. *“I know that it upset you,
but...”*





He sprang up into a sitting position quickly, rushing to his own defense. *“Who's upset?
I'm not upset. Why would I be upset?”*





“*Because of Ginny of course,”* she answered, cocking her head slightly to the side.





“*What?”*





“*It can't be too easy seeing two hormonal gits pawing at each other,”* she explained.
*“Especially seeing as how you and Ginny...I wanted to spare you of that is all. I guess Ron just
forgot.”*





“*I'm happy for you two,”* he insisted. *“Why would you think that would upset
me?”* Of course the agitation in his tone almost made his declaration seem null.





“*Because you miss Ginny obviously.”* She then turned to look at him oddly. *“You do miss
Ginny don't you Harry?”*





In truth he did miss his former girlfriend somewhat. He could talk to her about Quidditch, hold
her hand, and kiss her. And best of all she didn't cry when he did it.





“*You know, for a few weeks, there I felt normal. And free,”* he answered wistfully as he
cast his eyes down and played with the grass under him. *“And things were so uncomplicated for
once. I didn't even have to think.”*





“*Well snogging does have that effect on the brain.”*





“*But now things just seem so difficult again.”* He glanced up to look at her again and
felt cared for when he saw the compassion in her eyes. *“Having you and Ron here does
help.”*





She smiled.*“I'm glad.”*





“*So you and Ron then,”* he said, nervously clearing his throat.





“*Yeah,”* she bashfully responded.





“*I thought at the funeral...but then I wasn't sure.”*





“*We've finally stopped snogging third parties and sending bird minions after one another.
In therapy they would call that progress,”* she quipped.





Harry honestly tried to laugh at her little joke, but his heart just wasn't in it.





Hermione stopped swinging and stared at Harry hard before saying, *“After we finish what
we've set out to do you can come back and have an easy, normal life again. You and Ginny can
get back together. Things will go back the way that they were. You'll see.”*





“*You sound so hopeful, so sure. Just can't see it from where I'm sitting right
now.”*





“*Well, it's always darkest before the dawn.”* He looked at her curiously which made
her grin sheepishly. *“My* *schedule planner gives me words of wisdom each morning. That was
today's.”*





He snickered at that. *“I could almost believe you,”* he said.





“*Well you should,”* she remarked. “*I hear I'm pretty smart. I knew that you would
eventually take your head out your bum and see that the perfect girl for you was standing beside
you all the while, didn't I,”* she smugly continued.





“*About that,”* he smirked, *“Ginny mentioned how you'd been coaching her this whole
time.”* The gobsmacked expression on her face was enough to lift his mood exponentially.





When she finally was able to close her mouth due to the surprise she muttered, *“Ginny has a
big fat mouth.”*





Harry fell back on the grass laughing hysterically. When he finally calmed down he continued to
grin at her like a pleased little boy. *“I should have known you had your fingers in it. All
those sly looks you would shoot me whenever Ginny was around.”*





She was completely flustered. *“Yes...well...it worked didn't it?”*





That just sent him into a fresh gale of laughter. When he was finally able to catch his breath
he noticed that Hermione was staring at him intensely.





“*You know that there is nothing I wouldn't do for you Harry. You know that don't you?
What ever it took to make you happy, if it was within my power to get it for you, I would. I'd
do anything to ensure your happiness. It's...”* she paused in search of the right word,
*“important to me.”*





The sincerity of her words made his heart ache.





“*I know,”* he breathlessly answered.





Obviously pleased with his answer she smiled impishly at him as she jumped out of the swing.
*“Good. Come along then,”* she said as she held out her hand for him. He grabbed on to her as
she hauled him up. *“I've got Ron reading thru some books on Gryffindor for his
penance.”*





“*You're punishing him?”*





“*He knows why,”* she drawled. *“Besides we still have so much left to do. We don't
even know where to begin to look for these blasted things. We haven't a moment to spare. After
all, time and evil dark lords wait for no man.”*





“*Ack! Hermione that one is awful,”* he complained making a face. *“Did you get that from
your planner too?”*





“*And what if I did,”* she demanded. *“It's still true isn't it?”*









*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







The day of Harry's birthday the three teenagers apparated into Nottingham and spent the day
at the small amusement park in town. It was really a place for children, but they didn't care.
This was one of the last few days they would get to be just kids. They played miniature golf and
drove the pedal karts. They even jumped around in the bounce house much to the chagrin of most who
watched them. Harry was almost sure that it was the best day of his life.





When they got back to the cottage Ron and Hermione both presented him with his gifts. Ron gave
him Galvin Gudgeon's (hapless Seeker for the Chudley Canons) brand new autobiography To Seek,
or Not to Seek. Harry thanked him, but he was more pleased with the large bag of Bertie Bott's
Every Flavor Beans Ron gave him as well. Hermione decided to surprise all of them by baking a
chocolate torte the muggle way. Even though she some how managed to make it crunchy on the inside
and tasteless on the outside, Harry still was touched. The thought after all was what counted. It
was the second gift that she gave him that evening however that meant the world to him.





“*This is for you,”* she said handing over to him what looked like a diary. He and Ron had
been sitting at the kitchen table playing chess, as was the norm.





Harry eyed the journal nervously. *“Umm, Hermione, if you remember we don't do too well
with those.”*





She rolled her eyes. *“It's not a diary. If you'd open it you'll see that I've
written thru out it. It's some research I've been doing.”*





Ron looked at her as though she were mad. *“You're giving him homework?”*





Hermione scowled at him before returning her attention to Harry. *“It's not homework,”*
she replied. *“It's something far more important then homework.”*





If it was something that Hermione deemed more important then homework then it must be something
special indeed, he thought. He turned back the cover of the journal and on the first page, written
in Hermione's neat scrawl, was the name James Ellis Potter. Listed by it was the date of his
birth and the day that he died. He didn't know about the Ellis part, but he knew the rest of
the name well. It was his father's name. The rest of the page was filled with other facts about
James Potter. On the next page was the name Julian Jameson Potter and Sylvia Witherspell. Written
next to those names were the words grandparents. The dates of their births and deaths were listed
as well. Harry flipped thru a few more pages as the enormity of just what Hermione had given him
began to weigh on him. He saw Potters after Potters, but he also noted the other surnames as well.
Wilbanks, Huxley, Cosgrove, Blane, Quigley, Bulwater, Pleasentgood.







“*I've been working on it since Christmas before last,”* she said shyly. *“I found
this book on wizard family lines in Grimmaulds library and got the idea from there. Sirius even
helped me with it a bit. I had hoped to finish it that summer and give it to you for your
16th birthday but...”*







She didn't have to explain what got in the way. Dolohov's curse, Sirius'
death...







“*I kept working on it though, every time I got a chance,”* she continued. *“I read thru
book after book; I've Got a Witch up My Tree, How About You, Of Warlocks and Wizards, and Sons
of Albion: A Historical Study of the Magical Families of Olde Britain. My Morgana! That book was
heavier then I am.”*





“*Let me see that,”* Ron said as he excitedly snatched the journal from Harry's hands.
Harry was in such a daze that he didn't even think to protest. All he could do was stare at
Hermione in awe.





“*Cor Harry,”* shouted Ron as he thumbed thru the book. *“There's a Prewett in here.
We're cousins* *mate!”* Ron slapping his back hard brought him out of his haze.





Hermione giggled as she plucked the book from his hands. *“Yes, you and Harry are connected on
Mrs. Weasley's side. But very, very distantly related. About 20 times removed in fact.”*





“*Don't care, it's still wicked! I'm going to pop off home and tell mum right now.
Probably tease Ginny that she's been kissing her cousin all this time too.”* And with that
Ron disapparated on the spot.





With Ron gone only Harry and Hermione remained in the kitchen. Harry was still stunned by
Hermione's gift to him. He felt practically spellotaped to his seat. Hermione seemed to ignore
his strange behavior because she kept babbling on.





“*Unfortunately I couldn't find any direct line living relatives of yours. The Potters
weren't much like the Weasleys. For most of the last two centuries only one Potter son seemed
to be born in each generation. But you'll find Harry that you'll see a lot of familiar
names. Fawcett, Tugwood, Abercrombie. Most pureblood families are interconnected and intermarried
somehow. But your line has stayed mostly Potter. In fact that little library down the road helped a
great deal too! Your family has lived in this town for ages.”*





Hermione began to flip thru the pages looking at all the different entries.





“*James Wynnton Potter, Ellis Elijah Potter, Rordynn George Potter...he ran off the Gytrash of
Groby. I reckon you just have that saving people thing in your blood.”*





“*It's so much. So, so much,”* was all that Harry could choke out when he finally
regained the use of his voice.





“*Believe me at one point I had to stop or I would have never been able to finish it and give
this to you. I wanted you to have it more then ever this year. In fact I wanted to do your
mum's side too. But every time I walked into the room your Aunt would scuttle out.”*
Hermione smirked naughtily. *“I can't imagine why.”*





“*Why would you do this for me,”* he asked in all seriousness.





For a moment it looked like Hermione didn't understand the question. She sat back onto the
chair Ron had been sitting in and pensively chewed on her bottom lip before replying.





“*Do you remember finding the Mirror of Erised?”*





How could he forget that night as well as the two other nights he sat before it?





“*You told me how you saw your family in it. The faces that you had never seen before, but you
knew they belonged to you and you to them. Do you remember how that made you feel?”*





“*Complete,”* he murmured.*“Like I had a past. A history. A real family. But that was
only fleeting. It wasn't real.”*





“*True. But this...”* she said pushing the book across the table to him, *“...is. Since I
couldn't give you the Mirror I thought that this would do just as well.”*





“*I'm going to leave you alone with them,”* she said as she stood up from the table and
headed for the stairs. As she reached them she gave him one final look and said, *“Just know that
you have a future as well Harry.”* And with that parting thought she went up the stairs.

















“Wotcher, Harry!”





The sound of someone calling his name nearby spooked Harry so much that he almost fell out of
his chair. As he grabbed a hold of the table and righted himself again he turned to look into a
heart shaped face framed by a halo of short, curly fire engine red hair. The woman had taken the
chair in front of him.





“Dammit Tonks! What the hell do you think you're doing,” he irritably gritted out between
his teeth. Although his greeting was rude this only seemed to amuse Tonks.





“Trying to say hello to you for the last five minutes, that's what. I saw the back of your
head from the door and we decided to pop in.” She turned to the beige and white pram that Harry
just realized had been sitting there all the time. The hood was up so he couldn't see the baby
that was in it. “Isn't that right lil' Wolfie,” she cooed to the sleeping infant
inside.





Harry's eyes bugged out in shock. “Tonks! Are you mad? What are you doing in here with a
baby? Knockturn Alley's no place for a kid!”





Tonks rolled her eyes. “It's like I said, I saw you when I was walking pass the door. I was
looking for that hag who sells those teething talismans, but she must have moved her stall.”





“Aren't those things illegal?”





When placed around the neck of a teething child the talismans seemed to cure a baby of the pain
and irritability caused by new teeth coming in. The problem was that part of the talisman was made
from goblin skin and teeth. The relationship between wizards and goblin kind was already strained.
The goblins definitely didn't like the fact that wizards thought so lowly of them that they
found nothing wrong with treating their dead like cattle. Years ago the Ministry (in order to
improve relations with the goblins) banned the making and selling of the talismans, much to the
despair of young nursing witches everywhere.





“Course they are, but you try sleeping the night thru with a screaming 5 month old! The sleeping
charms just don't stick,” Tonks said huffily. “And if you've forgotten I'm an Auror too
Potter. I can stun a perp and burp lil' Wolfie here without breaking a sweat. Don't go
treating me like some lil' witch just cause I popped out a kid,” she berated him. Her eyes
twinkled as she did it so he knew she wasn't really upset at him.





“I wouldn't dream of it,” he replied, holding up his hand before him in appeasement.





“And look at you Mr. Super Auror, sitting with your back to the door. Hanes in the Arse would
write you up if he saw,” she teased.





Harry's lips curled in disgust. “Ugh! Don't remind me. Anyway I chose this seat for
specific strategic reasons.”





“Spying on a suspect?”





“No, I met 'Dung Fletcher here for lunch earlier. I didn't want to sit downwind of
him.”





Tonks, who was bent over to fix the blankets around the baby, snapped back up and gave him a
look of mock horror.





“Blimey! If that isn't a good enough reason I don't know what is.” They both laughed
chummily at that. “The last time Mundungus came by the house he reeked of Ogden. I had to send a
freshening charm at his back. And then he wanted to hold the baby! You should have seen his hands
Har! No wonder your eyes were all glazed over when we came in here. I swear I watched you for about
5 minutes and you didn't blink once.”





In truth his meeting with Fletcher had been very short. After Harry dismissed the fellow his
mind drifted back on memories of looking for Slytherin's locket. But then the next thing he
knew his mind had wandered onto thoughts of Hermione. This was his usual state as of late. He would
see a girl dressed in yellow and think back on how that was her favorite color. He would smell the
scent of wildflowers somewhere and remember how Hermione loved to pick the lady slippers, orchids,
daisies, buttercups, honeysuckles, and hogweeds that grew on his mother's flower bushes. If he
saw a head of curly brown hair walking away from him he had to curb his footsteps from following
after. It was really becoming maddening.





“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly, barely meeting her eyes. “'Dung really did a number on me.
Let me get you something Tonks,” he said hoping to quickly change the subject.





“Thanks Har! Butterbeer would be nice.”





Harry ran to the bar and was back shortly with two bottles of butterbeer.





“How's Remus,” he asked as he sat back down and pushed a bottle over to her.





Tonks made a sound of frustration as she popped her butterbeer open and took a swig. “Driving me
mad and himself to boot. His editor has been on his case for months looking for a sequel.”





Harry's former professor had had a tough time of it after the war. Although he was counted
as a hero when his work with the Order of the Phoenix had been exposed to the public, Remus Lupin
almost drowned himself in self-hatred and guilt. The reason being was that although he had lived
with the Werewolf curse since he was a small child he'd never killed anyone. That is until the
spring of '98. The night that Harry vanquished Voldemort was the same night that Remus killed
Fenrir Greyback. He had been kidnapped and held in a cell at Azkaban for three months. He'd had
to endure the change without aide of the Wolfsbane Potion during his stay. Why Voldemort chose to
keep him alive, he never found out, but when Harry and Hermione had come to rescue him he almost
killed them. But Fenrir, who had just completed his own change, came into the tower. The two
alpha-males ended up doing battle with one another over the human kill. In the end Remus came out
of the fight alive. He also took out a few random Death Eaters as well.





The next morning after Remus came to he wanted to die from the shame of what he had done.
Everyone tried to convince him that they didn't think he was a monster. After all Fenrir was
the person responsible for him even being a Werewolf. But that argument fell on deaf ears. Although
the rest of the wizarding world was celebrating the defeat of Voldemort he began to withdraw
himself from his friends. After Harry signed Grimmauld Place over to him Remus went and shut
himself in the old decaying house like a hermit. It seemed as though there was nothing anyone could
do for him. It was when he tried to end his already tentative relationship with Tonks that his
friends decided to take action. They convinced him to see a mental Healer. After months of crystal
therapy and aura readings did nothing for him his healer suggested that Remus try writing in a
journal. That he use parchment and quill to drive the dark thoughts out of his head. Having run out
of options Remus decided to give it a try.





Remus ended up writing his life story. He poured out his whole tale from how he became a
Werewolf, to watching his parents die in a fire, to his school career and his joining the Order. It
was a compelling, enthralling story and in the end Tonks and Hermione convinced him that it was
worthy of being published. Hermione thought that it would work wonders to improve the lot in life
of Remus' fellow Werewolves. My Memoirs however gathered dust on shelves from Diagon Alley to
Hogsmeade for years.





Then something amazing happened. A well known and respected publisher in New York City came
across My Memoirs. He was a muggle, but his wife was a witch with a Werewolf fetish. He read the
book and thought it was a brilliant parody on the vampire novels that were so popular and put out
by his publishing firm's rival. He got on a plane the very next day so he could meet Remus and
convince him to let his company re-publish the book, this time for muggles. After verifying with
the Ministry that the book would be billed as fiction, thus not violating the International Statute
of Secrecy, Remus agreed to the deal. In the end A Limey Lycan's Life ended up becoming a
moderate success in the States as well as in Great Britain.









“What's the matter, writer's block,” Harry asked her.





“No,” she sighed, “nappies. No one wants to read about a happily married Werewolf who can't
wait to be a peewee Quidditch coach.”





Harry raised his bottle of butterbeer to his mouth to drink out of it and hide the smirk that
was on his lips.





“Although I am glad that the first one got made. Otherwise Remus would have never married me.
Thought he was too poor. I was getting so desperate I almost went and got myself knocked up on
purpose.”





“Tonks,” Harry cried horrified. “Too much information!”





The expression on Harry's face nearly sent Tonks into hysterics. She was about to tease him
some more about her and her husband's sex life when she noticed two little blonde girls peeking
around the corner of the pub's open doorway. When they noticed that Tonks saw them they quickly
drew back from the door.





“Har, I think you have company.”





Harry, who had just regained his composure after Tonks bold sharing looked over his shoulder
towards the direction of her gaze. When he saw the two pigtailed heads that Tonks was referring to
he quickly covered his ears to block out the high pitched screech he knew was coming.





“What the bollocks was that,” shouted Tonks as the two girls squealed in glee and ran from the
door. The noise barely drew the attention of the patrons of the Hag, but it did wake up Wolfie
Lupin. Tonks reached into the pram and pulled up the cranky, crying infant. She took a blanket out
of the pram, threw it over her shoulder, and then rested the baby's head against her shoulder.
She began to rock him and smooth his back. Eventually the child calmed down.





“That would be the Poe sisters,” Harry said as his face began to flush.





“Poe? As in Clayton Poe? Owner of the Magpies?”





“One in the same. Those were his daughters Hecuba and Hecate. They call themselves Pottermates,”
he said, chagrined.





“Pottermates? Blimey!”





“Yeah, and they are annoying, believe you me. Those two are the self appointed presidents of my
fan club. They follow me around; do that screeching thing that only dogs can hear, send me gift
baskets full of canary cremes, and give Ginny evil looks on the street.”





“Lucky you,” said an amused Tonks. “But look on the bright side. By the looks of them they
should be off to Hogwarts next term right? You won't have to deal with them much longer.”





At this Harry's lips curled into a shy, nervous smile. “Well Tonks...you see...the thing
is...I'm going to be at Hogwarts next term as well.”





Tonks cocked her head sideways as if to make sense of Harry's confession. Coming to the
conclusion that he must be making a joke she quipped, “Fail Divination did we?”





“Ha, ha,” he said drolly. “Actually Mrs. Nymphadora Lupin,” Tonks narrowed her eyes at the
dreaded name, “you are looking at Hogwarts next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Harry
finished proudly.





“You're joking!”





“'Fraid not.”





Tonks face broke into a wide smile before a pressing concern weighed in to make her frown
suddenly.





“Oh no! But what's going to happen to Mr. Tall Dark And Dreamy?”





Harry rolled his eyes in an annoyed manner. Although he liked Professor Lermontant it was a bit
bothersome the way that women flung themselves at the man. At the last Victory Ball there was a 7
witch brawl, all admirers vying to partner him in the opening dance. A few curses were thrown, a
black eye was given, and Rodger Davies new wife lost the heel of her shoe...and a handful of hair.
It was a bloody massacre!





“The man has a name Tonks. It's Vervain. You women are ridiculous with the way that you
drool over the poor chap. Glinda calls him the Creole Cupcake. To his face! It's no wonder
he's running away from you lot as fast as his feet can carry,” he remarked. “Even Ginny gets
all syrupy whenever she sees him. I hope poor Remus knows that his wife finds some other bloke so
fanciable.”





“Shows how much you know. Remus thinks he's quite dishy too. Probably attracted to all that
raw animal magnetism. Wolfie is very modern like that.”





Harry covered his ears and closed his eyes as if that would block out her voice. “I can't
hear you.”





Tonk laughed and laughed at Harry's distress. She was cackling so hard that Wolfgang gave an
irritated cry.





“Poor thing is hungry. I'm going to need to feed him soon,” she said before slapping her
free hand to her head.





“Cor! Now it's all making sense,” she cried.





Harry had no idea what she was going on about, but gave her his full attention anyways.





“Hanes called me in today, more like summoned really, because he wants me back at my desk
Monday.”





“What? He can't do that! You're still on maternity leave,” an outraged Harry
exclaimed.





“It's alright. Wolfie and I were getting on each other's nerves anyways. I think he
wants me out of the house just so he can bond with the cub. Men!”





“But why would Hanes call you back in? You still had one more month,” questioned Harry,
completely perplexed.





“Well Hanes has it on good authority that one of his Aurors is going to be quitting soon. Bit of
inner-office gossip that had been going around level 2 until he squelched it under his boots, to
hear Hanes tell it. He said that he needed his best, which would be me,” she rested a hand on her
chest, “back on duty as soon as possible to help with the transition.”





“The opportunistic bastard,” Harry fumed. “He probably just hated the fact that the Department
was paying you to sit on your bum and eat chocoballs all day.”





“Whatever the case,” began Tonks frowning at Harry's remark, “I agreed.”





“Bugger. Wonder how he knew,” he said running his hands thru his hair. “Hardly anyone knows.
Sure I told Ginny...”





“How'd she take it?”





“Oh...pretty much like a bludger to the head,” admitted Harry.





“Not pleased then?”





“She thinks teaching is below me. Pretends like it's not even a subject up for
discussion.”





Tonks raised the bottle of butterbeer up to her lips and gave Harry a pointed look after she
took a long drink. “The wives of Hogwarts professors rarely make the cover of Witch Weekly.”





“She's not that bad,” he offered wanly although if pressed he would have conceded that Ginny
did like the spotlight more then his liking. “But I honestly had no intention to just skive off my
duties. Lermontant still has to finish out the school year. And I still have Cadmus to find.”





Tonk's noticed the glint of fire that passed thru Harry's eyes as he spoke the name of
his current quarry.





“How's that going by the way,” she asked, shuffling the baby from her shoulder and cradling
him in her arms.





“It's not,” he sullenly moaned. “It's like the man is made of smoke. I can see him.
I've seen all the chaos he's caused and yet...I can't put my finger on him. I've
never had a case that frustrated me so.” Harry rested his elbows on the table and placed his chin
on his upturned hands. “At least we finally got the Prophet to stop spelling it out whenever
someone married a muggle. We haven't had an incident for a month now since.”





“All you need to do is ask if you need any help Har. I've got your back,” said Tonks
encouragingly.





Harry's eyes began to dance mischievously. “What? A celebrated member of the illustrious
First Squad wants to help my lowly team?”





“Stop taking the piss you,” she said in a fake huff. “You know I'm a member of Potter's
Posse in my heart.”





As Tonk's suspected, Harry hid his face in embarrassment. Harry was good at what he did but
he was not a glory hound. Accolades always made him uneasy and his team's devotion to him,
though merited, often made him blush.





As though finding his godfather's abashed demeanor funny the baby gurgled merrily in
Tonk's arms.





“Oh, look who wants to join the party,” she cooed into the face of her little boy.





Wolfgang grabbed on to a few of her fingers and held on tight. His little chubby face, a
pleasant mixture of both of his parents, stared up at his mother in rapt adoration as he began to
smack his lips contentedly. It was a look that said that Tonks was the most important person in his
world. The little scene tugged at Harry's heart. He wondered what it must feel like to have
someone love him so purely.





“He's a cute kid Tonks.” He didn't notice the little tickle of want in his chest as he
said it.





“Thanks. I think we'll keep him,” she said sweetly. She then opened up her robe, popped out
a nipple, and proceeded to breastfeed her son. In the Hag. Next to a table of goblins paying
cards.





“Tonks! What the bollocks do you think you're doing,” scolded Harry averting his eyes
quickly. He turned from side to side hoping that no low life scum was eying her goodies. In truth
no one seemed to be paying them a whit of attention.





Tonks was quite amused by his reaction. “Ya know Har you are entirely too high strung. Are you
getting enough lately?”





Harry peevishly turned his whole body to the side to avoid looking directly at her. This only
caused Tonks' grin to widen.





As she lovingly began to smooth the little tuft of brown hair on top of her son's head she
added, “You really should get one of these Har.”





“What, a breast,” he snidely questioned.





“No! A kid. They're dead fun!”





“So says the shadows under your eyes.”





“Seriously, when are you and Ginny going to pop out a wee'un or two?”





Harry was used to his family and friend's asking this question.





“You just want company in your sleepless nights.”





He was also used to giving evading answers.





“Well that too. Not fair that you lot get to be all sexy and fancy free. You don't know what
it's like to have to check your robes for spit-up every time you leave the house,” she told
him, sounding only slightly bitter.





“Look,” Harry began weakly, “Ginny and I love our lives. It's nice. Easy. Besides we're
too youn...”





“Yes, yes too young,” she quickly dismissed. “You've given me this speech already Potter.
And it was rubbish then too. You're almost 25 mate! And Ginny isn't getting any younger.
Hell, me and Remus even beat you to it and we got married after you two.”





Harry, trying his best to keep his irritation at bay, tried to take the focus off of him.





“You're starting to sound like my in-laws. Arthur drops kelpie-sized hints about me and
Ginny having kids. You'd think with Fleur's litter living with them they would be
satisfied. But nooooo.”





Despite the nursing baby, Harry turned back to face Tonks fully. He sighed dismally. “Now is
just not the right time for Ginny and I to...we just aren't ready yet,” he explained.





“I don't know Har. Ginny looks pretty ready to me,” Tonk's shared conspiratorially. “The
other day Molly had me come over to get some of Dash's old togs. I reckon Fleur must be having
a girl again this time. Anyways Ginny was visiting and she couldn't keep her hands off of my
Wolfgang. The way she was looking at him...you better be careful Harry. Your wife's got the
smell of new baby up her conk.”









Although Harry hated to admit it, he knew that Tonks was telling the truth. He wasn't blind
to the fact that his wife was chomping at the bit to have a baby with him. He didn't miss the
look of yearning that would pass on Ginny's face as she held on to one of her nephews or
nieces. He often heard the slightly jealous tone her voice took on as she regaled him with tales of
how Lavender bragged on Violet Pye's latest grand feat of accomplishment; tying her shoes all
by herself, not eating the plimpy egg paste at day school. Nor could he pretend that he didn't
understand the plea that was practically shouted at him each time his green eyes met her blue ones.
*When Harry? When?*





But Merlin help him, even though he hated the fact that he was causing Ginny so much anguish,
his answer never wavered. He wasn't ready to be a father. He wasn't even sure he would make
a good father, wouldn't even know how to be one if he tried. It's not like he had long term
first hand experience of how a real dad was supposed to be. Sirius had been in his life much too
briefly. He had spent a good year being bitter and angry towards Dumbledore when he should have
been striving towards the relationship that he eventually developed with him. That was one of the
things Harry regretted most after his old headmaster was struck down. He once imagined Arthur
Weasley as the kind of dad he would have liked to have had, but then he started dating the
man's daughter. Then he married her. Then their relationship just became...strained. Harry
didn't like to dwell on it. Harry and Remus had grown close over the years, Harry was even
godfather to his and Tonks' son, but Remus was more like an uncle then a father figure in his
eyes. More so then Vernon ever was, Harry would sometimes think broodingly.





And as for his own dad...Harry always imagined, always dreamed that his father would have lived
up to his every hope, wish, and desire. But the unfortunate truth was that Harry would never know.
Just another sad fact of his life. Yes, Harry was very conflicted when it came to issues of
fatherhood.





But it wasn't that he hated kids or disliked them. In fact the exact opposite was true.
Harry had a huge soft spot for children. There was nothing more that he loved then being Uncle
Harry to the large group of Weasley grandchildren.





Whenever Harry did think about the prospect of him having his own set of ankle biters he often
thought that Marc Weasley was the ideal child that he would like to have. Marc was Bill and
Fleur's oldest, born right as the war was ending. He was the kind of fearless, reckless kid
that any man would be proud to call son. The kind of kid that would “borrow” his Uncle Ron's
brand new racing broom to go for a spin. The kind of kid that would jump in the pond behind his
home, dressed in his very best robes, just to rescue a drowning gnome. The kind of kid that would
bloody any little tyke's nose who dared tease his baby sister. Even if the bloke was his own
kid brother.





Or he would have loved to have a little girl like Fred and Glinda's five year old, Felicity.
Adorable Felicity was a coco colored cutie with large dark eyes like her mum and was a Weasley thru
and thru, minus the red hair and freckles. It was like someone decided to take all of the other
Weasley key traits, (mischief making, love of laughter, enormous temper) mix them in a pot and
boom...out popped Miss Lish. Even when the child was going thru one of her bad health spells she
still managed to pass on to anyone who crossed her path one of her infectious smiles. People rarely
didn't smile back at Lish.





No Harry didn't have any problem with the idea of kids. He was nothing at all like Hermione.
Hermione seemed to have had an honest to God fear of children. Harry wondered if that stemmed from
her childhood. According to Hermione when she was younger she never learned quite how to socialize
with children her own age. She preferred the company of adults even back then. This led to her
awkwardness with most of the Weasley tots in her later years. Whenever Molly tried to lasso her
into babysitting Marc and Leo, or on very rare occasions Percy's Junior, to prepare her for the
day she had her own little Weasley, Hermione without fail found some way to weasel (pun intended)
out of the chore. Ron would joke that she just hated kids because no matter how brilliant she, or
anyone else thought she was they would still tease her unmercifully about her hair. Hermione
figured that she was just one of those women who didn't possess a maternal bone in their body.
Somehow Harry found both of those answers too pat.



Interestingly enough Hermione was unknowingly responsible for the one other reason Harry was
subconsciously reluctant to have kids. Well, maybe not responsible. That was too strong a word.
That was the kind of thinking that would send Ginny searching every hovel and hole in the world so
she could scratch Hermione's eyes out of her face. Ginny would not hesitate to blame the other
girl for her misery. No, it was more like Hermione explained to him just what having a child would
mean for him and Ginny. She did it intending to help him better understand the choices he was
making. She probably never thought it would leave him in a self-imposed limbo.











He'd proposed to Ginny on Valentine's Day. It seemed right. They had been back together
for almost two years by then and he figured that it would make sense to make everything official
between them. Everyone else acted like their marriage was a forgone conclusion anyways so Harry
didn't really see any reason to go against the grain. Besides, marrying Ginny seemed like the
natural thing to do. He pretty much loved her and it was time for him to grow up and fully embrace
the life he was free to live.





If he was being honest with himself it was a less then romantic proposal. All the family, save
for Percy, had come to the Burrow with their significant others for a big dinner. They were
celebrating the holiday as well as having a baby shower for Glinda. Charlie was in town and Molly
had convinced Hermione to invite one of her friends from work over to the house. None of them were
quite sure if Bernadette was supposed to be there for Charlie or for George, but they were all
enjoying the spectacle of watching Molly throw the poor flustered French woman at both of her sons
trying to see which one she stuck to. Molly was enjoying being a grandmother immensely and she was
ready to get the rest of her children paired up and married so she could have more. It would seem
that Charlie turned out to be the lucky fellow because he and Bernadette soon went off for a walk
down the lane after all the food was eaten.





Harry and Ginny decided to go outside as well, to get some fresh air they told everyone. George
and Fred made smooching sounds as they walked out the door. As they laid down on a stretch of grass
beside the pond they somehow wandered into a discussion about their collective future. Ginny had
been out of Hogwarts since June and she hadn't really done anything with her life since leaving
school. She hinted that her reasons for being such a bum was that she thought that she would have
had other plans by this time, but since it didn't seem like that was going to happen she might
as well go to the Harpies training camp this summer. That is unless Harry could offer her a better
solution. Harry, hating the idea of being bored without her the months ahead, suggested that they
get married instead. Harry figured that Ginny broke all kids of records with the speed she jumped
onto his lap. She asked him if they could do things the old ways. Harry unwittingly agreed.







He and Ginny rushed back inside the house, gathered the family in the living room, and broke the
big news. On a whole they reacted pretty much the way he thought they would. Molly cried. Arthur
popped open a bottle of champers. The twins slapped him on the back in congratulations, the
blinking light sign that George pasted on his back reading: Dead Wizard Walking going unnoticed by
all in the excitement. Ron as usual chose the joyous occasion to make a joke.







“*'Bout time mate! I was beginning to wonder when you were going to make an honest woman
of my little sister.”*







Ginny, who had been on the other side of the room at the time discussing with Molly the wording
of the wedding announcement, turned irately to her brother and spat out nastily, *“You're a
fine one to talk Ron. I don't see Hermione allowing you to make an honest woman of her. Circe
knows you two have been at it long enough!”*







That put a damper on the celebrating really quickly. Although the two of them were trying
another reconciliation, Hermione's reticence on officially becoming a Weasley was always a
uneasy topic amongst the family. Ron left the room in a snit. Fleur and Bill made the excuse that
they had to put their baby boys down for a nap. Molly asked Arthur to assist her in finding Auntie
Muriel's goblin-made tiara. Glinda, Fred and George pretended to find the books in the bookcase
interesting, although Harry doubted either of the three had ever voluntarily picked up a book a day
in their lives.





Hermione, who had been quietly sitting in a corner the whole time, pretended to ignore the
outburst. He knew her feeling had been hurt though because she looked a sickly gray color and she
was acting so withdrawn. She hadn't even congratulated the newly engaged couple yet. Instead
she asked an odd question as she anxiously wrung her hands together.





“*You two are getting married using the Olde Rites Harry?”*





Harry answered her with his usual knowledgeable aplomb.





“*Err...”*





She bit forcefully on the corner of her mouth, almost hard enough to draw blood. *“It's
just...do you even know what that means,”* she questioned him anxiously.





“*Gracious Hermione! Could you leave the guy alone,”* interrupted Ginny as she tore
George's sign off of Harry's back and stepped in front of him. *“Of course Harry knows
what it means. I told him,”* she insisted emphatically.





“*And what if he didn't? Not everyone puts their noses in a book every 5 minutes like
you,”* she added icily for good measure.





Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione bewildered. He knew that the two girls
had been having some issues as of late, but he couldn't understand why Ginny would take that
tone with a girl who was supposed to be a good friend of hers. He was about to ask her what was
going on when Mrs. Weasley stepped back into the room.





“*Ginerva dear, I need you to come try on the tiara. We need to see if it's a good fit or
if we need to have it shrunk down for you.”*





Ginny gleefully clapped her hands girlishly and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before
heading off in the direction her mother went. When Ginny was fully out of the room he brought his
attention to where Hermione had been sitting, but she was nowhere to be found. He quickly peeped
out the front door and saw the back of her retreating form heading down the lane.





“*Hermione, wait up,”* he called to her. If she heard him she didn't acknowledge it,
just kept trudging along her way. Without bothering to let anyone know he was leaving he hurriedly
took off after her.





Something had her steamed because by the time he reached her side she was talking animatedly to
herself. She didn't even look at him. He wondered if she was just hacked off at Ginny for what
his newly minted fiancée had said. He was about to ask her if that was the case when she stopped in
her tracks and faced him squarely.





“*It's just that I don't think it's fair...you not knowing what you are getting
your self into I mean,”* Hermione began aggressively. *“You have every right to be sure that
you are doing the right thing.”*





Harry was at a loss for words. He had no idea what she was going on about.





“*Harry, answer me honestly. Do you know what the Olde Rites are?”*





“*Has something to do with the wedding right,”* he queried nervously. *“Ginny asked if we
could do it in the old ways and I agreed. What is it, some kind of vow?”*





Hermione snorted at his innocence. *“More like a vow, an oath, some blood, a
ritual....”*





“*Hang on! Blood?”*





Hermione roughly took his hand and immediately Harry felt the sensation of being squeezed thru a
bottle. He didn't know what it was about side-along apparition that made him so queasy. He
never felt half as bad when he apparated himself to and fro. He always meant to ask Hermione if she
knew why that may be, but he decided now wouldn't be the right time. As he opened his eyes he
saw that they were in the bedroom of her apartment.





“*Damn,”* Hermione swore, *“I over shot.”*







Harry was about to ask her what the hell was going on, but she quickly told him to take a seat
on the bed as she went out of the door. As he did so he briefly worried that Ginny would get angry
that he had left the house to go chasing after Hermione. She often complained that he had a
tendency to do that. A lot! This fear was also compounded by the fact that he had once again
forgotten to take with him the little two way mirror she'd given him as a birthday gift only a
couple of years ago. “*So we never miss each other*,” she cloyingly told him as she showed him
the one that she would carry with her. Ginny was not going to be too happy with him one bit, but he
couldn't help but see the bloody thing as a tether around his throat she constantly felt the
need to tug on. He could only see this getting worse, especially now that he had decided to marry
her.





The mirror also brought up unpleasant memories of the one that Sirius had given him all those
years ago that he unfortunately never got to use. Of course he couldn't bring this up with
Ginny. She probably would be cross that he didn't appreciate her gift, but Harry somehow knew
that Hermione would understand his reluctance to bother with the things. She always seemed to have
a way of grasping the idiosyncrasies of his mind and knowing just what made him tick.



Since he had nothing else better to do he took a look around her room. He had always liked it,
although he had only been allowed in there a few times. The colors she had chosen in her decorating
were green and a warm yellow that gave the room a tropical feel. Off in the corner stood a large
standing cheval mirror. It always amused him to see it, to think of Hermione as some vain bird who
was worried about her appearance, but in truth he knew that the beautiful cherry wood antique meant
a lot to her. It had once stood in the Granger home; it had once belonged to her mum. Most of the
bedroom furniture in her room and the apartment were actually owned by her parents before they
passed. Including the king sized mahogany bed that he was currently sitting on. Laid out lovingly
across it was a beautiful patchwork quilt he knew had been taken from her grandmother's home.
Where Harry had been jumpy and on edge just moments ago he suddenly felt worlds calmer. Just
drinking in the scent of the room filled him with serenity. What was that smell? Lilac? Lavender?
The scent always seemed to put him at ease.





“*Sorry about that,”* Hermione said as Harry drifted back from his reverie. *“I honestly
only meant to bring us into the living room.”*





She was standing in front of him holding a gigantic book in her arms. Harry scooted over to
allow her to sit beside him. As she did she held up the cover of the book so he could see it.





“*I knew I had it somewhere here, but it took me a bit to find it on the shelf.”* She
smiled at him timidly. *“I bought it just in case Ron decided to propose again. I wanted to be
sure about what I would be getting myself into if I were to just give in and say yes.”*





Harry couldn't miss the hesitant sound in her voice. He also felt the slight tug his own
stomach made at her words, but dismissed it as the pudding he had at supper.





“*Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton,”* he read from the title as he took the heavy book
from her. *“What's this about?”*





“*It's an interesting read. All about most of the ancient traditions and practices that
used to belong to the* *wizards and witches here. Fertility charms, war rites,”* Hermione
answered. *“Wedding ceremonies...”* she trailed off quietly.





“*Oh,”* replied Harry as he flipped the book open and began to thumb thru the pages.
*“You mean there is more then one kind of wedding?”*





“*Several actually,”* she said as she began to fretfully pick at the long red skirt she was
wearing. *“But the oldest and most prevalent is called the Olde Rites, the original name has been
lost thru the years. It's often referred to as the Cycle as well.”*





“*Ok, so what's so special about it?”*





Hermione brought her eyes up to his, but anxiously turned them away. *“Well it was centered on
the phases of the moon. Once upon a time the actual wedding had to be performed on the night of a
full moon, the proposal done the night before the previous one. Over time though that was done away
with.”*





“*I still don't get it,”* Harry declared, this whole lesson she was giving him going
straight over his head.





As was her way back at Hogwarts she was becoming irritated by his dimness. *“Circe! Did you
and Ron ever pay attention in Sinistras' class? There are only 30 days between full moons,”*
she snapped at him. *“Well actually 29.5, but that's just splitting hairs.”*





Her eyes were glowing almost feverishly and her words were coming at him fast and furious. He
started to get concerned that she was falling ill, but then her next words stopped him dead.





“*Don't you get it yet Harry? Thirty days from now you are going to be Mr. Ginny
Weasley!”*





When the book he was holding tumbled out of his hands and fell on his foot he didn't really
scream like a girl. But it was a close thing.





“*T-t-t-thirty days,”* he managed to stammer out. In answer to his question she soberly
nodded her head. *“But that can't be right,”* he argued. “*Bill and Fleur were engaged
forever before they got married!*”





Truthfully they had been engaged for about a year, but that was still longer then
30-bloody-days!





“*That's because Bill and Fleur followed more French traditions. The French don't rush
about these things. Why Bernadette was telling me last week about her great-aunt Amalie's
wedding she had just came back from. Bernadette's aunt had been engaged to her fiancée for over
fifteen years! Fifteen years!”*







Where Harry was sitting right now 15 years sounded like a dream as opposed to
30-bloody-days!







“*Bill and Fleur actually were quite fast about it. Then again back then everyone was rushing
to get married, with Voldemort and all...you know. That's when the Rites came back into
vogue.”*







She reached down and pulled the heavy tome off of the floor. She flipped thru some pages till
she ultimately came to what she was looking for.







“*The time between getting engaged and married is fully plotted out,”* she explained as she
began to read to him from the book. *“Five days from the proposal an engagement party is held at
the home of the mother of the groom.”* She looked at him apologetically. *“I suppose Molly
could do that for you still. You know she would love to,”* she kindly remarked.





“*At the party all who wish to give their blessing to the impending marriage may attend. A
brief ceremony is held where two large tapers are lit by the couple. It's supposed to represent
the commencement of the Rites. The candles then burn till the day of the wedding. The couple must
be married before the candles go out. The book clearly stipulates that. Also there is a ceremonial
blade involved, a ceremonial chalice. You and the future bride cut your selves and bleed into the
cup...”*





“*Hold on...wait just one minute,”* Harry cut her off, completely disturbed by what she was
telling him. *“Blood? Blade? Bleeding? Blood? What?”*





“*Very macabre sounding isn't it,”* she replied. *“At the wedding ceremony mead is
poured into the chalice that the blood had been steeping in and the groom and bride drink from it.
It's supposed to create this bond between the couple. A bond so immense, so intimate that if
either party is ever unfaithful their spouse knows it immediately. The injured party actually feels
it.”*





Dobby could have jumped in and made a home of his mouth, it was open so wide.





“*Blood magic is very powerful Harry,”* she reminded him. *“Now where was I,”* said
Hermione as she went back to the book. *“Ah yes! Five days out from the engagement a ceremony is
held to choose the people who will stand up for the groom and bride. They call it the Naming Tea
now. I suspect just to be able to have another party, but whatever. That is usually held by the
mother of the bride. At this ceremony the Maid of Honour is also given her charge. She arranges the
whole wedding from then out.”* Hermione closed the book with a beleaguered sigh and placed it on
the other side of her. *“I can't begin to tell you how happy I am that Glinda decided to
pretend she was religious for her mum's sake. I don't think I could have dealt with
this.”*





One of Harry's eyebrows arched up at that statement. *“Didn't you just say the other
day that you wished that Glinda would stop pretending to be religious so you won't have to be
named godmother at the bloody christening once the baby is born?”*





“*Must you remember everything I say,”* she asked vexedly, yet there was a hint of a smile
on her lips. *“Well she won't let up on it. Yesterday she threatened to turn me into a tampon
if I didn't agree to it. Of course I keep reminding her that although she is married to a
wizard she can't use a bloody wand, but does she listen?”*





Though Harry wouldn't have minded listening to her complain about her insistence that she
would not make a good godmother, he needed for her to go on about this clusterfuck he had haplessly
gotten himself into.





“*So is there anything else I...”* he paused to swallow tensely, *“should know
about?”*





“*Pretty much the rest is cut and dry,”* she answered. *“There are a few little things
that get taken care of before the wedding. The bride's robe must be charmed, a ribbon must be
picked out, fertility rituals done.”*





“*Fertility rituals?”*





“*Yes, getting married quick and having a baby quicker seems to be the name of the game. Oh! I
almost forgot about the seclusion.”*





“*Seclusion?”*





“*The bride and groom are isolated from each other for seven days. This happens right after
the Temptation day. For the Temptations the couple used to be confronted with the opportunity to
change their minds. Ages ago the wizard was taken to a muggle brothel and left alone with one of
the prostitutes. If he didn't touch her he was golden.”*





“*What about the woman?”*





“*Well, I'm sure she still got paid.”*





“*No Hermione, I meant the bride.”*





“*Oh.”* Her cheeks colored. *“Oh, well, I haven't read too many stories about what
the woman went thru. Probably nothing as big as all that though. Bloody double standards! A man can
be all virile and do what have you, but let a woman...”*





“*Hermione!”*





“*Sorry. Like I was saying, you won't have to worry about the Temptations. Now it
basically is just a bachelor and bachelorette party. Then that segues into the week long seclusion
right before the wedding. The bride and groom are not allowed to see one another until the
reception the night before. They however can not be left alone with one another.”*





“*Why?”*





“*As not to damage the bride's purity or something or other. Way back when she had to be
as lily-white and pristine as the day she was born,”* Hermione said, smacking her lips in
disdain. *“Even nowadays they still like to give the pretense that such is the case. Bah! As much
as muggles get criticized at least they aren't as ridiculously antiquated as wizards.”*





“*Well I guess that's one thing me and Ginny won't have to worry about,”* Harry
murmured absentmindedly. When he realized what he had said he wished he could *Avada* himself
so he could be let out of his misery.





“*You mean...”* she began wondrously.





“*We decided to wait,”* he confessed. *“Well, uh, she told me we did. She said something
about dung and buying space cows. Totally didn't understand it, but I respect her wishes.”*
Harry hated to think of what shade his face was.





“*Ah yes, the proverbial mooncalf. Honestly! Like there is anything wrong with a female having
a sexual nature. It's perfectly normal and healthy,”* Hermione blustered.





Scarlet. He decided that his face was probably scarlet. Probably getting redder by the minute if
such a shade existed. He did not want to go down that road again with Hermione. Especially not in
here. Not on her bed. Oh Merlin, her bed!





“*Yes, um, well...”* Harry sputtered out as he shot off the offending piece of furniture
and instead went to go lean against the bed's matching wardrobe closet.





“*Sorry,”* she said in apology. *“As I was saying, so as not to get up to any hanky panky
the couple can not be left alone. It would definitely be a disaster if they were and the bride got
pregnant.”*





“*Why?”*





“*Because the bonding will not be in effect. That doesn't happen till the wedding once the
ribbon is tied and the mead has been drunk.”*







Harry's head swam with all of the information Hermione was giving him. *“I still don't
understand all of this.”*





“*Harry, look at it as if....you are signing a contract. Each ceremony and ritual you perform
for the Rites is an article of the contract. You initial each one as you finish it. Once you get
down to the bottom of that contract there is a place for you to sign. Having a baby is effectively
you signing that contract. Once that's done, sure as Bob is your uncle, you are bonded for
life. There is no getting out of it.”*





“*None?”* Harry was wracking his brain, trying desperately to remember when Ginny could
have told him all of this.





“*None. Wizards don't really believe in divorce. Sure there are some that get the Rites
overturned, but that's only when no child has been born of the union. If that's the case
and you can show just cause why the marriage should be dissolved you can petition the Wizengamot.
The problem is that then you have to deal with the social stigma being divorced carries. But back
when the Rites were first practiced...there was no divorce. There wasn't even a term for it.
No, once you are married under the Rites and have a baby that's it, you and your mate are bound
till death parts you.”*





“*Until one of you die?”* Ok, Ginny definitely did not tell him any of this. At all!





“*I'm afraid so. Even if you try to move on or run off the bond between you won't
allow it. Both parties become a shell of their former selves. Food has no taste, your mind starts
to go, you no longer feel joy, you...you wither away Harry.”*





“*And Ginny wants to do this?”* He practically shouted the words as the sound of a heavy
object falling was heard nearby. Both of them looked towards the door.





“*Sounds like that was the book shelf. Well, no matter,”* she said, disregarding it. She
turned to face him again.





“*Maybe...”* she began uneasily*, “maybe Ginny wants to ensure that you stay by her side.
Always.”*





Harry's stomach bubbled at the word*.*





“*Maybe she thinks this is the best way to make sure that happens, by giving you no options.
By binding you to her forever. Cause that is what this would mean Harry, forever.”*





Forever? Did he really want to be with Ginny forever, his jumbled thoughts franticly asked.





“*Or perhaps she feels if you love her enough all the rest doesn't matter,”* she
replied nervously.





For a moment Harry was lost in a world of his own thinking. Every thing Hermione was telling him
seemed too much. Blood, and ribbons, and the possibility of not being able to enjoy a good treacle
tart when he wanted it. Harry wasn't so sure he was ready for all of this. Was he ready for all
of this?





“*Does it?”* Harry's attention was drawn back to the bed where Hermione was staring at
him skeptically. *“Does it matter?”*





Harry suddenly felt like he was being apparated against his will. That feeling of being pushed
at from all sides was upon him again. He felt exposed to Hermione. Like he had been caught in just
his skivvies. Did she realize that he was this close from marching back to the Burrow and telling
Ginny to forget the whole thing? The **whole** thing!





“*Knowing what you now know...do you...I mean, do you still want to marry Ginny?”*
Hermione's face was lined with worry and dread.





Of course Hermione would get to the bottom of it. Who knew him better? But that same thought
made him shrink from telling her the truth. What would Hermione think of him if he admitted that he
was now wishing that he had never agreed to this whole crazy scheme? Would she think lowly of him?
Would she be disappointed in him? Hermione was one of the few people whose opinion of him truly
mattered to Harry. He didn't want to look bad, not to her! What kind of git proposes to a girl
he wasn't willing to bleed for and...*gulp*...then drink it? Deny, deny, and deny was the
refrain that played thru his head.





“*Well sure I do,”* he practically yelped, his voice sounding too loud in his own ears.
*“I mean, I asked her to marry me. Of course I want to marry her.”*





“*Oh,”* she quietly said as she looked down at her shoes. *“Ok...I um, I just wanted you
to be sure.”* She was standing up now, a huge smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. The
kind of smile that looked like it kind of hurt. He was looking at her lips so intently that he
almost missed the rest of what she was saying.





“*...to know what you were getting yourself into. I mean if anything you can just tell Ginny
that you've changed your mind. That you prefer to get married the muggle way or something
less...drastic.”*





“*No,”* he said plastering on a smile of his own to match hers. The difference, in his
mind, was that he knew his was fake. *“If Ginny wants to do this, why not. What's the harm?
It's not like I'm going to wake up years from now and want to take this all back
right?”*





“*Of course not,”* she exclaimed as she slowly walked up to him. *“You love her. It's
as simple as that. Meant to be, written in the stars, destined for each other and all that. Ginny
gets what she wants and everyone is happy.”* Her voice cracked on the last word and Harry
suddenly realized that Hermione might not be as cheerful as she was letting on.





“*Hermione, is there...what's going on with you and Ginny?”*





“*What?”* Her eyes bulged at the question and her smile momentarily fell from her face.
*“Nothing. Why would you think something was going on?”*





“*That scene at the Burrow? The way that Ginny was talking down to you?”*





“*Oh that? That was nothing,”* she insisted as that almost plastic like smile appeared
again. *“Don't even worry about that.”*





“*But I do worry. I don't like it when Ginny talks to you that way. I've told her
about that before. I mean, sure I used to think it was cool the way she would stand up for me back
when I thought you were just being a nag.”* Harry pulled Hermione towards himself and engulfed
her in a warm hug. *“It took me a while to realize that you were honestly trying to look out for
me. Like you always do. Like you did* *just today telling me about this bonding
business.”*





“*I'm your friend,”* she said, pressing the side of her face into his chest.
*“That's my job right?”*





“*You are more then my friend and you know that,”* he said, pulling back to look at her
pointedly before wrapping her closer to him again. He inhaled deeply, feeling as if all was right
in the world, when all of a sudden a stunning realization almost toppled him.





Jasmine! He finally figured what that smell was. Jasmine.





“*Sorry about Ginny.”*





“*It's just that she's not too happy with me right now. A few weeks ago at that
dinner, when Ron announced to the whole bloody restaurant that we were back together, she looked
less then congratulatory. I think she just thinks I'm stringing her brother along.”*





Although he could see that his best friend was in a blue kind of mood Harry had to wonder if
maybe Ginny possibly had the right of it. Maybe Hermione was just stringing poor Ron along. Maybe
she was just putting on a show with Ron when she was really after someone else. What was it she had
said to him? Something about not wanting the same things she wanted when she was twelve years old
now. What did she want now? Who did she want now? Was it Malfoy? Harry's wand hand began to
itch at the thought. He had seen Malfoy just recently with one of his little conquests, the one
with the bony horsey face, at a Quidditch game he was playing. Harry almost flew his broom straight
into the stands so he could knock the blond's kingly sneer off of his face right then and
there. How dare he think that Hermione was one of his little slags he could have his way with and
just discard like she was nothing! It was little less then a month ago when he caught them at it in
this apartment. Then the next thing he knew he was watching Ron bashfully tell everyone to raise
their glasses as he shared with them the “good news”. Was she just using Ron as some sort of smoke
screen for whatever she was really up to? Did she fall in love with somebody? Was she in love with
someone that Harry didn't know about?





“*Are you,”* he growled.





Nice one Harry! That definitely came out much harsher then he intended. She obviously thought so
too because she violently pushed herself away from him and stormed out of the room. When he finally
got his wits about him he found her in the kitchen pacing angrily back and forth.





“*My God Harry! My God!”* Every nerve of her body was tensed as she swung around to face
the doorway where he was standing.





“*Do you really think I would **want** to do that to Ron? Do you really think that lowly of
me? You're the one who convinced me to get back together with him,”* she said pointing an
accusing finger at him. *“Take him back Hermione. He's going spare without you Hermione.”*
He vaguely understood that she was doing an impression of himself.





“*Remember? It was in this very kitchen?”*





“*Don't remind me,”* he groaned, purposefully avoiding casting his eyes on the evil and
accursed table.





“*Well I did what you wanted,”* she yelled as her eyes began to look reddish. *“I did it
to make you happy. I am trying Harry. I honestly am, but...but it's hard. You just have no clue
how hard it is!”*





Taken aback by her frankness he asked meekly,*“But it shouldn't be hard. Should
it?”*





She gave him the most pityingly look. *“Sometimes Harry loving someone with all of your heart
can be the most difficult thing to do. Trust me, I know.”*









These days Harry wished he could find a time turner, have that conversation with Hermione over
again, and tell her that he now understood the full meaning of her words. He could even one up her.
If she thought trying to make a relationship with Ron work was so tough she should try being in
love with someone you hadn't laid eyes on in years while being married to another person whom
you couldn't exactly remember why you married in the first place. Now **that**, that was
bloody hard!





But it wasn't like he was trying to find someway out of his vows to Ginny. He had made a
commitment to her and he had every intention of seeing it thru. He wasn't searching for some
kind of loophole in their agreement.





He just wasn't in such a hurry to sign on the dotted line.

















“I think someone needs to have his nappy changed.”





“For the love of Merlin Tonks! Even the Hag has some codes of decency!”





Tonks was standing over Wolfgang's pram as she effortlessly placed the baby inside. She
swathed the child in his many blankets before giving him a pacifier. Almost instantaneously the
baby's brows puckered as sleep descended on him. Harry half suspected that Tonks had placed a
lullaby charm on it.





“He likes them meat flavored. Go figure,” Tonks said, in reference to the pacifier, as she
straightened herself up and took the handles of the contraption. “And it wasn't like I was
going to change him right out in the open. What do you take me for?”





Harry wanted to remind her of how she had just flung her fun cushion out all in the open, but he
thought better of it. Although the former Ms. Tonks, now Mrs. Lupin, was all aglow with a motherly
light that did not negate the fact that she would still try to give him a good ass kicking if he
asked for it.





“I have a husband at home who is completely mad about me,” she said loftily. “I'm going to
go fool around with him instead of hanging around here with my current surly company.”





Harry's mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse. It was just that every time he
looked back on what a mess of his life he made he couldn't help but become a grouch. He needed
something to improve his mood. Maybe the library dream, he pondered. Yes! The library dream. With
Pince lurking somewhere nearby. And Hermione dressed in her school robes. Just her school robes!
Harry's mood suddenly began to take an upswing. As well as other parts of him.





“Listen, sorry for bringing up baby stuff with Ginny and all that. I know that it's a bit of
a touchy subject. Remus and I...well we just want you to be happy Harry. You know how happy people
are, they just want everyone to be happy right along with them,” Tonks apologized. Harry felt
honestly touched by her sentiment.





“Hey! This should cheer you up though. You know what I was thinking about just the other day?
That time in France, me and Hermione in the nun habits. Remember that? Wasn't that a scream?
Course at the time we were all thinking we were going to die at any moment. But looking back those
were some wild times, weren't they?”





Harry's face spread in a huge shit eating grin. He did recall their mission to France. How
important it was and how scared they all had been. And how gosh darned cute Hermione had looked
dressed in the the black and white get-up. If there had been nuns that looked like that back at St.
Brutus Harry thought that he probably would have ditched Hogwarts altogether.





And just like that Harry groaned inwardly. He had a pretty good idea that he wasn't going to
be dreaming about a certain table back at Hogwarts tonight. Oh no. But it should be
interesting.





And sick, sick, sick. Another part of his brain told him.





Yeah, but probably a helluva lot of fun too!





“Isn't that a gas Har? I don't know what made me think about that,” Tonks continued,
thankfully unaware of the inner ramblings of his mind.





“Does that ever happen to you? You get someone inside your head, for some reason or another, and
you just can't get them out again?”





Harry picked up his now empty bottle of butterbeer and was becoming frustrated that he
couldn't seem to get anything out of it. Once he realized that there was a good reason for that
he dismally set it back on the table.





“Tonks, you have no idea.”



































*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*





9. Chapter 8
------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**, but a
whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N**: I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I realized
that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then decided to
throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at least to me)
story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first attempt at
writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if you would
tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.



Thank you so much for all of your reviews. Seriously y'all, I can not express how they make
me feel. This started as a little story that I was sure only I would enjoy. The fact that some of
y'all love it too just thrills me! The more y'all gush the more I want to make an
entertaining story for y'all. Keep 'em coming! Trust me when I say I do listen to them.



**Warning:** This chapter contains some slight **G/N**. I know, I know. Please be patient
with me. I promise that I will more then make up for it when the time is right.



**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.









*Ding. Ding.*




Neville looked up from the box of snapping snapdragons he had been about to open and looked
towards the door of the stockroom. He thought he heard the doorbell chime of his shop, but he was
almost positive that he had locked the door when he turned the closed sign around this evening.
When no more sound reached his ear he continued with the box.




*Crack.*




Neville's head popped up again. Now he knew for sure he had heard a sound in the shop. It
sounded like glass breaking. He was certain that Orestes, Holden, and Emmaleth, his shop assistants
weren't back. They were the only people who had keys to the store. No, he had sent them all off
to have a pint at the *Three Broomsticks* on him and the three young adults, barely of age,
certainly couldn't have finished yet. He knew for a fact that young Em drank like a fish so it
seemed highly unlikely that she would have just had a quick butterbeer, especially if it was on his
tab. That left only one other option. Someone had broken into his store.




Neville slowly eased up from his heels, straightening his work robe, and withdrew his cherry
wood wand from the back pocket of his slacks underneath. With his muscles taut and his nerves on
fire he stealthily pushed forward one of the swinging doors of the stockroom and peeked around its
corner. What he saw was the outline of what seemed to be a woman on her hands and knees. She was
trying to collect the broken shards of a glass vase from off the floor where it fell from the
counter of the register. She was using her bare hands. It was seven in the evening and there were
no lanterns lit so Neville couldn't exactly see who it was. He pointed his wand unflinchingly
at the person before him as he silently came further into the room.




“If you have business here,” he said in a cold, threatening voice, “I'd quickly say what it
is and be done with it.”




At his words the woman's head popped up in shock.




“Nev?”




“Gin?”




Neville quickly ushered over to his friend's side and helped her up. After straightening her
and her robes, and brushing off any dust she might have gotten from the floor, he turned to look
his friend in the face.




“*Lumos*,” he intoned as he and Ginny were suddenly bathed in soft yellow light.




“Ginny, what are you doing here? And how did you get in,” he asked in a wondering voice.




Neville knew that he had all the exit doors in the shop warded in case someone tried to break in
and steal from the store.




Ginny grinned a devilish smile at him. “Well I didn't want to rob you, did I?”




Neville felt like a perfect idiot. Of course! If anyone's intention was to cause harm they
would automatically be shocked if their hands touched the door knob. Or if they tried to
“*allahomora*” their way in their wand would smoke and become non-functional for a few hours.
But for whatever reason Ginny was at his place at this late hour, grand larceny was obviously not
the reason.




“Sorry,” she said. “It's just that I went looking for you at Rosemerta's and didn't
see you there. I ran into Emmaleth and she said that you were doing inventory.” She smirked.
“Actually she said that you were inventing stories, but the poor girl was so bladdered that I
figured the whole thing out for myself.”




Neville laughed at that. “Well Em has a way with words when she's in her cups.”




“Sometimes I think the only reason you keep that lush around is because she's so
pretty.”




“Gin,” Neville exclaimed in a false scandalized voice, “Emmaleth Loudermilk is a child.”




“Emmaleth Loudermilk is an 18 year old girl who barely made it out of school and wouldn't
hesitate at the chance to marry the boss,” she clucked. “Don't forget I knew her way back when.
She was a 2nd year my last at Hogwarts. And she was just as simple then as she is now.
She was always hanging about the Head's office telling me how much she wanted to grow up to be
just like me. Ugh!”




Neville began to feel slightly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation and tried to
switch gears effortlessly.




“Yes...um...well,” he stammered as he pointed his wand at the glass on the floor and hovered it
into a dustbin by the counter. “She's a natural with the more mundane non-magical plants and
she's tons useful around the place.”




In truth Emmaleth had been hinting to Neville as of late that she wouldn't mind staying
after hours to help him re-pot his plants. Neville however wasn't so naive that he didn't
know exactly what the former Hufflepuff had in mind for him. He wasn't going to tell Ginny that
though.




“Of course she is,” Ginny tartly agreed with him. She then raised her hands before her face and
frowned.




“I cut myself.”




“Here, let me see,” he said gently taking one of her pale, smooth hands in his own and examined
it. There was a small gash on it that would bleed a bit if the skin around it was pressured
slightly. Her other hand just had only minor little cuts. The soft feel of her skin wasn't lost
on him.




“Gin, you could have shredded yourself,” he admonished kindly.




He tenderly placed the tip of his wand on the palm of her hand and whispered
“*integrosectum*”. He then took her other hand and did the same to it. The palms of her hands
were perfectly healed.




“There, all better,” he said, looking into her navy eyes. He still was holding her hand.




“Y-yes,” she sighed, eyes locked on his hazel ones, “all better.”




She made no move to remove her hands from his at first, but then all at once, as if coming from
under a spell, she slowly pulled them away.




“But then again you always had a way of making things better, didn't you?”




Neville chuckled as if she had made a grand joke. “Who me? The klutz of Hogwarts?”




Ginny's eyes grew stormy as she placed her hands on her hips threateningly. “Neville
Longbottom, I will not have you talking about yourself that way,” she reprimanded.




Neville felt properly chastened. “Sorry Gin, I was just joking.”




“Well it's not funny! You are not that same bumbling little boy from years ago. You've
grown up. I wish you would realize that.”




“I do Gin. I do,” Neville placated. Neville's sense of self worth was always a big issue
between them.




“Look, I have a coffee pot full to the brim back in my office. Care for a cuppa?”




The frown lines of Ginny's face smoothed as it brightened into a smile. “Australian Mountain
Top Peaberry,” she asked hopefully.




“Would I drink anything else,” he playfully scoffed.







*~~**~~ ~~**~~ ~~**~~ ~~**~~*







“Mmmmmm....” Ginny moaned as she finished the last drops in her mug. This would mark her 4th cup
of coffee. “I haven't had this in ages.”




“I have some more at the house. If you'd like I'll send it over with Gran's
Whimsy.”




They were currently sitting at Neville's small oak wood desk. He was in a large comfortable
leather chair that leaned back while she was seated on one of the offices hard wooden back chairs.
He liked to joke that he kept those chairs back there to encourage his assistants to be out on the
floor working instead of in the back finagling a day off from him. When they first sat down he
offered her his seat, but she declined teasing that she liked to see him sitting behind his desk
looking the part of a stern employer. They both laughed at the absurdity of that.




“No, that's alright. Harry doesn't care for it. He says that coffee isn't coffee if
it isn't black with two spoonfuls of sugar,” she quipped. “I swear he acted like the waiters
were trying to poison him in Sydney.”




“Well I suspect the taste takes a bit to get used to,” he said looking over the top of his mug
at her.




“You did.”




“Well I suppose it came so highly recommended from you that I had to at least give it a
try.”




Ginny smiled at that.




“So are you eventually going to tell me why you were breaking and entering on my property,”
Neville joshed, no hint of reproach in his voice.




Ginny rolled her eyes. “I was not breaking and entering.”




“Uh huh.”




“I didn't expect you to close up this early is all.”




Neville set his empty cup on the desk and leaned casually back in his seat.




“I've been closing this early for the last week or so. All the plants and what not for the
new store are being shipped here so I've been sorting out all the boxes and containers after
close,” he replied. “Smart move I would say since vandals seem to be drawn to me.”




“Ha ha,” she said, only slightly irritably. “And by the way, congratulations. I ran into Dean,
Seamus and Pad the other day. They told me about the move to London.”




Neville smiled shyly. “I just figured it was time to expand really. There's no point in
letting all of Gran's money waste away in the bank right?”




Although Neville's smile was sunny he quickly wiped a tear that was forming from his eye.
Neville's beloved and greatly intimidating grandmother had been dead all these years since the
light side won the war. Neville always got choked up when he thought of his brave Gran who
vehemently opposed Voldemort and all who sided with him. She died one moth before the Second War
came to an end.




“Augusta Longbottom would be very proud of you,” Ginny sensitively replied as she reached across
his desk and took his right hand in hers comfortingly.




“Would she,” he wryly asked. “In her eyes I could never compare to my dad, the great strong
Auror. Quite frankly sometimes I think she was ashamed that I was even a member of the family.”




“I will not hear another word of this kind of talk,” Ginny shouted, jumping up from her
chair.




“If your grandmother was hard on you it was probably because she saw all the potential in you
and wanted it to shine,” she said passionately. “Now look at you, big business entrepreneur with
your own shop in Hogsmeade. About to open one in London. Of course she would be proud of you! Look
at you? How could she not be?”




Neville softly squeezed her hand to show that he believed her. Ginny quickly took her seat
again, embarrassed by her heated words.




“I was surprised that that was the first I was hearing about it,” said Ginny. “The store that
is.” Neville couldn't be sure, but he sensed some chastisement in her voice.




“Well Mrs. Potter I've been busy.” She scowled at him. “But I am sorry. I should have made
time to tell you about it.”







Neville owned a shop in Hogsmeade called *DeVine&Thorny*. It was a plant and flower
shop that mainly catered to the citizens of Hogsmeade and the school children who attended Hogwarts
not too far away. The shop had been opened for almost 3 years and business had been so profitable
that Neville was moving to a bigger store in London in the fall. He already had the building
purchased and was splitting his time between managing the current shop and checking on the progress
at the new place.




“You know I wouldn't have this place if it wasn't for you,” he said sweetly. Ginny
blushed.




“All I did was name the place. I didn't do anything so special.”




“Yes, but as you said back then if I had a place with a name that people would remember I would
have no worries.” He smiled. “You were right.”




“Yes, well...”




“And you were one of the few people who encouraged me to open this place. If not for you I would
probably be stuck at Hogwarts waiting patiently for Professor Sprout to retire.”




Ginny's cheeks were aflame. “Yes, well...”




“So how goes wedding plans,” Neville asked, changing the topic that was obviously making Ginny
embarrassed.




“Lavender is driving everyone up the wall. She's so set on this wedding being perfect.”




“That's normal for a bride-to-be. I remember back when you were getting married you were
very quick to temper with everybody. Why poor Hermione...”




“I was not like that at all Nev! And if poor,” she emphasized the word nastily, “Hermione would
have done things like I asked I wouldn't have had to get on her case so often.”




Neville looked at her evenly. “Well Hermione did do the best that she could,” he said
simply.




“Of course darling Hermione did,” Ginny snorted. “Then again Nev you always believed she was
perfect.”




“Not perfect, just my friend. Your's too in case you've forgotten.” There was an edge in
his tone.




“You always did take her side,” she muttered archly.




“Quite honestly Gin I never knew there was a side to take.”










Neville always thought it was interesting how people naturally assumed that he had fancied
Hermione all these years. Some probably even thought he was in love with her. The only clue they
had to support this theory was that he had asked her to the Ball back in their fourth year. Funny
enough, the only reason he did so was because she was nice and Neville thought she would say yes.
Of course she didn't, she already was being escorted by Viktor Krum the Durmstrang champion.
However Neville had no doubt that had he been quicker about it she would have said yes to him. That
was the kind of person Hermione was. She didn't look down on bumbling oafs, the Neville
Longbottoms of the world, even though she was brilliant and talented and amazing. She was also
endearingly kind and had a big heart. She seemed to truly judge people by the person they were in
their hearts.







It had been Hermione's idea for him to go to Aberdeen. After the war Neville had a difficult
time trying to decide what to do with his life. His Uncle Jasper tried to convince him to go work
at *Gringotts*, but Neville turned his nose up at that idea. He didn't see his life behind
a desk, pushing papers for a bunch of goblins. Besides the goblins scared the dickens out of
him.




Instead, he decided to do something in Herbology. It was always his best subject at Hogwarts and
he had even gotten an Outstanding in it for his O.W.L.s. He was about to take an apprenticeship
under Professor Sprout so he could learn more from her and become her Greenhouse assistant when
Hermione offered him a different option.




She and Mr. Weasley had been working on ways to join wizards with muggles. One idea she came up
with was sending of age wizards and witches to universities and colleges though out the UK and even
abroad. Her conjecture was that if magical people inter-mingled with muggle kind more there would
be a decrease in intolerance. Wizarding folks would come to see that there was really no great
difference between them and their muggle neighbors except a propensity to carry around a wooden
stick. Since the older generation was more apt to hold steadfast to their old beliefs and ideals,
Hermione believed that bridging the gap between the two communities would be up to the youth. She
began recruiting several of her old school mates to go to schools all across Great Britain. Neville
was one of them. She got him the proper paperwork to attend King's College in Scotland and
study botany. During the summers he would mentor under Professor Sprout. That way he became
knowledgeable in muggle and magical flora and learned the best ways to care for both.




Going to uni was the best decision Neville ever made. Not only because of the expertise with
plants that he required, but also because he blossomed in the sea coast city of Aberdeen. The
little boy who seemed to have difficulty walking down a hall without tripping over his own feet
grew into a confident young man who strode thru life with his head held firmly high. Neville always
believed that he had Hermione to thank for this.




But he wasn't in love with her. Not in the least. She was a good friend whom he missed
dearly, but he never held any romantic inclinations towards her. Besides early on Neville believed
that she was mad about Ginny's older brother Ron and visa versa. He figured this out back in
his 3rd year when his two fellow house mates were continuously at each other's throats over
their pets. Ron and Hermione reminded him of his Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid, constantly bickering
yet comfortably married for years. After the big blow out argument after the Yule Ball that next
year Neville figured it was a far gone conclusion that the two best friends would eventually get
together.




Then in 5th year Neville's observations were thrown out the window. He noticed a sort of
closeness form between Hermione and Harry, her and Ron's other best friend. It was in the way
that they would be constantly touching each other or seem to read the other's thoughts. Sure
Harry fancied Cho Chang, the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker a year above them and Hermione was still
possessively jealous of Ron; Neville however just couldn't shake the idea that there was
something...there. Something more palpable then simple friendship bubbling just under the surface
between them. When Hermione got struck down by that curse in the Department of Mysteries later that
year Neville was almost certain of it. The way that Harry nearly broke down when he thought she was
dead...Neville never forgot how anguished Harry's voice sounded as he tried to wake her up and
the sheer elation in it when Neville told him that she was alive.




But the next school year, which would end up being their last, did confuse Neville. Hermione and
Harry barely talked or hung out much with one another. He was too busy falling under Ginny's
spell and she was wrapped up in waiting for Ron and Lavender's relationship to self destruct.
It was enough to give Neville pause. Maybe he was wrong about what he thought he saw. Maybe
Hermione and Harry were simply the best of friends and it was Ron she wanted to be with. Ron
definitely wanted to be with her and eventually the two of them started dating. But thru the years
Neville couldn't help but observe the way that Harry's face would light up when the girl
who was **only** his best friend walked thru a door, or the habit he had of fiddling with her
curls if she was sitting next to him. Neville started noticing all of this shortly after the end of
the War. Neither did Neville miss the piteously longing look on Hermione's face as she watched
Harry walk out of a room, especially in those last few weeks right before she took off to parts
unknown. Neville believed he recognized the look. It was nearly the same one that greeted him most
mornings as he looked into the mirror.




No, he did not love her. Loving Hermione Granger was like purposely driving one's self into
a five car pile-up. Neville had too many of his own issues then to involve himself in that kind of
drama. The fact that Ginny would even intimate such a thing was laughable. Of all people she knew
better.




Neville fixed Ginny with a thoughtful stare. “All I was saying was that a woman getting married
tends to be an excitable creature. My Aunt Enid got so barmy right before she got married that she
hexed all of her attendants' hair off.”




“You're joking!”




Neville shook his head no.




“You mean just the hair on their heads right?”




“Nope. All of it.”




“Why would she do a thing like that,” Ginny asked, horrorstricken.




“Well it would seem that her maids didn't want to wear the sulfur colored robes Aunt Enid
picked out.”




“Bugger!”




“You should see the pictures from the ceremony! They are always good for a laugh. Poor mum,”
Neville tittered fondly. Along with several crumpled gum wrappers, a picture of a smiling yet
shockingly hairless Alice Longbottom was one of Neville's most precious kept keepsakes of a
mother he barely got the chance to know.




“Never put it past a bride to ensure that she looks better then her bridesmaids,” he joked.




“I wouldn't put something like that pass Lavender actually.” Ginny glumly said.




“Has she chosen her attendants then?”




“No, she's waiting for the Tea. But she's hinted around that I'm one of them of
course. I'm married to the best man after all aren't I,” she said pridefully.




“Of course.”




“Then there are her two sisters, Maeve and Kelly.”




“I assume that Bill and Fred's wives are in the party.”




Ginny nodded her head. “And Penelope as well,” she confirmed.




“Ron is putting Percy in the wedding,” Neville asked barely hiding his shock.




“Mum made him,” Ginny snickered. Neville laughed along with her. He couldn't help it, the
sound of her mirth was infectious.




“By the way, I'm sorry that Lavender didn't use you for the flowers.”




“That's quite alright.”




“No it isn't Nev! I mean, you're her old house mate for Merlin's sake! You would
think she would show some solidarity. But this woman she has planning the wedding for her is a real
doozy. This Italian witch who says that everything must be *chic.* That's exactly how she
says it too. *Chic*. Ridiculous!”




“Gin, seriously, I don't mind. I specialize in foreign magical plants. I know that witches
prefer daisies that won't honk at you,” he grinned.




Ginny let out a frustrated sigh. “I tried to get her to change her mind...”




“I don't need your pity,” he interrupted. His eyes burned so intensely for a second that
Ginny almost forgot that it was Neville sitting in front of her and not some stranger. Neville
never took that tone with her.




“I don't pity you,” she responded. “This isn't pity. I've never felt pity for
you.”




At the sight of her teary eyes Neville felt his fleeting sense of indignation deflate. He knew
she didn't pity him. But every now and then Neville still felt the old insecurities of his
childhood strongly.




“I'm sorry Gin,” Neville apologized. “All I can say is that this move has been stressing me
lately. I should have never taken it out on you though.”




Ginny looked at him warily. Her feelings had been hurt, but she knew that Neville would never do
anything to intentionally upset her.




“I hope I haven't made you so mad that I'm uninvited from the Burrow tomorrow.”




“Neville Longbottom, you know that you are one of my family's oldest and dearest friends!
The twins would probably storm your door, truss you up on a stick, and carry you out to the house
in between them if you don't show up. Besides mum still says you are much too skinny and wants
to fatten you up a bit. She even said she would be baking your favorite.”




The idea of the Weasley twins tying him up while their mother force fed him cake was
unbelievably funny to him. In truth he had lost a few pounds in the last few months running around
trying to get things with his new location sorted out, but Neville was still a big fellow. Sturdy
is what they used to call it way back when. He looked like he missed very few meals, but the chunky
kid from a few years was gone. Thankfully puberty and a growth spurt took care of that a long time
ago.




“Well I certainly look forward to Molly's cooking,” he said cheerfully. “In fact I think my
guest will enjoy herself as well. Molly will probably think she is much too skinny too though.
However it's an occupational hazard for her.”




The smile that had been on Ginny's face faltered a bit before returning. “Guest?”




“Is there a problem if I bring a date?”




“No, no of course not. The more the merrier. Besides Lavender wants as many bodies there as will
fit,” she answered while tossing her red hair flamboyantly. “So you and Sally Anne giving it a go
again then,” Ginny asked airily.




“Merlin no! I would say that Sally Anne belongs on the fourth floor of Mungo's except that
she can't blame spell damage for making her so nutty. Do you know she actually tried to cook
Trevor? Trevor!”




Ginny covered the giggle, that was just itching to burst forth, with her hand. It was well known
around town that Sally Perks was a bit...obsessive when it came to the men in her life. She had
actually bound Allen Parker to her wrists with magical rope when he broke up with her a few years
ago. Ginny tried to warn Neville about this fact when he first started dating Sally, but Neville
paid her no heed. He tended to ignore any of the advice that she gave him about the women in his
life.




“No more Sally Anne for me thanks. Besides my date is worth ten of Sally Anne,” Neville said
dreamily. The foolish little grin that formed on his face bugged Ginny.




“Well, aren't we just chuffed to bits,” she said irritably. “Are you even going to tell me
who the witch is? Do I know her?”




“Nope, because she isn't a witch.”













Neville had met Candide a few months ago when he went into London to meet with the Realtor who
was helping him look for his new store location. He was using a muggle realty agency because he
intended to buy a place in a muggle section of London. He had gotten on the DLR after mistakenly
riding the Underground for a bit. He was going to inspect a lot in the East End that the agent had
found for him. Neville actually liked muggle transportation, it was easier on his stomach then
apparating, but he still was a novice at it.




He had been sitting down, a muggle book on fertilizer covering his face, when he heard a lovely
cultured voice calling to him.




“*Sir, I don't mean to be a bother, but I think your briefcase is croaking.”*




Neville lowered the book and was incapable of stopping his mouth from hanging open. In front of
him was a beauty queen of a girl. Her long black hair snaked down her back in a thick French braid.
Her almond shaped eyes were a jet black that made you loose yourself while looking in them. Her
facial features were so fine and delicate that she looked like a porcelain doll. Instead of milk
white, her flawless complexion was a lovely shade of alabaster. The body that face was connected to
was nothing to sneeze at either. She was all long limbs and lithe form dressed in a pair of gray
sweats. Somehow she made those work out clothes look like haute couture. She was a knock out. She
was stunning. She was still talking to him.




“*Did you hear what I said,”* she asked. *“You briefcase is croaking,”* she said
again.




Neville didn't know how his mouth rediscovered the ability to speak, but he heard himself
say, *“Then I better take it out back and put it out of it's misery.”*




Neville could have slapped himself. He was never smooth with the ladies, but he never said
anything that stupid and cheesy before either. Usually he preferred to play the strong silent type
with the witches. Of course that led to him spending a lot of lonely nights.




The young woman stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before giving into giggles.




“*Well as long as you're very humane about it,”* she joked. She then held out her hand.
*“I'm Candide by the way.”*




Neville took her offered hand in his and shook.




“*Neville,”* he responded back.




He still held her hand for a half minute before he realized he was being rude. He moved his
briefcase from the seat beside him and placed it on his lap.




“*Would you like to sit,”* he asked gesturing to the seat. Candide gracefully eased herself
down into it.




“*So am I ever going to hear the tale of the amazing croaking briefcase,”* she asked
playfully as she set the gym bag that had been on her shoulder on the floor at her feet.
*“I'm afraid you have awoken my curiosity. Your shy little school boy smile tells me that
there is more to you then I'm seeing Neville.”*




Neville felt his face go hot. Was this woman flirting? With him?




“*Just my pet toad,”* he said nervously. *“Trevor.”*




Candide's eyebrow raised in interest.*“I don't know which to be more disturbed
by,”* she mirthfully teased, *“that you have a frog in there or that his name is
Trevor.”*




“*Well Sir Hops-a-lot was already taken you see. And by the way Trevor is a toad,”* he
scolded, laughter in his eyes.




“*I'll try and remember that. So you carry your Trevor around with you in your briefcase?
Doesn't he get a bit cramped?”*




“*It's better then in my pants,”* he let slip before he realized what he was saying. As
soon as the words were out of his mouth Neville wanted to just melt thru the seat and
disappear.




But judging by the fit of giggles that remark sent Candide into he figured that maybe he
wasn't doing such a bad job really.




“*I guess that would save someone the trouble of asking if that was a frog in your pocket or
if you were just happy to see them,”* she snickered.




“*I guess,”* he said innocently. In truth he really didn't get the joke, but he
wasn't about to tell her that.




“*So where are you off too,”* she asked.




“*Beckton,”* he answered. *“I'm supposed to meet Rebecca there to look at a
place.”*




“*Oh,”* she said nonchalantly, “*Rebecca's your girlfriend then?”*




Neville was so stumped by the question that he went speechless for a moment. Then as though
realizing what she was asking he blurted out, *“No, no! She's my Realtor.”*




Candide smiled at this. *“Oh.”*




Neville returned the smile. *“Yeah.”*




The two young people sat in silence for a few moments, big smiles plastered over both of their
faces. Though he seemed calm on the outside the inner workings of Neville's head were in
tumult. Was she interested in him? Would she say yes if he asked her out? Neville didn't even
have a phone so he couldn't give her a number to reach him at. Neville had gone out with a few
muggle girls in school, but living in the dorms made socializing much easier back then. If you
wanted to ask a witch out you simply floo'ed her. Neville had no idea what to do in this
situation however.




“*Oh shite!”* Candide was looking out the window. *“My stop is next.”*




Neville felt his heart sink. Well Longbottom, you had a gorgeous girl chatting you up and you
let the opportunity slip right thru your hands, he thought gloomily. He resignedly sighed. Maybe it
was all for the best. At least this way he wouldn't embarrass himself. Where did he get off
thinking this beautiful girl would be interested in him.




“*Neville,”* Candide said, catching his attention. She reached into her bag and pulled a
peach colored card and handed it to him. *Mademoiselle Candide's* the card read and gave
an address in Gallions Reach. The train came to a stop.




“*I hope you don't think I'm a slag or anything. Generally I'm not this forward,
but...my number is on there,”* she shyly pointed to the card. *“I live over the studio. Give
me a call sometimes.”*




She jumped up and ran for the exit of the car, but winked at him before she went thru the
sliding door.




Neville had a phone installed in his Gran's old house and at his store in Hogsmeade the very
next day.
















“You're bringing a muggle to the Burrow?” Although Ginny probably didn't mean to sound
so shocked and horrified that was still the way it sounded to Neville.




“Do you have a problem with muggles now Gin,” he calmly asked.




Gin looked abashed by his question. “You know I don't,” she exclaimed. “You know who my
father is. Why would you even say something like that?”




“But a muggle girl Neville,” she said as though scandalized by the idea. “Are you sure about
this?”




“Very.”




“But you know that the Rites will be performed. Binding magic Neville! Blood magic! She's
going to witness the whole thing.”




“It's ok; she knows that I'm a wizard.”




Ginny was totally thrown by this admission. It wasn't uncommon for a witch or wizard to date
a muggle, her own brother had married one, but it was impressed upon them to always protect the
secret of the magical world. Most times a muggle partner wasn't told of their boyfriend or
girlfriend's true nature until they were married. Sometimes not even then. You didn't want
to share such a huge secret with someone who you might have to have obliviated in a few months. Now
here was Neville telling her that he had a muggle girlfriend who knew exactly what he was. Was he
actually serious about this girl?




“W-when...where did you meet this girl?”




“Four months and on the train,” he answered easily. “Candy...”




“Candy,” she asked disbelievingly.




“Yes, Candy Lee...”




“Candy Lee?” This sent Ginny into hysterics. “Candy Lee? Oh Nev! You must be joking. Why
that's...that's...a stripper's name. Or...or a bloody porn sta...”




*Whack!*




Ginny froze. Neville had very swiftly and very forcefully slammed his hand onto his desk. His
usually gentle hazel eyes gleamed furiously in Ginny's direction.




“I'll have you know that Candide Lee is a brilliant dancer. She would be on her way to
becoming a prima ballerina with the Royal Ballet right now if not for a busted knee,” he said
tersely.




“Don't you ever refer to her disrespectfully in my presence again. If you can't greet
her like a human being tomorrow don't speak to her at all. And while you are at it never speak
to me again!”




Neville was never so angry in his life. Even counting the time he tried to remove Draco
Malfoy's head from the rest of him outside the Potions dungeon classroom so many years ago. It
wasn't as though he weren't used to Ginny criticizing the women he was interested in. In
fact she made it a sort of hobby. Susan was too stuffy, Annie was too controlling, Henrietta was
too stupid, and Sally Anne was too insane to hear Ginny tell it. Well Sally Ann was crazy, but that
was beside the point.




This time she had gone too far. He knew that Ginny's smart mouth was known to say hurtful
things from time to time. Usually these moments were humorous and everyone laughed and remarked on
how clever and wonderful Ginny was. But a lot of times she could be mean and hot headed and say
something harsh and unfeeling. Like now. Neville pushed off the floor with his feet so he could
turn his chair to the side. He didn't feel much like looking at Ginny at this moment.




“Gin it's late,” he said in a drained and tired voice. “Are you ever going to tell me why
you came all the way out here? Shouldn't you be home with your husband?”




Because of the way he was positioned he didn't see the slick paths of tears that were
trailing down her face. He was still so angry that he didn't hear her the choked sniveling
sounds she was making. He didn't notice her distress until a sob broke free from Ginny.




“Gin,” he said softly, turning his head to look at her. She folded her arms on the desk, placed
her face on them, and began to wail loudly.




“Gin,” he tried again gently. His kindly tone seemed to make her cry harder.




Neville let out a sigh of resignation. Ginny could be mean spirited and at times callous, but
that did not negate the fact that she was his friend. His best friend in fact. No matter how angry
he was at her at the moment he couldn't bear to see her in tears.




He left his chair and walked to Ginny's side. He got on his knees at her side and placed a
comforting arm around her shoulders. Ginny raised her head from the desk and gazed into
Neville's concerned face before throwing herself into his arms.




“There, there,” he whispered sweetly, “tell Neville all about it.”




Ginny choked on her sobs for a moment before she was able to speak.




“He doesn't love me anymore Nev. He doesn't, I just know it.”




Of course Neville knew who 'he' was.




“I'm starting to think he never did.”




“Don't be silly,” he said smoothly as he rubbed comforting circles into her back. “You are
Ginerva. How can anyone not love you?”




She sniffed. “You don't understand. He's...I think he is still having those dreams.”




Neville continued trying to assuage Ginny's fears. “Gin, Harry's a man. Men tend to
have...,” he paused uncomfortably, “those dreams. It's natural.”




Ginny pulled away from him harshly, “It's natural not to want to shag your own wife,” she
asked hotly.




Neville was mortified into silence.




“Cause he doesn't you know. He'd rather bang what ever harlots he runs into in lala land
while I'm right down the hall.” She swallowed painfully.




“Why doesn't he want me,” cried Ginny miserably.




Neville didn't know what to say. Ginny had come to him a few months prior about this dream
business, but back then he didn't think it was that serious. What man hasn't had a wet
dream now and then? He had no idea that things were this dire though. Obviously Ginny had left a
few things out the last time they had talked.




“I d-don't know Ginny,” Neville said as nicely as he could. Ginny leaned into his chest and
began to quietly cry again.




Neville felt like he was put in a precarious situation, the middle of the Potter marriage. It
was a dream marriage, or so the papers told him. But he knew from little things that Ginny had
mentioned to him over the years that her and Harry's union was far from perfect. Sometimes he
thought he knew the reason for the problems...but those kinds of thoughts just seemed disloyal
somehow. Harry was his friend since they were kids. He had even stood up for him at his wedding
along with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and the twins. And Ginny? Ginny was his dearest friend in the world.
Ginny was the one person he trusted above all others. Ginny was his heart. He would do anything to
try to help her.




Even if it meant making her very, very angry.




“Gin,” he tentatively started, “did you ever think about asking Harry this question?”




Ginny pushed Neville away from her.




“Merlin Neville! I can't do that.” The way she reacted to the suggestion one would have
thought he asked her to walk naked thru the Ministry.




“Why not Gin?”




“Because...,” she said unsurely. “Because...dammit Nev I just can't!”




Ginny jumped up from her seat and began to franticly pace the confines on the office. Neville
watched her progress for a moment before he tried to get her attention.




“Gin...”




“I'm just being a silly goose,” Ginny nervously giggled, cutting him off. “Harry's just
been under so much stress with the job. His Head of Department relies on him so much, you know. His
right hand, Harry is. And I in turn have just been blowing every little thing out of
proportion.”




Her words oozed false bravado and of course Neville saw straight thru her pretense.




“No you haven't, you're voicing a genuine concern.”




“No I'm not,” she countered sorely.




“You are unhappy.”




“No I'm bloody well not!” Now she was practically seething.




“Gin, let's not make a mockery of our friendship by force feeding me some lies that you have
almost made yourself believe.”




“Nev, what do you want me to do,” she implored. She had stopped pacing and was standing facing
him.




He eased off the knees and stood up. “Tell your husband how you feel.”




“I can't,” she yelped while stomping her foot in protest.




“Why?”




“Because if Harry hasn't noticed yet that there's a bleeding problem I'm sure as
hell not going to go rub his nose in it.”




“Maybe you need to. Maybe that will help solve the problem.”




“There is no problem.”




“Oh really? Do you even hear yourself? Is that why you're traipsing around Hogsmeade near
dusk, crying into my work robes like a child, instead of being in that mausoleum of
your's?”




Ginny's fists clenched and her face became mutinous. He thought he heard the faint rattle of
their cups on the desk. “If you're trying to be a bastard about this...”




“No, just your friend.”




“Then be my friend,” she bellowed. He would be surprised if they didn't hear her all the way
at the *Broomsticks*. “Be my friend Nev! Tell me what I'm doing wrong! Help me try to save
my marriage!”




“Gin...I...I can't.”




“Can't or won't,” she asked, glaring down her nose at him. Neville didn't know what
to make of that statement.




“Neville, do you know how long I waited to be Mrs. Harry Potter? Do you know how many nights I
sat up in bed and begged whatever deities available to make that happen? I can't loose it. I
can't. It's too important to me.”




“Why?”




Ginny frowned as though she didn't understand the question. Neville decided to change
tactics. He strolled over to the wall by the door and leaned against it casually. He figured he
might need an exit route quickly.




“You know, you remind me of my cousin Pim.”




Ginny did a double take at the non-sequitur.




“Pimenta,” she queried. “Pimenta Longbottom? The one that's a tart?”




“Well the family prefers morally ambiguous, but yeah, that's the one,” Neville said
amusedly.




“Isn't she like some groupie slag for the Weird Sisters?”




“Actually she's the drummer's girlfriend,” he replied. “But Thruston treats her a bit
like a groupie slag so you're not that far off. In fact I think he treats the groupie slags
better then Pim.”




“Are you insinuating that Harry is cheating on me?”




Ginny was beyond livid.




“Because that is complete and utter rot! You forget Neville that I would know if Harry had
broken his vows.”




“I didn't forget. That's not what I was trying to say. Besides, I don't think Harry
would ever purposely try to hurt you,” he said kindly.




Neville cleared his throat as he shifted back to his topic. “You see...Cousin Pim is this great,
cute, charming girl yet she feels the need to let that lout Thruston put her down. Whenever you ask
her about it she acts as though being Orsino Thruston's girlfriend is worth the abuse that she
takes. You remind me of Pim in that way,” he said staring fixedly on her.




“Not that Harry is treating you badly,” he quickly assured her. “It's just...sometimes Gin
its almost like you feel that any unhappiness that you have comes only a distant second to being
Mrs. Harry James Potter. That that title is all that matters to you. That that title comes first,
even before your very husband. Tell me I'm wrong.”




It was almost a demand the way he said the last bit. For what could have been mere seconds, but
what felt like days the two friends regarded each other in thick silence. Then as though smashed to
bits by the very quiet Neville's mug imploded on its self.




“I want to leave.”




Ginny gathered her robes about her as though she were a Queen and headed to the door, head held
impossibly high. She stopped in front of it as though awaiting a herald to open it for her. Neville
leaned over and perfunctorily turned the knob to let her out.




“I'm only telling you these things because you are my friend Gin and I want to see you
happy,” he said.




Ginny had almost cleared the door. His words made her come to a halt. She turned her head slowly
to the side and as her pretty blue eyes flared at him malevolently Neville knew in his heart that
their friendship would never be the same.




“We both know that you wouldn't cry over me and Harry breaking up,” Ginny arrogantly
retorted. “As you've said so yourself, let's not make a mockery of this friendship.”




And with that she flounced out of the storeroom office.




Neville knew that with his wards Ginny wouldn't be able to apparate out of his shop. She
would have to walk all the way outside so that still left time for him to catch up to her, haul her
back in, and try to talk some sense into her. But all these years of knowing Ginny Weasley, now
Potter, had taught him that when she had a cob-on it was best to leave her to her own devices and
wait for her to cool down. She might have grown up from the little girl who would throw a bat bogey
hex at you at the slightest provocation (and really those things were quite icky, though Neville
would never have told her that himself), but she would freeze you out, or mock you. Or worse, make
all the hairs on your manly bits disappear for a few days (to hear Dean tell it).




But truth be told, Neville was a bit peeved at her himself. How dare she insinuate what she
alluded to! As though he would purposely try to throw a wrench into Ginny and Harry's domestic
bliss. Ha! No one was a bigger champion for their union. Neville nearly idol worshiped Harry. Such
was the case since the incident with his remembrall, back when they first started Hogwarts
together. From that very moment Neville always felt a bond, a sort of kinship to Harry that he
could never explain. This connection was further strengthened that Christmas they ran into each
other on the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's. Neville and his Gran had been visiting his
parents there when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny happened on them. He never forgot the way that
his house mate looked at him, not with pity, but instead heartbreaking empathy. Alice and Frank
Longbottom may not have met the same fate as James and Lily Potter but Neville mourned their
absence in his life just the same. When he, for all intensive purposes, stumbled his way into the
plot to rescue Harry's godfather Neville never hesitated to go. This was what he joined the DA
for after all wasn't it? To fight at Harry's side? So what if he could have gotten
killed!




If given the chance Neville would have fought his way right up to Voldemort's door alongside
Harry. But after he, Hermione, and Ron dropped out of sight shortly after Bill's wedding, it
didn't take a genius to realize that the fate of their world was about to be decided. Neville
only wished that he could somehow do his part. That was what led him to moving over to Ottery St.
Catchpole. If Harry was going to save the world, Neville was going to protect The Chosen One's
girl.




He knew at the time that the two were broken up. Hermione had told him why as they chatted after
the wedding. Harry broke up with Ginny so she would be out of harms way. In Neville's opinion
it was a very brave and noble thing to do. But the way Neville figured, when Harry came home (it
was a never a question of *if* in his mind) he would want to be with the girl he loved.
Neville was determined to make sure that happened. If anyone was going to come after Ginny Weasley
they would have to come thru him.




He moved in with his Uncle Jasper who lived not too far from Stoatshead Hill. Uncle Jas lived on
a farm with his two adult children; Pim and Wright. Neville came to live there under the pretense
that he was helping his Uncle and cousins with the jarvey mill that they ran. Neville's Gran at
first protested the idea, but after Neville begged and pleaded she gave in. There was no telling
when or even if Hogwarts would open again and the boy needed to do something useful with his time,
she reasoned. Plus it would do Neville good to be out in the air instead of stuck inside the
Longbottom family home in Lancashire with only her to keep him company.




The problem was that Neville barely stayed at the farm. He spent most of his free time over at
the Burrow. He would do little odd jobs around the place for Mrs. Weasley like de-gnoming the
garden or cleaning out the stone outhouse in the back. He would listen to Mr. Weasley gab on about
microwave diners and why wizards needed to look into using computers. Whenever they stopped by he
would allow the twins to use him as a guinea pig to try out whatever their latest invention was.
Most importantly he would follow Ginny around like a sentinel, helping her with her chores or
simply keeping her company.




At first Ginny seemed extremely annoyed by Neville's constant presence. The first few months
he would come by she would ask him belligerently why he was stalking her. She even sent a stinging
hex at him once. Sure it was because he had followed her out to the pond where she was skinny
dipping, but it wasn't as if Neville intended on seeing her starkers.




He supposed that her attitude towards him had something to do with the fact that they were not
that close at school. The most time they had ever spent with one another was during the Yule Ball.
All he recalled of the Ball was that she drank a lot of punch and glared at Parvatti Patil most of
the night. He spent the greater portion of the even nearly murdered her toes. She only really went
with him because as a lowly 3rd year he was her only ticket in. In later years, despite the fact
that they were both in Gryffindor house, they were barely acquaintances. Ginny was pretty and
popular and funny. Neville was...well...Neville. They just didn't exist in the same
circles.




Ginny and Neville eventually developed a friendship as time progressed. She begrudgingly began
to look forward to his visits. They would sometimes collect Luna and go fishing in the River Otter.
Ginny taught Neville how to ride a broom and not look so gormless doing so. Even though he knew
that somewhere out in the world the future was at stake he couldn't help the happiness he felt
being around her. After a while, Neville began to think that looking out for Ginny was the best
decision he had ever made.




Then at the end of March his Gran died. Neville had been at the Burrow, as was usual, picking
flowers with Ginny and Luna. His cousin Wry had come to tell him the news and fetch him. Neville
had nearly gone white when his Uncle Algie told him how the old woman died asking to see him. The
touchstone of Neville's life was gone and he never even got to say goodbye.




In her will Augusta left Neville a nice sized amount of galleons to be held in trust till his
21st birthday. She left the house to Algie and Enid, but stipulated that Neville was always to have
a home there. She also left her portrait to her beloved Frank's only child. Neville hung it up
in the library over the fireplace. He would sit before it daily and not move from that spot for
hours. Although he couldn't bear to bring his eye up to meet those of his Gran's in the
picture he just knew what the expression on her face would be. Disappointment. Ginny found him much
this way one morning.







“*Go away.”*




Neville was seated as usual on the ox-blood leather couch in the library, face in his hands. A
half empty bottle of Killerman's Hiccoughing Cognac was on the floor by his feet. Even though
Neville didn't have a great liking for the brandy it did help him feel numb. He preferred that
feeling to the aching guilt and loneliness he was fighting off. He was nearly bombed out and the
brandy was making him a touch more snappish then he usually was.




“*I said go away.”* The moment Ginny walked into the room he knew it was her. He knew her
scent well. Cinnamon and mint. As she settled down on the sofa with him it was almost strong enough
to overpower the stench of alcohol in the study.




“*Nope. Sorry. Can't do that,”* she said smartly.




He turned his head to look at her. She was just as beautiful as she was the last time he had
seen her, at his Gran's funeral. Even with her long flaming hair trussed up in two ridiculous
looking pony tails on either side of her head, she was a vision. She was dressed casually in a
jumper and a pair of jeans. He noticed how pink her cheeks were and how her navy eyes danced. He
almost forgot to feel sorry for himself while looking at her. Almost.




“*What are you doing here,”* he asked gravely.




As though ignoring his tone she breezily answered, *“Mum made a Simnel cake. I brought you a
big slice. Nearly lost a few fingers to Fred trying to save it for you.”*




Neville's stomach growled at the sound of that. He loved Molly Weasley's Simnel cake.
She would lather and stuff the sweet liberally with enough marzipan to make one weep. But he
didn't give any sign of this.




“*Whimsy let you in,”* Neville asked morosely.




Ginny nodded her head. *“And she's very worried about you Nev. She told me that you
haven't been eating well these past few days.”*




“*I ought to give her shoes,”* he grumped.




“*Member of spew are we,”* she tittered.




“*That's S.P.E.W. And I'll have you know that I'm a long time due paying
member.”*




He lifted the bottle of Killerman's from the floor and was about to tip it back. Ginny
snatched it from his hands swiftly and put it on the end table next to her.




“*No more of that for you. Unless you want to be hiccuping for hours afterward. The twins once
went at it for 3 days after a bender on this stuff. I never understood why one would drink to
excess something that will just send you into a fit.”*




“*Because Killerman never found a cure for that particular side effect,”* he answered,
trying to reach across her to get at the bottle. *“Besides who cares if you hock up a lung just
as long as you get good and pissed.”*




Ginny gazed at Neville compassionately. *“Why would you want to do that?”*




Neville felt his eyes burn with the tears he hadn't shed since his grandmother passed away.
He was horrified that he was about to start blubbering in front of Ginny, of all people. He
swallowed back the tears and tried to make his voice calm. It ended up sounding dead.




“*I've got no mum. I've got no dad. And now I don't have her,”* he said sadly.
His eyes fleetingly went up towards the portrait but quickly turned away again. *“I have no
one.”*




“*Now Neville Longbottom that just isn't true,”* Ginny exclaimed in astonishment.
*“You have friends. Friends that have been worried about you. Friends that have missed you.
I've missed you! You must know that.”*




Neville turned away from her. *“I should have been here,”* he said softly.




Ginny sighed. She gently placed her hand on his chin and turned him back to look at her. *“Is
that what it is then? Guilt?”* When Neville didn't answer her she continued. *“Do you
really think this is what your grandmother would want Nev? For you to waste away in this drafty
house? She loved you Neville. She would want you to be happy.”*




“*The Weasley girl is quite right!”*




Both teens turned to the portrait of the venerable Longbottom matriarch in shock. Neville had
honestly forgotten that she was in the same room with them for a moment. Ginny could have sworn
that the frightening woman was asleep, rocking back and forth in the portrait's rocking chair,
when she first came into the room. As always Neville's grandmother wore her signature vulture
stuffed hat, but her bottle green robes and her fox fur scarf looked brand new. As if she bought
them solely for the purpose of sitting for the painting. Her hair was steel gray, but still had
streaks of the light brown color it once was. The same color that Neville's was.




“*Always remember Neville, we Longbottoms endure. Thru all trails and tribulations, we
endure,”* she said proudly.




Ginny took this as her cue to stand up. *“C'mon Nev, you're coming with me.”* She
was pulling him up along with her.




Neville looked fretfully between Ginny and his grandmother who was still staring down from her
picture at them.




“*W-what? W-where?”*




She was guiding him to the door. *“First to the kitchen to have a piece of that cake. Then to
the Burrow. Mum cooks enough to feed a set of elephants. And even then the twins leave plenty
enough food for more.”*




He tried to protest, to stop in his tracks. *“G-Gin...please...wait...”*




“*Aren't you supposed to be looking after me?”*




Neville's eyes were saucers. He began to unconsciously stutter like a mad fool. How did she
know? Who told her that?




“*Who told you that,”* he asked hurriedly.




“*Luna,”* Ginny answered.




“*I never told Luna that!”*




She shrugged her shoulders. *“Guess she just figured it out on her own.”*




Before Neville could digest this information further Ginny said something that further shocked
him.




“*If you're supposed to be my grand protector you're doing a piss poor job of it.
You're cousin Wry's been to the house 3 times this week. Three times! I think someone needs
to give him a good talking to.”*




Neville expected Ginny to be angry if she ever found out why he had been hanging around the
Burrow so much. But she she gave no sign that she was. In fact she seemed to think the whole thing
was corking. Neville couldn't help the smile that formed on his face to match her own.




“*I had hoped to protect you from a cadre of blood thirsty Death Eaters.”*




Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. *“Have you ever smelled Wry's breath?Ugh! I'd rather
the Death Eaters.”*







In those next few weeks after his grandmother's death Neville and Ginny became nearly
inseparable. They hilariously dubbed themselves The Duo in response to the term that most folks
referred to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. It was their little joke they shared. They also shared their
fears, their joys, their triumphs. When she would cry on his shoulder that she didn't think
Harry would be able to defeat Voldemort Neville reassured her and told her that everything would
work it's self out in the end. When Neville joked that he was no better then a Squib she firmly
reprimanded him and told him that that just wasn't true.




Neville stood by Ginny's side right till the day that Harry finally came home from the war.
He stood by and watched her run into the battered boy's arms like Christmas had come early. It
was the perfect tableau; the Conquering Hero Returns. Neville had been happy for them. Neville had
even smiled.













Neville was sitting at his desk, brooding over the scene he had just had with Ginny. He hated to
be at odds with her. It never sat well with him.




“Whimsy?”




**POP**




Faster then you could say You-Know-Poo the little house-elf that had been his grandmother's
assistant since she was a girl appeared before him on the desk.




“Argh,” Neville started, nearly falling out of his seat. He hated when she did that.




“You wants old Whimsy Young Longbottoms,” she asked in her tinkly little voice.




As Neville righted himself in his chair he smiled kindly at her. “I need you to do me a favor
Whimsy.”




“Young Longbottoms,” Whimsy said reproachfully, “Whimsy doesn't have to do no favor. Whimsy
just does.”




"Of course, of course," he shyly said. "Listen Whimsy, you know all of that
imported coffee I have in the cupboard at home?"




Whimsy frowned scornfully. It would seem that she held the same impression of Australian
Mountain Peaberry as Harry Potter.




“Yes Young Longbottoms. Would you like Whimsy to throw it away,” she asked hopefully.




“No Whimsy,” Neville said not bothering to hide his amusement, “I want you to take it, all of
it, to Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter's. Can you manage that?”




“Of course Young Longbottoms!” Quick as a flash Whimsy was gone.







Neville sat back in his chair. He was tired and he should be making his way back home, but he
had promised the blokes from the shop that he would play a game of Gobstones with them at the pub.
He knew that he wouldn't be able to concentrate much on the game however. All he could think on
was whether or not Ginny would appreciate his peace offering. He didn't want to show up
tomorrow at the Burrow and feel any discomfort between them.




He figured that Ginny just needed someone to vent her frustrations on to. She was going thru a
difficult patch in her marriage and she was confused as to what to do. As her friend it was his
responsibility to help her thru it. She had to know that he would. She had to know that more then
anything he wanted her relationship with Harry to work. If she wanted his help he would try his
best to give it.







After all, that's the sort of thing you did for the woman you were in love with.
















*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*








10. Chapter 9
-------------

**Title**: *All Roads Lead Back*

**Keywords**: *Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang.*
**H/Hr***, but a whole lot of ships thrown in as well. Post-HBP*

**Summary**: *Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

**Spoilers**: *All six books.*

**A/N**: *I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*



*Once again I take liberties with the horcruxes and the Founders. I hope not too much
though.*



*Just so we are all perfectly clear:* **YES ***this is a ***H/Hr** *story.*
**NO** *it does not feature exclusively* **H/Hr***.* **YES** *the story is
told thru several perspectives, but the focus is always* **H/Hr***. If this does not
interest you, please...I beg of you... for the love of God, Buddha, Allah, or whoever* **DO**
**NOT** *read this story. You are not going to be happy with it or me. If you want*
**H/Hr** *together like today....***DO NOT** *read this story! You are soooo not going
to be happy with me. He's married people! I know it's my own obstacle I've set-up, but
you've got to give me some time to get pass the obstacle. I'm not saying this to be cranky,
trust me I appreciate all of the reviews and advice. But I feel that some of y'all are becoming
increasingly frustrated with me. And I hate that I might be stressing you. Cause then I get
stressed. And when I get stressed my hair falls out. In clumps! And I like my hair. So please, be
patient with me if only for my hair's sake.*

**THANKYOU*! *curtsies****



*As always thank you for the reviews. You guys are awesome and give me the impetus to complete
this story.*



**Warning:** *Sit back, relax, (cause it's another one of my marathon chapters) and
enjoy the implosion of the **Heron**! I know this isn't actually what you want, but some of
you were curious how they went belly up. And just so you know* **H&Hr *figure into this
chapter prominently****.*



**Disclaimer:** *If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*









He couldn't see her face. The woman standing a good few paces in front of him, that is. He
had been riding on this thing for hours and yet not once did she turn around so he could see her
face. He was in a building made of glass. The ceiling was made of it and glass surrounded him on
both sides. He was riding on a moving staircase. That too seemed to be made of glass. The
contraption was heading in a downward direction, yet there seemed to be no end to it. He just kept
riding. Down, down, down. She kept riding. Down, down, down. But she wouldn't show him her
face. All he could see was glossy hair, not too short, not too long, and the back of her shimmering
white cloak. It seemed to sparkle of it's own volition and for the life of him Ron could not
tell what would make it do so. He knew of no fabric, not even in the wizarding world, with that
kind of luster. In fact even her hair seemed to be made of the same gleaming material. He
momentarily rubbed at his own eyes to see if they were playing a trick on him. But no, the woman
before him still glittered.




“Hey,” he said trying to get her attention. “Do you know where we are?”




She paid him no heed. Just kept riding the glass escalator. Down, down, down. Down, down,
down.







“Hey! I'm talking to you!”




Down, down, down. Down, down, down.




“Hey!”




He had had about enough of this!




“Why won't you say something?!!”




Down, down, down. Down, down, down.




“Just look at me!”




She still said nothing.




All of a sudden he felt his feet moving. He would make her speak! He would see her face!




He climbed down the endless moving staircase, determined to reach his goal. But the closer he
should have gotten the further away she would seem, although she made no move to get away from him.
Surely she could hear his panting breath right?




Eventually he came upon her. She was luminous! Her back was still turned to him and he was
certain he could count every single shining strand on her head. But that was unimportant now. He
just wanted to see her face.




He placed his right hand on her left shoulder. She didn't even stir. As he gently tugged at
her to turn her round to face him he was giddy with excitement. He was going to see her face!
Finally! It was going to happen. Almost there. Almost. And then she was facing him. And then she
was purring.







*Purring?*







Ron opened his eyes to see a squashed ginger face with whiskers pressed against his own.




“Bloody hell!”




In his excitement from being startled awake he fell off the side of the bed. This action
produced a peal of bubbly giggles from the other side of the bed.




“Do it again daddy! Do it again!”




Ron sat up on his haunches from the floor and looked across the bed. Violet was standing on the
other side, still dressed in her white cotton night shift with her strawberry blonde hair mussed
about her head. On top of the bed sat the bottlebrush tailed daemon of his despair.










Two days before after he, Lavender, and Violet left the Ministry Ron had decided to get his
newly adopted daughter a present. They had just come from filing the papers and as of that moment
he was legally the child's father. To mark the occasion he had decided to buy his daughter
whatever her little heart desired. Lavender thought it was a marvelous idea. Ron asked Violet what
she wanted and the little girl told him that she would like a bunny.




Lavender had made a hair appointment that she was already running late for so she left them in
Diagon Alley to their pursuit of a fluffy bunny rabbit. He and his daughter then made their way to
the Magical Menagerie to pick out her new pet.




The place was cramped and crowded by dozens of cages. The sounds of hissing, chirping, and
scratching rang in the air. The air reeked of a dozen different varieties of animals. He could see
sleek black ravens and furry puffskeins. In the corner near the door he saw a bat hanging upside
down from a perch. The shop was filled with all manners of creatures, but Ron had yet to see the
shop's owner. That is until the witch came running from the back of the store chasing after a
furry orange creature that was low on the floor. The animal bounded right up to him and Vi and
leaped into the child's arms. The little girl briefly stepped back to accommodate the weight of
the fat cat. It was only when Ron really looked at it that he realized that he knew this cat. He
knew it very well.




“*No way,”* he exclaimed, eyes wide.




“*I'm so sorry,”* the clerk said relieving the cat from Vi's arms, before looking
up at him and starting in shock. *“Oh my! Your Ron Weasley aren't you?”*




Ron, who was still staring at the cat in the woman's arms, was so preoccupied that he barely
heard her question. *“Um, yeah. I am,”* he merely said.




“*Gracious me! I love the Wasps! My husband, our boys...my whole family are some of your
biggest fans!”*




“*Is that right,”* Ron absentmindedly said.




“*We've followed you ever since your first game with the Cannons. In fact we already have
our tickets for the finals.”*




“*Great, great. Say, that cat you're holding, is it by any chance,”* he paused, half
hoping that he was wrong in his guess, *“half kneazle?”*




She looked at him, shocked for a moment, before answering that it was.




“*Half dementor too, I'm almost inclined to believe. He's always upsetting the other
pets,”* she said as she sat the cat down on the floor. Instead of prowling away he simply sat on
the ground in front of him and Vi and stared at them both appraisingly, tail swishing back and
forth.




“*You see, I sold him some years ago. This little girl actually thought he was cute. Can you
believe that?”* She gave Ron a charming smile, but Ron could only manage a grimace in
return.




“*She must have cast him off though because about two years ago the beast wandered back into
here. But enough of that, what can I do for you Mr. Weasley?”*




Ron drug his eyes away from the cat to stare back at the witch. *“Um...well, my daughter here
would like to get a pet. A bunny if you have one.”*




“*Oh yes I do! Dozens. I even have one that can turn it's self in to a top hat,”* she
replied.




Ron was just about to ask to see them when he felt a tug at his robe. He looked down to see Vi
staring beseechingly at him. She motioned for him to stoop down so he got on his knees beside her.
She whispered something in his ears. His eyes widened at her request.




“*No,”* he pleaded with her, jumping up. Her big cornflower blue eyes watered.




“*Didn't you say you wanted a bunny rabbit?”* A single solitary tear rolled down her
plump cheek.




“*How bout a bird? They have ravens. Or...or a rat. Dad had a rat once.”* Ron then thought
better of the suggestion*. “Better yet, scratch the rat. How's a nice newt sound,”* he
begged. Her jaw tightened and she stamped her foot stubbornly. She kind of reminded him of Ginny at
that age.




“*Are you sure?”* She nodded her head up and down.




“*Very well then,”* he said turning to the store owner. *“We'll take the cat.”* He
lamely pointed at the creature.




At his words the orange furball leaped up into Vi's opened arms.




“*Excellent,”* the witch cried. *“If you'll just follow me we can start the
sale.”*




He did so reluctantly.




“*You won't regret your purchase,”* she said, stepping behind the counter. *“He will
even keep your family safe from anyone trying to harm them.”*




Her tune certainly changed from a moment before when she was ready to hex the beast. Ron
supposed it was because she was just too happy to get rid of the cat and didn't want him to
change his mind. As if he could. Violet was currently laughing by the door as the cat licked at her
face affectionately.




After Ron payed the witch he, Vi, and her new pet were almost out the door before the woman
called him back.




“*By the way, his name is Crookshanks,”* she said.




Ron sighed dismally. *“Yeah, I know.”*




If Lavender recognized Crookshanks she didn't let on. He was praying that she didn't.
The squashed face cat acted as though Lavender wasn't even good enough to change his kitty
litter. Ron figured he knew why. It would seem that whatever grudge his former mistress had for
Lav, Crookshanks still carried. Lavender didn't seem to mind. She didn't care for the mangy
animal, but if her child liked the ugly thing so be it. She only reminded Ron that her mother was
allergic to cats and terrified of kneazles. Where were they going to keep him till the wedding? Ron
told her that he would look after the cat at his place till they moved into their own home. Violet
however was not happy with this plan. Where her Kwooksie (the four year old had a hard time
pronouncing certain names and words) stayed she stayed. So that night and the night after Violet
Weasley slept between her two parents.










“Are you gonna do it again daddy?”




Ron slowly raised himself from the floor, every muscle of his silently aching. Talbot had been
relentless the day before in practice.




“Sorry Pumpkin, only one floor show per day. But be sure you tell your friends,” he jested.




“Kwooksie, daddy is silly,” the little girl conspiratorially told the cat. Crookshanks meowed in
agreement.




Ron stretched his aching sore body and for a moment wondered where Lavender was. Then he
remembered that Lavender had left at the crack of dawn to go to the Burrow to see how the party
set-up was coming along. More like direct the party set-up, Ron thought. Mum is going to be
thrilled!




As if reading his thoughts Violet asked, “Where's mummy?”




“Oh she went over to your Grandma Molly's to see about the decorations for today. You
didn't forget what today is did you?”




He moved over to sit on the bed in front of her. Crookshanks leaped off the spread and into her
arms. Violet looked up at Ron with curiosity filled eyes.




“Today is a big day,” he told her. “We're having a party!”




“For me,” she asked excitedly.




Anytime they had a big gathering at the Burrow for one of the kiddies, and that was quite often
when considering the Weasley clan, Violet always thought that they were all gathered there to
celebrate her birthday. Just a few weeks ago she had thrown a huge tantrum when Lish Weasley blew
out the candles of what Violet assumed was her cake. Violet had even gone so far as to pull on the
5 year old's long dark plait to show her disapproval with the whole matter. When Violet ended
up wearing the remains of what had been a very pretty unicorn cake in her hair, Lavender had been
cross. It wasn't until Fred and George danced a festive jig on the ceiling to celebrate
Felicity's first outburst of accidental magic that Lavender became furious. The commemorative
firework display also didn't help. Damn Forge and Gred! Violet however didn't seem too
fussed over the matter. Ron just assumed she thought the exhibition was for her as well.




“No sweetheart. Not this time,” he solemnly told her, then brightened. “But it is for your mum
and me. It's to celebrate that we're getting married. We're going to be husband and
wife. Doesn't that sound grand?”




“Does that mean we get to live togedder? Like Wosie's mummy and daddy?”




“Just like Wosie's mummy and daddy,” he answered.




“You hear that Kwooksie,” she asked the cat. He only licked at his paw.




“Hungry love?”




“No. I made cereal and Kwooksie had milk.”




“Did Uncle George fix it for you?”




She scowled at him cutely. “I'm a big girl. I did it.”




“Course you are Pumpkin. Now let's see if you left anything for dear old dad.”







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







Twenty minutes, and a cleaned kitchen later, Ron was settled at his table munching on a plate of
toast and jam he was sharing with Violet. They both had orange juice before them, though his was in
a large tumbler and hers was in a sippy cup. Crookshanks sat in her lap. Ron was trying to explain
to her why the cat couldn't come to the Burrow with them.




“Dad can only apparate one person along with him hon, you know that. And you're mum says
that you are still too young to go up on my broom.” Ron didn't even mention floo'ing. The
child was far too young and with her speech impediment could end up Merlin knows where. “Kwooksie
will just have to stay here sweetheart.”




Violet's face grew stormy for a moment and Ron feared that she would go into another one of
her tear-fests, but instead she just shook her head, took a sip from her cup, and tried to force a
bit of toast into Crookshanks mouth. Violet was used to getting her way, but she knew when she was
beat.




“Daddy guess what?”




“What,” he good-naturedly asked.




“Uncle George knows Kwooksie!”




“Does he now,” he said evenly. He wondered what big mouth George could have told Vi about
Crookshanks.




“He said he used to know the lil' gwirl who bewonged to him before me.”




Blast George!




“He said you knew her too.”




Double blast him!




Ron took a swig of his juice before answering her. “Well besides having a big mouth your Uncle
George was telling the truth,” he said. “Your mum and I knew that little girl quite well.”




He prayed that she would leave it at that.




“Why come she don't come to my bwirfday then?”




He should have known better that Violet wouldn't stop asking questions till she was
perfectly satisfied. She was a highly inquisitive little girl.




“Well, Violet...um...that little girl left home a long time ago.”




It was an uncomfortable subject they were on. He especially didn't want to say anything that
she would repeat in front of Lavender later.




“Why come?”




“I'm...I'm not so sure Pumpkin.”




“She didn't like you no more?”




He coughed. “No Pumpkin, she liked me just fine. She was my best friend. Mines and you're
uncle Harry's.”




Violet furrowed her tiny brow as though she were trying to suss out this troubling puzzle. “Is
she ever coming back,” she asked




Ron paused, unsure of what to say.




“I-I don't think so Pumpkin.”




“Ok,” she simply said. “But if she ever comes back she can pway with Kwooksie. I'll let her.
Leo doesn't share, but I do.”




She then jumped down from her chair and padded out of the room on her bare little feet.
Crookshanks followed after her.




As he watched his child walk out of the room a hard lump formed at the back of Ron's throat.
This was nothing new. Whenever he thought of the prospect that he was getting married but Hermione
wouldn't be there to congratulate him he could barely stave off the depression that would
descend upon him. Now was one of these times. Sure they had had there differences, but that
didn't mean that they stopped loving each other. Harry was going to be standing up for him, but
somehow it seemed wrong that Hermione wouldn't be there, right by his side as well. The Trio
reunited! Like in the good old days. But no one had heard a peep from Hermione in years.













“*This is what she does son,”* Arthur Weasley had told him one day inside his Ministry
office. Hermione had been missing officially for more then a year by then.




“*Do you know how many wizards and witches she helped successfully assimilate into the muggle
world under me? 30! She knows just the right documentation to get them, the precise coaching that
they need. If anyone knew how to disappear from wizards it would be that young lady.”*




Ron gave his father a frustrated glare.*“What about that lead you had a few months ago. Her
wand was used somewhere in the States...what was it...Atlantis, I think Percy said.”*




“*Atlanta.”*




“*Did you even follow up on that,”* Ron wearily asked. He could tell that his father was
becoming slowly irritated by him. For all he knew Harry had probably had this same conversation
with him as well.




“*Of course we did! But the American Ministry was not able to find a trace of her. For all we
know her wand could have fallen into someone else's hands.”*




This did not make Ron feel any better. Arthur, seeing his son's distressed face decided to
change tactics.




“*Son, I'm sure that Hermione will come home eventually. But when she does do you think
she will be happy to hear that you stopped living your life because of her. Harry too?”*




“*What are you on about?”*




“*Son, you are barely eating. Your mum is worried sick over the fact. One of these days a
quaffle is going to go straight thru you. Then how will the Cannons get to the Championship,”*
quipped his dad. Ron was not amused however.




“*And Harry...”*




“*What about Harry?”*




“*Well one can't help but notice that his game is...off,”* his father said
diplomatically. *“And he is constantly checking in here to see if there are any updates. I even
hear he has been skulking around the Auror office.”*




“*Well, yeah! She was his best friend too if you remember.”*




“*Of course I do. But Ginny...”*




“*Ginny! Figures,”* Ron said disgustedly. *“She been complaining again eh? Gone to good
old dad so she can get her way?”*




“*And what if she has? She's the man's wife is she not? They are still newlyweds for
Merlin's sake,”* Arthur said agitatedly.




“*But Harry has been so wound up over this Hermione thing that little Ginny is feeling
neglected. And who could blame her?”*




“*And what are we supposed to do dad? Forget she even existed? Cor! I thought you cared about
her too.”*




Arthur's eyes burned with furious indignation at that remark.




“*I do care,”* he bellowed. *“I loved that girl as though she were one of my own. Every
morning I walk into that kitchen praying that the hand on your mum's clock hasn't moved
to...to...”*




Arthur paused to collect himself.




“*But there is nothing that you, or I, or Harry can do about that,”* he continued.
*“Unless Hermione Granger wants to be found she won't be found.”*




Ron had to fight back the tears that wanted to stream down his face. He knew that his father was
telling him this only to help him.




“*You know I'm right Ronnie.”* Ron could only nod his head.




“*And if you could, try to convince Harry as well.”* Ron nodded his head again.




“*He and Ginny will be at the house tonight for dinner. And Ginny has invited that charming
friend of hers, Linus' daughter. Why don't you stop by as well.”*










Ron's train of thought was interrupted when a tiny owl flew thru the kitchen window and
landed inelegantly in Ron's juice.




“Pig!”




The wee owl jumped out of the tumbler and landed lightly on the table, shaking himself clean.
Ron spied the parchment tied to his leg and claimed it. The owl then happily flew off to his bird
cage after carrying a much too large for him slice of toast along for the ride.




The note was from Lavender. “Ron,” he read Lavender's tight crimped scrawl, “DON'T BE
LATE! Wash up Violet, dress her in those peach robes that match with mine. DON'T BE LATE!
Please hurry. Your mum and my mum are going to kill each other. DON'T BE LATE!”




He chuckled at Lavender's tense handwriting. She must be ready to tear her hair out, he
thought. Well I'll take care of the midget good and proper, he decided.




He called Violet into the bathroom to take a bath. Violet loved bath time because she got to
splash the water. She also loved trying to get Ron soaked whenever he washed her up, just as she
did now when he got her in the tub of warm, soapy water. He knelt by the tub and sponged her off as
the chirpy little girl sang some song she had heard. She had gotten her singing voice from her
mother apparently.




“Daddy are you happy,” Vi asked as he began to rinse her off.




“Blissfully,” he answered with a big smile.




“Is that cause you are getting some?”




Ron dropped the loofah he had been holding into the tub and stared at his daughter in shock.




“What...how...where did you hear that phrase from,” he inquired of her, alarmed.




“Mummy.”




“Your mum said that too you,” he asked, clearly stupefied.




“Uh, uh,” she said shaking her little blonde head. “She said it to Miss Ewolise. She came for
tea and to show mummy her new baby Apple yesterday. She asked mummy why Auntie Ginny was so cross
lately and mummy said it was probabwy cause she wasn't getting some. Some of what daddy?”




“Fizzing Whizbees,” he lied as he wrapped a towel around her and lifted her from the tub. “Your
Aunt Ginny loves the things.”




Violet was satisfied with the answer because all she said was, “Oh, me too!”




As he toweled her dry he said, “You know you really shouldn't repeat the things that your
mum says.”




“Why come?”




“It's not nice.”




Once again all she said was, “Oh.”




Once he got Violet cleaned up, dressed, and brushed her hair he left her in his bedroom so he
could take a shower. As he was washing off his mind wandered time and time again to what Violet
overheard.










He knew that his best friend and his sister were having some...issues, to put it kindly. He and
Lav had discussed it a couple of times. But he didn't think things were too serious. At least
he hoped they weren't. Neither of them had ever mentioned anything to him about it. For Ginny
that was common, she usually kept things close to the vest unless she wanted you to know it. But he
and Harry were usually very open with one another. At least he thought they were. But obviously
something deeper was happening here.




He knew that the Potters no longer slept in the same bed. Harry had accidentally let that slip
one day at lunch. He explained it away by saying that Ginny had finally gotten tired of his snoring
and that was the reason for the move. But Ron knew that Harry didn't snore. Seven years of
sharing a bedroom, sometimes even sharing a bed, will gift you with that kind of knowledge about
someone. He might thrash around from time to time, but he didn't snore. Ron didn't point
this fact out to Harry then because he figured that when the time was right Harry would come to him
with what was going on. He never did though.




Ron pondered if maybe he should take a more proactive approach and just confront Harry about it.
Maybe he could help his best friend and sister with their marital problems. Maybe, when he saw him
later at the Burrow, Ron could take his dark haired friend aside and offer his advise. But then Ron
wondered if any of their family or friends had spoken bluntly to him or Hermione way back when
would that have done any good either. Would it have helped any? Would they still be together? Would
that have been a good thing?













Back in the good old days, back when they first got together, the two Gryffindors seemed to fit
perfectly. It was so easy to love Hermione. He thought she was perfect, minus the nagging and the
disinterest in Quidditch. She treated him like there was no one else in the world she would rather
be with...most times. Then things changed. By time they finally ended things they were desperate to
preserve their friendship.




If he had to identify when things shifted in their relationship he would always look towards the
night that the golden Hufflepuff cup entered their lives. They had just moved into Hermione's
after leaving Godric's Hollow. Harry had finally become of age and Remus sent word that the
Order of the Phoenix was ready to induct three new members. Of course Ron and Hermione could have
long since joined up, but Remus somehow sensed that this was a step that the Trio was unwilling to
take unless they did so together.




The ceremony, if one could call it that, took place right in the middle of the Granger's
foyer. They had no time for grand displays, there was work to be done. Muggle and wizards alike
were being terrorized at an alarming rate. The papers were putting out death notices everyday.
Azkaban had been broken into a few days before and all the prisoners were let out. The human guards
had puncture wounds to the neck and were all dead. *The Prophet* screamed vampire attack. The
whole thing had You-Know-Who's fingerprints all over it. It was common knowledge that most of
the vampires were in league with Voldemort now. So were the dementors, most of the giants, a number
of trolls, a handful of werewolves, and a banshee or two. It was enough to almost make Ron loose
his appetite.




Ron and Hermione had had a small (at least in his opinion) tiff over something before leaving
the Hollow so she wasn't speaking to him the first few days at the new hide out. Then one day,
while Harry was off working on his non-verbal spell abilities with Remus, Hermione came to bury the
hatchet. Now was not the time to be holding grudges, she told him. Then she kissed him. He might as
well have been goo, he melted. That night she even let him sleep in her bed. Only sleep. When Ron
woke up, late as was his way, he found the world a changed place and discovered a Malfoy in the
shower as he was trying to take his morning piss. The toe-rag didn't even have the decency to
turn his head when he saw Ron doing his business either. Ron hated to have an audience for those
sorts of things!




Apparently Malfoy had willingly brought them Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Because Ron had slept
most of the morning in he had missed the git's interrogation. The gist, as Hermione explained
to him over a bowl of cereal, was that Malfoy had come across the cup thru nefarious circumstances.
He was now turning it over to them to save his own arse since Malfoy Sr. was deader then a door
nail. Before Ron could get any further details the regular Order Meeting was called.




In total there were about 25 full fledged members of the Order of the Phoenix. All of his
immediate family, except for Ginny and Percy, were now members. Shacklebot had brought in a few
more of his Auror comrades. A couple of their Hogwarts professors had joined. In addition, Madame
Maxime and Viktor Krum (much to Ron's chagrin) were working with them as well. That day's
meeting were just a small group of 9 however. They discussed the conversation that Remus, Charlie,
and Kingsley had with Aberforth Dumbledore the night before. It was just sketchy information at
best. The Death Eaters were looking to steal something called a boadicea, but apparently were
having a devil of a time finding it. No on knew what the hell it was.




After the meeting was over the three best friends retreated up to Hermione's room. Malfoy
was tucked away in one of the guest rooms. As they filed in Ron threw himself across her pink
canopy bed, Harry sat on the floor next to it, and Hermione seated herself at her computer desk
which was near the door. Hufflepuff's cup sat on the desk beside the machine.




“*So what do we think this boadicea thing is?”* Ron asked the question that was on the mind
of everyone in the room.




Harry ran his hand thru his tousled black hair.*“Don't know. Maybe it belonged to one of
the Founders?”*




“*There is no way. I've read every book I could get my hands on about the Founders. That
name was mentioned no where in them.”*




Hermione, who had been typing something turned around in her swivel chair to face them.




Harry looked at Hermione astounded. *“Name?”*




“*I think so,”* Hermione said.*“I know I've seen it...somewhere. I just can't
recall.”*




“*Did you try looking at that internets thinga-ma-jig,”* Ron asked trying to sound
helpful.




She and Harry just looked at each other and shared a smile. Ron hated it when they did that. Ha,
ha! Let's make fun of the bloke who can't use the fellytone properly.




“*The only hits I've gotten was for some ancient warrior queen. Back when Rome still tried
to control the British Isles she led a conglomerate of tribes in a revolt against Nero. It's
very interesting actually. You see...”*




“*Hermione,”* Harry cut off her babbling, “*does any of this have anything to do with
horcruxes,”* Harry asked. Hermione had a tendency to babble on and on about things she found
interesting but others didn't.




She blushed a rosie embarrassed pink. *“Sorry.”* She turned back to her computer. *“Oh
this **is** interesting.”*




“*What,”* asked Ron.




“*Well according to legend her body is buried where King's Cross Station is now. Under
platform 10. There's a connection to Hogwarts.”*




“*Yes, but not to the Founders. Riddle would want something that belonged to one of them,”*
Harry said pushing his glasses up on his nose from where they slipped down. *“If you didn't
find that name in any of the books you read that means she isn't linked to them...”*




“*Which means she isn't linked to him,”* she finished.




“*Maybe she's a Mudblood.”*




The three teens in the room turned to the direction of the doorway where the voice had come
from. Malfoy was standing there, looking smug as ever. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a
t-shirt that Ron recognized as Harry's. Ron noted that the blond looked tons better then he did
when Ron first saw him in the morning, right after he got over the initial shock of seeing the
uppity Slytherin in such casual muggle gear.




“*Granger should know her. Don't all you people congregate somewhere or
something.”*




“*Let's just cut this short Malfoy, shall we,”* Hermione asked in a bored tone.
*“Just call me a dirty muggle so I can call you an inbred idiot and we'll both be done with
it.”*




“*You're nothing but trash on my boot.”*




Ron had Malfoy in a choke hold, slammed against the bedroom door before the wanker could even
finish the sentence. Harry had gotten to his feet as well.




“*Ronnie, no,”* Hermione pleaded.




Ron instantly let him go and sat down on the bed.




Malfoy was winded, but he wasn't down yet.




“*My, my, my. I see that the Queen of Mudbloods and King Weasel have finally gotten together.
Then again you're so poor,”* he looked at Ron, *“and you're so...shoddy,”* he said
turning to Hermione, *“who else would have you?”*




Hermione feigned a yawn.




“*Goodness Malfoy, if I didn't know better I would think you were jealous.”*




Ron looked quickly at Hermione. Jealous? Why would Malfoy be jealous of them?




“*I wonder why that is?”*




Ron didn't understand what was going on, but Hermione's little cat with a canary grin
and Malfoy's look of controlled fury told him that there was something that he was missing. One
look at Harry told him that he was just as bothered by all of this.




“*See here you slag....”*




Harry moved so quick that Ron barely saw it happening. Harry grabbed Malfoy by his shirt collar
and flung him towards that other side of the room. Malfoy hit the wall with a loud bang before
sliding down the wall in a heap. Hermione quickly pulled out her wand and murmured
"*imperturbatus*".




Harry looked down at Malfoy as he stood over him menacingly. His outside demeanor seemed cool
and calm, but Ron could tell that Harry was ready to tear the prat to shreds. Obviously Malfoy
could too, the way he looked up at the dark haired boy in fear.




“*The cup, ferret. What do you know?”*




Ron crawled over the bed to sit closer to the action.




“*I took the cup from Durmstrang. Igor Karkaroff hid it in the Headmaster's quarters
.”*




*"Karkaroff had it,"* Ron asked in disbelief. *"You-Know-Who gave it to
him?"*




Draco looked at him in disgust. *“And why not? He was once in the inner circle, a loyal
follower of the Dark Lord,”* Draco paused, *“like my father.”*




“*But Riddle had him killed,”* Harry said. *“Like your father,”* he reminded
harshly.




Malfoy for once did not take the bait.*“Of course he did. It was one thing to pretend to have
turned to the Light, quite a few of the Dark Lord's followers had done so. But it was another
thing all together to loose the Dark Lord's property. That's why he had been running
scared. The Dark Lord had come to collect and Karkaroff had no clue what he was talking about. But
one other person knew about it and where it was.”*




Hermione asked, *“Who?”*




Draco paused for a moment before saying,*“M-my father. Igor told him years ago about the cup,
you see. Bragged was more like it. I think there had been Ogden's involved. The git didn't
realize that the Dark Lord had also gifted my father with a relic,”* Malfoy said proudly. “*My
father later obliviated him so that he could not remember the conversation, but not even remember
he had the cup at all.”*




“*Smooth bastard,”* Ron muttered.




“*When did your father tell you all this?”* Hermione had taken the cup in her hands and was
rolling it in her hands. She was looking at Malfoy skeptically.




Malfoy gave her a hard stare before answering. *“Over the holiday break when I last visited
him at Azkaban. He told me where it was and how to get it. He wanted to ensure a Malfoy's
rightful place by the side of the Dark Lord. I was too busy to get it before though...”*




“*Because you were too busy plotting Dumbledore's murder.”*




“*But as you and I both know Potter I am not the one that actually killed him.”* Malice
glinted in Malfoy's eyes as Harry held his gaze equally.




Hermione tried to break the tension. “*Last night you implied that you knew how to destroy the
horcrux.”*




“*Actually Granger I outright said it,”* he commented obnoxiously.




Ron could tell that she'd had about her fill of Malfoy's antics because her eyes started
blazing.




“*Well,”* she asked harshly, *“if you know so much about it why don't you stop
titting about and get on with it then?”*




“*Nice one Hermione,”* exclaimed Harry and Ron proudly in unison. Hermione beamed back at
them.




“*If you all are quite done wanking each other off,”* Malfoy snarled malevolently, “*you
undo a horcrux is much the same way you create one.”*




“*You kill someone,”* Ron asked, eyes bulged.




“*No Weasleby. According to ancient texts all that is required is a sacrifice. You offer up a
tributary to show that you are deserving. The Dark Lord just killed people because he enjoyed
killing people.”*




Harry's jaw tensed at that statement.




“*How do you know all of this Malfoy?”*




Hermione continued to drill the arse's story over and over again. It was as if she were
looking for the holes. Malfoy was starting to get annoyed.




“*What's with all the questions Granger? I already answered these questions for that
crazed bastard Moody this morning.”*




“*Well now you answer her,”* Harry said thru gritted teeth.




“*My father told me what to read on the subject.”*




“*So you mean to tell us that Lucius Malfoy not only gave you a means to get in
Voldemort's good graces he also told you how to destroy the very thing?”*




Malfoy lifted his chin imperiously and said contemptuously, *“We Malfoys through out the ages
have a long history of playing for both teams.”*




Hermione held Malfoy's gaze for a moment before she burst into a fit of laughter. She
laughed so hard that a tear formed in her eyes. For his part Harry tried to suppress the smile that
was threatening to spread on his face. The other two boys cast confused glances at each other. For
the first time, and more then likely the last time, a Malfoy and a Weasley agreed on something.
Mental.




“*Are you quite done yet Granger,”* Malfoy obnoxiously asked as Hermione continued to
laugh. After a bit she finally calmed down.




“*Quite done.”*




“*And have I passed the test?”*




Once again Hermione stared deep in his eyes and smiled a tight little smile. *“For
now.”*




“*Well I'm not convinced,"* Harry said. *"I got rid of Riddle's diary
without having to sacrifice anything.”*




Ron felt a shiver run down his spine. Only four years had passed since that time down in the
Chamber of Secrets. He could still taste the fear at the back of his throat. Fear that he would
find his sister dead. Fear that he would be next. Fear that any moment he would meet a pair of cold
yellow eyes around the corner...




“*Blimey Harry! You killed the basilisk!”*




“*What?”*




“*The basilisk, remember? Before you destroyed the diary you killed the basilisk.”*




Hermione gasped. “*He's right Harry! That was your sacrifice. And...and Dumbledore must
have given his hand in order to break the ring. You obviously don't always have to kill
something to break the horcrux.”*




“*I see the penny's finally dropped,”* Malfoy said snidely, crossing his arms in front
of him.




“*Shut up Malfoy!”* All three of them shouted the order at the same time.




Harry looked like he was still digesting the newest information as he asked the git, *“How do
we get rid of the cup?”*




“*You drink from it.”*




Hermione looked at him puzzled. *“Drink from it?”*




“*Yes. It doesn't matter what. Supposedly you drink from it and the
rest...happens.”*




“*Bollocks,”* Ron shouted.




“*Do you really think we're a bunch of idiots Malfoy,”* Harry asked.




“*Yes, but that's beside the point.”*




“*What do you think Hermione,”* Harry asked turning to look back at her. Hermione had been
staring at the cup that was still in her hands.




“*There's a tiny bit of lettering on this. It says...imbibo?”*




“*Drink in. It's Latin.”*




Hermione gave Malfoy a sinister glare. “*I'm sure my Latin far surpasses yours.”*




Malfoy grumbled something about know-it all bitches. She rolled her eyes at him before turning
her attention to Harry.




“*Helga Hufflepuff was a renowned potion mistress. Probably the greatest there ever was. She
is credited with creating Polyjuice, Veritaserum, Felix Felicis, the Draught of Peace. The list
goes on and on.”* She looked back at the cup. *“It sounds...plausible.”* She sounded unsure
though.




Harry looked back to Malfoy. *“Well then, I guess Malfoy is going to be proving his
loyalty.”* This remark caused the wanker to laugh mirthlessly.




“*Not on your life,”* he said.




“*If it's so harmless what could it hurt?”*




“*The harm is that I'm not the hero in this story. I'm not drinking from that thing.
Who knows exactly what kind of sacrifice it wants. It might kill me.”*




“*Ah ha,”* Ron exclaimed. *“So you admit that you're trying to poison Harry.”*




“*Just how daft are you,”* Malfoy queried. *“Do you think that I actually trekked back
and forth across Europe, got stalked clear thru Teutoburg Forest by* *a fucking Erkling who
obviously didn't think I had enough hair on my balls, brought that blasted cup all the way here
to a house full of people who would kill me so much as look at me all so I could try to poison the
Chosen Git?! Sorry, suicide missions just aren't my thing!”* Malfoy had worked himself into
a lather.




“*Alright, alright,”* Harry said trying to shut him up. *“Your need for self-preservation
makes it unlikely that you are intentionally trying to kill us. But that still leaves the fact that
someone has to drink from it.”*




“*Why don't you get Gingerlocks to do it.”*




“*Why you slimey...no good...”*




“*Be a man Weasley...”*




“*...twitchy little...”*




“*Enough you too,”* Harry shouted trying to separate the two pureblood young men who had
both jumped up and gotten into each other's face. The three of them were so preoccupied that
not one of them noticed the girl leaving the room.




Harry ran his fingers thru his hair in frustration. *“Maybe we should try to arrange another
Order Meeting to figure this out. We'll get McGonagall out here next time, see if she can get
Dumbledore's portrait to wake up. He might have some advice for us. What do you think
Hermione?”* He turned to look at her and was baffled for a moment when he didn't see her
still sitting there at her desk. *“Hermione?”*




Ron and Harry's eyes met and the same question were in them. *The cup?*




“*Well,”* Malfoy sneered, *“I guess one of you was man enough after all.”*




Ron made a mental note to beat the hell out of Malfoy later, but his first instinct was to get
to Hermione immediately before she did something dumb. Drastic. Deadly. Harry obviously had the
same idea. Both boys tore out of the room so fast they probably left scorch marks on the carpet.
They practically pushed each other out of the way to get down the stairs. Neither of them said
anything to the few Order members who were sitting in the living room. They both ran for the
kitchen. It was as if both of their minds were working as a single entity. Must get to Hermione!
Must get to Hermione! And they both cried out in despair when they found their friend's body
sprawled out on the floor, the cup lying next to her.







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







Hermione wasn't dead. Instead she went into some kind of deep sleep. When Madame Pomfrey
later examined her that day, after Tonks and Remus rushed off to get her from Hogwarts, the old
school nurse was at a loss of what to do. Hermione had a high concentration of several potions in
her system; The Draught of Death, Wit Sharpening solution, the Calming Draught, Veritaserum, as
well as the traces of some unknown potable. Madame Pomfrey was actually shocked that the girl was
still alive and accidentally said as much in front of her two best friends. The odd thing was that
the substance that Hermione actually drank out of the cup was ordinary soy milk from out of her
refrigerator.




When Hermione's parents came back from their vacation the boys helped spirit her from her
home to Hogwarts. The school governors had decided against opening the school for the new term so
the Order chose to set up shop there. Even with Dumbledore gone Hogwarts was still the safest place
to be. They set put her in the Head Girl's bedroom. It seemed fitting. Ron, Harry, and Malfoy
were sleeping in the Head Boy's room. Ron barely left her side though. Harry either. They would
take turns sitting with her, holding her hands, talking to her. Ron was convinced that when she
woke up his face should be the first she saw.




Of course that isn't how it happened. One night he and Harry were sitting up with Hermione
as usual. They were playing chess, but both boys were so glum that neither could tell who was
actually winning the game. The chess pieces were ready to stage a protest over the ill-use they
were experiencing. Ron, thinking that he would play better on a full stomach, decided to make a run
to the kitchens. He asked Harry to join him, but his best mate declined. Ron made his way from the
South tower down to the bottom of the castle and returned about 15 minutes later with a plate of
Jaffa cakes covered in chocolate. As he entered the bedroom door the sight before him left him
gaping like a cod fish.




Hermione was sitting up in the bed, the spread clutched in her hands to her chest. Her fly-away
hair gave her the appearance of a wild, trapped animal. The girl looked like any minute now she
would go into hysterics. Her eyes were filled with terror. The thing that Ron couldn't
understand was why those alarm filled eye were turned towards Harry. He was half way seated, half
way stooped over her on the right side of her bed. She looked like she was trying to move as far to
the left of the mattress as she could. Harry looked properly stunned by her behavior. Ron was so
baffled by the scene before him that he dropped the plate of cookies.




“*Ronnie!”*




At the sound of the breaking plate both Harry and Hermione looked towards the door. As soon as
Hermione saw him standing there she burst into tears and held out her arms calling for him. Ron
wasted no time getting to her side. He folded her up into a bear of a hug as she pressed her face
into his chest. Over and over she cried his name. He met Harry's eyes over her brown head and
saw the same bewilderment in them.




“*Shhhh...shhhhh...Hermione. It will be alright,”* he said, smoothing her hair and placing
kisses on her head.




“*Yeah Hermione,”* Harry said taking on the same calming tone as Ron. *“You're safe
now.”* He placed a loving hand on the back of her shoulder.




At the sound of Harry's voice Hermione's form went stiff in Ron's arms. She subtlety
shrugged his hand off her shoulder as she pulled her tear stained face from Ron. Neither noticed
the destroyed expression that Harry wore.




“*What's going on Ronnie,”* she asked as her head swiveled around the room. *“Where
am I? Is this Hogwarts? How are we at Hogwarts?”*




“*Well we kind of had to make a run for it when your mum and dad came home love,”* he tried
to explain to her. *“But remind me one day to tell you about how me and Harry snuck you out right
under their noses. It was brilliant really!”*




Hermione's confusion wasn't abated however.*“But my parents aren't supposed to be
home till the end of the month.”*




Once again he and Harry shared a look. *“Uh...Hermione,”* Ron said haltingly, trying to
find the right words, “*see...the thing is...today is the 14th.”*




“*I know that,”* she said indignantly.




“*No Hermione, it's the 14th of September.”*




Hermione's eye tripled in size at the revelation. The terror was evident on her face.
Although life and time had marched on she was stuck a month behind.




“*Don't you remember anything,”* he said as he lovingly placed a hand on the side of
her face.




Hermione laid back on the head board of the bed. Ron could see the thought process work it's
self out on her face. First her face was twisted in confusion, then implausibility. But soon her
features were smoothed by realization.




“*The cup,”* she whispered.




Ron nodded his head. *“The cup,”* he answered. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.




Her brow then scrunched up in worry as her eyes sprang open. She clutched at Ron again. “*What
happened to the cup,”* she demanded. *“Did I...is it...”*




Ron beamed a proud smile at her. *“You did it! The cup has a large crack on it and the gold is
now tarnished. We're not sure, but we think that's a good sign.”*




Hermione closed her eyes and let out a happy cry at his words. Ron neglected to tell her that
the words she saw on it were nowhere to be seen when he and Harry examined the thing.




“*I'm wearing night clothes,”* she said, lifting her covers slightly and glancing at
the long flannel nightgown she had on. *“How did I get this on,”* she asked suspiciously,
looking warily at Ron.




Although her back was turned so she couldn't see it, Harry blushed the same shade of red
that Ron did.




“*Uh...Tonks changed you.”* Hermione visibly relaxed at the answer. *“Tonks has been
great thru all this. Changing your clothes, switching your linens, vanishing your...um...bed pan.
Her and Madam Pomfrey.”*




Ron then hit himself square on the head.




“*Madame Pomfrey, I should go get her,”* Ron said as he went to move from the bed.




Hermione grabbed a hold of his shirt and said in an agitated, strangled whisper,
*“No!”*




Ron tried to loosen her claw like grip. *“Hermione, Madame Pomfrey will want to know that
you're awake. Harry can stay with you.”*




During the whole time Ron had been in the room Hermione never once looked at Harry. She still
didn't, even at the mention of his name.




“*No Ron, I want you,”* she shouted. *“I want you to stay!”*




She was working herself into a frenzy. She started to cry again and pulled Ron's arms back
around her. Ron was at a loss for what to do.




“*I'll go Ron,”* Harry said as he threw a hurt glance Hermione's way. She
didn't pay his exit any attention.




After Harry left the bed chamber Ron decided to climb in the bed with Hermione. At first he was
worried that she would say no, but she seemed to welcome his close presence. He gathered her into
his arms and laid her across his chest. He whispered sweet nothings into her hair and rubbed
circles across her back. Although her attitude was troubling Ron couldn't help indulge in the
feelings of having her in his arms like this. Hermione was never usually this touchy feel-y. After
a bit her sobs ceased and she pulled away from him again.




“*I'm acting like some silly ninny aren't I,”* she embarrassedly asked as she
rubbed at her red rimmed eyes.




“*No,”* Ron chided her. “*You've been thru a heck of an experience. Madame Pomfrey
told us to expect some odd side effects if you ever...”* came out of it, Ron started to say. He
didn't want to upset her further, *“...when you came out of it.”*




He rubbed a tear off of her cheek. *“We were scared for you Hermione. We didn't know when
you would wake up. I had to force Harry to go to bed some nights, he was so worried.”*




Hermione swallowed. *“And you?”*




“*Terrified. I thought I was going to loose you.”*




She grabbed his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. *“You are never going to loose
me,”* she said fiercely.




Even if he wanted to he wouldn't have disagreed with her. She seemed intent on making sure
he believed her. She pulled him into her arms and began to softly cry again. She mumbled the words
“*I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'm sorry*” over and over. Ron was mystified as to
what she could be so sorry about. Did she think that he was angry at her for what she did. He was
further befuddled when she asked him a strange question.




“*You know that I would never hurt you, don't you?”* Ron could have cried for the
anguished look on her face.




“*Hermione, what are you talking about?”*




“*Say it,”* she answered. She was fairly shouting. *“Say that you believe me! I would
never hurt you. Tell me that you know that,”* a demanding Hermione pleaded.




“*Of course I know that!”*




“*Good,”* she said. *“Good,”* she said again, more to herself. *“That's all that
matters then. That's all that matters.”*




She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his chest. She rested her hand on his stomach.




“*Hermione, what's wrong?”*




“*Nothings wrong. Nothing is going to be wrong. I won't let it. Nothing is going to
change. I won't let it. I won't let it.”*




Her words were thick and drowsy. She sounded delirious. She repeated the mantra over and over
again.




By time Harry and Madame Pomfrey made their way back to the tower Hermione was asleep and
Ron's heart was filled with dread. Something was wrong. Despite Hermione's steadfast
promise that nothing would change Ron knew that something already had. He just didn't know
what.




On the outside looking in everything seemed to return to normal. The first morning Hermione was
fully awake she didn't speak much, but she stayed holed up in the library most of the day. He
and Harry had to forcibly remove her from there so she would at least eat dinner. The day after
that she went down to Hagrid's to see if he was over a summer cold she heard he had. Ron was
ready to think that she was back to normal when later that same day she and Malfoy got in a
screaming match over house-elves' rights during lunch. She had even began talking to Harry the
same way she normally did. The raven haired young man was terribly relieved at that bit of progress
although he and Ron did discuss the fact that Hermione would not stay in a room if Harry was the
only one in it. If everyone else made to leave the room she would rush to follow suit. Both he and
Harry tried to bring this to her attention, but she would automatically shut them down on the
subject. Eventually everything improved and the Trio were a trio again. Only one thing nagged at
the back of Ron's mind. They never knew what Hermione's sacrifice was.




She never told.







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







Those days seemed almost a dim dream to him now; hiding away in secret, fearing a Death Eater
around every corner, fighting against You Know Who's dark reign. But with Hermione by his side
he was able to bear it. But then the war ended, and for some reason so did they.




Not all at once though. No, that would have been too easy. Their relationship instead went thru
a slow, arduous death.




The first time he proposed was buggered up by bad timing. She got word that her parents had died
before she could even tell him yes or know. She went into a deep mourning and broke up with him.
Then a few months later she actually started dating that prat Rodger Davies! Of course he was
shagging Lavender by that time, but still...




The second time he proposed was at Fred and Glinda's wedding reception. She flat out turned
him down that time. He dumped her and Lav was there to make his bruised ego feel better in a flash.
He thought his heart would break when she took up with Wood. It was like she was consorting with
the enemy all over again. Fourth year re-lived!




The last break-up was amicable and necessary. It had finally become exhausting doing this dance
over and over with her. He had apparated into his and Harry's flat only to see Hermione on
their leather sofa asleep, a book lying open across her chest. Some things never change, he briefly
thought to himself, as a smile flitted across his face. It died as soon as he spied the cover of
the book. It had a picture of a dark skinned man dressed in sheik's clothing pointing a wand at
a a huge bird that looked like an eagle. The title was Making Mystic in the Sands: A Magical
History of Morocco. Ron scowled as he read it, but smoothed his face as soon as Hermione started to
stir.




“*Hmmm...,”* she said groggily as she stretched her supine form on the coach and opened her
eyes. *“Did you just get in?”* She was looking at him pensively.




“*Yeah, dad wanted to meet up for a pint of ale at the Hag.”*




Hermione wrinkled her nose. *“That place is so unsanitary Ron.”*




“*Indeed it is. But the bartender doesn't water down the drinks like Tom and you get a
worthy headache for your money.”* He winced as he rubbed at his left temple. *“Like now. Been
waiting long,”* he asked, changing the subject and advancing to her side.




“*Not too long. Harry was here for a while, but then Ginny summoned him on that stupid mirror
of hers,”* she said, rolling her eyes. *“I don't know why he just doesn't tell her
that he hates carrying around that thing. It should be obvious why really.”*




Ron had no idea what Hermione was going on about. He knew that Harry didn't care for using
his mirror. In fact his best mate seemed to constantly “forget” to carry it around with him. If Ron
had to make a guess he figured that Harry didn't like the fact that his sister used the thing
like a tracking device to keep tabs on him religiously. Hermione had never been that kind of
girlfriend. Truthfully sometimes Ron wished that Hermione would act a little more like that. Like
Lavender did. Possessive. Like he was all that she wanted in the world. But as of late Ron began to
develop a sneaking suspicion that such was not the case.




“*I'm surprised you didn't run into him out there. That's where Ginny told him to
meet her. According to your sister it would seem that Mr. Potter actually had every intention of
wearing last year's dress robes to get married in. The horror,”* she said mockingly as she
turned the book over on its cover and placed it behind her. None of this was lost on Ron.




“*What's that you've got there,”* he asked innocently as he sat down next to
her.




“*A book,”* she said evasively. She then began to fix and rearrange the items on the coffee
table before them. When Hermione got agitated she didn't know what to do with her hands. It was
a nervous habit of hers that popped up when she didn't want to discuss something.




“*Well I can see that. What's it about?”* His tone was light and even.




“*Morocco.”*




“*Gee, what's with the sudden interest in that place? Planning on taking a trip?”*




“*No,”* she said as her eyes skirted from him and back to the table. *“Just bored. Read
everything else.”*




“*I see.”* He stared at her searchingly for a moment.




His attentions must have made her anxious because she jumped from the sofa and went into the
flats kitchen. When she returned 10 minutes later she handed Ron a vial of a thick, khaki colored,
mucus-y looking substance. Goyle's Get-up and Go Hangover potion. He and Harry kept crates of
the stuff in their cabinet. Goyle might have been a disgusting Slytherin, but some how the lunkhead
had discovered a hangover cure that was worth it's weight in galleons. As Ron drank it down he
couldn't help but gag at the after taste.




“*Gah! That's disgusting. Sometimes I half suspect that I'm still swallowing essence
of Goyle like back when I was 12,”* he said as Hermione sat on the table across from him and
plucked the vial out of his hand. His mind instantly began to clear.




“*Harry became Goyle,”* she quietly reminded him.




“*Whichever.”* The potion was doing it's work on his drunkenness, but it was doing
nothing to dispel his bad mood that was starting to form. *“So how was your day?”*




She sighed. “*Busy. I've been running from pillar to post trying to plan Ginny's hen
night. She keeps floo'ing me at work making suggestions and she is wearing me thin. Add to that
the fact that the Weird Sisters are booked up thru the summer and the caterer that I hired for the
reception is an avid Tornadoes fan and thinks that serving at Harry Potter's wedding might
spoil his team's chances at the title. I'm ready to jump ship!”*




Ron leaned into Hermione and placed a hand comfortingly on her knee. *“Ginny has no idea how
lucky she is, having you for her Maid of Honour.”*




Hermione gave a strained smile at the compliment.




“*Well...I guess,”* said before changing the subject.




“*I had to run into Mungo's to do follow up on a case and I ran into Sue. We had lunch.
She told me that she and Tony got engaged.”*




“*He finally got her to say yes,”* Ron asked in wonder. “*Blimey! I'd like to know
how he managed that.”*




Hermione stiffened at the comment and brushed his hand off her knee. He silently cursed himself
for his priggishness.




“*Yes...well...she had to finish up training didn't she,”* she snottily countered.




“*Alright, alright. So how long till the big day?”*




“*Some time next year.”* At this Ron's mouth dropped open in surprise.




“*Why so long? They aren't doing the Rites?”*




“*Anthony's muggleborn, remember? His family probably won't care for one of these
shot-wand marriages,”* she answered. *“Plus I think that Mr. Goldstein is a cantor or some
such. Susan said they were planning on something very traditional and faith based. No magical
hooplah whatsoever.”*




Ron leaned back on the coach and closed his eyes. He had an exhausting day himself. First his
practice session down in Chudley and then his meeting with his dad had taken a lot out of him. He
was a trifle on edge.




“*Well I don't see what's so wrong with a little hooplah,”* he said stubbornly.
*“The Rites were good enough for my grandparents, and for Perce and Penelope, and its going to be
good enough for that Potter bloke I hear so much about.”*




“*Well,” Hermione said, frowning slightly, “Susan has also decided to take on another year of
training to specialize. She wants to be a natal healer.”*




Ron sleepily mumbled something about Susan's head exploding from all of the studying.




“*She asked me to be in her wedding party,”* she said as Ron's eyes opened in interest.
“*I told her that I was a bit wedding'd out, what with Ginny and...”* she began rolling
the glass vial between her palms nervously. *“Besides, who knows where we'll be in a
year's time,”* she nonchalantly flipped her hands.




Ron watched her coolly. “*Yes...who knows.”*




There was a moment of uneasy silence between them. Ron opened his mouth to break the lull, but
Hermione interrupted him in almost shocking manner.




“*Saw Lavender today.”*




Ron went tense. He didn't like the look on Hermione's face and her practiced nonchalant
demeanor. Hermione made it a point not to ever bring up Lavender with him if it could be helped.
The fact that she was doing so now made him feel wary for some unknown reason.




“*She was having lunch at the restaurant with her husband.”*




Ron sneered. “*Olde Pye still on solid foods, eh?”*




Hermione shook her head in disapproval before asking with steady ease, *“Did you know that
Lavender was pregnant?”*




Ron's freckled face scrunched up in bafflement. *“Everyone knows she's pregnant.*
The Prophet *can't seem to talk about anything else. Bloody paper is...”*




“*Did you know that she was 8 weeks pregnant,”* Hermione asked, cutting him off.




Ron in fact did not know this. He had seen Lavender a few days ago when they had run into each
other at the Diagon Alley *WWW* and he had thought she looked quite plump. But then Daphne
Greengrass' article came out the next day and his question seemed to be answered. But no where
in the Prophet was it mentioned just how pregnant Lavender was.




“*How do you know that,”* he asked.




Hermione shrugged her shoulders as if they talked about Lavender Browne...Pye's health
regularly. *“Susan let it slip at lunch. Lavender is seeing Sue's trainer you see.”*




“*Oh.”* Silence.




“*Don't you find that interesting?”*




“*Maybe.”* Silence.




“*I mean the woman just got back from her honeymoon and in a few days she'll be showing
already,”* she said, innocently.




“*So.”*




“*I'm sure her head must be spinning.”*




Ron's suspicious nature was on alert. He knew damned well that Hermione didn't give a
fig about Lavender Brow...Pye. Her fake syrupy concern was setting his teeth on edge.




“*First you break up with her. Then she marries that poor old man right after. Now? Pregnant.
Just like that.”*




Ron tried to keep his voice steady. *“And?”*




Hermione turned her head at his terse question.




“*Hermione, is there something you would like to say?”*




She turned her head to face him again and, looking in his eyes, asked the question she had been
withholding. *“Is that your baby Ron?”*




For a moment Ron actually believed that he hadn't heard the question. But then the blood
started flowing towards his ears and face and he began to splutter. “*Are you kidding me?
No!”*




“*Ron she is nearly 2 months along. Are you actually going to tell me that you didn't get
that...that you didn't get her pregnant?”*




“*That's exactly what I'm saying!”*




She scoffed. *“I'm not stupid Ron.”*




“*But apparently you think that I am.”*




Hermione grumbled in disgust and got up off the coffee table. She stomped off towards the
kitchen and Ron followed after her.




“*Hermione, if I had gotten Lavender pregnant I would have done right by her. I would have
married her. Lav knows this.”*




She dropped the vial in the sink as she sneeringly said, *“How noble.”*




“*I'll tell you what, Lavender would have never married Pye!”*




She leaned against the double basin sink and folded her arms. “*People do odd things when in
love,”* she said cryptically.




“*What the hell does that mean,”* he exasperatedly shouted. When she didn't answer and
instead turned her back to him he deflated slightly.




“*You're tired. You've had a rough day and you're just taking your frustrations
out on me,”* Ron said. *“Why don't we talk about this in the morning. I need to get out of
my practice robes and take a shower, and you need...honestly I just don't know what you
need.”*




He turned on his heel, prepared to go to his bedroom and wash away this silly little spat when
Hermione's voice stopped him cold.




“*I think,”* Hermione's shoulders sagged, “*I think we should just end this.”*




Ron wordlessly reentered the kitchen and stared at Hermione's turned back. Did she
just...




“*Yes, I think...I think that's what's for the best.”*




She briefly looked over her shoulder at Ron's querulous face and quickly turned around
again.




“*I mean really Ron, who did we think we were kidding?”*




She began to fiddle with the now broken vial in the sink. *“Actually acting like we could
still have a real relationship.”*




She firmly set her shoulders.*“We need to stop deluding ourselves.”*




“*Deluding ourselves,”* Ron choked out. He felt like someone had his heart in a vice grip.
His anguish was compounded by the fact that she wouldn't even look at him.




“*Obviously we aren't right for each other. Add that to the fact that you would actually
lie to me...”*




Ron was reaching his breaking point. *“That's not my kid!”*




“*...goes to show that you were never really serious about us. That you could be so
irresponsible...”*




He was upon her in a second. He wrenched her around to face him.




“*Now you're just being purposely unfair! Even if that were my baby that Lavender were
carrying you and I were not together when it was made. You were still with your little Scotsman,
remember?”* Every nerve in his body felt taut and any moment he was sure he would explode.




“*Let's just pretend that I had been the one to be so stupid as to get sproged up,”*
she said as if that were the craziest idea ever. *“Would you have taken me back with wide, open
arms Ron?”* Ron was speechless at this remark. *“I thought so.”*




She pulled forcefully out of Ron's arms.




“*I've got just a few things over here,”* she sadly said. *“I'll just pack them
up and pop off.”*




It felt like an eternity that Ron stood in that kitchen alone. It was almost like he was in a
deep daze. End this? Over? Was she serious? He shook himself awake. He walked from the kitchen to
his bedroom down the hall. The door was open and he watched Hermione studiously direct objects into
a carry bag with her wand. Shoes, jewelry, various articles of clothing. Books.




“*You meant to pick a fight with me.”*




It wasn't a question. It wasn't said in anger. Instead the realization of it all made
him calmer then he had been in weeks.




“*Honestly Ron,”* she said dismissively.




That did it! The calm he had been experiencing flew straight out the window. He fairly snarled
as he marched into the living room, grabbed her book from off the sofa, and re-entered the
hallway.




“*You forgot something,”* he yelled, hurling her book across the room.




Hermione's large brown eyes nearly popped out of her head as she stared at him. The book had
nearly hit her. Ron might curse. Ron might yell. But Ron never got physically aggressive with her.
She was alarmed by this turn of events. But her horror only intensified once Ron began laughing.
Hysterically. Uncontrollably. Maliciously.




“*I've been such a bloody fool,”* he said, advancing in the room. Hermione actually
took a step back, the back of her knees hitting his bed.




“*You've been looking for a way out of this relationship for weeks! Weeks! Reconciliation!
Ha! What a joke. Really Hermione, why did you even bother? Did you feel sorry for me? Pity me?”*
He was standing in front of Hermione, both of her shoulders gripped in his hands. If he was hurting
Hermione her face didn't betray it. Instead she looked like a lost little girl. *“You
shouldn't have bothered Hermione!”*




“*You must have breathed easy after your lunch today. Susan Bones dropped an escape hatch
right on your lap, didn't she?”*




“*Ron I don't know what you...”*




Ron didn't let her finish her sentence. *“I know about Morocco Hermione!”*




He shook her shoulders. *“I know about everything! The clandestine lunch meetings. The ibises
dropping off parchment after parchment. The bloody job offer!”* Hermione's tear filled eyes
nearly broke him.




“*Are you going to deny it? Well, are you?”*




His penetrating glare pinned her in place. She tried to escape from his grip, but he was having
none of that this time. She was going to answer him, even if he had to shake the truth out of
her.




After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione gave in.*“No,”* she pitifully whispered.




He let her go and walked to the other side of the room. He didn't even want to look at
her.




“*H-how...how did you find out?”*




He smiled bitterly at her question.*“Dad wanted to meet for drinks to discuss my plans. He
wondered just when I was going to tell him and mum that I was planning on moving to Marrakesh to be
with you. What a joke huh?”* His voice shook.




“*Is Arthur terribly disappointed in me,”* she asked is a small voice.




“*He couldn't be more proud. The youngest Department Head of any ministry? Why
shouldn't he? Of course he wished you would have come to him instead of hearing it from
Scrimgeour.”*




Ron briefly looked back at her before turning back around. It was still too hard to look at that
face. *“The git wanted to know why dad was allowing one of his Ministry pets to scurry
off.”*




Hermione got off the bed and walked up to Ron's turned back. He seized up in anticipation of
what she might say or do.




Hermione reached out a hand to touch him, then thinking better of it let it drop to her
side.




“*I ...I wasn't really going to...I just wanted to know my options...I was going to tell
y...”*




“*Spare me!”*




“*It's true! I just...it never came out right.”* She began to plead with him. *“But
this is such a huge opportunity! Head of International Cooperation!”*




“*You're leaving me.”* He was hurt and he didn't care how pitiable he sounded.




“*I...I need to do this Ron. I need to go away, at least for a little while. I need...”*
her eyes watered, *“...this is such a huge opportunity.”*




He laughed bitterly. *“Of course it is. But then I really shouldn't be shocked should
I.”*




“*What?”*




“*Did I ever come first Hermione,”*




“*What are you talking about?”*




“*It's a simple question. Did I ever come first?”*




He turned to face her. *“I mean, there was always something that was put ahead of me. This
time it's a 'huge opportunity'. When we were younger it used to be school work. Then
there was Krum, and Davies, and the Scotsman! Oh and let's not forget Harry,”* her breathing
hitched, *“whatever bloody quest of his you felt was more important then me and my
needs!”*




“*Don't you dare try bringing Harry into this! Don't you dare!”*




“*What Herms,”* he said emphasizing the name he knew she loathed. *“Hate hearing the
truth?”* He smirked.




“*I gave you my whole heart, but that wasn't enough was it? All you had for me were table
scraps.”*




“*Bugger that Ron! I've heard this song and dance one too many times for it to be
effective anymore. I nearly let your self esteem issues effect every decisions I made. I ignored
what I wanted so everyone else could bloody well be happy. But no more,”* she scathingly
said.




“*Poor Ron Wesley, always second best. Big bad Hermione broke my heart! Except you weren't
too heart broken to stop from fucking Lavender Brown, we're you?”*




Ron saw red! *“Maybe because it was never a question that Lavender actually wanted to be
fucking me!”*




Both we're horror struck by what he said. Hermione's knees gave out from under her and
she crumpled to the floor, settling in the Indian position. Ron felt the proper git for what he
said, no matter how true it rang. He came and knelt by her, but she wouldn't look at him. Her
breathing came in short fast pants as she pressed her palm to her chest. Ron was scared that she
was having a panic attack until she finally started breathing regularly again.




As she began to calm down she finally turned to him and said,*“I love you Ron, but....I...I
can't do this to you anymore. I can't do this to me. I....”*




“*Shhhh.”* He took her in his arms. *“I know. I think I've known for a long
time.”*




“*I feel like were in some kind of holding pattern. You know? Continuously moving towards each
other and moving back. But never going anywhere. And I'm so tired. Aren't you?”*




Instead of answering her question he asked, *“So is that it then?”*




She pressed her face against his chest and nodded her head slowly. 




“*And here I thought I'd love you the rest of my life.”*




She began to sob quietly into his practice robes.




“*Was it me? Did I do something? Was I not enough?”* He was a glutton for punishment
sometimes.




She shook her head. *“No Ron. Don't ever think that! I'm the one to blame! I'm the
one who didn't know what I wanted until it was too late. You're perfect in every
way.”*




He sighed.*“Just not for you.”*




For a long while they just at on the floor like that, her crying in his arms as he comforted
her. Then she broke the silence.




“*You can hate me if you want to.”*




He smiled ruefully at the very idea. *“No I can't.”*




She began to play with the sleeves of his robes. “*Someday Ron Weasley, just wait and see,
you'll find a girl that will make you happier then you've ever been. And when you do
I'm going to be there to cheer you on.”*




“*Funny, I had hoped that girl would be you,”* he said while pulling back to look at her
lovely face as she gazed back at him.




Her voice was tremulous. *“I did too. You'll never know how much. Things would have been a
lot easier if it was meant to be me.”*




He began to smooth her frizzy hair around her face.*“I'm never going to stop loving you! I
won't. You are always going to be a part of me Hermione.”*




She smiled prettily at that declaration.




“*I better!”*




They remained on the floor for a few moments of comforting silence, Ron still stroking
Hermione's hair as he rocked her back and forth.




“*So are you going to take the job?”*




“*I don't...I'm not sure.”*




“*It really is a great opportunity.”*




“*I know,”* she sighed. *“But it's such a scary idea, moving so far away, I'm not
sure I'm ready for it.”*




Ron snickered. *“Hermione Granger is scared of a challenge?”*




“*Pshaw! I'll have you know that Hermione Granger is scared of a great many things. New
witches to befriend. Gigantic birds. Scheming jinn behind every bottle.”* She snuggled closer to
Ron. *“It's all a bit daunting.”*




“*You can always take the teaching position in Peru.”*




Hermione drew back from Ron's embrace in shock as Ron's smirk told her that he had heard
that bit of gossip too. She smiled half guiltily.




“*You heard about that as well huh? Well, Deoroverde did make me a nice offer, but I'm not
so sure I'm ready to become a junior Minerva already and my Spanish is tragic. At least my
French will come in handy till I can pick up the Arabic.”*




“*Well, whatever you decide I'm sure your future will be fantastic. Even if I'm not in
it.”*




She shook her head sternly. *“Uh uh. No way. There is never going to be a future of mines
without you and...and Harry in it. Never! No matter where I am.”*




“*Does he know?”* Ron dreaded the answer. He hated to think that Harry knew about what
Hermione had been up to and had not told him about it.




“*No.”*




Ron felt relieved yet also a tad confused. The twins used to joke with him that he had the
perfect relationship with Hermione. He got to do all the “fun” stuff with her while Harry got
saddled with all of her emotional baggage. He was the one that she told everything to. Ron always
assumed that such was the case because Hermione felt more comfortable sharing that side of her with
her best friend instead of her boyfriend. Even if her boyfriend was supposed to be her best friend
too. Ron had always tried his best not to be envious of the relationship that Harry had with
Hermione. He thought of it as a fair trade off he had to endure in order to be her boyfriend. But
it was hard knowing that when the girl you were in love with needed a shoulder to lean on she went
to someone else. Harry was the one person that knew everything about Hermione. But Ron figured he
must have been wrong about that too.




“*Are you going to tell him?”*




“*Of course.”* He neglected to note the pause she took before she answered though.




“*Ugh! I just thought of how Harry's going to take this news about us,”* Ron bemoaned
as his brow scrunched up in apprehension. *“He's going to be so disappointed.”*




“*That's why we are not going to tell him,”* she said simply.




Ron was aghast. *“Hermione, he's our best friend.”*




“*And that is exactly why we are not going to tell him.”* Ron opened his mouth to speak,
but Hermione kept talking.




“*Harry's happy. He's about to...marry the woman that he loves. He's on cloud
nine. And he doesn't need the mess we've made of things to muck that up.”*




“*But he'll want to know.”*




“*Exactly. And he'll want to fix it. Cause that's what Harry Potter does. Savior of
the Wizarding world and Dysfunctional Relationships,”* she mused.




“*He loves you and I so much that he would take the focus off his own life to try and
'help' us, when we both know that there is nothing to help.”*




“*So what are you suggesting?”*




“*That we do nothing,”* she bit her bottom lip in deep thought, “*say nothing. We just go
on as though nothing has changed. In a few weeks we'll stand up for our best friend...and
Ginny. And when that's all done we can tell everyone the truth. Besides my mind reels to think
of the spin that the Prophet will put on this. Probably paint me as a heartless tramp as usual. No,
we will wait till after the wedding.”*




“*But that would be lying!”*




“*I prefer to think of it as a non-admission of truth,”* she snotted.




“*Hermione, you do not lie. Not without good cause.”*




“*And this isn't good cause,”* she screeched. Ron's mouth dropped open at the
lightning quick change in her mood. Just as fast her brief flare of anger subsided. Her shoulders
sagged and her light brown eyes misted over slightly.




“*Harry has had so little in his life to be happy about. I'm not going to take this away
from him,”* she said as her chin quivered a bit. *“I won't take it away from him.”*




The rest of their conversation was ceased by the arrival of the man of the hour. They both heard
the unmistakable sound of his apparition (a loud musket shot) out in the living room. As Ron and
Hermione entered the room they discovered Harry draped across the coach, lying on his stomach. He
looked worn out. Half of his face was smooched into the sofa and his glasses were half coming off
his face.




“*I'm never getting married again,”* he mumbled groggily into the cushion. One green
eye looked at them both.




Ron came to sit on the arm of the sofa. “S*ort of is the point mate,”* he joked, smiling
jovially at his best friend. In truth he was putting on a better act then he felt.




Hermione came and sat on the coffee table once again. *“Ginny put you thru your paces
huh?”*




“*I never want to see the inside of Malkin's again.”*




“*That bad,” asked Hermione.*




“*Worse! I've never been so pricked and prodded in my life. I apparated out of the place
in protest after her assistant measured my inseam.”* This earned a genuine chortle from Ron.
Hermione however was a little slower on the uptake.




“*Why would she need to do that if you were only buying robes...oh.”* This caused Ron to
laugh even harder and earned him a peeved huff from her.




“*Ginny is going to have my head.”* He turned over on his back and looked between the two
of them. *“So what were you guys up to before I got here, you're all rumpl...you know,
don't answer that question.”*




Ron let out a deep chuckle from his belly. Harry always got uncomfortable at the thought of him
and Hermione shagging. He turned to Hermione to share a conspiratorial smile, but instead he caught
a woeful look on her face before it smoothed into it's usual studiousness.




“*If you want Harry, I can pick up some robes for you tomorrow after work. I already know your
size and what you prefer. I mean, if that's alright with you?”*




She rose up off the table, but before she could move a inch Harry extended a long arm and
grabbed one of her hands to hold her there. He squeezed it.




“*Your a God-send Hermione, you know that. What would I ever do without you?”*




Hermione looked genuinely caught off guard at the statement.*“Yes...well...er,”* she
stammered. *“We won't ever have to worry about that will we? I um...thirsty!”*




She made a made dash for the kitchen.




Both boys watched her retreating back and were flummoxed.




“*What's the matter with her,”* Harry asked.




Ron figured that maybe Hermione was realizing that maybe it wouldn't be too easy to lie
(cause c'mon, that's what it bloody is) to Harry after all. But for her sake he decided to
play along with her little game.




“*Mental, I guess.”*










Looking back, Ron always knew that he and Hermione ended things at the right time, while they
still loved each other. While they were still friends. Ron loved Hermione back then with all of his
heart, but eventually he came to realize that they grew apart because they grew up and became
different people from who they were when they first started. Was it the war that changed things? Or
was it that after the war there was no grand cause to prop up the *Ron and Hermione Show* any
longer?




He wasn't sure. He just knew that for whatever reasons, Hermione closed off a part of
herself from him and the rest of their years together felt like he was just sitting outside of the
gate, begging to be let back in. After awhile, after the final break-up, he realized that he no
longer wanted back in.




He sometimes shuddered to think what would have happened if they had kept trying to force
something that wasn't there. If they kept hurting each other in the name of this *GREAT
LOVE* that was supposed to be their's. Would they would be married now? Ron shuddered at
that thought. Would they be trapped in some stale marriage, barely speaking? Was this what was
going on with his sister and Harry now? Or was he just projecting?




Ron had fully accepted that as far as he and Hermione were concerned the idea that they were
'meant to be' was a crock of shit. Was that the case for Harry and Ginny too? Had they
fallen victim to the same damnable lie and were now paying the consequence?




Then again they could just be going thru a rough patch right now. If any couple was supposed to
make it it was supposed to be those two. They belonged together, everyone said as much. Ron never
quite got why that was, but he did accept it like any other known fact. The sky is blue. Malfoy is
an pointy faced bastard. Ginny and Harry forever! If they couldn't make a go of their marriage
Ron seriously had to wonder if anything in life was ever truly destined. Or were they just bodies
hurtling thru life till they collided with another entity and just managed to get stuck? Was life
really that random, he wondered.










Once he and Violet were all spiffed up and ready to go he and the little girl were headed
towards the door. He was holding on to her hand when all of a sudden Ron felt the energy level of
the room go up. Someone was apparating thru. In a blink of an eye and the pop of a bottle of
champers, Lav stood before their eyes. She looked very fetching in her newly bought robes and her
hair was pinned up in so many swirls and loops that it gave her the look of a glamorous goddess.
However, if the look on her face was any indicator, she was feeling less then grand at the moment.
He barely had time to open his mouth to greet her when she suddenly threw herself into his
arms.




“They are horrible,” she wailed, wrapping her arms about him tightly.




As Ron let go of Violet's fingers and took his fiancée into his embrace fully, his little
girl scampered off into the direction of his bedroom. He briefly hoped that she wouldn't make a
mess of herself before they could leave. He then turned his full attention to Lavender.




“Shhh...shhh...tell Won-Won all about it,” he crooned as he deftly smoothed her blond hair,
careful not to disturb the careful workmanship of it.




Lavender sniffed loudly as she pulled back from him and wiped at her blue eyes that were rimmed
in red.




“Your mum and my mum are going to kill each other,” she cried. “Mother decided that it would be
a grand surprise if she had the Elysian cater the affair. She didn't even tell me.”




“Oh no.”




“Oh yes! Of course your mum was ready to take her wand to mines. It's the groom's mum
who is supposed to host the bloody commencement but of course mother acts as though that fact is to
be ignored. Said that the guests would prefer to eat a more 'cultured' fare. She said it to
Molly's face! And of course Molly didn't take that well. Said that the Weasleys had no time
for people who put on snooty airs. And she looked at me when she said it! Like I had something to
do with this whole thing. Your mum hates me now too!”




“Shhh...mum doesn't hate you. Mum can just be a bit proud at times is all. It's a
genetic trait I'm afraid.”




“Well everyone is just going on and on about what they want, but no one cares what I want,” she
wailed.




“I care what you want.”




Lavender pulled back from him and looked into his eyes. “You do, don't you? And I care about
what you want. Oh I love you so much Ron!” She then squeezed him tightly.




“Tell me something I don't know,” he said lightly.“Listen, you always look after me,
it's my time to return the favor. We're going straight to the Burrow and make a certain
Mrs. Brown and a certain Mrs. Weasley behave. I'll even send them to the corner with threats of
no dessert if I have to.” He then pulled back to look at her. “C'mon, let's go.”




“Mummy, mummy you're here. That means Kwooksie can come now,” said Violet ecstatically as
she ran back in the room with the cat in her arms. She was holding him much like one would hold a
large bag of flour. Crookshanks looked unamused.




Lavender huffed as she looked down at her little girl and then back to Ron. “Do we have to take
the cat?”




“You know if we don't she'll raise holy hell. I don't know about you, but I
don't feel like being splinched because Vi threw a hissy on the way out,” he reasoned.




“Alright, alright. But you take the monster. I don't think he likes me.”




“Really,” Ron asked innocently. “What would make you say that?”




Lavender walked up a few paces to where Violet was standing holding Crookshanks. The cat
bristled and hissed at her. Lavender looked pointedly at Ron.




“So I'll be taking the cat then,” Ron quickly said as he reached down to pluck the orange
beast out of his daughter's arms. Violet then began to jump up and down clapping her little
hands while giggling.




Ron figured that since he would have to take the cat with them he might as well fly over to his
old childhood home. He hoped that maybe Harry and the twins would have their brooms there too.
After the ceremony they might be able to round up a few of their old friends and play a pick-up
game of Quidditch. It would feel just like old times.




“So Mr. Weasley,” Lavender said as she interupted his thoughts, “Are you ready to begin the
Rites? Are you sure that I am all you will ever want?” She was grinning at him cheekily.




As he watched Lavender grab on to Violet's hand he realized that the answer was an emphatic
yes. The good old days were nice, but he had a suspicion that all that the future could hold might
be even better.




“As long as you don't start leaving the toilet seat up,” he joked in a sarcastic yet loving
tone. “I just hate it when birds do that.”




Lavender walked over to him, Vi in tow, and kissed him on the lips adoringly. “Well since
I'll have years and years to work on it, I'll try to keep that in mind,” she whispered
softly as she pulled back.




Maybe he was wrong. Maybe some things were really meant to be. Obviously not Hermione and
himself. But maybe the universe, in it's infinite wisdom, only waited till the perfect time to
make sure that the right two people ended up with one another. Like it did finally with him and
Lavender. If that were the case, Ron figured that maybe it was best if he stayed out of Ginny and
Harry's business altogether. He didn't need to interfere. They didn't need his help. If
the universe was right about the Potters then there was nothing in this world that could part them.
Right?
















**A/N:** *Just a few things. No, Hermione did not drink a love potion. Rather the
combination of potions in her reacted off of something that was already there. Let's review
what was in her system; The Draught of Living* *Death (causes one to go into a deep sleep),
Calming Draught (ceases any emotional turmoil), Wit Sharpening potion (makes one think clearly),
Veritaserum (the most powerful truth serum), and one potion that Pomfrey couldn't identify (but
will be revealed at a later date). Now remember back to Chapter 4, someone (and I am not saying
that it was Lucius) has told Draco that drinking from the Hufflepuff Cup can cause one to dream.
Now what, oh what could dear Hermione have been dreaming about over and over again for a month?
What realization could she have come to that upset her so much? :^)*



*Hermione's sacrifice will be revealed later as well.*





*I received an email that asked me about some of the elements of the story; what I made up and
what I didn't. If I can remember to, I will try to share that info.*



*Info on the real Boadicea http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boudicca*



*If you have any other questions, hit me with 'em. By the way, sorry for all the horrible
typos and whatnot in the last chapter. I mean, I know I haven't always been on top of my game,
but that was just a travesty. At one point I had to wonder if I totally just fell asleep at the
keyboard for like 2 minutes or something. My bestfriend has been beta'ing, but obviously that
ain't working. I could use one like crazy! Is anyone willing? Pretty please, sugar on
top?*




*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*




























11. Chapter 10
--------------

**Title**: *All Roads Lead Back*

**Keywords**: *Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**,
but a whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

**Summary**: *Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

**Spoilers**: *All six books.*

**A/N**: *I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*



**Warning:** *More* **ONE SIDED D/Hr.** *Once again, for those in the back that
didn't hear me,* ***ONE SIDED D/H**. As in “dude, she's just not that in to him”.
Capiche? Nothing too deep though. If you are a fierce D/G...step away. If you are a fierce
R/Lu...step away. If the thought of D/Lu makes you angsty or nauseous sorry baby. Avoid the first
half till you see some italics. Nothing graphic, but they are very much a couple in my
universe.***H/Hr,** *especially* **Hermione** *figures prominently in this chapter.
If you are tired of seeing* **H/Hr** *in just flashback right now...seriously? Are you just
ignoring the* **A/N** *to spite me now? LOL!*



*Everyone wave at* **Murph'sMine***.* **Murph's Mine** *wave at
everyone. She's my beta y'all and she is good people. Thanks!*



*Also a* **HUGE** *thankyou to* **Padfoot** *for his advice and suggestions
and his snark!*





**As always the reviews rock my socks! Some of them are even cracking me the hell up too
(Crimson I'm looking at you). Y'all are getting good too! Some of your questions and
insights are disturbing me...but in a GOOD way!**



**Disclaimer:** *If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*











“Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party.”




“Sod the party,” Draco said as he left love bites down the back of her neck. “I rather stay
right here with you and move what we were doing on to your desk.” He snaked his arms around her
body and began moving her zipper down expertly. Her back was pressed up against his shirtless
chest.




Luna giggled. “Oh you're just saying that because you wouldn't get to see me naked at
the Burrow.”




“Ugh, Loony Love, you’re spoiling the mood.” He kissed the shoulder he had just made bare.




“Good,” Luna said as she slid off the settee, disentangling her body from Draco's. She stood
up and pulled her silver robe back on her shoulders, trying to straighten them out before she
pulled the little black zipper of the garment up. This would make for the third time this day she
had gone through this routine. Draco didn't know why she bothered; he was only going to get
them off her again as soon as he got a chance.




They were currently the only two people left inside the Quibbler's London office. Luna had
come in to check on a story she was hoping would make it to the front page of the Monday morning
edition. She had uncovered a secret alliance between the Ministry and the Flying Broom lobbyists
that was responsible for the British flying carpet ban. It would seem that a certain Minister of
Magic, Agnes Granitebiter, did not outlaw the enchanting of carpets to protect muggles as she
claimed. The arguments for banning the devices were that the rugs could accidentally wind up in a
muggle home or that it was becoming increasingly hard to disguise them from non-magical persons
when the carpets were flying about.




Of course the same concerns could be raised over brooms, but that little issue was glossed over.
Through a source who would not be named, Luna found out that Ms. Agnes was getting a truckload of
galleons under the cauldron from the broom companies. Universal, Flyte and Barker, Comet and
Cleensweep, all the big companies were in on it. Even Nimbus was involved, back when it was still
Pye in the Sky Ltd. Apparently the Ministry was still benefiting from this deal.




Luna was very excited about this story, she was sure it would finally elevate the paper to a
respectable status, but her father had qualms about running it. Even though her father was the
editor and owner of the paper he didn't play favorites with his reporters, a fact that Luna
usually was ok with. His first concern was that he might loose advertising revenue from those broom
companies. The main reason though for his hesitancy was that he thought that the piece his star
reporter, Patricia Stimpson, turned in on the tragic love affair brewing behind the walls of
Hogwarts made for better copy. The gist of the story was that Minerva McGonagall, current Head
Mistress of the hallowed institution was having a bit of how's your father with one of her
employees, a Professor Binns. Sure the fellow was dead as a doorknob, but the angst and the abuse
of power that the story entailed made it sexy and saucy.




Luna had been furious with her father when he floo'ed from the office to let her know he was
going with Stimpson's article. She had just finished her shower and was in the middle of fixing
a late breakfast for Draco and herself. Draco was still in bed asleep at the time. Luna quickly
scribbled a note for her boyfriend before she transfigured her dressing gown in to the fancy robe
she had planned to wear that day to Ron and Lavender's party and apparated to the Quibbler. She
had a feeling that she wouldn't have time to make it back home to change after she chewed her
father out.




When Draco finally came downstairs in search of Luna he found her message and a bowl of cold
semolina porridge. He hated semolina! He also hated waking up without his lovely girlfriend beside
him. He was used to having a nice late lie-in with his Loony on the weekends. Usually their week
day mornings were both hectic so they felt that on Saturdays and Sundays they deserved to not make
it out of bed before noon. Sadly their tradition seemed to have been forgotten this day.




Draco was not a happy man. His sour mood did not improve when he read the note. Luna told him
where she went to and why. She also informed him that she would meet him at the Burrow and that it
was his responsibility to bring the present she had picked up for the couple, a crystal sculpture
of a life sized diricrawl, with him




Draco scowled at the note. He didn't even know why he and Luna were going to the blasted
party. He and Weasley were no more friends now then they were when they were both kids and young
teens. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why Luna wanted to be even within 3 miles
of the couple who had caused her so much hurt and humiliation not that long ago. Draco knew his
Loony love marched to the beat of her own drum, he just wished sometimes that she wasn't the
only person who could hear her particular rhythm. He just didn't get her reasoning. Draco knew
that he despised the redheaded lout for what he did to her, but Luna herself seemed un-fazed by the
whole situation.




Whatever her reasons, Draco knew that Luna had every intention of showing up to this affair and
by extension he was pressed to accompany her. At first he tried to get out of it. He told her that
he needed to work on his case, but she shot that argument down by pointing out that Harry was going
to be there. Draco tried to use a few more flimsy excuses, but Luna saw through every one. He
acceded to her will. He was prepared to suffer through a Weasley family gathering, ugh, but he was
damned if he was going to show up alone. He might actually have to be there for 5 whole minutes
without her. Who the hell would he talk to? The matching set of Weasleys weren't so bad and
Draco actually admired the father, but he would rather talk to the ghoul that reportedly lived in
their attic then have a civil discussion with the future groom, his shrew of a fiancée, or that
little bitch that Potter had married.




These were the thoughts that were in Draco's head as he apparated over to the dilapidated
tenement building that was the false facade for the newspaper. He walked into the lobby of the
building and curtly nodded at the security watchman before he stepped into a waiting lift carriage.
When he reached the floor that Luna's office was on he heard her faint voice speaking near by.
He followed the sound a short distance down the hall and ended up in front of small door with a
simple brass nameplate. Luna Lovegood was written on it in a curling scrawl. Draco knocked on the
door, he wasn't sure who she was talking to and he didn't just want to walk in and
interrupt her. After he heard her low voice give permission to enter, he pushed open the door and
walked in.




As usual, when first laying eyes on his woman each day, he took a moment to thank the heavens
that he was lucky enough to snag her. Luna was sitting perched on her desk as a Quick Quotes Quill
stood at stand still, waiting for her to continue speaking. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail
that sat high on her head and she was wearing the diamond earrings he bought her for her last
birthday. As usual her face wore very little make-up. He liked the young fresh faced look it gave
her, but he couldn't help feeling slightly like a lecher who was cradle snatching at these
times. Even if she was only a year younger then him. He noted that the brand new robes she bought
just last week at Gladrags had a smudge of ink near the neck line. Draco thought she was the cutest
thing he had ever seen.




“I figured that I would see you here,” she said as he fully entered the room.




He smiled charmingly at her. “You knew I couldn't stay away from you,” he asked in a suave,
sophisticated voice.




“That too…” she said as she hopped off the desk and set the quill at ease. She sauntered over to
him and threw her arms around his neck. She stood on the tips of her toes.




“…and the fact that you were too cowardly to go to the Burrow on your own.” She then dropped a
quick kiss on the corner of his lips




“I am not cowardly,” Draco proclaimed. “I just don't like poor people,” he said
grumpily.




“Draco,” she said in a disappointed tone as she turned her gray eyes on him. Whenever she called
him by his name instead of her usual low voiced “lover” he knew he had messed up.




“Alright, so they aren't poor any more,” he admitted. “But I do hate redheaded people.” By
this time his arms were wound around her slim waist and he was holding her close.




“Draco, does the name Pristine ring a bell?” Luna asked him skeptically.




“And yet again I say...”




“Draco,” she admonished as she gave him a swat to the head.




Draco removed one arm from around her as he placed the hand on the spot where she struck
him.




“Hey,” he exclaimed, “your going to ruin my hair do.” This made her laugh as he rubbed his hand
through his short buzz of blond hair.




“And now you've hurt my feelings,” he said in a false hurt voice. He even puffed his bottom
lip out for good measure.




“Did I?”




“Yes,” he said puffing his lip out even more. “And you called me a coward. You've wounded
me.”




“Would you like me to kiss it and make it better,” she asked in a throaty, enticing voice.




Draco felt his little Draco perk up. He wondered just what she would kiss if he asked. “You read
my mind.”




“Just a little,” she said teasingly as her hand cupped his bum in one hand.




“Where's Linus,” he asked, voice slightly strained.




She began placing small kisses all over his face. “He went to eat at the Dragon's Egg. Said
that arguing with me gave him too much of an appetite.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss.




Draco was delighted at the news. He began to slowly walk her backwards to her desk. They had
never done it on the desk. “And who else is here?”




Luna kicked her shoes off. “Just Kirby, he’s downstairs. And he should be going home soon.
I'm locking up.”




Draco began to pull the dainty zipper of her robe down. “I love responsibility in a woman,” he
said as he finally received his first real kiss of the day.




It was a tender, languid kiss. The kiss shyly promised lovely things. But before he could deepen
it Luna pulled back from him slightly. He looked down at her dumbly, his mind made hazy by
passion.




“Not the desk,” she said, her tone breathy and deep.




“But we never get to do it on the desk,” he said brattishly.




“Yes, but the wall will be quicker,” said Luna as she helped remove Draco's robes and
dropped them to the floor. “And we don't have that much time. They are probably going to start
the ceremony at the Burrow around eleven.”




“I can be quick about it on the desk.”




Luna licked his chin as she worked on his belt. Draco meanwhile had gotten her robe off and was
pleasantly pleased yet disturbed at the same time to see that she only had on a matching scanties
set. They were black. He didn't spend too much time on this though before he was trying to get
them off.




“I'm sure you can be quick on the desk. But can you be good?” she asked. “You're simply
brilliant on the wall.”




Draco's chest tightened with pride at the compliment. He was rather good, he had to admit.
That is if he was going by the satiated smile she had worn every other time he had stopped in for a
quickie during lunch.




“The wall it is,” he said as he lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he
maneuvered them around to the wall by her door.







He was brilliant on the wall as usual. He was also brilliant on the floor. He ended up being
brilliant on the tiny settee by her window as well. Before he could find out if just maybe he could
be brilliant on her desk she was putting on her clothes again.




“Gracious! Look at the time,” Luna said staring in awe struck disbelief at the large clock
behind her chair. It was flashing **You're Late** in large red letters. “Did you remember to
bring the gift?” she asked as she stepped into her low heels. Her back was turned so she missed
Draco's confused look.




“Umm...gift?”




“Oh lover,” she crooned. She sounded disappointed, but she called him by his pet name.




Knowing that he fucked up, Draco figured that he must have been exceptionally brilliant. He gave
himself a pat on the back...in his head.




“We can always go back to the house and pick it up,” he said casually as she walked back over to
where he was sitting and handed him his black Oxford shirt. He had already found his pants and put
them on.




“As if we would actually leave the house once we got there.” A sexy little smile crossed
Luna's face and once again Draco wondered if her desk was sturdy. Once he had thrown the shirt
on, she began to button it for him. While sitting on her knees between his legs. Merlin, he hated
when she teased like that.




“It's a shame. I had that statue specially commissioned for them,” she said wistfully.




As was his usual reaction, Draco felt the dark fury in his belly at the mere mention of Ron
Weasley. He just couldn't fathom why Luna didn't hate the wanker.




“I don't know why you bother. That slag girlfriend of his probably will hate it.”




“I'm sure she will.”




Draco looked at the little pleased expression on Luna's face as she finished with the
buttons and he grinned down at her. People tended to think she was spacey and harmless, but after
dating her all these years Draco knew better. To say there was a method to her madness was an
understatement.




He stood up as Luna helped him into his robes. After she zipped it up he slunk down on to the
settee. She then sat back on her heels to look at her work, beaming up at him.




“You look nice. Although you do look like a vicar. Must all of your fancy robes look like
that?”




“And here I thought I just looked sexy and mysterious,” he said silkily as he pulled her closer
to him.




“No,” her voice lilting as it usually did, “just a vicar.” It was very difficult at times to
tell when Luna was joking or being dead serious.




“What about chartreuse? I think chartreuse would look splendid on you.” Now was one of these
times.




“I have an idea,” he said as began to fiddle with her zipper.




Luna smacked his hand away. “No lover, we are already late.”




“Sod it!”




“Draco!”




“Why do we even have to go to this party anyway?” Draco asked, voice dripping with
annoyance.




Luna got off the floor and placed herself on Draco's lap. He was so annoyed that he
couldn't even appreciate it. “We have to go because Ronald invited us.”




Draco snorted.




“Well, Ronald invited me, but it's just about the same thing,” she said diplomatically.




“You should hate those people,” he grumbled.




She smiled indulgently at him. “And yet I don't. Why should I when you do it so well for
me?”




“I can't understand why you would even want to be in the same room with that Brown-Pye
hag.”




“Well, yes she is a bit of a cow,” Luna agreed, “but other then that she's perfectly
lovely.”




“Loony Love the woman walked into your wedding ceremony, threw a wobbly, and told the groom that
he couldn't marry you because he knew that he was still in love with her. Now you are about to
go to the engagement party of this same woman, at the very same place your wedding had been, and
give her well wishes? I know you're not mad...but are you mad?”




Luna sighed dismally as she removed herself from Draco's lap and instead sat beside him. She
took his hands in hers and forced him to look at her. Luna's usually dreamy expression was
replaced by an unfamiliar vulnerable look.




“I don't hate Lavender,” she said. “I don't think she is the nicest person, but I
don't hate her. If anything I should thank her.” Draco gaped at her as if he was sure she was
mad now.




“I mean it. Ronald and I should have never been together in the first place. Of course I fancied
him from afar for years. He was quite cute....”




“Hey!”




“Well he was. And I seemed to amuse him.” She turned her head as if trying to concentrate on a
thought. “Or he was amused by me.” Draco didn't see the difference. She turned back to him.
“But that was about all. Really the only reason we were getting married was because Harry and Ginny
were already married and I guess I reminded him a bit of...” Luna paused and looked at Draco
uncertainly.




“You reminded him of Hermione,” he finished for her. She nodded her head.




“Well that just goes to show what an idiot he is. You're nothing like Hermione!”




For a brief moment a hurt expression passed through Luna's eyes, but it was so fast that
Draco missed it. She moved closer to him as she shrugged her shoulders.




“I don't know, she and I aren't that far off. She told me once that the Sorting Hat
almost put her in Ravenclaw.” Draco was surprised at this bit of information. Hermione never told
him that.




“Both of us are very loyal to our friends. And most interestingly of all we both seem to attract
the same men,” she finished as she stared pointedly at him.




Although Draco never told Luna about Hermione, and what he'd felt for her, somehow Luna
figured it out on her own. She had a strange knack for just knowing things. It irritated him beyond
words. He almost told her that that was another trait that she and Hermione had in common as well,
but he wanted to clear her off the subject as fast as he could.




“If you're trying to tell me that you once had a hot and heavy fling with that blighter
Davies I'll walk right out this office, I swear!”




Luna must have found that comment especially funny, she was doing that braying thing that he
found adorable. “No, can't say that I have. But Viktor Krum once made eyes at me.”




Draco looked at her skeptically.




“He did! Or he just was suffering from a touch of gas. Eh...either or.”




“Well I just don't see how you and Hermione are similar,” he said priggishly.




“Hmmm, I agree that I might not have her endowments...”




“I like your breasts,” Draco exclaimed. He did. They were very nice breasts. They were small,
Luna had almost a boyishly athletic figure, but they fit perfectly in his hand. Sometimes Draco
thought they had been made specifically for him. He told her this once and got a extra special snog
for his trouble.




“I was talking about her power.”




A sheepish expression crossed his face, but Luna just giggled at it.




“Hermione was scary powerful. During those last few months whenever she would walk in to a room,
you could almost feel the energy level surge. Her emotions seemed to be so all over the place you
could feel the sheer force of them. Sometimes I got the impression that she didn't even realize
how strong she was. She reminded me of my mum in that respect.”




Draco briefly hoped that she hadn't gone and gotten herself blown up like Luna's mum
too.




“But I like to think that I have something now that she doesn't have.”




“And what's that,” Draco asked curiously.




“You,” she answered demurely as she placed her head adoringly on his shoulder and turned her
silver eyes up at him.




Well that did it! She couldn't just say something like that and not expect to get snogged
within an inch of her life. Draco pushed her down on the settee and laid his body half way on her
as he kissed her tenderly. Before the kisses could get heated she reluctantly pushed him off of
her. Draco let out a frustrated growl. Luna reminded him that they were already late and that they
had to leave.




“Aww Loony Love, I'm not going to have anyone to talk to,” whined Draco.




Luna looked at him as though he had gone spare. “Harry's going to be there. You can talk to
Harry. Poor Harry...” Draco grunted at this suggestion.




“Oh stop pretending that you hate Harry still. You two are friends.”




“We're partners. We’re damned good ones too. That however does not make us friends," he
countered.




“You saved his life.”




“A fact that the prat still hasn't thanked me for!”




Luna shook her head. “I just don't get you two. You respect each other. You work well
together. But the two of you always act as though you're both in a pissing contest with one
another. Don't you find that odd?”













He really didn't. This was just the way he and Potter operated in each other's life.
That is once they got on the same team. It was this way in the Order. That was the reason the two
of them had been paired in the Department. Malfoy and Potter just made for one hell of a team. They
were no Golden Trio (bah, who came up with that codswallop anyway?), but the two did share some
kind of deep, mystic connection. Chemistry, perhaps. People often said that watching them together
during raids or maneuvers was like watching a well choreographed dance. They supported each other.
They anticipated each other's next move. They watched each other's backs. They just seemed
to do all of this while disliking each other.




Draco always assumed that the reason why he and Potter worked together so well was because each
was always trying to be better then the other at whatever it was they were endeavoring, be it
department paperwork or taking down a dark wizard. In the end they each made the other look good.
It was one helluva weird synergy. Draco first noticed this when Hermione asked him to sword train
with Potter.




It was January of '98. Voldemort's reign of terror was reaching its zenith. The Order
had lost several members in just the first week of the New Year. Those who witnessed the ambush in
Hogsmeade that day (and were still alive to tell the tale) said that little Flitwick fought
valiantly against the four Deatheaters it took to take him down. He, the Werewolf, the Weasel King
and the rest of their group had gone into town because the Charms teacher believed that there was a
store there that had a book that might aid Potter when it came time for the final confrontation
with the Dark Lord. The book dealt with blood magic. Potter had been doubtful that he could use
anything like that. It sounded too much like dark magic. Ninny! Hermione however got him to change
his stance on the whole thing. Her reasoning was that in the end, to battle dark magic, they might
have to use something equally as powerful themselves. Fight fire with fire. Draco silently agreed
with this assessment, but he didn't say that out loud during the meeting or anything.




Soon after the unanimous vote a battalion was put together. The Werewolf was designated leader.
The small troop went off just a few hours later to find Veneficium, the store where Flitwick
remembered seeing the book. Hermione, the resident bookworm, seemed to be affronted that there was
a book store nearby that she had no knowledge of. Flitwick explained that the shop its self was
enchanted. You didn't find it, it found you. That is if your need for the knowledge of one the
books on it's shelves was great enough.




Ages ago a teen aged Filius was standing outside of the Shrieking Shack depressed because he was
too tiny to play Quidditch. He wanted to hate the bit of goblin blood that made him so small, but
to do so he would have to hate his dear half goblin papa. This was something that Filius could not
do. So instead he wished fervently for a way to make his body larger. Before he knew it he was
standing in front of what looked like a book store. Only Filius was sure that the store hadn't
been there the last time he came to Hogsmeade in October. He felt compelled to enter Veneficium.
The shop was tiny, cramp, filled to the brim with shelves and shelves of worn looking books. Filius
didn't notice that there didn't seem to be a shopkeep. He was immediately drawn to a shelf
in the back of the store. He pulled out a book that was eye level with him. The book was tattered
but he could read the title still, Sanguen Albion. He opened the book hesitantly and the very first
charm he saw was one that would make the caster as big as he was in his dreams. Filius should have
been excited. But he immediately saw that in order for the spell to work the caster had to offer a
specific tributary. The one for this spell called for the blood of the person the caster was most
envious of. All of it. Although little Filius wished he had Sidimund Bonneville's girth and
skill on the pitch, the large fellow made for a rather formidable beater, he was not about to kill
his house mate to get these things.




Flitwick dropped the book and ran out of the store. He knew dark magic when he saw it; he was a
genius after all (future Ravenclaw prefect and Head Boy). After doing some research Filius
discovered that he had avoided a very powerful temptation. Because his need was great Veneficium
offered him a way to fulfill it. Luckily for Sidimund, Filius found the price too high.
Unfortunately for Flitwick, he would remember the shop and the book years later during an Order
brainstorming session. They were trying to come up with a way on how to make sure the Prat Who
Lived, lived.




It was a massacre. Proudfoot, Diggle, van Louhten, Jones, Givens, and Flitwick all died. At
least 10 innocent bystanders, including a student who had been meeting a date at Puddifoot's,
met their end as well. Weasley and the Werewolf were taken hostage. Potter locked himself in the
Room of Requirement for days. Hermione didn't show up for meals any longer, just combed through
ancient tome after ancient tome. The Order was in shambles.




Eventually they were contacted, by Aunt Bella no less, that the Dark Lord was willing to trade
Weasley for the last horcrux they found. Nothing was said of the Werewolf, Draco figured he was
dead. The deal was made and soon Weasley was lying in a bed in the infirmary, comatose. The Dark
Lord never said he wouldn't have any fun with the Gryffindor before he turned him over.




To Draco, everything was moving at the speed of light. On the 19th the Prophet failed to make it
to the stand for the first time in its 316 year run. Voldemort preferred that the country be left
under a shroud of uncertainty.




Having grown up at the knees of dark wizards Draco recognized the signs of what was happening
well. The Dark Lord would be striking soon. This knowledge, coupled with the fear that he might
have very well chosen the wrong side drove Draco to the potions dungeon. He wanted to be some place
that had provided him with some happiness. He wanted to relish in all of the memories of grand
times when he had humiliated either Potty or King Weasel (he was sorry, but he wasn't going to
be fussed if the wanker died) in this very classroom. Draco didn't dwell to long on why
Hermione wasn't included in the reminiscing.




Draco sat on top of Snape's desk. He had gotten so tall that even pushed back on the desk
his feet nearly reached the floor. As Draco stared dejectedly at his trainers he missed the soft
shuffle of shoes as someone entered the room. By time he drew his wand realizing that some one was
upon him the person had expertly disarmed him with a non-verbal “*expeliarmus*”.




“*You have to be quicker Malfoy. If I wanted to I could have killed you.”*




Draco scowled into the impassive face of Hermione Granger. *“And here I thought you always did
want to kill me.”*




Hermione walked over and scooted herself next to Draco on the desk. The closeness of her body
was, in a word, alarming. He turned his face down so as not to look at her and instead focused on
her scuffed brown loafers. And her nice legs, that were encased in the ugliest argyle socks,
**ever**. They were brown and beige to go with the brown woolen skirt and matching cardie set
she had on. The whole ensemble made her look like a big brown bird. A cute big brown bird, but a
bird none the less. Unfortunately her wild and bushy hair was tamed into a plait that hung down her
back.




“*I never wanted to kill you. That would be Ron. Maybe Harry. I've only wanted to hex you
a bit. Make your nose hairs reach your knees.”*




At first Draco thought she was serious, but then he saw the corner of her mouth lift. He however
was not in a joking mood. Plus his ego was bruised from how easily she spelled his wand from
him.




“*Well I didn't figure on having to protect myself inside this bloody prison. Isn't
this supposed to be safeguarded from attack or something?”* he said snottily.




“*You and I both know that Hogwarts can be breached,”* she replied pointedly.




Ah yes, that again.




“*What do you want,”* Draco asked as he wrenched his gaze away from Hermione's socks
and looked towards the nearest point of exit.




“*Why would you assume I want something,”* she coyly asked.




Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. *“Because the only time you search me out, you want
something from me.”*




His voice registered as bored, but secretly the insides of his stomach was swirling as it
usually did in the girl's presence.




Hermione looked genuinely hurt to hear Draco talk to her in such a manner.




“*That's not true,”* she said in a tight, hurt voice. *“You know that's not true.
I don't only talk to you when I want something.”*




She was right of course. Whenever he was bored and up for a game of Wizard's Chess she would
play with him (she was even worse then he was). They practiced spells and incantations together.
Back when they all returned from their big rescue mission in France, and he took that bad spell to
his arms, she spoon fed him, sat by his bedside, and told him about some bloke named Monty Python.
Draco didn't really care who the fellow was, but it was nice to have her look after him almost
as well as she would have taken care of her two boys. So yes, Draco was definitely being
unfair.




“*Merlin,”* he shouted, *“stop looking at me like I stepped on the tail of that pitiful
creature you call a cat.”*




“*You leave Crooks out of this,”* she fired back, hackles up.




“*Blast the cat!”*




“*I'll blast you first!”*




“*Fine! You don't always want something from me. Are you happy?”*




He jumped off the desk and began pacing the room.




“*But would you mind telling me why you are here? You see it's rather chilly down here and
I would like to leave before my knob gets frostbit and falls off.”*




Hermione made a disgusted noise as she folded her arms in front of her.




“*Why are you here?”* he asked, finally stopping his agitated back in forth across from
her.




Hermione started gnawing on her bottom lip. Draco turned away from her.




“*I...um...I,”* she stammered nervously. *“I sort of need to ask you a favor.”*




“*Of course you do,”* Draco said dryly.




“*Now you listen here you great honking prat,”* she retorted, *“I need you to stop
thinking of yourself for a change and do something for the benefit of the greater good.”*




“*Didn't I already do that when I saved your precious Potty's life?”*




“*Oh my yes, you saved Harry's life. How could I forget? Oh, that's right, I can't
forget since you won't shut your gob about it! Tell me Draco, would you like a cookie?”*




Her voice was acid, her eyes were fire. She launched herself from the desk and got so close to
him that she was invading his personal space.




“*Yes,”* he answered back snootily. *“Yes I would. I would like a cookie.”*




“*You're impossible!”* she shouted. Her face was a livid red. She never looked more
snoggable.




*"Just tell me what the bleeding favor is so we can be done with it Granger!”*




Hermione, still seething, fought for control of her temper. She walked back over to the desk and
leaned against it.




“*I need you to practice dueling with Harry,”* she said.




Draco stared at Hermione in disbelief for a moment before nearly collapsing upon himself in
humorless laughter. Hermione slowly became irritated as Draco laughed uncontrollably for a good 3
minutes. At one point she stood up from the desk to stamp her foot in indignation. Draco laughed
for a whole other minute over that. Then once he had gained control of his laughter and wiped a
tear away, he looked her dead in the eyes.




“*No,”* he said.




“*Malfoy,”* protested Hermione.




“*No.”*




“*Now see here...”*




“*No, you see here! One of the last times that ticking time bomb of a twat pointed a wand at
me I ended up in the infirmary cut up from head to foot. Or did you forget?”* Draco was simply
furious that she would even suggest a thing.




“*Malfoy listen....”*




“*That fucked up spell of Snape's nearly did me in!”*




“*Malfoy...”*




“*I'm not going to just roll over and let Chosen Wanker finish the job.”*




“*Malfoy, no wands,”* she yelled her whole demeanor exasperated.




“*No... what?”* a confused Draco asked.




“*No wands! I'm not talking about a wizard's duel.”*




Draco was beyond frustrated at this point. *“Then what the bollocks are you talking
about?”*




Hermione took a deep breath as though she knew that Draco was bound to be even more difficult
then he had already been once she had her say.




“*Remember when you told me about your nanny Zelda? How she used to give you fencing
lessons?”*




Draco stared at her, mouth agape. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she might
mean.




“*You're having me on!”*




“*No,”* she said despairingly. “*I'm afraid I'm not. I need you to teach Harry
how to wield a sword. I'm talking a real sword. I'm talking Godric's sword.”*




“*Why?”* Draco asked aghast.




Hermione let out a long sigh as she ran her hands through her bushy mop. *“I need you to teach
Harry how to fight with Gryffindor's sword so he can use it to kill Riddle. There, you're
happy?”*




Draco blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he started a renewed round of frantic pacing.




“*Have you people lost the bloody plot?!”* Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco
cut her off. *“No seriously, have you? Your telling me that you want to try and destroy
Voldemort... greatest dark wizard of all time...the psychopath that makes Grindelwald look like a
Sunday school teacher...with an over large table knife?”*




“*I'll have you know that Harry used that overly large table knife to kill Slytherin's
pet basilisk,”* she said tartly.




“*He did what?”*




“*He did. Back when he was in second year.”*




“*Well there you go then, he already knows what he's doing,”* Draco said.




“*But he doesn't,”* she countered. *“That was blind, dumb luck that saved the day
back then. Eventually that kind of luck runs out. If he is going to take on Riddle with the sword
he is going to have to learn how to handle it like a pro.”*




She shuffled over to the desk again and hopped on. She patted the spot next to her. Draco got
the clear invitation, yet hesitated.




“*Well I won't bite.”* He still was unsure.




“*Hard.”*




She said it with such a stoically straight face that, against his wishes, Draco felt the left
corner of his mouth tug up. He walked over to her and leaned against the desk near her side.




“*What I'm about to tell you very few people know, but I have to make you understand how
dire this all is,”* said Hermione.




“*Harry and Tom Riddle's wands share a common core,”* she lectured as if discussing the
differences between house-elves and indentured servants. “*They both were made with a feather
from the same phoenix.”*




“*They’re both phoenix feather? That's supposed to make for a very powerful wand.”*




“*Yes it does. But they don’t work when two brothers are pitted against each other.”*




Draco looked at her, shock covering his face. *“You mean that Quibbler article...was real?
This has happened?”*




“*This has happened,”* she answered. *“Harry was lucky to escape with his life.”*




“*Malfoy the two wands are brothers. They cancel each other out. Harry is as good as a sitting
duck if he uses his.”*




“*Well let him get another. Let him use yours.”*




“*Did you learn nothing when you got your wand first year? Wands are very specific items. They
choose their owner. Sure he would be able to use my wand, but not that well. And that's the
last thing we need.”*




“*Can't he buy a new one?”*




“*Where would we find one Malfoy?”* Hermione queried. *“Mr. Olivander is probably dead
somewhere in a ditch. And we can't take the chance to pop off to Bulgaria or somewhere and hope
that Harry is able to find another wand that is to his liking. No. The sword might be our only
chance we have.”*




Draco dropped his head to his palms. He felt weak and rung out. *“That's a pretty big
chance,”* he said as he lifted his eyes back to hers.




“*What else do we have?”* she asked. He couldn't give an answer.




“*The way I figure it, Harry and Dumbledore already destroyed two horcruxes. I took care of
one and...”* she paused, biting down on her lip at the painful memory of just how the next
horcrux got destroyed*. “That leaves two more,”* she finally continued when she could go on,
*“the locket and the G-Gryffindor horcrux.”*







She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. For weeks Draco had come to a dawning suspicion that
Potter and Hermione knew exactly what and where the Gryffindor relic was. They always seemed to
stop talking when he walked into the room. They would also steal glances at each other when he was
in their company. Yet they hadn't made a single move to claim it and get rid of it. This
hesitancy greatly disturbed him. However every time he asked her about it, Hermione would tearfully
avoid Draco's question. Draco hated being out of the loop! But he would rather eat dung then
question Potter about it.







“*Then all that's left is the last bit that's still stuck in Riddle himself. Right now
he should be pretty vulnerable. Harry might be able to take him on. But in order to do so you need
to teach him how to use that thing the right way!”*




“*And you trust me to go at your precious Potty with a sharp instrument?”* Draco asked half
jokingly.




Hermione obviously didn't get the joke because she looked at him as if he were babbling.




“*Of course I trust you. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust you.”*




Draco, unwillingly, was touched by the declaration. He tried to brush the emotion off by making
a joke.




“*I'm probably the only idiot you're sure you can get to do the job.”*




“*Well, there is that too.”* She winked at him for good measure.




Draco let out a hearty laugh at that. It felt good to laugh. He had done so little of it these
last few months.




“*So what does precious Potty say about this plan?”* he asked.




“*I haven't told him yet. I wanted to wait to see what you said first. Are you
in?”*




He curtly nodded and she delightedly clapped her hand.




“*Good!”*




“*Yeah, but Potty is going to be none too pleased.”*




“*Don't worry about Harry. I'll handle Harry.”*




“*Kinky.”*




“*Perv. Listen, there are times that I leave Harry to do what he thinks is best. And then
there are times where I get him to do what’s best. This, Malfoy, is one of those times.”*




She hopped off the desk and made for the door.




“*I better go see about Ron.”*




Draco felt a scowl fast approaching. *“Yes, I wondered why you weren't continuing your
vigil at his bedside,”* he said snarkily.




She turned back round to face him. *“I left Harry with him. I told him I would only be gone
for a moment. I'm sure he would have come looking for me any minute. I need to let him know
about this new development.”*




She was at the door frame when Draco called for her to stop.




“*What is it Malfoy?”* she asked, a trace of irritation in her voice.




“*Well Granger if your going to ask me to risk getting my bits and pieces cut off so that near
sighted bastard you call your best friend can get in target practice, you could at least call me
Draco.”*




Hermione looked at him searchingly for a moment before she nodded.




“*Duly noted,”* she said before shooting him a toothy grin. *“Draco.”*




And like that she was out the door.




Of course Potter wasn't as easily convinced as Hermione thought he would be. The two of them
had a simply fabulous row right inside the infirmary. Right next to Weasel's bed! Draco could
hear clear across the castle shouts of “*blond git*” this and “*ferret faced bastard*”
that. Pomfrey had to throw them out, they were so loud.




Hermione ended up dragging Potter up to the Room of Requirement to finish their
'discussion'. Draco never found out was said, but whatever it was twenty minutes later
Hermione was collecting him from the dungeons and was escorting him up to the seventh floor room.
When Draco walked through the door he did a double take at what the room looked like. The floors
were cushioned with a blue mat while on the far back wall was a rack that displayed at least a half
a dozen different swords. Along the right wall was a small brown bench, he assumed for Hermione to
sit on. Draco took all this in and then he turned his view towards Potter. The Gryffindor teen was
not happy. At all. Draco could see the lightning bolt scar, the scar that started this whole mess,
on his head through his fringe and it seemed to be pulsing. In fact Scarhead seemed to be just this
side of towering rage as he came in. Draco swallowed. The fact that the git was also carrying in
his right hand a very large sword, Gryffindor's he wagered, did not help ease Draco's
apprehension. But Draco was bound and determined not let Potter know that.




“*Potter,”* Draco sneered as he gave a mocking little bow to him.




Potter threw a furious glance at Hermione who ignored the look and instead walked to the wall
and chose a sword for Draco. She handed the silver hilted blade to him. With that done she walked
over to the bench and plopped down, looking at both boys expectantly.




“*Well,”* she said motioning her hand at them, “*have off.”*




He and Potter turned to face the girl, both bearing perplexed frowns.




“*No need to worry about slicing each other up. I put a dulling charm on all the swords in the
room. Harry's too.”*




Potter stifled a startled cry. She must have not told him that last bit.




“*And here I thought you trusted me,”* said Draco arrogantly.




Hermione rolled her eyes. *“I do trust you.”* She then turned her head and stared at Potter
directly. *“I'm just not too keen on him presently,”* she said reproachfully. Potter
scoffed at the remark




“*Listen ferret, I'm not pleased about this little idea of Hermione's here,”*
Potter said focusing his gaze on Draco.*“But since she is pretty brilliant and I trust her with
my life I'm going to go along with it for now. I'm only doing this for her.”*




“*My, my someone should alert* Witch Weekly*. The great and powerful Potter is being told
what to do by a girl,”* said Draco acidly. “*And here I though it was only the little She
Weasel who could lead you around by your willy.”*




Like a shot Hermione was out of her seat and placing herself between the two young men. Potter
had already raised his sword and was advancing on Draco, eyes snapping dangerously. Hermione's
body was facing Potter as she tried to push him away from the other boy, but she had her head
turned towards the Slytherin. Judging by the look on her face she was not amused by his little
joke.




“*Draco!”*




He could hear the rebuke and the embarrassment in the shout. But he hardly was paying attention
to that. Instead he was enjoying the reaction that Potter was having to Hermione calling him by his
first name. Interesting, Draco thought to himself. I'll file that away for further study and
analysis. Hermione was so engrossed in trying to push Potter back and conveying to Draco just by a
look how displeased she was at him at the moment that she missed the whole thing.




“*If you two don't stop ripping into each other I'm going to hex you both into pygmy
puffs!”*




“*You wouldn't dare,”* Potter hissed.




“*I don't know, try me”* she challenged back.




The two of them were staring at each other heatedly. The atmosphere in the room was charged.
Draco felt himself even more of the outsider then usual. There was something between these two,
Draco thought. Some type of inexplicable force of nature flowed from one to the other. It was
almost as if...Draco shook his head. He didn't have all day for this.




“*See here Potter, I'm not going to sit here all day while you have some stupid
tantrum.”*




This only succeeded in making Potter's green eyes blaze brighter as he gripped tightly to
his weapon, but Draco ignored that as he continued.




“*We need to get this over with. You say your only willing to do this for her,”* Draco said
as he looked pointedly at Hermione, oddly enough making her blush. “*Well I'm doing this for
me. Some sick twist of fate made you the person responsible for saving our world, our lives. Well I
rather like my life, thank you very much. So if making sure my arse stays out of the bloody fire
means that I have to let you swing that thing,”* he pointed at the ruby encrusted sword in
Potter's hand, *“at my head till you get it right, so be it! When I'm done with you, even
that muggle who took the sword out of that stone will have nothing on you.”*




Draco had gone almost rigid due to his impassioned speech. He didn't know what came over him
to say such things, but the way that Hermione was looking at him in unabashed regard made him not
regret a word of it.




“*So are we agreed?”* he asked, offering his hand, not for the first time, to the his black
haired foil. For a moment Potter stared disdainfully at the hand as though it were covered in
bobutuber puss. Draco briefly wondered if he had gone mad to make the offer, but at the time it
just seemed right.




“*Agreed”* Potter took his hand in his own and gave a short, yet firm shake to it.




“*Good,”* said Hermione, eyes filled with relief, looking at both of them with a very
satisfied and almost smug smile on her face. *“Let's get to work then.”*




Draco and Potter trained for nearly three months. Usually they would meet up in the Room of
Requirement, but sometimes they would go to the Astronomy Tower or outside near Hagrid's hut
for a change of pace. Hermione always accompanied them. At first Draco thought it was to ensure
that neither killed the other. The blades on the swords might have been blunt, but they were still
heavy enough to cause a nice bonk to the head.




Draco soon realized that like most things in life Hermione saw this as a challenge to learn
something new. Her eyes would follow every move of his and Potter's actions. She even took
notes a few times. He asked her one day after Potter went off to check on the Weasel if she wanted
him to teach her too. She just smiled at him shyly, yet appreciatively.




“*Harry is what's important. I want you to concentrate all your time and energy on
him.”*




This earned her an eye roll and he got his very first swat to the head.




She needn't have worried. Potter turned out to be a natural when it came to sword play.
Draco found himself both admiring and being highly annoyed at his burgeoning skill. Ruddy prat
turns everything to galleons, he muttered. In fact by March Potter was taking down Draco far more
times then he would have liked. This forced Draco to up his game. The two of them wound up going at
it for hours, wet with sweat, dressed in little more then their skivvies. Their work outs were
monstrous. Hermione had to call a draw most times just to get them to stop. And even then they
would beg for 10 more minutes.




Each boy drove the competitive nature in the other and as a result two highly skilled fighters
emerged. Which was a good thing since Potter lost his marbles soon after and practically delivered
himself to the Dark Lord's door. Draco wouldn't have been so bothered if Hermione
hadn't gone chasing after. Luckily everything worked it's self out in the end.













“Where'd you go?”




Draco felt shaken out of his reverie by the calm cool hand that Luna laid on his neck.




“No where Loony Love, just thinking stuff through in my head.” He smiled reassuringly at
her.




“Well as long as you don't hurt yourself,” she said sweetly as she patted his cheek and
removed herself from the settee. She walked back over to her desk, sat behind it, and took up the
parchment she had been dictating to when he walked in.




“So did you and Linus come to an agreement?”




“Yes fortunately. I explained to him how ridiculous we would look if we ran with that Stimpson
nonsense. We'd be no better then the Prophet.”




Draco tittered. “There are some who think that the Prophet is serious journalism.”




“Maybe once upon a time, but now it's no more then a tabloid paper now."




"Still sore about that Malfoy/Lovegood ticker back in '02 eh?” he asked teasingly as he
got up from where he was sitting and sat on her desk sideways.




When the two first got together the Prophet ran daily stories on just how long their union would
last. There was actually a counter that ticked off the days as they went. Luna, who was usually
quiet and laid back, would get steely at the mere mention of the thing. Now was not one of those
exceptions.




“I'm not sore.”




“Of course you're not,” he said dully. “But look at the bigger picture. They stopped that
nonsense after our second anniversary.”




She smirked at that. “They stopped after we got caught celebrating our second anniversary in the
cloak room of Presto's.”




“Ah yes. Now I remember. If I didn't know any better I would think that you meant for Daph
Greengrass to walk in on us,” he said smiling indulgently at her.




“I don't know what you mean,” said Luna innocently. Draco knew other wise. “But I tell you
what if I didn't know better I would think Greengrass was obsessed with you.”




Before Draco could ponder the oddness of the statement and ask her what she meant he glanced
down and saw that all this time she had been diligently writing.




“I thought you finished your article?”




“I did,” she said. “This is just a fluff piece I'm doing for Ginny. She asked me to sneak in
a little mention of the party if I could. She said that Lavender would be in a strop if her
engagement isn't the talk of the town tomorrow. Daddy won't mind.”




“What?”




Luna was so engrossed in what she was doing that she mistakenly thought Draco was curious about
what she was doing.




“I know it seems a bit dishonest to write about how utterly wonderful a party is sure to be
before you even go, but really once you've been to one commencement you've been to them
all. All you have to mention is how the future bride glowed, the mother of the groom cried, and
then they all ate treacle tart afterward. See, if I write it now, I won't have to rush back
here to file the story. Aren't I clever?”




As Luna finished up her article she looked up at Draco, but her smile wavered as she noticed the
outrage that sat so clearly on him.




“The nerve,” he shouted jumping up from the desk. “How dare the She Weasel ask that of you?”




Luna was clearly confused to as to what had Draco in such a state. She knew that Ginny was not
one of his favorite people in the world. She always figured that her boyfriend had come on to the
petite redhead once in their younger days and got shot down for his troubles, but she never asked
either of them for confirmation. She just took it as a matter of course that two people that she
dearly loved could not stand each other.




“I'm starting to think that you don't like any of my friends,” she said glumly, sitting
back in her chair as she crossed her arm before her.




“That's because all of your friends are enormous prats!”




“Draco, it's really not that big a deal. I'm a journalist. This is what I do.”




“Listen Loony Love, Ginny Weasley...”




“Potter”




“Whatever! She's uppity...”




“She's nice.”




“She has a right nice nasty sense of humor, always putting others down.”




“Hullo Mr. Pot!”




“And she treats you like rubbish. This is just another example.”




“Ginny is my best friend.”




“That’s Bullocks! That bird goes through best friends faster then most women change their
knickers.”




“That's not very nice.”




“No, but it's true. She's probably priming that Brown-Pye hag right now to take your
spot.”




Draco and Luna often argued over Ginny Potter's influence in their lives. Draco couldn't
stand her! Sure she was drop dead gorgeous with a nice little fit body, but in his opinion all of
that didn't matter. She had all the subtle charm of a lethifold. Harmless looking, but would
swallow you whole and leave no remains if given the chance.




Draco knew her type well; raised with very little, feeling they have to over-compensate to prove
something, never above putting down others if it puffs up their own over inflated sense of self
worth. Draco thought that Ginny was a real piece of work. Especially after she became Mrs. Potter.
She was all fur coat and no knickers. The word superficial didn't even begin to cover it. She
was smart lipped too. Draco couldn't count the number of times he'd drawn his wand on her
after she had come over and criticized Luna for only living with him, as though Luna was some lower
form in comparison to her happily perfect, married self.







Draco also didn't like the woman because of some unknown crime she had committed against
Hermione some years ago. As far as he knew the two girls were the best of friends until after the
war. But after the defeat the two began to drift slowly apart. Not so much to cause fanfare, but
just enough for Draco to notice.




He suspected it was because the two of them no longer had much in common. Hermione was just one
of those girls who didn't seem to take to other women that well. If anything else supported
this theory it was the fact that her too best mates were men. She also had a very strong
relationship with Draco, himself.




It wasn’t that she didn't have any female friends. She seemed to enjoy spending a lot of
time with that last flatmate of hers, the Indian bird that wound up married to one of the Weasley
twins. She told Draco that sometimes it was such a nice change of pace to get to just be a
'muggle' sometimes with someone who didn't know what the flying fuck a Voldemort was.
Hermione and Luna also became close after the younger girl graduated from Hogwarts and took her
first real job as Hermione's assistant in the MMBA office. In fact, according to Luna, Hermione
encouraged her to go after Ron numerous times.




But her relationship with Ginny Weasley just never seemed that cozy to Draco, not like in their
younger days. That's why he was shocked when he found out that Hermione was going to be
Ginny's Maid of Honour. Draco knew that in some wizarding traditions a Maid of Honour had more
importance then its muggle counterpart. The Maid of Honour actually planned the wedding for the
bride. Of course it could stand to reason that Hermione was an obvious choice, Ginny's
brother's longtime and (at the time) current girlfriend as well as her fiancé's best
friend. Then there were the organizational skills you had to take in account. You could not ignore
the organizational skills.




But Draco still didn't think it a good fit. If judging by her woebegone expression when she
told him the news, Hermione didn't either. But like any task set before her the woman tackled
it diligently and with relish. By all accounts Ginny couldn't have made a better choice of a
Maid of Honour.




Then one night Hermione showed up at the door of his Highgate flat a teary mess. It was around 7
on a Saturday evening in March. Draco had made plans to meet Pristy at his mother's for a late
supper. When he opened the door to see who was ringing the bell relentlessly he was astounded to
find Hermione standing before him. Her massive head of hair had been coaxed in to an Oriental hair
style that gave her an exotic flair. She was wearing a blush hued ballerina styled cocktail dress
that came mid calf. It was a fairy tale dream of a dress and seemed to flair out as if supported by
yards and yards of crinoline. The delicate little sleeves of the gown were merely there for show as
they hung low on her shoulders exposing all of Hermione's lovely skin from her neck down to her
cleavage. She was a vision.




Only Draco didn't feel any of his usual lustful feeling arise because the vision before him
was weeping as though she'd sprung a leak. Oddly enough her make-up was immaculate her face
looked like a perfect painted doll. Must be a charm she used, Draco figured. How else to explain
that despite the well of tears running down her face there wasn't even a smudge? Draco
didn't like it. The Hermione he knew wore make-up very sparingly. This Hermione looked somehow
fake, unreal, a carbon copy. He chewed on all these thoughts as he ushered her into the flat.
Ironically enough the flat she helped find for him. She was the one who convinced him it was time
to move out of the Manor. Now she was curled up in his arms, bawling like a baby, as they sat on
the very expensive toffee colored couch (she picked it out, though he bought it) in the similarly
colored lounge she decorated.




He knew that the Ending Party should still be going on, that's why she was all dolled up.
But for some reason the Maid of Honour had skived off the party that she had planned herself. Draco
tried to ask her gently what the matter was, but all he got from her were jumbled mummers of
"*Ginny*" and "*fight*" and "*can't stop*". Draco
didn't have a clue what was going on, but he deduced that somehow Ginny Weasley, the future
Mrs. Harry Potter, had caused Hermione to be in the state she was in. Draco wondered what the two
women could have fought over. Did Hermione order pink carnations for the hall instead of white? He
wondered all this as he felt Hermione's body slacken in his arms and her head nod on to his
shoulder.




After he judged that she was fully asleep he gently lifted her up in his arms and carried her
groom like into his bedroom. He walked over to his black satin covered bed and placed her down on
it as though she were made of fine china. He then removed a thin stiletto from each foot. They
looked very scuffed and worn. She had walked a good little distance if her heels were to be judged.
He briefly wondered why she didn't just apparate in, she was his fail safe, but brushed the
thought aside as he attended to her needs.




Once she looked comfortable he crawled on to the floor by her side and laid his chin on the bed.
She looked so tiny just lying there. His bed was a large ornate thing that he bought from an
antique shop. The owner of the shop bragged that he found the brass monstrosity in a whore house in
Dublin that was used only for visits from members of the peerage. Draco thought it was perfect for
him! Hermione called it tacky and claimed it was fit for a giant. Draco suspected that she
didn't like it because it was the only piece of furniture she had no say in.




As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest Draco wondered if she would be disgusted to
wake up and find she actually slept in it. If he had been in a more jovial mood he probably would
have joked that this would be the one and only chance he got Hermione Granger in his bed. But he
wasn't in that kind of mood. He was worried about his friend. Ever since the horrors of the war
Hermione wasn't the kind of girl who gave into tears easily. When she was around him, she
didn't cry when her precious ginger cat went missing. She didn't cry over the end of any of
her relationships. He didn't even recall her shedding a single tear at her parents'
funeral. But whatever worked her up this time even had her crying in her sleep. As he watched a
lethargic tear roll down her cheek an overwhelming, all consuming sense of hatred towards the She
Weasel developed within him.




“*What did she do pet?”* he asked as his thumb lightly dabbed the tear away. *“What did
she say?”*




Getting no answers from the sleeping woman he moved himself to the lounge and quickly
floo'ed the Manor to tell his mum he wouldn't be able to make it for supper. He did promise
to come later for cocktails. He quickly cut off the floo connection before his mum could lecture
him or Pristy could chew him out. He then went to his comfy couch and laid himself out on it.




As he folded his arms behind his head his mind began to race as he pondered the night's
happenings. Hermione was hurt and upset over something...and she came to me, he gleefully thought
to himself. Not Potter. Not the Weasel. But me! He almost clicked his heels at the thought of it.
That only had to mean one thing right? That she finally was falling for him. That subconsciously
she knew that he was the only person she could turn to. There could be no other explanation, he
told himself. She wants me!




Like I've wanted her all of this time.




He knew it had to be true. One day while he wasn't looking he had fallen hard for this girl,
this woman asleep in the next room. Feelings he'd written off as only lust and desire, even
though he knew they were too strong to be that simple, were suddenly made understandable. He was
jealous of the few men who had been in her bed not because he wanted to be there in their stead,
though he really wasn't knocking it, but because he wanted to be the only man in her life. He
had retained the hope that one day she would look at him the way he had been looking at her these
last few years. Now it looked like he would finally get his wish. He could barely contain his
smirk. A Malfoy **does** always get what a Malfoy wants!




For the first time in Draco's life he loved someone who was completely autonomous of
himself. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He almost wanted to shout at
the top of his lungs, “I think I'm in love with a bloody Gryffindor," but restrained
himself. Hermione was still sleeping and he didn't want to disturb her.




“*We'll talk in the morning,”* he sleepily murmured to himself as he drifted off to
sleep. *“I'll tell her in the morning.”*




But Draco never got his chance. She was gone by time he woke up. If it wasn't for the
jasmine scent that still lingered in the air, Draco would have thought the whole thing had been a
dream.




At first Draco was worried over the fact that Hermione had gone off without so much as a by your
leave. But then he looked at the calender on the nightstand by his bed and remembered what the day
was. Potter's wedding day. “Of course” he chided himself she had to go be in the wedding. She
was the Maid of Honour after all. Even if Hermione and Ginny had a falling out, Hermione would
never shirk her duties.




As Draco slinked his way into the shower he wondered how long the wedding would be and if
Hermione would come to him afterwards.




Draco spent the day at his mum's soothing her hurt feelings over his no show from the night
before. He told her that he'd decided to stay in because he was still suffering slightly from a
stinging hex he had gotten earlier in the day. She immediately began to coddle and baby him and
pleaded with him to leave the Department so he could come home and manage the Malfoy estate. Not
bloody likely, he thought to himself. Narcissa mentioned that Pristine was also disappointed that
he couldn't come, the poor girl waited for him for hours. I bet she did, a little voice said in
his head. His mother couldn't understand why he didn't have the common courtesy to floo
again and tell them that he wasn't going to be able to make it at all? He didn't dare tell
her it was because he had been too busy taking care of Hermione (The Mudblood, as his mother called
her haughtily).




After he had done his familial duty, he apparated back over to his place to wait for Hermione to
floo or drop in. By a quarter to eleven he hadn't heard from her. Draco began to worry. He was
about to floo her flat when he realized that she was probably still tied up with wedding business.
Of course, that was it. Even though the happy newlyweds were probably already off on their way,
there would still be tons of loose ends for the Maid of Honour to tie up. She'll probably come
by tomorrow, he assured himself.




But she didn't. By seven o'clock that next evening Draco was starting to get really
worried. He had even had a repairman come over to make sure his fireplace was still connected to
the floo network properly. After he was told that it was working well he apparated over to the
Brixton neighborhood she lived in. After buying some wild flowers from a vendor he was at her door
in a matter of minutes. As he prepared to knock the door swung open and out came a gorgeous, very
tall, dark skinned woman. Her silky ink black hair sat on her head in a bun. She would have been
very svelte if not for the large quaffle she seemed to be smuggling under her dress. Those damned
Weasleys breed like bunnies, he thought snidely to himself.




“*My, you're blond,”* she said as she nearly ran into him.




Draco tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum. He tended to get that comment a lot.




“*I'm sorry...Glynnis is it?”* Draco asked as he tried to get a peek around her
shoulder.




“It’s *Glinda, actually. Glinda Weasley. You're Drake aren't you?”* She stuck her
hand out to be shaken and he politely returned the favor.




“*It’s Draco actually.”*




“*Oh sorry,”* she mused. *“It's just that you hardly ever came by when I lived
here.”*




“*That's quite alright. Listen, I was hoping to speak with Hermione...”*




“*Oh good, I was hoping to do the same thing,”* she said pertly.




Draco wasn't sure he liked this bird's cheek. *“Excuse me?”*




“*Hermione's cleared off. We realized so this morning when we took a look at mum's
clock. With Harry gone I was the only person who could get in.”* She held up a set of keys and
jangled them in front of him. *“She had the place warded so tightly you know.”*




For all Draco understood the woman could have been speaking in Gobbledegook.




“*You mean she stepped out for a moment?”*




“*No I mean she stepped out for good. At least that's the thinking. All her clothes are
gone as well as her trunk. She even took her computer.”*




“*Maybe she just went on holiday,”* Draco said, willing the cold wave of fear that was
sweeping through him to cease.




Glinda took a moment as if to ponder this theory before she shot it down.




“*That could be true. But why would she take all the photographs off the wall, and her books
if she were going away for a spell?”*




“*She took all the books?”* he asked in disbelief.




Glinda looked just as heartbroken as he was feeling.




“*She took every single last one, even the Quidditch books. Ron, Arthur, mum, everyone at the
Burrow is in a state over this. The last time anyone saw her was right after the wedding. That was
yesterday morning.”*




She glanced down at the flowers in his hands as if noticing them for the first time.




“W*ild flowers. Hermione's favorite,”* she said thoughtfully. She was still looking at
the bouquet. *“When was the last time you saw Hermione?”* she queried in a slightly suspicious
voice.




“*Ages ago,”* said Draco and then he apparated right before the woman's eyes.













“I just wish that my boyfriend and my best friend could be in the same room with each other long
enough to not hex each other's existences away,” Luna said despairingly as she pulled her chair
closer to the desk and dropped the parchment about the party in her print basket. Instantly the
parchment was gone.




“Fat chance of that," Draco said meanly. “Ginny Weasley...”




“Potter, Draco. It's Ginny Potter. The two of them have been married for a while now.”




“Oh trust me I know. The woman walks around with a little self-satisfied smirk on her face all
the live long day. I'm Ginerva Potter,” he said in a mocking tone.




“Bah! I tell you what; I don't envy Potter that harpy. Not one bit. She would dress him up
in a little jacket and trot him around on a chain if she could.”




“Why don't you like Ginny?” Luna asked uneasily.




“She annoys me,” he snotted.




She tried again. “Why don't you like Ginny?”




“Cause I think she's a right slag!”




“Why don't you like Ginny?” she asked again, folding her arms about her, staring him
down.




*She made Hermione go away.*




Draco spun his back to her. He didn't want her to see the hurt and anguish and most
importantly the anger that still engulfed him whenever he thought of the subject. Ginny did
something or said something to Hermione that sent the normally stable young woman running over five
years ago. At least that was Draco's thinking. Whatever happened, it was so traumatic that
Hermione had to leave the only home she had ever known and the only family she still had left.




Sometimes Draco wished that he could take back that night and force Hermione to tell him what
had made her so upset. Whatever it was, he would have made Ginny **Potter** pay! Then Hermione
would still be here. He laid all the blame at Ginny's door taking none of it for himself. He
couldn't. The thought that Hermione did not return his feelings for her and left to get away
from him was an idea, however extreme, he would rather not think about.




“I just don't like her Luna. Can that be enough please?” he begged in anguish.




Luna didn't move her eyes from her boyfriend's back. She could tell that he was upset,
even though he liked to pretend that he was tough and uneasily affected. Luna didn't get
Draco's dislike of Ginny. She couldn't quite comprehend his wishy-washy feelings towards
Harry. Although she perfectly understood his hatred of all things Ronald she usually brushed it
aside. Like in instances when she asked him to accompany her to gatherings where he disliked more
then half the room. Like she was asking him to do now. And although Draco would complain, and carry
on, and kick up a fuss, he always went with her because it made her happy. He was a good boyfriend.
Luna felt like this was one of those times when she should be a good girlfriend.




She climbed up on the desk and got on her hands and knees. She then crawled close enough to the
edge that she could throw her arms around Draco from behind. He was startled for a second, before
he sank back in to the hug appreciatively. As she trailed kisses down the back of his neck he
laughed huskily in the back of his throat.




“Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party,” he mockingly chided in a dreamy tone.




“Sod the party,” Luna said in her best impression of upper class spoiled prat. This only caused
Draco to laugh more. He turned to face her and pulled her body flush against his own.




“You're my favorite girl, you know. I love you.”




She gave him a tender, dreamy smile. “I know.”




He kissed her forehead. “Good. Now about this desk, how long have you had it?”




“Daddy bought it for me when I won that award. Said it's the best that galleons can buy.
It's supposed to be indestructible.”




Draco gave her a cocky grin. “I don't know about you, but that sounds like a challenge.”




“Ok but we have to be quick - oh sweet Circe,” Draco began to nibble on her ear, “about it.”




“Quick but brilliant,” he asked as he began to kick off his shoes.




“Is there any other way,” she answered as she tried to get his robe off. “But we have to be
quick so we can go back to the house and get the present.”




By the devilish look in Luna's eyes he figured that she wasn't talking about the
statue.




“Now you're reading my mind.”




Her gray eyes melted in to his. “I know.”













**A/N:** *Albion(a word I've used before in this fic) is an archaic term for Great
Britain, but usually refers to England. It's often used poetically. Sanguen is a rough
translation of blood relationship in Latin. I think that's about all. If you have any other
questions hit me with 'em.*




*The next chapter will be from Harry's point of view at the Engagement party. It's
going to be a looooong one. If some of you have been following along with my “subtle” hints then
you can relax. If some of you don't get my “subtle” hints then I guess you are still going to
be annoyed with me. I'll just say that I have never met a foreshadow that I didn't like. I
like to think that I have been doing this biggest, longest foreshadow EVAH! If you are still
unhappy with me after the next chapter...then my friend, I can do nothing for ya. Cheers!
:^D*




*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*








12. Chapter 11
--------------


**Title**: *All Roads Lead Back*


**Keywords**: *Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**,
but a whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP*


**Summary**: *Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*


**Spoilers**: *All six books.*

**A/N**: *I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*

*Look out for the Golden Girl shout-out. I didn't even realize I did it till about the
5th read thru.*

*The line of poetry that is quoted is from Khalil Gibran's The Prophet.*

*I've been criticized that my Harry was too dumb. But I've always maintained that
maybe Harry wasn't really as stupid as he seemed. That there was a reason for his dimness. At
least where it came to matters of his heart. Here ya go!*

*This update has a special little something for* **mischiefmanaged** *and*
**Crimson Templar***, I tried my best y'all to make it go with what was already written.
Some time ago* **Eclectic** *also asked for something, Harry's “light bulb” moment. I
hope I managed to accomplish it well and made it believable enough for you guys. In fact you all
get something you've been asking for. But it's a long one. What's longer then a
marathon? This chapter is. Forgive me and **Enjoy!***

**Everybody wave at** **Padfoot****. He’s good people and a cutie! For those of you who
hate the length of this chap, he tried to knock some sense into me. LOL! But it didn’t quite work.
LOL!**

**Also thanks to** **murph’smine****.**

**Warning:** *Ship-wise there are none. However I do discuss religion a bit. I hope I
don't offend. Cheers!*

**Disclaimer:** *If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*

**5/29/05**

As he pushed open the sliding glass doors of the patio his eyes fell upon the brown, bushy head
of the person whom he had been longing to see all this time.

“Am I dreaming?” asked Harry hesitantly as he stepped out into the warm night air. He turned
slightly to close the door back behind him and walked over to the left of the patio where the woman
who could control him with just a simple look sat rocking back and forth. She was dressed in a
periwinkle blue cotton voile dress. Running along the front panel of the summery dress were
embroidered cabbage roses surrounded by a field of daisies. The dress stopped just below her knees
revealing a pair of nicely shaped, well formed legs that ran down to the cutest pair of bare feet
Harry was sure he had ever seen.

His gaze was brought back up to her lovely face as she answered cheekily, “Does this look like a
dream?”

No, thought Harry with just a touch of bemusement, because otherwise we'd both be naked
right now.

Although Harry was certain he didn't say the words aloud he still couldn't fight the
feeling of pixies having kneazles that erupted in his stomach at the sight of the saucy smile she
was currently sending his way.

“Come Harry,” she said, patting the spot next to her on the porch glider. “Sit by me.”

For a moment Harry felt stapled to the spot. This wasn't a dream? That was the question that
seemed to reverberate over and over in his mind. This isn't a dream! She's real? She's
come home?

“Y-you're...” he stammered, “you're really here?” he asked, almost scared to hear the
answer.

Once again she have him a smile that nearly took his breath away. She said sweetly, “You and I
have to talk.”

“What?!”

For a moment Harry was so caught up in his jubilant elation that he swore he must have misheard
her. Talk? After all these years of being separated from her, all these past few days spent longing
to see her face...she wanted to talk? He almost gave into mad, hysterical laughter at the prospect.
How like her to talk at a time like this. It was almost darling. Almost. But if he was going to
have his way there would be no talking done now. At least not till afterwards.

He slowly advanced towards the glider, looking to see if she would make any sudden movements,
but all she did was continuously rock the glider back and forth as she watched him steadily. Almost
tauntingly. That grin will be the death of me, he mused to himself as he finally came to a stop in
front of her. It was this thought that spurred Harry to haul her up by her shoulders from the iron
bench, pull her towards his chest forcefully, and crash his lips down upon her own. Lips he had
dreamed about for a number of countless nights. Lips he had tasted in many a fantasy.

Harry was almost sure he had died, died and gone to heaven as he deepened the already powerful
kiss and moaned into her mouth. As his tongue licked at her bottom lip, begging entrance, he had to
fight off the woozy headed feeling that seemed to explode in his head. If Harry’s mouth wasn't
already so busy he would have laughed over the fact that he felt near swoon. But as her mouth
yielded to his desire and opened ever so slightly all other thought, other then the need to make
her his, left him.

Harry’s arms circled around her back to pull her even closer, trapping her arms between them. If
he could have melded their two bodies together Harry would have done so willingly. As his tongue
became entangled with hers he couldn't help the small tear that silently made its way down his
cheek. I would gladly die right now, was all he could think as her tongue madly brushed against his
own, her teeth daringly scraped against his lips. It was this sensation alone that made his cock
tent in his pants.

He couldn't bother with feeling embarrassed at the action. Harry was certain she felt his
arousal pushing at her stomach, but to his mind that was all trivial now. He was standing outside
his parents old home, drinking in the floral smell of the night air that clung to her, and kissing
a woman who was not his wife but whom he loved passionately. That was all that mattered to Harry
right now. Being here, in the Hollow with Hermione. He would have gladly sacrificed anything to
make time stand still for this moment. His Gringotts vault, his expensive mansion, all of his
worldly possessions; none of these things mattered to him. Not like she mattered to him.

When he could finally bear to draw his mouth away from hers Harry began peppering her face with
feverish kisses. Her forehead, her eyelids, the tiny indention just above her upper lip; not one
area of her face went un-worshiped. Even if it took all night he would have kissed every freckle
that stood on her nose. But after a while his lips sought the top of her head where they rested a
bit and sighed at the feel of her wiry curls against them. Her hair smelled of the imported shampoo
she always wore, a jasmine scented concoction that she had discovered years ago on holiday in
Bangkok with her parents. Harry had stumbled on to her love of the stuff back when she lived with
him and Ron. He had gone into her bathroom looking for shampoo and had been astounded by the price
on one of the bottles. Hermione would actually order it from the luxury hotel that made it and have
it shipped to her every month, one of her few vanities. Although the scent was too girlie for his
tastes he always subconsciously loved the smell on her. Her name seemed to be only a hair's
breath away from his lips whenever he smelled the scent of jasmine.

He was almost lost to his reverie until he heard her softly call his name against his neck.
Every pore on his body seemed to erupt at the simple innocuous move. Harry knew right then and
there that he had to have her. Right then, right there. He had to make her his forever. He would
make love to her right on the carpet of green grass that blanketed his backyard if he had to. He
would explore every inch of her body with only the shade of the behemoth tree to give them cover.
He had to let her know what she did to him, how she made him feel. No other thoughts were allowed
to interfere with what he wanted. Harry knew in his heart that it was right. That being with her
was right. How could it be wrong? When you love someone how can anything ever be wrong?

He slowly began to leave butterfly kisses that made a trail from her head, to her ears, and all
the way to her neck. Harry briefly took a moment to suckle at where he imagined her pulse point
would be and then made his way to the front of the periwinkle blue dress. He licked at the bare
area just above its boat neck collar as a frenzied wish that she had worn something more sensible,
like a buttoned blouse, flitted thru his head. It would have made it so much easier to just rip the
garment from her shoulders that way. Then he would have full access to the swell of breast that one
of his hands was busy palming firmly. She gave no protest to his ministrations which only
emboldened Harry to seek for the zipper of her dress with the hand that was still clenched around
the back of her. As he stooped down slightly to press a kiss into first one, then the other covered
mound Harry rested his head against her breastplate and indulged in the wave of contentment that
washed over him. That is until he noticed one small thing. One very odd small thing. Actually when
you got right down to it it was a pretty monumental thing really.

He felt no heartbeat.

Harry pushed her away from him in terror, his hand reaching into his dark robes, groping for the
wand that should have been in its holster. It wasn't. His motions were so jerky that his
glasses went askew and almost fell from his nose. As she reached out to right them he stepped back
further, doing the deed for himself. His mind was a jumbled mess. As he looked out from startled
green orbs at the doe eyed creature that resembled his best friend in just about every way he felt
a loss for words. It was a good thing then that she decided to provide them.

“It's funny actually, you had just about everything else down to a science. The way she
smelled. The way she felt in your arms. Even the freckles were in their correct pattern. Only
problem is that you can't give an abstract a circulatory system.”

Although the voice sounded like Hermione's, some deep down part of Harry knew instinctually
that this was not her standing before him. As his tongue un-wedged its self from the roof of his
mouth he gave these thoughts voice.

“You're not Hermione,” he plainly said.

“I'm not Hermione,” she said in answer.

Harry ran his hands through the back of his longish hair in a quick movement that screamed out
his frustration. He just couldn't make heads or tales of what was going on.

“Who are you?” he asked haltingly until a far more horrifying thought entered into his mind.
“What are you?”

At the last question his companion's eyes seemed to come alive and dance merrily. The smile
that had never left her lips spread even wider.

“What am I? Yes, I think you about have the right of it,” she replied.

Such an innocent answer awoke a fierce anger inside of his chest. How dare she...it...whatever
this thing was mock him! He barely took one long stride before his hands latched on to her wrists
and were shaking her savagely. Even through his rough treatment the constant expression of
amusement never wavered from the Hermione look-a-like's face.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?” he demanded tersely. “I thought you said this
wasn't a dream.” He had to purposely work hard to keep out the bitter disillusionment from his
tone.

Obviously this...person was not moved by his display of hostility because she grinned as she
jested impishly, “I'm still standing upright. And I still appear to have knickers on.” She then
roguishly winked at him. “I'd wager a galleon or two that you aren't dreaming.”

As Harry's face warmed considerably, he let her go as he staggered back and bonelessly
plopped himself on to the wrought iron glider that had been behind him. He couldn't offer one
word of protest although he was astounded that whoever this being was, she would have such a
perfect assessment of the situation. But how?

“Don't look so surprised,” she said as she moved closer to stand over him. “It's not
like you weren't just **thinking** that.”

There was no equal to the shock that Harry was experiencing. “H-how...how did you know
that?”

She took a seat on the glider next to him, but everything in Harry told him to get himself as
far away from her as he could. Instead he scooted over as far on the bench as allowed, even
pressing his back uncomfortably into the iron arm rest of the contraption. She seemed to find his
actions entertaining. Thankfully however she didn't mention it.

“How do I know what you are thinking in your head you ask? Well Potter, I should know what's
going on inside of there seeing as how that's where I came from.”

Harry really had no good reason to believe what she was saying. For all he knew he could very
well be having a pleasant little discourse with a succubus. It wasn't like he hadn't
encountered one before. In his very first year as a full fledged Auror he had to contend with one
named Lilith who had somehow formed an unhealthy obsession with him. She was never able to get into
his house, thank Merlin, due to all of the wards he had surrounding the place but she did pursue
him relentlessly if he went out into the field after hours on assignment. In fact the love sick
Lilith disrupted so many night time raids in her pursuit of claiming Harry Potter as her own
personal sex slave that Hanes became fed up with the novice Auror and threatened to demote him. Of
course Hanes wouldn't have followed thru with the threat, the Minister would have never allowed
it, but he needed his displeasure to be known just the same. In the end the Being division of the
Magical Creature regulation department had to step in. Lilith was served with a magical restraining
order and forced thru a number of restrictive charms to stay at the least two towns away from Harry
at all times. The only person who would be able to lift the enchantment would be Harry himself.

He knew this wasn't Lilith he was now dealing with. He very much doubted that it was a
succubus at all. Succubi were notorious for being vain little she demons. One wouldn't
purposely transform its self into the image of Hermione, even if it knew that that was the best way
to get a reaction out of him. All he could do was take the Hermione look-a-like at her word.
Somehow he knew she wasn't lying.

“You're my conscience, aren't you?” he questioned her, nonplussed. He slowly turned his
body to face forward, his eyes roaming over the beautiful scenery of the yard as his mind whirred
with one crazy thought after another. “I mean...I always knew my conscience sounded like her. I
just never figured it would look like Hermione too.”

She giggled madly over his admission as she shook her head in a negative motion making her curls
bounce back and forth. That simple movement did such things to him down below that he had to remind
himself over and over again that this was not Hermione.

“I am not your conscience,” she said as she brought her feet up and tucked them under her. She
looked like she was preparing to have a nice long chat with him.

“I am that voice,” she continued. “That voice at the back of your head. That voice that you have
tried to banish and bludgeon. Block out and beat down. I am that voice that has been trying to tell
you what you want. What you really want. What you have wanted all the while. I'm sure there is
some technical term for it. Some therapeutic mumbo jumbo like Id, or inner
voice...schizophrenia...”

At this last word Harry, who had been half listening to her speech, frowned. It was obviously
the reaction she hoped to get from him because she smirked as she spoke on.

“Essentially you see, I am a part of you Harry. In fact,” she paused as she looked deeply into
his eyes, “I am you.”

Once again Harry had no earthly reason to give any credit to what she was telling him, but
somehow he saw the truth in her words. But instead of marveling at just how such a thing like this
could be done another more pressing concern weighed in on his mind.

He had tried to have it on with himself.

“Well is there really any big difference then when you have a few early morning wanks in the
shower,” she mirthfully queried as one of her eyebrows arched up.

“I've lost my bloody mind.”

She laughed so hard at that that she actually wrapped her arms around her middle to control
it.

“You haven't lost your mind.” She reached over and softly tapped at his head. “Trust me,
it's still in there. Everything is completely intact. That bludger didn't do too much
damage.”

Before he could ask her what she meant by that she kept chatting away.

“You see Harry I've been waiting for you to hear me. I mean really hear what I had to say.
But for some reason Mr. Dim Bulb,” she said, waving her hands wildly before him as Harry huffed
indignantly, “you tuned me out. You wrote me off as just confusion, just some delusional wandering
of a fevered mind. You know, one time you even convinced yourself that I was the after affects of a
winter cold. And so I sat back and waited, and watched you make one dumb move after another. I
patiently waited for the day when you would be ready for it. I actually almost got thru to you one
night. You were so close, but then...”

She let out a frustrated sigh as she nervously smoothed down the skirt of her dress. Whatever
she had been about to say obviously caused her great distress.

“Anyhow, here we are.” She opened her arms wide. “For some reason you are completely receptive
to it finally. I figured it was time to go for it. Full throttle. Balls to the walls, as they say.
I reckoned that a face to face meeting, so to speak, was the only thing that would do.”

She nibbled on her lip as she reconsidered her choice of words.

“Or rather you reckoned. Whatever. Whichever.”

Harry, who was having a devil of a time following all that she was saying, latched on to the
only question that seemed important at the moment.

“Why do you look like Hermione?”

She grinned comically at the question.

“And who should I have looked like? Ron?”

Her smile seemed to reflect how idiotic she found his question. Then he remembered that he was
supposedly talking to himself so in essence he found his own question stupid. This line of
reasoning was beginning to lead to one irate Harry.

“You could have never had this discussion with Ron. The two of you probably would have been
playing Exploding Snap as we speak. Of course you could have made me look like yourself, but then
that would have just been weird.”

That did it! It was obvious that she...it...whatever was just toying with him now. Or rather he
was toying with himself. Either way he was becoming incensed at a frightening pace and took it out
on her.

“And this isn't bloody weird,” he snapped harshly.

His mood however did little to dis-sway her from finding him the most amusing thing in the
world.

“Temper, temper Potter,” she jokingly admonished. “You chose Hermione because she was one of the
few people who you would actually listen to. You listened even when you hated what she had to say.
Her opinion was important to you. So it seems fitting, doesn't it?”

Rather then answer her question head on Harry decided to go over the dollops of information she
had given him.

“Let me see if I have this right,” he said as he stared her down hard. It was the cool, almost
viridian look he had used to break down many a suspect during his years with the Department. It
usually worked like a charm. Usually.

“You are a part of my brain that handles my needs, wants, and desires.”

“Sounds close enough.”

“And for years, for some reason or another, I've been shutting you out.”

“A-yup.”

“So now you're supposed to tell me what I want,” he snickered.

“Actually,” she said haltingly as she tried to gauge his reaction to her words, “you've
always known what you wanted. I'm just here to give you the kick in the arse you need to admit
it to yourself. Completely. No hedging.”

“And what do I want?”

Honestly he didn't know why he asked the question. He was sitting across from the image of
the one thing, the one person who he hadn't been able to get off of his mind for months. There
was no question that he wanted her, needed her even. Forget the necessity to eat, to drink. Forget
the need for air even. It was a wonder how he had even managed to go on breathing without Hermione
near him. Like oxygen, he had taken her for granted as well. So he very well knew the answer to his
own question. But to voice it aloud, even to himself (somewhat), would finally put to an end any
doubt of the realizations that had slowly been worming their way thru Harry's heart and mind
the last few weeks. But as the Hermione look-a-like gave him a hard, exasperated look of irritation
he finally acknowledged that maybe now was the time to call it, to lay all of his cards on the
table.

“Hermione,” Harry wistfully sighed. “I want Hermione.”

For the first time since since he had found her sitting on the patio she treated him to a
heartfelt, yet endearingly sad smile.

“For a long time too,” she said.

Although he should have felt relieved that it was all coming out at last he couldn't fight
back his annoyance at what her words implied.

“You're a bit late aren't you,” he rebuked. “I kind of already figured this out.”

“No,” she started speaking in the light tones one would use to convince a child to take their
medicine. “You are under the impression that you have **just** fallen in love with Hermione. You
know that's not true.”

He opened his mouth to protest but then she began babbling some nonsense that made no sense to
him whatsoever.

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

“What?!”

“Bit of poetry you picked up somewhere. Never mind that now Harry, keep up with me,” she scolded
him in a very Hermione-like manner. If he didn't know any better he would have had a hard time
believing that it wasn't really her.

“We both know that even before Hermione took off you were in love with her.”

These words caught his attention completely. He was so hacked off that he wrenched himself from
the iron glider as if imps were poking him in the arse with hot spears.

“Now that's...” he began resentfully, “that's just rubbish. Ginny...”

“Was a habit,” she replied simply as her eyes never left his face. The truth behind her words
almost made him feel sick to his stomach. “You had become used to the idea of you and Ginny.
Resigned, even. And why not? Everyone else assumed that you were made for each other. The problem
is that you bought into it as well. You forced yourself not to consider anything else. Anyone
else.” She leaned back as she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a deep and penetrating
stare. “You my friend took the easy way out.”

He didn't want to believe the words he was hearing. Yet he couldn't fight off the
disturbing ring of truth they seemed to hold. The thought that he could do that to Ginny? It was
almost too much to bear. What had Ginny ever done to him but love him? He knew that as of late his
marriage had begun to take on the feel of a farce. Truthfully he loathed himself for what he was
doing to his wife. But he had accepted that this was his fate. He had foolishly trapped himself in
a marriage that he really had no way out of. Instead of dealing with his own personal hell alone he
had brought poor Ginny along for the ride. He would have gladly freed her for her own good so she
could have a chance for some happiness, even if there was none for him. After all it wasn't her
fault that he was in love with a woman who wasn't her. But the idea that he had gone into the
Rites unwittingly feeling the same way he did now thus ensuring no joy for either of them? That was
too huge of a concept to accept. Everything in him fought against it.

“You're acting as if I never fancied Ginny!”

“You fancied her. You're male aren't you? Who wouldn't fancy her?”

Harry fairly growled at her answer to him.

“However you took her as your wife because you thought it was expected of you.”

“When I married Ginny I had every intention of being a good husband,” he insisted emphatically.
“I did love her.”

The Hermione look-a-like's big brown eyes softened with compassion at his declaration.

“Of course you did. As you have been told time and time again your capacity to love knows no
bounds. But this is me you are talking to, be honest with yourself. Were you **in** love with
Ginny when you married her?”

He wanted to say yes. Even if he knew it was a lie, he wanted to say yes. To say yes
wouldn't make the last five years of his life all a sham. To say yes wouldn't make him feel
like mountain troll bogeys. To say yes would mean that he hadn't purposely wrecked his own life
and lost any chance to have the one thing that could have made him feel whole. But he couldn't
lie to himself. That was the saddest part of all of this.

“I...I...” he tried to choke out as he felt a hopeless despair descend upon him. He turned his
back on her as his gaze settled on the fruit tree. “I thought it would come. Eventually.” He
finally managed to get out. “You know, that feeling of being unable to bear being away from her
side. I thought that after a while I would feel that need to to have her face be the first thing I
saw in the morning, the last thing I saw at night. I thought that...I mean, if Ginny and I were
supposed to be together wasn't that supposed to happen?”

“Actually,” she started as she moved her legs from under her and crossed them, “that should have
happened before the I do's. But...bygones.”

Even though it hadn't been her intention, her words sounded callous in his ears.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” he crankily insisted as he stepped off the patio
and into the grass, trying to remove himself far from her presence.

“Back to this again?” He could hear the reproach in her voice.

“So I take it we aren't really in the Hollow,” he questioned as he tried to divert her from
the current topic.

She sighed. Of course she knew what he was trying to do. She was a part of his brain, but for
whatever reason she decided to answer him instead of pushing the issue.

“It's a reasonable facsimile, don't you think?”

“Why are we here?”

“You should know. You're the one who conjured it up.”

Harry began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the patio, wondering at how well manicured
the lawn was and noticing all of the flowers surrounding him were in full bloom. Of course he
really shouldn't be surprised. The actual house in Godric's Hollow would look much the
same. It had a snow globe over it still. He had put the snow globe up himself a few years ago. When
he and Ginny came back from their honeymoon he had had every intention of moving his new bride and
himself into his parents' old place. The thought seemed perfect, it would almost be like Lily
and James had actually come back to fill the house with warmth and happiness again.

Ginny balked at the idea. She gave many and sundry reasons why she didn't want to live in
the cottage. For starters she felt that it would be inviting misfortune to stay there. It's not
like the place had been too lucky for the last set of Potters that had lived in it. Although Ginny
hadn't meant the statement as heartless as it came out, even apologizing profusely mere seconds
after the words left her lips, it had hurt Harry just the same. She quickly tried to rectify the
situation by explaining that the cottage was too small to raise a family in. At her words Harry had
nearly broken into a cold sweat, but she assured him that she had no intention of getting started
any time soon. Once the relief settled in he tried to argue that they could just do what Molly and
Arthur did with the Burrow, add on a new addition to the house as they added on a new addition to
the household. Ginny turned up her nose at the idea. She had had enough of living in the cramped
and crowded Burrow, thank you very much, she told him. She wasn't about to start her married
life in just another version of it.

It turned out that Ginny had picked out a colossus of a house for them to live in instead. It
was a grand mansion that had once belonged to the Avery family. All of the Averys had perished
during the Second War in service to Tom Riddle, save for one. The last surviving member of the
family, Meleficent, had finally given up trying to restore the family's honor and trying to
save its former riches. For whatever reasons, Ginny was determined to have this house! She begged,
pleaded, and cajoled Harry almost into a stupor over it. She felt that it was a house worthy of the
Great Harry Potter, Seeker extraordinaire. It was also the kind of place she felt she deserved.
After very little back and forth, since Ginny seemed determined to have her way, he gave into her
demand. Even though the move made him effectively a neighbor to the Malfoys. Even though the house
seemed cold and hollow. Since his wife wanted it so bad he could live in the house in Wiltshire.
But he never felt like it was his home.

But the cottage, he thought, the cottage could have been a real home. The day he put up the
enchantment he hoped that some day he would find a good use for it. He hoped that someone would
live there who loved it as much as he did.

“This was the last place that I had a real family. This was where I last had a mum and a dad,”
he offered thoughtfully as he came to a halt. Whether he was still talking to her or to himself he
wouldn't have been able to say. “You know, I can't remember what my first words were or how
old I was when I took my first steps. But the moment I laid eyes on this place I knew I was loved
here. That someone loved me here.”

“Some deep down part of your soul always knows when you are loved.”

Her words made Harry turn and face her on the patio. There was no joking in her gaze, no
critical tone in her words. For a moment his heart skipped a beat in his chest although he had no
clue as to why. He knew that it wasn't Hermione. He knew that the wild tendrils of chocolate
and chestnut that ran from the top of her head and almost half way down her back were just figments
of his imagination. He knew that the pouty little lips he had indulged in earlier weren't
really there. He knew that if he placed his hand above her left breast there would be no pounding
small beat that told that life coursed through out her body. He knew all of this. It still
didn't quell his wish that it all weren't true.

“I still don't see what being here has to do with Hermione.”

“You spent a lot of time here with Hermione one summer, didn't you? Remember your
birthday?”

Even if he tried, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread on his face.

“One of the happiest days of my life. I always thought that the day I finally finished off that
bastard would be it,” he confessed wryly, “but it didn't come close.”

As he said this the Hermione look-a-like began to bounce the leg that was crossed over her knee
up and down. The movement of her deliciously bare leg nearly made him forget that she wasn't
who he wanted her to be. He began to feel perturbed at the thought that he was teasing himself
essentially. He was even more confused that it was working. This thought only succeeded in making
him feel more cross.

“You can't just use Hermione as an excuse for my happiness,” he arrogantly said. “Ron was
here with me too.”

“Wanted to snog Ron, did you?” she naughtily quipped. When he didn't answer her due to the
outrageousness of the suggestion, her voice took on a more disturbed tone. “Did you?”

“No,” he yelped clumsily.

Once again he realized too late that she had been having him on.

“Just having a bit of fun with you,” she laughed. “Quite frankly we could have ended up in any
number of places. Take the entranceway to the Great Hall.”

Harry gave her a baffled, perplexed look that made her dramatically sigh once again at his
dimness.

“Yule Ball; Hermione looking like a princess in a set of floaty robes. Now what color were those
robes again?” she teased smugly as she began to purposely tug on the hem of her dress. “I can't
seem to recall just what color they were.”

Of course Harry knew exactly what she was insinuating.

“Now that's just a bloody lie,” he snapped belligerently. “That was still a few years yet
before I actually fell in love with her!”

“Ah ha!”

He defeatedly sat back in the grass. “Oh bugger me.”

“And even though you weren't in love with her yet that was when you started to think she was
very pretty. Even afterwards, without all the Sleekeasy's, you still thought she was very
pretty. You never quite looked at her the same, did you?”

“I thought she was cute,” he sniffed indignantly. When he saw that she wasn't buying it he
harshly said, “Alright, alright...I thought she was very pretty.”

Before she could offer up some smug 'I told you so', he cut her off.

“However sometime during the night I looked over at Ron. You remember him don't you? The
other best mate? And I saw that he thought she was very pretty too. So that's when I decided it
was best for everyone involved if I not have thoughts like that at all.”

She wasn't surprised at all at his revelation.

“And that's where it began. That is when you began to repress any feelings you had for
Hermione that weren't strictly platonic in nature.”

He looked at her incredulously. “Well...what else could I have done? Ron was mad for her and
Hermione obviously felt the same. I mean...she attacked him with birds for fuck's sake!
Birds!”

“Yes, Hermione did have a nasty little habit of sending projectiles at men she felt strongly
for,” she remarked drolly.

“What?!”

“Nothing,” she innocently answered. She lifted herself up from the glider and came to the edge
of the patio where she ended up standing right in front of him. “Personally if I had my pick we
would have ended up in that charming little place in Diagon.”

“The old flat?” he asked as his brow wrinkled.

“You almost kissed her there once.”

“I did no-” he began to argue until she snidely cut him off.

“Picture it, London, the year is 1998. All Hallow's Eve. You'd just played your first
big game with Puddlemere and somehow Gudgeon, of all people, managed to beat you to the
Snitch.”

“Damn,” was all he could say.

Although his team had been so far ahead of the Canons in points that they still easily won the
match, the game had still been a bitter pill for Harry to swallow. It was the very first time since
he had taken up the sport of Quidditch that he hadn't by some form of luck or brilliance
managed to catch the Snitch. And for it to happen at his very first professional game? He wanted to
find some tomb in which to enshrine himself alive. Ron, who was too stunned over Harry's
ineptness to even celebrate his team's first foray from the bottom of the league, asked him
what had happened. Harry told him the sun had gotten in his eye. He didn't let on the real
reason. Since Ron was the Reserve Keeper for Chudley he had been sitting with the rest of his team
mates. Where he was positioned he wouldn't have been able to see Rodger Davies chatting up
their mutual best friend. But Harry, from his position high over the pitch, saw it all. He had
heard thru the grapevine that Davies was a constant visitor to the MMBA office. Hermione had even
shyly and hesitantly admitted to him that she had met Davies for lunch a few times. But this? This
was a near felony. What the hell did Davies think he was playing at? Didn't he realize that
Hermione was his good luck charm? It was no wonder Harry never even saw the Snitch fly by him. His
own good luck charm was too busy flirting to be bothered with him.

“You were in Hermione's room,” the look-a-like said, interrupting his thoughts. “If I'm
remembering correctly, I believe you were trying to get her clothes off.”

“Now that is an outright lie!” Harry thundered as he jumped up from the ground. He marched up to
her so close that he purposely invaded her personal space. Then Harry remembered that she
wasn't real thus she had no personal space.

“Ok, I admit it, I did want to kiss her that night. I was feeling sorry for myself over the
game. And you know it was the night my parents...” he trailed off, loosing steam somewhat.
“Well...you know. Hermione was being so understanding. She listened to me talk. She even nuked a
pumpkin pie for me.” Harry smiled fondly at the memory. As the smile began to slowly fade he
continued.

“I thought I was just responding to that. That somehow I was trying to use her to fill
Ginny's role to heal my wounds. Nothing more.” He then took on a harsher tone that sounded
slightly guilty. “But I was not trying to get up her skirt! We were going to a Ministry party later
that evening. She was trying on clothes, trying to decide what to wear. I was helping her.”

“Sure you were,” she mocked. “And why didn't you kiss her again?”

Harry turned away from her. It really was no fun trying to have an argument with yourself.

“Ginny called me on the two way.”

“The girlfriend,” she mused comically. “The ultimate cock block.”

If he needed any further proof that he wasn't conversing with his best friend that would
have been it. He couldn't recall Hermione ever using the word cock. In his make-believe world
he liked to think that she didn't even know what the word meant.

“Yes, well it's a good thing too,” he protested in answer to her joke as he turned back
around. “Hermione would have killed me if I had tried something with her.” A tiny smile appeared on
his face for a moment. “You should have seen her with a wand back then. She was fearsome,” he said
proudly. Then the smile dropped to be replaced by a look of confusion.

“Then again I guess you did see.” He exasperatedly grumbled as he strode past her and up to the
sliding glass door. “This is utterly maddening.”

She turned around to face him. “You should have kissed her. All these years you've secretly
wished you had. You should have went for it. She and Ron had been broken up for a good little while
by then, weren't they?”

“That night was her first official date with that git Davies,” he said absentmindedly.

“You should have went for it! What would have been the harm?”

He darkly snickered. “What would have been the harm? Since you claim to be me you should know
better. There was one small thing standing in the way. Which was really a big thing. Which was
actually the reason I never acknowledged what I felt for her in the first place.”

As he turned around he saw that he had her full and undivided attention.

“Hermione didn't feel anything for me.”

“Harry,” she began argumentatively.

“Not like that,” he said, trying to stem her protestations. “I mean, I know she loved me...just
not in that way. Hermione mothered me. Sometimes smothered me. She looked out for me. Protected me.
She was my councilor. She was my sounding board. She was my best friend. And I was her best
friend.” He paused as the emotion rose inside of him and he remembered just what Hermione did for
him. “And that's all she ever saw me as,” he gloomily conceded.

“She once said you were fanciable.”

“Yes,” he replied as he smiled ruefully. “She said that in relation to how other girls saw me.
She never saw me that way. Why else would she push me at Cho? At Ginny?” he asked, trying to make
her understand his point of view.

“Hermione didn't see me as anything but a friend,” he said, words steeped in regret. “So
that’s all I ever tried to see her as.”

“How's that been working out for you?” she asked as she folded her arms across her chest and
arched her eyebrow sardonically.

Who would have ever thought my inner voice would be so goddamned smug, he wondered to himself in
awe.

“You know, it's not like I didn't want her to be happy. I loved her enough that I wanted
her to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.”

“Yes, but with Ron. That almost doesn't count.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

“Well did you even really 'want' her with Ron? If we are being honest with each other it
was more like you didn't 'mind' her with Ron.”

He was starting to suspect that if he ever got out of this marathon discussion with his own
goddamned self the rest of his mind would be soup. Because truthfully that is how it felt now;
muddled and murky and thick.

“You see, with Hermione squared away with Ron you could still be a major part of her life. You
would still hold a position of importance. But if she was with anyone else you feared that such
would not be the case.” She cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment. “One of
your rare selfish moments really.”

Harry would have liked to argue the point, but he was at a loss. She had him dead to right. He
turned his back to her in shame.

“And it's not like you didn't have your jealous moments with Ron over her too.”

Now that he would argue. “Jealous?” he challenged as he gave her a cross look over his
shoulder.

She rolled her eyes havenward. “Alright, envious. Better?”

He nodded his head in approval, despite the thin line between the two, and turned his head back
around.

“The thing is any time you would have any thoughts like that towards Ron you would be filled
with so much self-loathing and guilt that you tried to ignore those feelings too. You could dislike
Davies. You could be annoyed by Oliver. You could even want to rip out Malfoy's ribcage and
wear it as a hat.” Harry snorted. “You could do all this and use the excuse that you were just
looking out for your friend. But you couldn't bring yourself to be disloyal to Ron. Ron was the
first real friend you ever made. You loved Ron.”

“And I loved the girl that Ron loved,” he weakly finished for her. The words needed to be said,
no matter how painful, they needed to be said.

“That you did.”

He leaned his head against the glass of the sliding door. “Hermione promised...” he began so
quietly that it seemed as though he were only mumbling words to the air. “She said that everything
would be simple. That after the war it would all go back to the way it was.” He looked over his
shoulder at her with a near heart breaking intensity.

“It never did. Did it?”

Instead of answering his question the Hermione look-a-like walked back over to the glider and
sat herself down delicately.

“Let's review, shall we,” she said as he turned to face her fully. “Sometime during the
summer of your seventeenth year, maybe even at this very spot, you began to fall in love with
Hermione Granger. Except you decided to ignore this fact out of some honorable, yet misguided
loyalty to your best mate, Ron. For years you chose to half heartedly date his sister while in your
heart lay dormant feelings you had for your other best friend. Instead of confronting these
feelings for Hermione, which would have been difficult and messy and hard you instead chose to
place her on some impossibly high pedestal so you could convince yourself that she was too far to
reach. Then you married Ginny Weasley as your second choice. How's that sound?”

He moved closer to her as he shook his head disbelievingly. “Well when you say it like that it
makes me sound like the stupidest git in the world.”

She looked at him pointedly as the realization of everything she had just said began to slowly
process its self. He sank down on to the glider dismally.

“I am the stupidest git in the world.”

“No you're not Harry," she said kindly. “You had a lot of feelings and emotions to
contend with at one time. It was a veritable balancing act on a high wire...wearing stilts! As Ron
would say, it was a wonder you didn't explode.”

He wanted to smile at her joke, but he only managed to eke out a painful grimace.

“Are you happy Harry?”

Harry finally managed to smile, but it was a sorrowful one mixed with a side of regret. From the
outside looking in it would have been hard to find a person who didn't think that Harry Potter
had the perfect life. In truth, it was a nice life. But that's all it was.

“There are moments when I think...but those are just moments.”

For all of his incomplete ramblings she seemed to understand him perfectly.

“You settled for the one you could live with,” she said as she stared at him knowingly, “instead
of waiting for the one you couldn't live with out.” Harry wouldn't be surprised if that
gaze traveled to the very bottom of his soul.

“Now you tell me,” he glumly grumped. “And where did I hear that one from?”

“Dunno. Heard it somewhere once, I guess.”

Once again her harmless words produced in him a sense of impotent rage that made him want to
tear at his own hair, beat at his head.

“Arg! What's been the bloody point of all of this?! Why should I figure this all out now?
I'm married!” he shouted at her. “Hermione is nowhere to be found! Why would I wait for now to
have this great big honking epiphany?”

For the first time since they had begun this conversation she looked rattled. He had finally
found a question that she didn't know the answer to.

“I...I don't know,” she stammered.

“Figures.”

He desolately slumped back against the glider as his head lolled back and he closed his eyes.
After the revelations he had just been handed he should have been feeling angry or bitter.
Mournful, even. But all he felt was limp and drained. He had no idea how he could move on from this
point. What could he do?

As his weary mind tried to seek a solution he felt a small weight settle on his lap.

“You're not Hermione,” he said as he straightened his head back up and looked to see a set
of large, soulful eyes staring back at him.

“I know,” she said as she slung a arm over his shoulder. “But you looked like you could use a
hug.”

This produced a genuine belly laugh from him. She joined him by giggling along. He wrapped her
in an embrace and held her firmly on his lap as her head came to rest on his shoulder and he leaned
his chin lightly on the top of her head. He felt a brief moment of peace before he jokingly thought
to himself that she would find some way to call this masturbatory. As if hearing his thoughts she
giggled some more. He was almost willing to loose himself to her mirth when a odd thought teased at
the edges of his mind. She had mentioned right at the beginning that he had almost drawn these same
conclusions long before this. What did she mean by that? Before he could ask her head popped up
quickly and she turned her head to look directly into his eyes.

“Oh no,” she despaired. “Ron is about to *ennervate* you.”

His eyes widened. “Ron's about to do what?”

Without answering his question she climbed out of his lap and stood before him as she clasped
his hands in her own.

“Listen Harry, you now know all you need to know.” She paused to reconsider her words. “Well,
almost all of it. But don't worry, I'm sure that in the end all will be revealed. I mean,
that's usually how these things work.”

“But I don't understand,” he told her.

“But you soon will. Alright Harry?”

**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**

“Alright Harry?”

Harry opened his eyes and immediately closed them again due to the last few rays of late day
sunlight that filtered in.

“He'll live,” he heard someone, more then likely Fred, snarkily shout.

As Harry opened his eyes again he found himself hazily looking into the concerned blue eyed gaze
of his best friend, Ron.

“Blimey Harry! For a second there we thought that bludger had done you in,” Ron said with a
mixture of fear and awe.

As Harry sat up from the bed of cool, crisp grass he had been laying down on he looked about
him. Everything was warped and he began to fear for a moment that he was losing his sight, then he
removed his glasses from his face. Both lenses were cracked. He sighed grimly as he vaguely
remembered handing his wand to Ginny. He wouldn't be able to fix the specs until later. He slid
the glasses into the pocket of his robes and looked around again. He was almost shocked to discover
he was in the Burrow's back paddock. Just a mere moment before it had been night time and he
had been on his parents' patio in the Hollow.

And he had been with Hermione.

No, his mind reminded him, not Hermione. Instead he had been having some metaphysical conference
with his inner voice. His inner voice had only chosen to look like Hermione. Or rather he made it
look like Hermione. Whichever. The point was that somehow he had gotten from point A to point B and
Harry had no bleeding clue how it had happened.

“Bludger?” Harry asked groggily as he felt at the back of his head and felt the huge knot that
was currently forming there. He looked down to see his trusted Firebolt lying next to him.

“Gee Harry, who would have ever figured that your head was that hard,” quipped George as he
ambled over to Ron's side, broom in hand, and bent down to have a look at the frustrated and
confused man.

As Harry squinted up at first George, then Ron, he slowly began to put two and two together.
Both red haired, freckled faced men were dressed in what looked like expensive, party attire robes.
He noticed that he too had on a set of finely tailored dress robes. His were in a dark navy color.
As he surveyed the scene around him he noticed that just about everyone from the adults to the
children playing nearby were dressed much in the same way. That's when it hit Harry. It was
Sunday! He was at Ron's commencement party.

“Scram you,” Ron nastily said to his brother as he pushed him from Harry's blurred sight
line. “You and your shadow have caused enough damage, don't you think?”

George appeared to find the reprimand entertaining. “Well, I certainly know when I'm not
wanted,” he joked putting on overly exaggerated indignant airs. As he trooped off towards the crowd
of wizards and witches, some who were holding various brooms in their hands, Harry heard George
call out, “Cor Fred! You should see the size of the lump. Good job!”

Ron fell back on to the grass next to Harry, laid his brand new Nimbus next to him, and gave his
friend a sympathetic look. “Those prats are almost thirty. Maybe they should think of growing-up
and giving up the game. You would think they would know better,” he turned to face the throng by
the lake and shouted, “than to unseat your own bloody team mate!”

Fred smirked in their direction. “No harm Harry. Sun got in my eyes.”

Despite the pain, Harry tittered softly. He had heard that one before.

It all slowly started to come back to Harry. The commencement ceremony had been over hours ago.
The candles had been lit and were currently burning away in the Weasley kitchen. The mountains of
food that Molly and Fleur had cooked had already been devoured. They had even had to put on the
tables the catered entrées, food that Molly seemed to regard disdainfully, to accommodate the large
turn out of people who had come to wish the happy couple good luck.

Just about everyone had been there.

All of Ron and Lavender's immediate and extended family members were present. Ron's
parents, siblings, their spouses, and their assorted children were accounted for. Lavender's
widowed mother, her older sister Kelly, Kelly's husband Theodehad Greenberg, and the youngest
Brown sister Maeve had all huddled themselves together from the rest of the party goers. Some of
Molly's distant Prewett cousins, Nigel the accountant being among them, had also managed to
make it.

Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's baby sister, wasn't technically a Weasley (although she had
a long standing crush on Charlie and had high hopes), but she was treated as thus. Every other
weekend the nineteen year old young woman would come down from Beauxbatons, where she taught
Charms, to visit with her adopted family. Naturally she was at the commencement.

Of course Remus and Tonks had come. Harry had given his dear friend Remus a long hug when he
first saw him walk thru the door. Both professed that they didn't get to see nearly enough of
each other. Little Wolfie Lupin was made much of as he was passed from one set of arms to another.
The child didn't cry once.

Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood's fiancée, had shown up alone. There was still some enmity
between her future husband and Ron, so they both decided that he should stay home. Alicia however
wanted to give her congratulations to both of her former house mates.

A couple of Harry and Ron's old professors had made the trip from Hogwarts to be there.
Madame Pomfrey, Selene Sinistra, even the now retired Rolonda Hooch. Horace Slughorn made a big
display of gifting the couple with mead that he proudly declared was not poisoned. A few people
even laughed at the joke. Minerva McGonagall had even managed to tear herself away from the running
of the school to make an appearance. She brought with her the well wishes of those staff members
who couldn't come as well as those from The Fat Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, and
Dumbledore's portrait.

Hagrid, his wife Olympé, and their three children had made the journey all the way from Belgium
to be there. Hagrid bred wild and dangerous (at least to other people) animals for a living. Only
four years ago Olympé Hagrid, née Maxime, had retired as the headmistress of Beauxbatons. She and
Hagrid had been married for a few months and both of them were shocked, yet ecstatic, to discover
that they were going to have a baby. Usually half giants, which the couple both were, tended to be
sterile. But by whatever grace of fate or luck Olympé had managed to conceive. The only thing they
worried over was what a child of their's would be. Would it be a half breed as well? Or would
it grow to be a full grown giant. Neither of them could abide the idea that their child would have
to deal with some of the same hatred and prejudices they had endured thru the years. That is when
they heard of the town of Ath. Ath was a village where the muggles were so fond of giants that they
even had a festival to celebrate them, the Vêpres Gouyasse. The place was perfect for the expecting
family. They even brought Grawp along. They lived in a cottage in the forest just outside of the
village. When little Guy Hagrid was born his parents were relieved that he was healthy, it had been
a rough pregnancy for Olympé. Everyone else marveled at the fact that Guy was normal sized.
Regardless of that fact, the family was happy. So happy in fact that Hagrid and his wife soon
realized that they had so much love in their home that they wanted to share it. With the English
and French ministries help they ended up adopting two more children; an 8 year old orphaned girl
from Japan named Aiko and a South African toddler named Hadiya whose mother was dying from a
terrible disease and wanted a better life for her daughter. Aiko was of magical birth, Hadiya
wasn't. No one knew yet if Guy would show any powers. But that was all irrelevant. The home of
Rubeus Hagrid was one filled with laughter and love.

Grawp unfortunately couldn't make the festivities. He was too busy tending to the animals.
He was also being courted by a young local lass from the village. The teenager had literally
stumbled over Grawp one day while walking thru the forest and had fallen in love on first sight.
Grawp seemed to find the frizzy haired girl fascinating as well. Murielle Vandersteen later
confided in Olympé that from the time she was six years old it had been foretold to her that she
would marry the tallest man in the valley. She had just assumed she would be Rance Dupont's
future wife. Barely twelve years old yet, the fellow was a near six feet. But as soon as young
Murielle laid eyes on Grawp she knew she had been wrong. Luckily for her, by this point, Olympé had
taught her brother-in-law the finer points of hygiene. He was still fearsome, but infinitely
cleaner. When Hagrid and Olympé finally found out that Murielle had been visiting Grawp daily it
seemed unfair to perform a memory charm on the smitten girl. Since she didn't reveal her
discovery to another soul, Grawp's big brother decided it was ok if the two crazy kids keep up
their friendship. Murielle even taught Grawp some new words. Olympé just despaired the day when
both of them would need to be told the birds and bees. She figured Murielle probably had an idea,
but she didn't even want to think about the mechanics of it.

Dean, his wife Padma, and Seamus were filming the whole event on a digital camcorder for
Parvatti, Padma's twin sister. Parvatti was currently eight months pregnant and couldn't
make the trip from Auckland by muggle means, nor could she apparate. Either way wasn't healthy
for the baby. Padma was also currently pregnant, though she was only a few weeks along. The Prophet
however was running daily stories speculating on whether the new baby would have blue eyes to match
those of its big brother Conlan's. Eyes sort of like his “uncle” Seamus' eyes. Both Dean
and Padma's eyes were brown. As far as Harry was concerned his three old school mates looked
happy with their life so who was he to judge? The three lived together and ran an art gallery that
featured muggle and magical artwork in Chelsea. Dean's paintings were featured prominently thru
out it, Padma handled the business end, and Seamus was a natural at organizing the many galas and
exhibits they held there.

Angelina and Lee Jordan, both wearing long dread locked hair and muggle clothing, arrived to the
party late. Ron had been in the middle of trying to coax a bit more blood out of the cut on his
palm into the ceremonial chalice. Everyone had turned to watch as the late arrivals tried to hustle
themselves and their two young boisterous children, Isis and Osirus, into a few of the folding
chairs that dotted the Burrows backyard. That distraction seemed to be just what Ron needed.
Apparently he didn't like to pee or bleed with people watching. One would have thought that
having the Jordans there would be uncomfortable, Angelina after all had been Fred's girlfriend
when his best friend Lee stole her away from him. These days, however, Lee and Fred was as close as
ever. Their wives were also good friends who often got their children together for play dates. In
fact the two couples spent entirely too much time together, plotting just how they were going to
get George married-up. With George settled with a woman of their choosing they could all hang out
together more. George meanwhile pretended to be unaware of their tactical scheming.

The shock of the day had been when Neville walked in. Not that Neville showing up had been
surprising. Not even the idea that Neville had brought a date was so unbelievable. It was the fact
that the woman was a muggle, but more then that, gorgeous! Ron had absentmindedly introduced
himself to the Asian beauty as Roonzil Wazlib. Lavender was not impressed. Although he was annoyed
by the manner in which Ginny practically dragged him over to meet the young woman, Harry discovered
that Candide was a good egg. She was an instructor at a ballet studio. She also happened to own the
place. Her parents, who she joked made their money by nefarious means in Seoul, had funded the
enterprise. Ginny practically interrogated her. Although Harry understood that Ginny and Neville
were close, best friends even, he still didn't see any reason for Ginny to be so rude to the
woman. Candide however stood up well to the scrutiny. She was witty and seemed sweet natured and
Harry figured Neville had made a nice catch. Harry had been happy for him. He had also wondered if
Neville still had a soft spot for Hermione. Back in school Dean and Seamus would tease their poor
dorm mate about the crush he supposedly had on the Gryffindor girl. Of course they did so mainly
when Ron wasn't around. Hermione however didn't seem to give poor Neville the time of day.
Now that Harry had had his big revelation he could empathize with Neville's plight. He musingly
wondered if Neville would be surprised at what they had in common.

Cho Chang, Harry's former crush and girlfriend (if you can call a botched kiss and a date
from hell a relationship) made a brief appearance. She wasn't crazy about crowds, but she
wanted to give Lavender and Ron her best. A few years back Cho's boyfriend, Adrian Pucey, had
stood her up on the day of their wedding. It had been a huge scandal and in all of the papers. Cho
had even suffered a nervous breakdown over it. She now lived at Hogwarts where she taught
Transfiguration. Once McGonagall realized that teaching the draining course and being Headmistress
was too hard a job to manage by herself she hired Cho on. The former Ravenclaw showed her mettle by
being almost as good at the job as her predecessor. Of course the current male student body would
probably argue that Chang was a definite step up. Cho left soon after the ceremony protesting that
she had lesson plans to go over for the next day and more then a dozen scrolls on human versus
animal transfiguration to read thru. Her colleague, Justin Finch-Fletchley, decided to accompany
her back to the school. He had been the Muggle Studies professor there for one whole year now.

Since Ron was Arthur Weasley's son a number of Ministry officials attended. Scrimgeour
didn't show up, but in his stead he sent his Deputy, Tarquin Adair. Originally a native of
England, Adair had been living in Burkina Faso for almost fifteen years where he was the British
envoy to that ministry. The distinguished looking, tall, dark skinned Adair blended in well with
the citizens of the West African nation. He even found a wife there. However the woman died during
childbirth and Adair moved back home with his son four years ago. Scrimgeour wasted no time making
the brilliant diplomat his second in command, an act that incensed the Minister's Junior
assistant, Percy. Besides Adair, Hopkirk, Edgecombe and her daughter, Arthur's old office mate
Perkins and a few others made it too. Harry thought he would choke on his butterbeer when Romilda
and Hanes strolled thru the door together.

Harry was surprised that Luna hadn't made it. He thought she would have at least come to
cover the party for the *Quibbler*. Then again maybe he shouldn't have been that
surprised. Harry figured that it might have been too difficult for her to watch Ron start his new
life with Lavender. Maybe it was all for the best that she not show. For one thing she would have
brought Malfoy with her. To have Malfoy come to Ron's commencement was like inviting gasoline
to a party of lit matches. Then there was the fact that for a few years now Luna made Harry
slightly nervous and uncomfortable. It wasn't her weird tics and ideas that did it. Quite
frankly Harry had gotten used to all of those long ago. No, what weirded Harry out a bit was the
way that Luna would act around him some times. Apologetic. Contrite. Like she had done something to
grievously wrong him. Harry couldn't understand it, but he just figured it was one of those
things that made Luna...well...Luna. So he left it alone. He did however note the other members of
the press who had been there and avoided them like the plague. Daphne Greengrass from the Prophet
and Demelza Robins from *Witch Weekly* had both stopped by, but the two women also left
early.

So many of their former school friends had been in attendance. Harry felt that Ron and Lavender
really should have been touched by the outpouring. The Goldsteins, Ernie and Hannah Macmillan,
Katie Bell and her girlfriend of a few years, Lisa Turpin. Then there was Sloper, MacDonald, Coote,
Hopkins, Boot, Corner and Brocklehurst, to name just a few. The only sad part was remembering those
who couldn't come. The Creevey brothers for instance. Both boys were killed along side their
parents while on the Underground. Death Eaters had stormed their train and killed almost all of the
muggle occupants. Zacharias Smith had been a pompous bastard back in school, but nearly all of the
kids in their year mourned for him after he was killed during the battle of Hogsmeade. Euan
Abercrombie, Edie Carmichael, and Victoria Fobrisher had all met similar ends.

But the day had been a day for joy, not mourning.

Once every song that could be thunk of was sung, every amusing antidote with a Weasley at the
center of it told, and Ron and Lavender had been toasted to by everyone with too much alcohol in
their system and too much to say, people began packing up to go home. A group of them who lingered
behind had decided to play a quick game of Quidditch outside.

Harry almost felt like he was back in school, practicing with his old house team on the pitch.
In fact the whole fifth year team was re-assembled, save for Alicia who'd left to check on
Oliver. Harry tried to convince Ginny to fill in for her, but Ginny balked at the idea of ruining
her new robes and instead opted to stay in the kitchen and gossip with Lavender and her other
sisters-in-laws. Glinda shot her husband and the rest of them malevolent glares as they marched out
of the house leaving her with the other Weasley women. They were unsure of what to do about a third
Chaser until Tonks surprised them all by pulling out her broom from her pocket and agreeing to
play. Remus gave her a kiss on the head, begged her not to break any important bones, and portkeyed
himself and Wolfgang home so he could put the sleeping infant to bed.

The opposing team ended up being a hodgepodge of people. Seamus and Neville took up the Beater
bats. Neville had visibly swallowed when he noticed the twins pointing and whispering as they
devilishly smiled his way, but he still seemed willing to give it the old Hogwarts try. Dean,
Ernie, and Micheal Corner volunteered to be Chasers. Bill decided to roll up his sleeves and play
the Keeper position. Ron made some jokes at his expense about Bill not being able to keep up with
the younger crowd. Bill made a joke about Ron getting spanked. Everyone gave the round to the big
brother. When Charlie, who was late and had just gotten in from Sweden, walked out into the
backyard they all knew they had a game. Charlie had once been an excellent Seeker and team captain
for Gryffindor house just like his brother-in-law, Harry.

The quick game they had planed ended up turning into a grueling match of nerve and skill. Lee,
who actually was an announcer for the professional British league, was giving the play by plays of
the game and had cast a “*sonorus*” on himself for the benefit of the excited kiddies who were
their audience. The game was so amazing that the poor guy didn't know who to cheer for. It was
that thrilling! It truthfully would have gone on for hours if Harry hadn't gotten knocked silly
into about the fourth hour. One moment he had spotted the Snitch, buzzing around Neville's
shoelaces. The next moment everything had gone black.

And he had found himself in the Hollow. Now he was back.

“I started to get worried about you mate,” Ron said lightly as he plucked at the grass under his
fingers.

“Aww, Ron. I'm touched,” said Harry as an amused smile formed on his face.

Ron met his smile with one of his own. “Lav would have killed me if I had let you die today. All
the papers would be about you tomorrow.”

Harry pretended to get choked up and wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

“How long was I out for?”

“Dunno. One...two minutes maybe.”

“That's all?”

“Well they were two long minutes,” Ron assured him. “It's a good thing Ginny didn't
happen to look out a window or something. She would have had Fred's head if she saw.”

Harry snorted. “If she knew better she would have congratulated him,” he mumbled under his
breath. Ron however still heard him.

“What?” asked a confused Ron, brow puckered.

Harry seized up in apprehension. He had been suffering from a moment of guilt. In his mind he
had been replaying the conversation he'd had with his inner voice. When Ron mentioned
Ginny's name he couldn't help but think to himself that he was a bastard for leading Ginny
on all these years, even if he had done it unawares. But he couldn't tell Ron this. If he told
Ron about how he came about his great epiphany Ron would think he was barmy. Then Ron would hit
him.

“I think something set Ginny off, but she won't say what. She came home late last night
hacked off good and proper. And then she's been irritable most of the day.”

Ron stared at him good and hard. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and
closed his mouth again. After a second he said, “I'm sure whatever it is, it will work itself
out.”

Harry dropped his eyes from those of his best friend. “I guess.” He nervously cleared his
throat. Harry then searched his brain for a way to distract Ron before he started asking any deeper
questions. His eyes landed on Violet who was surrounded by Rosemary, Lish, Isis Jordan, Aiko
Hagrid, and some other little girl that Harry didn't recognize. The girls were oohing and
ahhing over Vi's new pet.

“You never told me about how you found Crookshanks.”

That did the trick. “You wouldn't even believe it Harry,” Ron said as he practically pulled
at his own hair. “I don't even believe it. And the damned cat's been shacked up with me for
days now. Pumpkin and I just happened to have walked into that store, you remember the one, and
there he was. Waiting for us.” Ron shuddered. “It's like he could smell us coming.”

When Harry and Ginny walked thru the doors of the Burrow that morning, Crookshanks had actually
been the first one to greet them. The cat wound it's way affectionately thru Harry's legs
and when Harry looked down, expecting to see Marc and Leo's pet jarvey Serge, he had nearly
come out of his own skin at the sight of the squashed face cat. The last time he had seen
Crookshanks was just after that last Christmas when Hermione had still been home. Apparently the
cat had gotten the idea to run off before she did. And now, for whatever reasons, Crookshanks had
decided to come back. If Harry was the sort who believed in omens he would have found the timing of
all of this very interesting.

But Harry wasn't the type to believe in omens.

“I've been thinking about her,” Ron said, breaking Harry out of his own daze. “I've been
thinking about her a lot lately.” Ron was looking at the now darkening skies.

Harry smiled wanly. He felt no need to ask Ron who he was talking about. Hadn't he been
thinking about her too?

“I think...” Ron began hesitantly as he went to face him, “I think I might have even had a dream
about her last night.”

Harry turned shocked, almost jealous eyes towards Ron. Was Ron having those types of dreams as
well?

Ron, feeling anxious and confused to the pit of his stomach by the look that Harry was giving
him quickly looked back to the horizon.

“At least I think it was her. I don't know Harry, it was all so confusing and jumbled up. I
barely recall even scraps of it.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. If Ron was having the same kind of dreams he was having there
would be no way that Ron wouldn't be able to remember them.

“I've been thinking about her a lot too,” Harry confessed as he gave Ron a comforting
squeeze on the shoulder.

Ron looked back and held Harry's gaze. “I miss her.”

Harry felt like he was drowning in a maelstrom of unhappiness and uncertainty. Although Harry
had never outright asked Ron the question, Harry had to wonder if Ron was still in love with
Hermione. True, Ron seemed to honestly adore Lavender, but Harry remembered the state Ron had been
in the months after Hermione's disappearance. Even though they were over by then, Ron had still
been heartbroken. Harry had felt similarly (maybe even stronger), he just hadn't recognized
those feelings back then for what they were. Now Harry knew. His heart had left him over five years
ago. Somehow he had managed to still walk and talk and go on with the endless charade of living his
life, but he had effectively done so without aid of his heart. Hermione. The one woman who always
stood up for him. The one woman who was never afraid to stand up to him. The girl who he knew would
have placed herself between him and the very gates of Hades if he asked her to. He loved her. How
could he not love her? But did Ron feel the same? Harry shrunk back from the thought of voicing the
question aloud. Harry was just learning to cope with his own truths. He wasn't ready to deal
with any that belonged to Ron just yet.

“I miss her too,” he miserably admitted. Ron playfully socked him in the shoulder to lighten the
mood. They didn't notice the two faint shadows that hovered over them.

“And I miss her three,” mocked Fred as he threw himself on the ground and began to play act
weeping on to Ron's shoulder.

“Gerroff...gerroff,” shouted Ron as he tried to shake his brother off of him. The large group of
children who were playing close by laughed and pointed at them.

George, who was holding his and his twin's brooms, smirked at the two younger men. “Are you
two girls done having your weepy?”

“Because some of us would like to get on with the game. Bill isn't getting any younger,”
Fred joked as he jumped up.

“I heard that!”

Fred and George both sent teasing grins their older brother's way.

“C'mon Potter, we aren't about to forfeit to Neville's team,” began Fred.

“How will we ever live down the shame?” finished George.

“And I heard that,” called Neville jovially.

Harry sheepishly smiled up at the matching set. “Sorry guys, my heart just isn't in it any
more. Besides, I'm knackered.”

The twins turned to look at each other as they began to discuss something seriously. Serious for
them at least.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” announced George.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Fred asked his brother.

“I'm always thinking what you're thinking.”

“But of course.”

“Marc,” they both shouted in unison.

Marcel looked up from where he was being swarmed by his younger cousins, Percy's triplets.
During the lull while everyone was waiting for Harry to wake up, Barry, Kent, and Phil had decided
to play a game of Dragon Tamer with their older brother PJ. Unfortunately for young Percy no one
had bothered to inform him that he was the Opaleye. Marc had been valiantly trying to pull the
little monsters off of the bewildered and bespeckled five year old when his two favorite uncles
called his name. Poor PJ was forgotten in Marc's rush to see what the twins wanted.

“Uncle Gred, Uncle Forge,” he said as he came to a halt before the four older men.

“You think you can manage being a Seeker?”

“Fleur is going to murder you two,” Ron darkly muttered as he shook his head.

Marc's eyes, which were practically covered by the bangs of his bowl cut hair, grew enormous
as he contemplated what Fred was asking him.

“But I haven't got a broom,” he answered bashfully. “Maman says I'm still too
young.”

Harry, who was very fond of the little boy, picked up his broom and offered it nonchalantly to
the child.

“Think this old thing will do?”

Marc's eyes grew even larger at the suggestion.

“I've never ridden on a Firebolt Uncle Harry.”

“But you know how to joyride a Nimbus 360 don't you,” Ron remarked irritably.

Marc looked shamefaced at the accusation. Ron was still sore at the stunt his nephew had pulled
on him the last time he had dinner at the Burrow.

Harry snorted at Ron's hypocrisy. He almost reminded Ron of a certain Ford Anglia that the
redhead had once been acquainted with.

“Take it Marc,” said Harry as he offered his broom again.

The seven year old only had to be told twice. He grabbed a hold of the Firebolt and ran off in
the direction of his father to ask for permission. Fred went with him to make sure Bill said yes.
George reached out a hand to help Ron up. Ron looked at it suspiciously for a moment before taking
it. He visibly winced and cursed lowly under his breath as he rubbed at the still healing cut on
his hand. Harry remembered the pain. After the future groom and bride cut themselves with the blade
during the commencement ceremony, usually on the palm, they were not allowed to use magic to heal
the wound.

“Sure you aren't up to finishing the game?” Ron asked congenially.

Harry looked warmly up at him as he handed Ron his broom. “I'm sure. Besides, being a
spectator isn't so bad.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders and he and George headed towards the two waiting teams.

Harry laid back in the grass and propped himself up on his elbows. He watched the game get back
under way, but took little interest in it. He actually was tired. He hadn't gotten that much
rest the night before. Not because of any night time visits from a certain brown eyed girl, sadly,
but because his wife had chosen that night to reclaim her side of the bed in the room they once
shared together.

When Harry had come home to discover only Dobby in the house he hadn't been that concerned.
Ginny didn't have a job, she seemed to find the task of being Mrs. Harry Potter enough career
for her, but she often spent her days visiting her various family members or friends. This night he
just figured that she was still at the Burrow helping with the party set-up. Dobby had already
prepared his dinner, the usual meat and two veg, so Harry wasn't that fussed over her absence.
He should have been.

He had been telling the truth when he told Ron that Ginny had been upset since the night before.
Harry had gone to bed early so he could wake up well rested for Ron's party. He also hoped to
have some sweet dreams. Tonks had put some terribly naughty, yet intriguing thoughts in his head
earlier that day and Harry was counting on his imagination to make work of them. But just as he was
settling to sleep Ginny burst thru the door, gave him a resentful once over, and proceeded to climb
into the bed next to him. Harry probably wouldn't have thought much of her actions if not for
the fact that she did all of this while still wearing the clothes she had been wearing that
day.

Harry was concerned. He was worried for Ginny, he couldn't think of what would upset her so.
He was also nervous as hell! He and Ginny hadn't slept in the same bed for a long little while
now. The last time she had come in the room they had nearly made love. On paper, a man having sex
with his wife wouldn't seem so odd. The problem was that in his half-sleep daze Harry had
gotten confused and thought it was Hermione he was about to sleep with. He felt terribly guilty
about the slip-up afterwards, Ginny had been so great about the whole thing that he felt two feet
tall. The problem was he didn't know what to feel worse about, the fact that he didn't
finish what he started with his wife or the reality that he didn't want to.

Last night he had been faced with a similar situation. He wanted to make sure Ginny was alright,
he just didn't want to encourage her to make any advances towards him. He tried talking to her,
but she actually growled at him. He tried reaching for her hand, but she only turned over on her
side. A few moments later she settled off to sleep. He was at a loss till he remembered the small
disagreement they had that morning. Harry had assumed that Ginny was only annoyed and disappointed
that he hadn't spent the day with her and the rest of the Weasleys, but judging by her behavior
that night she seemed just a moment away from breathing fire on him. Harry figured it was best to
just let sleeping dragons lay.

With Ginny sleeping right beside him Harry was too scared to close his eyes. He feared that the
moment he did he would end up invited to a threesome he had no interest in participating in. So
instead of falling into dreams he chose to give himself to his trove of memories. One particular
memory actually. That day Tonks reminded him of the night that she and Hermione, dressed as nuns,
raided a small Franciscan cloister while he, Ron, and Draco Malfoy stood guard over them. Under
cover of night, they slipped into the Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac. Though they went there
with hopes of finding a horcrux, their intentions had been to save a life.

It all happened so fast. He and Ron had just entered the common room of the Head's suite.
They had been practicing defensive spells in the Forbidden Forest with Tonks all morning. The
training session had been set up so that all four of the youngest Order of the Phoenix members
could work on and improve their skills with the trained Auror. In actuality, Tonks was acting as
babysitter for the troop. The majority of the Order had gone to escort a number of war refugees to
a safehouse near Blackness Castle and Remus had asked Tonks to watch over the teens and to make
sure that Harry didn't do anything rash. But that morning, when Tonks came to collect them,
Hermione had already disappeared and Malfoy was still in the bathroom doing his hair. Harry and
Ron, wanting to spend as little time with the ferret as possible, told Tonks that the Slytherin had
a bad case of the shits and wouldn't be able to accompany them. After wrinkling her nose in
disgust, she shepherded the rest of her charges to the secluded spot she had found in the
woods.

When they got back they found one fumed Malfoy sitting by the fire, arms crossed before him.
Before wands could be drawn, Hermione came running down the stairs from her room. She was loaded
down with books and it seemed damned near difficult for her to navigate her way, but her cheeks
were glowing and she smiled down on all three of them exultantly. Harry had to remind himself to
look away after he had been staring at her for what he felt was too long and inappropriate. He
looked to see if Ron had noticed, but the captivated young man only seemed to see her. Oddly enough
when his eyes passed over Malfoy he saw that the blond was leering in the same direction as Ron.
Before Harry could think further on this Hermione alighted from the bottom steps of the staircase,
crossed over to one of the large, squashy couches that decorated the room, placed her books
delicately on it, and turned to face the three boys.

*“**I found her,**”* she nearly squealed triumphantly.

When he, Ron, and Malfoy answered her back with looks of clear puzzlement, she looked between
each of their faces as if shocked that they didn't understand her.

*“Didn't you hear what I said? I found her!”*

*“**Oh we are all very happy for you Granger,”* Malfoy sneered. *“I'm sure you
and the poor desperate woman will live happily ever after. It's just good to see that
you've finally accepted what the rest of us have known all along.”*

Hermione sent a wicked grin Malfoy's way. *“Malfoy, how sweet! But no matter how nice you
are about it, I still won't let you watch.”* Hermione's words were cloyingly saccharine,
yet combative.

Harry frowned at this little repartee. For the last week or so Harry had noticed a change in the
air between Hermione and Malfoy. They still argued like mad and neither could resist sending a well
timed stinging barb at the other if given the opportunity. Lately, however, Harry had begun to
notice a subtle difference. Before Malfoy would say something mean spirited to Hermione and she
would slap him down quickly with a biting retort (usually by insulting his manhood, his hair or by
insinuating that he fancied her) to show him that she wasn't intimidated by him. Now, though
she still answered his jabs in kind, there was a undercurrent playfulness to her insults.
Malfoy's put-downs also seemed to lack teeth as of late. It was like they were purposely
teasing one another and enjoying it. If Harry didn't know any better he would think they were
almost flirting. Of course that was a preposterous idea. Like Hermione would even strike up a
friendship with the slug! Still Harry had to wonder what ill-effects drinking from the golden cup
might have had on her. It had been barely two months since that event. Was she experiencing some
strange by-product due to her rash decision? Was this...thing with Malfoy one of them?

The issue irked him. If he wasn't so sure that Hermione would rip off his balls and hand
them to him, he would have mentioned his worries to Ron. Ron would then question Hermione about
it...after he split Malfoy's head in two. Then Hermione would come after him. Harry swallowed
nervously at that idea. He couldn't stand the idea of Hermione being sore at him. It wasn't
too long ago that she wouldn't even have a chat alone with him. The idea that she could get mad
enough to stop speaking to him altogether, which she would do if he sicked Ron at her, was
frightening. He didn't want to go through that again. So he decided to leave Ron out of it.
Besides Ron seemed blind to the situation.

*“**Hermione,**”* Harry interupted, calling a cease to their banter. *“Who are
you talking about? Who did you find?”*

He and Ron advanced to where she was standing in the middle of the room. Malfoy had risen from
his seat next to the hearth.

*“**Boadicea,”* she exclaimed excitedly. *“Boadicea DuManoir, to be exact.”*

Ron grabbed her. *“You found the one that V-Voldemort was looking for? You found it?”*

*“**I found her,”* she replied. *“And yes, I have reason to believe she's the
one.”*

At this news Ron let out a loud and boisterous whoop. He then picked her up quickly and spun her
around. Harry felt that Ron was going a bit overboard. Just a bit.

As Ron set her back on her feet Harry asked her how she managed to find this mystery person that
Riddle was so interested in.

She settled down on the couch while the rest of them gathered around her. Ron sat next to her,
while Harry sat at her feet. Malfoy, wanting to appear only slightly interested, sat on the arm of
the couch furtherest from them.

*“**Remember when I told you that I was familiar with that name?”* she asked, even
including Malfoy in the question. *“Well I was right. Last June I saw it in the Hall of
Heads.”*

Harry was baffled at what Hermione could be talking about. He looked to see what he could only
imagine was the same question on Ron's face. Hall of Heads?

*“**You lot have never taken the time to examine the walls that lead up to this tower
have you?”* Hermione disappointedly asked them.

*“**Well what the bloody hell would we be looking for?”* Ron complained irately.

*“**Names, Weasleby,”* Malfoy explained in a bored voice.

Ron's eyes snapped at him fiercely, but he held his tongue.

*“**Engraved on those walls are the names of every Head Girl and Head Boy who has ever
slept in this tower. The tradition dates back to 887,”* Malfoy finished.

As much as he didn't want to show his amazement Harry couldn't help but be dumbfounded
by the scope of what Malfoy was sharing.

*“That's a lot of stones.”*

Malfoy smiled at him smugly.*“Indeed it is Potter. At the start of the new term the Deputy
Headmaster...”*

Hermione purposely cleared her throat. Malfoy shot her an annoyed glance before it took on its
usual arrogant glint.

*“**Forgive me,”* he said, nodding his head in her direction. *“The Deputy
Headmaster or Headmistress escorts the newly selected Heads to this suite. Before they officially
cross the threshold they use their wands to put their name on a stone. The men to the right, the
girls to the left.”*

*“**As usual Malfoy you have it backwards,”* Hermione chirped. *“It's ladies to
the right, little boys to the left.”* She emphasized the word little.

He smirked at her quip. *“Of course.”*

Harry and Ron looked at each other before gawking at Malfoy in shock. Their stares seemed to
unnerve him.

*“**I read about it, alright,”* he said in answer. *“My father had high ambitions
for me.”* His eyes burned at the mention of his father. *“Of course he was never Head Boy so I
never got why he pushed it at me so. It's not like I wanted to be it...”*

Ron let out a bored huff. *“Really Malfoy, I'm playing the world's tiniest violin
here.”*

*“**Well I'm sure it would still be larger then that infinitesimal piccolo in your
pants Weasel!”*

*“You pinch faced...”*

*“**Knock it off you two,”* Hermione snapped, looking between them both. *“Now as I
was saying,”* she started after she was sure that neither boy was going to start up again, *“I
remembered seeing her name last term. The night before Dumbledore's funeral I...I couldn't
sleep. When I finally got to bed I had a lot on my mind. I snuck out of the dorms and took a walk.
I ended up in the corridor outside those doors,”* she finished as she pointed towards the
exit.

Ron smiled bashfully.*“Wasn't that the night we...**”*

Hermione flashed a quick look of mortification at Ron then towards Harry before she quickly cut
him off.

*“Yes Ron. Yes. But that really has nothing to do with all of this, does it?”*

Malfoy made a noise of disgust as Hermione gave him a nasty glare.

Harry didn't know what to think. He remembered the night in question. He had come in very
late, but even so Ron hadn't been in the dorm. When his best friend did finally show up for bed
he looked as though he had just been named Head Boy and Quidditch captain all at once. At the time
Harry had been wrapped up in too much grief to ask Ron what was with the silly grin. But now Harry
had to wonder, just what was Ron alluding to? What happened that night? Did Harry even want to
know? He was just getting used to the sight of Ron and Hermione kissing and touching each other.
Did they do other things together? Did they...?

*“**Arg**h**,”* Harry nearly shouted as he tried to shake the image from his
head.

Hermione turned concerned eyes in his direction. *“Are you alright Harry?”* Ron looked at
him too and Harry blushed embarrassedly.

*“**Yes, yes...I'm fine,”* Harry answered. He promised himself he'd never
think of such things again. *“What were you doing in the South Tower?”*

Hermione frowned as she began to bite at the corner of her lip. *“I...I don't really know.
It's silly I guess. I just wanted to see it since...”*

She hung her head down as her eyes began to water. Harry didn't need her to finish. He
realized almost instantly why Hermione would want to see the walls emblazoned with the names of the
more then thousands of young men and women who had led Hogwarts, almost from its inception. She had
gone to see what she was turning her back on. The wall would have been the visual proof of what she
was giving up for him. From the moment Hermione heard the title 'Head Girl' she knew she
wanted to be it. She seemed born for the role, their initials even matched. One would say it was
meant to be. She worked harder and studied more then anyone else in their year. She was determined
to achieve her goal. But in the end it would all be for naught. Even before they got official word
that Hogwarts wouldn't be re-opening in the fall Hermione had already cast her lot with Harry.
She had been willing to walk away from her heart's desire even when there was a chance she
could have still had it. She was willing to chuck it all for him. To help him. In hindsight now
Harry could only wonder how he had managed not to fall at this girl's feet in worship back
then.

*“**I read about it in* Hogwarts, A History*,”* she said with a strained
smile.

*“**So this Boadicea has a stone,”* drawled Malfoy. *“Still Granger, how could you
possibly remember that one name out of the thousands that should be there?”*

Hermione's smile brightened considerably at the question and Harry almost wanted to aim his
wand at Malfoy's fat head and make it float off into space.

*“I remembered it because hers was one of the few stones that had two names on it. You see, in
all of Hogwarts tho**usand years of being open only three* *Head Girls were unable to
complete their duties.”*

Hermione grabbed one of the books that had been sitting beside her and flipped thru a few pages.
She came to a stop when she found what she was looking for.

*“The first one was mortally injured during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792. She was the
Hogwarts Champion and the cockatrice she was supposed to catch for her task went berserk. In fact
all three school Heads and Champions got hurt during that round. Her injuries however were so
extensive that she died a few days later.”*

*“**Blimey,”* Ron whispered. *“Was she at least a Gryff?”*

Hermione frowned slightly. *“Slytherin actually.”*

*“**Ha,”* cheered Malfoy. *“**And just think Potter, all you had to deal with
was a* *measly* *Hungarian,”* he said loftily.

*“**The next Head Girl,”* Hermione said, cutting the prat off, *“that had to be
replaced was a Ravenclaw. Over the Christmas hols she got pregnant.”* She started searching thru
the pages of her book, but obviously couldn't find the page she was looking for. After giving
up in frustration she said, *“This was sometime in the late 1920's, early 30's. Back then
that would have been a big deal in both the magical* **and** *muggle world. She left school
to marry the muggle father of her child.”*

She flipped the book open to a page she bookmarked and looked at the page hard before
continuing.

*“**Now the third one was Boadicea. She was in Hufflepuff house. She was the first
muggleborn to be* *named Head Girl.”*

*“**I was right,”* Malfoy proclaimed in shock. *“She was a
mudbl...muggleborn.”*

Hermione ignored him. *“During the break,* *sometime around Easter, she suffered a mental
break and disappeared from the records.”*

*“**Well what happened?”* Harry questioned.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. *“I'm not exactly sure. The book didn't say. After
the whole Chamber tragedy Armando Dippet became very protective of Hogwarts reputation. It appears
that there was a big cover-up. I couldn't find much information on her. But I think she might
have tried to kill someone.”*

*“**You mean to tell me that all of that was in* Hogwarts, A History*?”* Ron said
in amazement. *“Why have you only been telling us the boring stuff?”*

Hermione, for some reason, looked embarrassed by the question. *“Well I...um...no...you
see...”* she stammered haplessly. She looked like she was preparing to make a quick run for the
door when Malfoy suddenly leaned over and took the book that had been sitting in her lap.

*“*Hogwarts Gone Wild*,”* he read as he flipped the book open to look at the front
flap. *“What that other biography won't tell you.”* He looked back at her tomato red face
and grinned maniacally. *“My Granger, what interesting reading material you have here.”*

Ron jumped up and snatched the book from Malfoy's grips. Malfoy didn't appreciate this
judging by the scornful expression on his face.

*“**Does it have pictures?”* Ron queried as he glanced from page to page.

Hermione glared at Ron for a moment before she smiled coyly. *“Page 313 has a pull-out pin-up
of the Hogwarts Kissing Queen of 1968.”* She paused for effect. *“Molly Prewitt.”*

Ron's mouth opened as if he were about to vomit slugs again. He made a strangled cry as he
tossed the book back at Hermione and bolted for the door mumbling about having to send a letter to
his mum.

Harry and Hermione watched Ron scuttle out of the room. Once he cleared the door she looked at
Harry and her eyes twinkled.

*“**Mrs. Weasley isn't in here. Ron was just being a prat,”* she confided. Malfoy
chortled loudly, before realizing that he had openly acknowledged Hermione's funny, and settled
his face on a scowl. She grinned at him slyly.

Harry had had about enough of this. He took the seat beside Hermione that Ron vacated. *“Help
me out here Hermione.”* She turned her full attention on Harry. *“I'm trying to understand
the significance of all of this. Why would DuManoir be so important to Riddle? What's the
connection?”*

*“Boadicea was Head Girl in 1945.”*

Malfoy's eyes widened at that bit of information. *“The Dark Lord would have been the Head
Boy.”*

Although Harry should have been more interested in this big reveal he couldn't fight off his
annoyance with Malfoy that seemed to have increased minute by minute the ferret sat in his
presence.

*“**You know Malfoy, I would sleep with one less eye open and never question your
allegiance if you didn't continuously refer to that murdering, snake faced, scum of the Earth
bastard as the Dark-fucking-Lord,”* Harry rebuked him scathingly.

*“**How dare you,”* he answered back, eyes blazing. *“I'm an Order member, same
as you!”*

Harry laughed snidely. *“Don't tell me you really believe that? You bought your way into
our good graces. It's a wonder I haven't thrown you to your Death Eater friends.”* Harry
then went in for the kill. *“Oh that's right, they want you dead. I can't really say that
I blame them.”*

Malfoy scoffed. *“You can't turn me out. You're not the leader here!”* Yet his
voice choked on those last words and fear was clearly evident in his eyes. He turned to Hermione as
if he actually expected her to stick up for him.

Hermione was literally and figuratively trapped in the middle. She had swung her bushy head back
and forth as their argument escalated. Now she was being called to settle the matter. Her
discomfiture was apparent. She swallowed visibly as she prepared to say something that she knew
would leave one of them upset.

*“**Actually Malfoy,”* she began slowly, *“Harry is our leader. With Dumbledore gone
he and Professor Lupin are basically the de-facto heads of the Order.”* Malfoy opened his mouth
to argue her down, but she continued speaking. *“And as cruel as this sounds, Harry is right. You
really haven't given us a reason to trust you yet, have you?”*

Although Hermione looked pained to say it, as though someone had pulled each and every single
tooth out of her mouth to force her to it, Harry still threw Malfoy a smug and conquering smile.
Take that ferret!

As Malfoy marched wrathfully from the room and out the door she turned her disappointed eyes on
Harry. *“I really wish you wouldn't wind him up so. It would make it so much easier for us of
all to get along.”*

As if she could talk!

*“**Never mind him now,”* Harry quickly said to distract her. *“Do you think Riddle
might have given this Boadicea a horcrux? Or at least told her about them?”* he asked. *“Like
with Malfoy and Karkaroff? Or with Regulus?”*

Hermione pensively chewed on her bottom lip. Harry momentarily was distracted by how plump it
was until she started talking again.

*“**Perhaps,”* she said noncommittally. *“It would fit with his pattern. But the
problem is Boadicea was muggleborn. Hardly sounds like she would belong to his usual
crowd.”*

*“**Maybe,”* Harry said, chewing on an idea, *“maybe we can go talk to Slughorn. He
was chummy with Riddle back then. He might know how well Riddle knew her. And he would have taught
her himself. Slughorn might be quite useful.”*

*“**We could do that,”* she replied. *“Or we could ask the girl...well, now woman,
who became Head Girl after Boadicea had to leave. She might know something. She might be able to
help us.”*

Harry's eyes brightened at the possibility. *“That would be great! Do you know how to find
her?”*

Hermione's eyes locked with his own and Harry had to remind himself to breathe, her looks
could be so intense sometimes.

*“I know her. In fact, you know her too. You see, there was one other reason I remembered
Boadicea's name when I saw it. I recognized the n**a**me of her successor. Selene
Sini**stra.”*

**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**

During the intervals that Hogwarts closed down most of the professors who taught there would go
home to their families. It was rare to find a married teacher, most chose their vocation over
having a spouse, that did not mean that the staff did not have lives outside of their professions.
However there were a few professors that called the castle their home and lived in it year round.
Luckily for Harry and Hermione Sinistra was one of these teachers. After looking for her in her
office near the Astronomy Tower and a few other spots, they finally located her in McGonagall's
office, sitting on the other side of the desk, having tea with the Headmistress. To their shock
they found Malfoy in there as well. He had gone to request from McGonagall an escort to the nearest
International Floo grate. He was ready to be done with the Order and go off to Switzerland to be
with his mother. McGonagall denied his request so he was sitting in a corner of the office,
sulking.

As soon as Harry and Hermione raced up the moving steps and stepped into the circular room
Hermione began to explain the purpose of their visit. Sinistra visibly paled as she listened to
what the two teens had to tell them. McGonagall simply clucked her tongue and sighed sadly.

*“**He just won't let that poor girl alone. Even after all these years,”* said the
Headmistress pitiably, as she placed her tea cup down on the enormous claw footed affair she sat
behind.

It turned out that McGonagall knew Boadicea as well, and why not? She had only been two years
above DuManoir, Sinistra, and Riddle when she was a student at Hogwarts many a moon ago.

Hermione took out her wand from her jean pocket, conjured a cushy wing backed chair that almost
matched the vermilion colored one that Sinastra was sitting in, and took a seat next to her former
Astronomy professor. Then she placed the few books she had brought with her on the floor at her
feet.

*“**Please professor,”* she shyly said to the older woman, *“could you tell us why
Voldemort would be interested in her?”*

Harry stood behind Hermione's chair as he looked the professor over. Selene Sinistra was not
an unattractive woman. Though her facial features were a bit too pointed and angled for his tastes,
she did possess a lovely set of teal blue eyes that gleamed brightly and her titian hair, that he
remembered always being bound up in a bun at the back of her head when he took her class, was
glossy and straight and came to a rest on her shoulders. He surmised that she probably was striking
in her youth. Even now she still looked quite young and fresh, her un-lined face not betraying the
fact that she had to have been on this Earth at the least sixty-nine years. She was of Italian
heritage, yet her clipped English accent gave none of this away.

*“**Why would Lord Voldemort be interested in her, you ask? Because he loved her,”*
Sinistra answered her plainly.

Harry flinched at the proclamation. Riddle in love? Absurd! He wasn't the only one who found
the idea laughable.

*“**The Dark Lord in love with a mudblood?”* queried Malfoy derisively. *“I've
never heard such rubbish.”*

Hermione swung her head around to send the blond a disgusted look. He drew back from her gaze.
Although Harry hated to admit it, his own thoughts were not so far off from those of
Malfoy's.

*“Forgive me professor Sini**stra, but Riddle couldn't possibly have loved this girl.
Riddle can't love. Dumbledore told me this himself.”*

As Harry spoke these words his eyes drifted up to the portrait of McGonagall's predecessor
that hung over her desk. The last time Harry had seen it the man in the picture had been snoozing
away comfortably. Now Dumbledore's startling blue eyes were staring back at him and the rooms
other occupants as he listened to the conversation. In fact, as Harry looked about the walls, all
of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were listening to what was being said.
Even old Phineas' curiosity seemed to have been piqued.

Sinistra half turned in her chair to speak to Harry. *“Mister Potter, all I can tell you is
what I know and what Boadicea told me herself. Tom Riddle did love her,”* she insisted.
*“But,”* she paused as she considered her words very carefully, *“he hated her even more.
Hated her for what she was. Hated her because she couldn't help what she was. And most of all,
hated her for making him feel...something...anything for her in the first place. And in the end he
repaid her for it. He destroyed her.”*

As Harry began to process her strange words, Sinistra stood up from her chair and crossed over
to one of the large windows that faced the east. The dark curtains were drawn back, and as the
faltering sun light of the late afternoon washed thru the window, the professor settled her gaze on
a far away peak of the mountain view.

*“**Boadicea was my friend. My very best friend. I met her on the train ride to school.
Her English wasn't as good as it could be and my French wasn't as good as it could be, but
somehow we drifted towards each other and stuck.”* Sinastra turned around to face the room.
*“She also seemed overwhelmed to find herself a witch so I tried to be her guide in that as
well.”*

*“**As I recall Selene, despite all of that, Miss DuManoir turned out to be a brilliant
student,”* remarked McGonagall casually.

*“**That she did,”* she replied as she smiled wistfully. *“Her mind was quick and
adroit. When she was forteen she was performing charms at a Seventh year level. You remind me a
great deal of her actually Miss Granger.”*

Hermione, who obviously hadn't been expecting the compliment, bashfully hung her head down
in response. Although Harry couldn't be sure, he could have sworn he heard the sound of
Malfoy's eyes rolling to the back of his head in envy and disgust. The thought almost made
Harry grin as he took the now empty seat next to Hermione.

*“I often wondered why she wasn't placed in Ravenclaw, my house. I can only assume that
the Sorting Hat saw in her heart her kind and trusting nature, her deep loyalty. Such a pity that
traits such as those can be used so cruelly.”*

Harry glanced up at the Sorting Hat, sitting just behind McGonagall's head on a shelf before
sneaking a peek at his best friend. Hermione was completely enthralled by Sinistra's story at
this point. Harry could practically see the thought process play out on Hermione's face as she
listened and voiced her own questions.

*“You say that Voldemort loved and hated her. What did she feel for him?”*

The faint smile that had been on Sinistra's face gradually eased into a frown as she began
to relate her memories.

*“**Adoration,”* she answered scornfully. *“**Veneration. Near idol-like
worship. She loved him Miss Granger. From the very first moment she laid eyes on him, she loved
him. Even when she was too young to know what that word meant.”*

Sinistra slowly walked away from the window as she told them her story.

*“He was a very handsome boy back then.”*

McGonagall smacked her lips disdainfully at these words.

*“**Well he was Minerva. Never mind that monster he is now, back then he was quite good
looking. All dark and brooding too.”* She stopped for a moment to regard Harry. *“You favor
him a bit Mister Potter.”*

Harry shivered at her words. The memory of a young Tom Riddle once told him the same thing. The
idea disgusted him then just as it did now.

*“**I never quite saw the appeal,”* McGonagall said. *“Where most saw brooding I
just saw sneaky. The way he would ingratiate himself to the faculty was nauseating to say the
least. I daresay the students, particularly the muggleborns, got a different side of Lord Voldemort
however.”*

*“**When he learned that Boadicea was a muggleborn he treated her with nothing but
scorn,”* said Sinistra, finishing her colleague’s thoughts. *“The names he would call her...I
could never understand that kind of hatred.”*

Harry looked over his shoulder to give Malfoy a scornful look. Malfoy turned his head to ignore
him.

*“Despite all of this, she steadily maintained to me that they were in love. But I
couldn't understand how he could* *love her and think she was chaff**. I tried
pointing this out to her once, but my concerns fell on deaf ears. Boadicea would say to me,
'Sesi, he's different when it's just him and me Sesi...I'm going to marry him one
day Sesi'. And because I loved her and wanted the best for her I foolishly believed
her.”*

As she continued to speak Sinistra began to pace about the room back and forth.

*“**In our last year in school Boadicea was chosen to be Head Girl. We were all so very
happy for her. I worried for her though. With Tom Riddle as Head Boy I knew that she would spend
too much time alone with him. I feared the effects that would have on her. I wish I could say that
those fears had been groundless, but....”* Her eyes watered and she stopped for a moment to
collect herself.

*“**After only a few months of sharing the Heads' suite with him she began to draw
away from me. Her eyes lost what luster they had. All that seemed to matter to her was her slavish
devotion to that...that...boy,”* she said, almost snarling her words. *“Then, right before
Easter, she came to me and cried on my shoulder. Tom had told her the night before that he could
never be with her. That she was unworthy of him.* *That she had only been a bit of fun to
him.* *Those words broke her. She got on the train to spend the short break with her
mother.”*

*“**How did her parents handle her being magical?”* Hermione asked, evidently
fascinated by this portrait of a fellow muggleborn.

*“**Not very well,”* Sinastra replied in answer. *“You see Boadicea's mother was
very religious. As a girl* *she had been orphaned young and lived as a novitiate in a convent.
But for whatever reasons she didn't take her vows and married DuManoir, a poor farmer that
lived on the edge of Boussac, instead. After she had Boadicea her whole world revolved around her
child and her Church. That is until her head was turned by a wizard named Callum Ferguson. Do you
remember him Minerva?”*

McGonagall smirked. *“Aye. That I do. A handsome, devilish rogue* *if ever there were
one**. He once told me that he had for me the perfect position under him once I became
o**f age. I would be his assistant,”* she said dryly. *“* *Dirty old man. I
can't imagine how he ever became a school governor.”*

*“Well it was because of his position that Boadicea went to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons.
He had met the mother while staying in Boussac on holiday. A few weeks later she and her daughter
were living in Dumfries with him. When Boadicea's letter came winging its way to her he
convinced Madame DuManoir that Hogwarts was a better choice for her child. She reluctantly agreed
to it, but Boadicea often told me that her mother felt terribly guilty for her being the way she
was. She felt it was her fault that her daughter was a witch. That it was her penance for turning
away from God and her husband that she had borne 'une sorcière'. To make amends for her
crimes, Madame DuManoir would make a pilgrimage to the convent chapel where she practically grew up
each Easter to attend midnight Mass.”*

*“**Boadicea wasn't religious herself. You rarely find many magical people who cling
to the wand and the old faiths of the world,”* she continued as she crossed back over to the
window that faced the pitch. *“But for some reason, Boadicea was determined to attend Mass with
her mother this particular year. Usually she just stayed at school over break like most of us.
Merlin...how I wish she would have just stayed this time too,”* she cried out in anger as tears
began to stream down her face.

*“**What happened?”* Malfoy asked, clearly being drawn into the story as well. Harry
himself was near the edge of his seat by this point. However Sinistra seemed too distraught to go
on.

*“**I can tell the rest Selene,”* the Headmistress offered as she began to fiddle with
a silver ink pot on her desk... *“I've heard most of it. During the Mass, as the congregation
recited the Kyrie elesion, Boadicea entered the chapel and strode past the pews, bare as the day
she was born. The only thing she had with her was her wand. As she raised it to her mother,
prepared to deliver the* *killing curse**, Ferguson stepped in the way. I suppose there
was some nobility in him after all. Obliviators had to come and erase the memories of all those
muggles, save for the mother of course, who witnessed the sad event. However when the correct
authorities came to collect Boadicea she and the mother were nowhere to be found. No one ever found
out what happened to them, though the authorities looked for them for years and years.”*

Harry began to mull over all of the information they had been given. A clear picture began to
form its self in his head.*“That would explain why Voldemort’s Death Eaters can't find her
now.”*

*“**Do you think she might have...something that he's trying to get back?”*
Hermione asked cryptically, turning in her seat to face him.

Harry got up from his chair and crossed to the middle of the room where Sinistra was
standing.

*“Professor, did Riddle ever give anything to Boadicea? A trinket? Some sort of memento
perhaps?”*

*“**Not that I recall,”* she said in answer, obviously confounded by Harry’s
questions.

*“Are you sure? Even if it was something that would seem completely insubstantial to you. A
book, maybe? Or jewelry?”*

She shook her head warily. *“No. Boadicea wasn't too fond of jewelry. The only bit she
ever owned was a hair pin.”*

The tension in the room shot up tenfold. Her words hung in the air for a moment. Harry was
almost too afraid to speak, fearful that he had misheard her.

*“**A hair pin,”* Hermione asked in his stead, sliding from her seat to the ground.
She began sifting thru the pile of reference books, tossing some to and fro, in her frantic
desperation to find what she was looking for.

*“**Yes,”* said Sinistra as she queerly looked back and forth between Harry and
Hermione. *“It was quite pretty actually. She was very fond of the thing. She wouldn't even
let me touch it and I was her best friend. It was one of the few treasures her mother was left with
after her parents died. Boadicea said it had been in her family for years.”*

Hermione, finding the book that she wanted, raised herself from the ground and brought it over
to the teacher. She thumbed thru the book and opened it to a bookmarked page of a portrait of
Ravenclaw. As she pointed to the hair pin in the picture she asked fretfully, *“Did it look like
this?”*

*“Is this...isn’t this Rowena?”*

*“**Professor, please,”* Hermione snapped forcefully. Harry came to her side and
rested a calming hand on her shoulder. This action seemed to help her regain her composure. *“Did
it look like this?”* Hermione asked again.

*“Merlin yes! But...but…how?”*

Hermione turned her dark and troubled eyes to Harry

*“**Boadicea was from France, Harry. From France! It just can't be,”* Hermione
pronounced disbelievingly.

*“**Granger,”* Malfoy spat, *“**what on Earth are you yammering on
about?”*

Hermione however ignored his question. Instead she swung around and scrutinized Dumbledore’s
portrait sharply. The Old Headmaster gazed back at her evenly. Harry searched both of their faces,
trying desperately to understand what was going on. He opened his mouth to question Hermione, but
she brushed him off and advanced towards McGonagall’s desk. Her eyes never wavered from
Dumbledore’s face.

*“**Professor, is it too extraordinary an idea that Boadicea DuManoir might be somehow
connected to Rowena Ravenclaw?”* She paused, her question seemed to embarrass her somehow, but
she plodded on. *“I mean...that is to say...could she be a distant relative of hers. A
decedent?”*

Although Hermione was addressing Dumbledore, who was still staring back at her serenely, all of
the other busybody portraits decided to voice their opinion to the question. The consensus seemed
to be a resounding “no”.

*“**Preposterous,”* yelled out a picture of a little feeble old wizard to the right of
them. Although the man was older and much balder then when Harry remembered seeing him, inside the
pages of Riddle’s diary that is, Harry still recognized Dippet. And even as a portrait Harry still
considered him an ineffectual bore. How dare he shoot down Hermione’s theory just like that! This
was the same man who gave Riddle a medal for killing a girl for Merlin’s sake!

*“**I’m afraid I must agree with Dippet little girl,”* the portrait of Phineas
Nigellus Black sneeringly drawled down at them. Hermione swung her head between the two paintings.
She seemed to retreat into herself for a moment, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t quite used to
teachers telling her that anything she said was stupid. *“I mean, really! The idea that this mad
muggleborn of which you speak could actually have come from the line of Ravenclaw is just
revisionist twaddle. If such were true you would have any wizard,”* he paused as he looked at
Hermione appraisingly, *“or witch of lowly birth trying to shake a Founder out of their
tree.”*

Harry saw red at the statement. He marched towards the picture of Sirius'
great-great-grandfather, fully prepared to tear it to shreds if he could, but Hermione beat him to
the portrait. She spoke to him proudly, her back straight as though lined with steel.

*“There are some who believe that Ravenclaw lived out the rest of her life somewhere in
France. It would fit. No matter how unbelievable it sounds…it would still fit.”*

*“**I daresay girl,”* called another, sallow faced wizard dressed in very old period
robes, *“don’t listen to Black. These modern wizards and witches born after the Dark Scourge
hardly believe in anything that they didn’t see with their own two eyes. I myself heard of stories
of Rowena settling in Lyons as a small child.”*

*“**I believe you meant to say Black Death, dear Everard,”* said a twinkling eyed
Dumbledore, his glasses as always hanging precariously from his long crooked nose. Everard merely
brushed at his short black fringe and accepted Dumbledore’s correction.

*“**You are however correct old boy,”* he continued as he brought his gaze back to
Hermione. *“We modern day wizards and witches can be quite dogmatic when it comes to questions of
the Founders. Don’t you agree Miss Granger?”*

Hermione took her seat again in front of the desk, book still clutched in her hand.
*“Ravenclaw couldn't have had a family that went there with her too, could she
Professor?”*

*“My dear Miss Granger, why would the idea seem so inconceivable to you?”*

*“**Because...”* Hermione began haltingly,*“I mean...surely I would have read about
it. Wouldn't I?”*

*“**In my younger days, I must admit, I found muggles quite odd,”* the old wizard
began as all eyes in the room were drawn to him. Even Malfoy left his corner perch to advance
slowly to the front of the room.

*“**You see, I couldn't fathom how people who feared the magic all around them, who
tried to burn away on stakes anyone they deemed...odd...could instead believe it possible for a man
to live in the belly of a whale for days, in trumpets bursts toppling massive walls, and place
their faith in the idea that a virgin could give birth to the son of a god. And that this same
virgin could be married for a number of years and never have any other children by her mortal
husband. Today we know that the muggle prophet, of which I speak, did have siblings. But there are
some who will argue the fact. It's so much easier to believe in someone's place in Heaven
when he isn't tied down to the Earth by his mortal relatives.”* Dumbledore chuckled fondly
at his words.

*“But as smug as I was about muggles I hardly bothered to consider that we wizards and witches
were guilty of this same blind idolatry. We have made the Founders into almost divine beings. Thru
the years we have forgotten that these were living, breathing men and women who had wants and
needs. Who were flesh. These were people who had lives. Never was the point brought home to me more
then when the Chamber of Secrets was first opened. Before then I never stopped to consider that
Slytherin could have an heir. But now we know that he did. Thru the tapestry of time a single
thread led from Salazar Slytherin to Merope Gaunt's son.”*

*“**So no Miss Granger,”* he said as his blue eyes danced, *“I do not find it that
extraordinary an idea.”*

Malfoy, who amazingly enough had been quiet all of this time, shook his head in disbelief.

*“**But...but...she was a mudbl....,”* he began, but stopped thinking better of it.
*“She was muggleborn,”* he said instead. *“How can she be related to one of the greatest
Sorceresses of all time?”*

At these words Hermione turned on Malfoy in a display of fabulous fury. Harry hadn’t seen her
this worked up since that first day at Little Whinging. Her eyes blazed lightening sparks as she
jumped from her chair and stamped her way to him. Harry was almost certain she was going to hit him
again.

*“**And Malfoy,”* she berated him shrilly instead. *“So what?! So what if she was
muggleborn? You don't know shit!”*

Malfoy was completely stunned by her attack on him. He slowly began to edge his way from her,
yet she followed him as though he were her prey. She backed him right on to the stone wall by
Phineas’ picture. The other occupants in the room were shocked into silence at her outburst. Even
though Harry knew that Hermione would be completely ashamed of herself later, some part of him
couldn’t help but find this whole exchange terribly brilliant. Hermione cursed in front of
teachers! And Dumbledore! And every Headmaster the school had ever had, no less! Ron was going to
string himself up for missing all of this! And where the hell was Ron by the way, he briefly
wondered.

*“**You and your kind, so damned concerned about bloodlines and pedigree,”* she
snarled as she momentarily looked up at Black and then back to Malfoy. *“So bloody well concerned
about the pureness in your blood when your father licked the boots of a lowly half breed,”* she
malevolently taunted him.*“Do you hear me Malfoy? Your beloved Dark Lord is a half breed! And he
was descended from Salazar Slytherin.* *So y**ou don't know shit Malfoy,”* she
finished as she backed away from him.

McGonagall, who had been sitting thru all of this looked down her nose at Hermione and gave her
a chastising frown that seemed to pin Hermione in place.

*“**Miss Granger, I’m surprised at you,”* she admonished. *“As your former professor
I must say that I thought you better then that kind of language.”*

Hermione hung her head in abject shame.

*“**However,”* continued the Headmistress as the left corner of her lips twitched up
in a quick smile, *“as your colleague I must say, good job.”*

Hermione’s head sprung up and she gave McGonagall the most endearing buoyant smile. Harry almost
forgot that there were other important matters at hand while looking at that smile. Then Malfoy
grumbled bratishly under his breath and broke the spell.

*“**Look, let's try to focus on what we know,”* Harry said as he and Hermione
approached Sinistra and McGonagall at her desk. *“Somehow DuManoir came into possession of the
Ravenclaw...heirloo**m.* *Tom Riddle, who lived in the same suite with her for a year,
would have had complete access to this little treasure. If he knew what it was he could have easily
used it for his ends and then left it with DuManoir. Who would have ever been any the
wiser?”*

*“Now he is looking for her. Oh Harry, you don't think he is trying to get it back, do
you?”*

Sinistra, not being an Order member, had no idea what the three teens were going on about.

*“**Of course that is what he is trying to do Granger,”* Malfoy spat from his corner.
*“He's probably caught on to what we are doing and is trying to call a halt to Potter's
campaign. We have to do something about it!”*

*“**We?!”* cried both Harry and Hermione in shock as they faced Malfoy.

*“**Yes, we,”* the blond answered back snidely, arms crossed before him stubbornly.
*“You think I’ll just sit back and let Potter have all the glory?”*

Hermione was too flabbergasted to offer any protest to his declaration.

*“**If anything we will have to move* *quickly**,”* she said as she looked
from Harry to McGonagall. *“We will need as many Order members we can muster. Professor
McGonagall, you will contact Professor Lupin and Mr. Shacklebolt for us, won’t you?”*

*“**Of course dear,”* the woman replied. *“But there is one thing you children seem
to have overlooked.”* This statement caught all three teens’ attention. *“No one knows where
Boadicea is. We don't even know if Boadicea is still alive.”*

Sinistra’s eyes closed and she turned away from the rest of them. She walked back over to the
window that faced the mountains, although by now the sun was slowly setting and she wouldn’t have
been able to see them. She wrapped her arms tightly around her as though to ward off the autumn
chill.

*“**She's alive,”* they barely heard her say.

McGonagall was mystified by this admission. *“But....”* she tried to say before realization
dawned on her. *“Oh Selene.”*

Sinistra spun around from the window and looked at her friend pleadingly.

*“**Madame DuManoir begged me to never tell a soul Minerva,”* she tried to explain.
*“You have to understand why I didn't. Even after the old woman died I still never told a
soul. Boadicea was dearer to me than...”*

Sinistra almost choked on the words, she couldn’t finish the thought.

*“**Riddle throwing her over like that it...it did something to her. If everything that
these children have mentioned is true, he used her and tossed her aside when he was done with her.
Her mind snapped. She blamed Riddle's dismissal on her mother. That it was her mother's
fault that she was 'mudblood filth'. That's why Boadicea tried to kill her. After she
left Ferguson dead in* *the mother’s stead* *Boadicea realized what she had done. That
simple act broke her mind; her heart was already in pieces. Madame DuManoir swore never to let any
of ‘**l**es magiciens mauvais’ near her daughter again. Even me! I had to beg the woman
to at least talk to me, reassure me that Boadicea was alright. She blamed what happened to her
child on the magical world. And really, was she that wrong?”* she demanded, asking the question
to all those in the room.

The question made a fierce desire to do away with Tom Riddle burn strongly in Harry’s chest. He
now realized that Dumbledore was correct when he said that Riddle couldn’t love. How could one feel
love when all they were capable of was decimating it? All that mattered to them was destruction?
The Potters, the Longbottoms, the Bones family, Sirius, and Dumbledore; the list of the monster’s
victim seemed endless. But what he did to DuManoir...Sinastra’s tale, for some reason, tore at his
very heart. He glanced at Malfoy and was surprised to see the usual arrogance in his eyes missing.
He looked at Hermione and was dismayed to see her silently crying. He pulled her to him and wrapped
her in his arms. She leaned against him and sobbed on to his chest. Hermione hadn’t allowed him to
comfort her, be affectionate towards her, even touch her like this in weeks. It felt nice. But as
wonderful as it made him feel, Harry knew that it would have to end soon. They had a job to do.

*“**Professor Si**ni**stra, we have to find DuManoir. Her life may be at stake.
Where is she?”*

Sinastra considered the question before shakily answering, *“The Monastère Sainte Claire in
Boussac.”* She exhaled deeply, finally being free of the secret that had been her burden all
these years. *“Madame DuManoir entrusted Boadicea to the Poor Clares, the nuns of the convent,
that Easter morning fifty-two years ago. And that is where she has been ever since.”*

“*Well kiddies,”* Malfoy drawled knavishly, *“it looks like we’re going to
France.”*

“Dad! Dad! A car dad, a car!”

Harry shook his head as the memory floated away from him as lightly as gossamer thread borne on
the wind. He looked up towards the sound of the calling voice. He saw a small, carrot topped blur
that he assumed was Marc, hovering high in the sky close to the lane that led from the main road.
He seemed to be pointing at something. Harry's eyes drifted in the direction that Marc was
indicating and saw a vehicle coming towards the house.

It wasn't such an amazing thing to see a car at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had once owned a
Ford Anglia that he had charmed to fly. The man had loved that car. Unfortunately for him, Ron had
to “borrow” it once in order to get him and Harry to school on time when circumstances had caused
them to miss the Express. In the end they did make it to Hogwarts, but the Whomping Willow ended up
making short work of the car. Harry figured that the Anglia was probably still somewhere in the
Forbidden Forest, roaming around, saving poor wayward students who had managed to disobey the
yearly announcement to keep out of the dark woods. Now that he thought of it, Harry had to wonder
if vehicle theft wasn't a Weasley family trait as well.

A couple of the guests today had arrived in cars. Dean and Seamus were actually huge car
enthusiasts. Padma had complained to Ginny once that the men seemed to collect cars like they once
collected Chocolate Frog cards. Their latest toy was a classic 60's Citroën that Seamus had
managed to haggle off some muggle while the bloke was trying to push it down the road. The fellow
probably thought he had gotten the better end of the deal. That is until he turned his back, Seamus
muttered a few incantations over the ocher colored beauty, and promptly drove off in it. Dean and
Seamus had shown it off to Harry when their family had first arrived.

Harry was interested to see who this new arrival was. Most of the other guests had already left,
it was nearing dark after all, and only a few stragglers were left behind. The Quidditch game
looked like it had broken up a while ago; the Jordans, Katie Bell, Dean and his troop, as well as a
few others had gone home already. Those who were still there were milling about the backyard or
still flying around on their brooms. Everyone, even the children, were watching the
automobile's approach. Ron, who was still high up, turned his broom in the direction of the
road and flew over to meet whoever this new guest was. Harry wondered if it was a party goer who
was just arriving to the Burrow. Or maybe it was a muggle who was lost and looking for directions.
Poor muggle bastard was just walking into an “*obliviate*”. Harry looked around and discovered
that everyone else seemed to be just as intrigued as to who the visitor could be as well.

As the vehicle got closer Harry's hazy vision cleared somewhat and he noticed that what was
fast approaching wasn't a car after all. If Harry had to describe the sleek black machine he
would have called it more of an over sized lorry then anything else. It was obviously an American
made monstrosity. Ron leveled his broom closer to the ground and pulled along the left side of the
vehicle so he could get a peek inside. The dark windows appeared to be heavily tinted and gave no
view however. As the motor vehicle swerved a bit, Ron looked like he was becoming increasingly
frustrated. That is until the driver's window came down. Whatever Ron saw excited the man so
much that he gave an ear-splitting whoop, threw his fist in the air, and began to turn cartwheels
in the sky. At this great display, the machine came to a halt only a few yards from where Harry and
the rest of the captivated crowd were watching. When Ron finished his aerial acrobatics, he brought
his broom lower and leaped off the hovering Nimbus.

Harry didn't know why, but his breath caught in his lungs, and for a moment he couldn't
breathe. Everything around him seemed to stop for a mere second and then proceeded to slow motion.
Years later he would never be able to explain why this happened. Even if someone pointed a wand at
his temple and threatened his life, he could never specify why at that exact moment, when nothing
was clear yet, he knew that his life was going to change forever. But as the engine of the black
vehicle shut off, Harry's heart began to race at a maddening pace. As the driver's door
popped opened and a head of sleek, stylishly cut blonde hair peeked out, Harry's palms began to
become clammy and he rubbed them vigorously on his robes to dry them. Before the driver, who was
obviously a woman, could come out of the vehicle fully Ron rushed up to her. He practically hauled
her from the “tank”, caught her up in what looked like a crushing embrace, and began to swing her
around like a mad man. Harry was mesmerized as he watched the gauzy material of her long, cream
colored peasant skirt get caught up in the breeze.

Tonks, who had been floating nearby, landed next to the pair. She took one look at the woman in
Ron's arms and shrieked in delight. As soon as Ron put her down Tonks was enveloping the
stranger in another back breaking hug. In fact Tonks zeal was so great that both women went
crashing to the ground amidst tearful laughter from them both.

Harry felt as though he were stapled to the ground. He couldn't move. For whatever reason,
the portion of his brain that controlled that simple function seemed to have gone on holiday. As he
watched the picture before him every sound almost became a dull roar in his ear. It was as if he
was trapped in a vacuum. The only thing that was really prevalent was the hammering of his
heart.

He sat back and watched as Ron helped the two women off of the ground. He watched as the twins
dashed up to the guest and both treated her to what they jokingly referred to as their “Twin
Sandwich”.

“Get off me George! Let me go Fred before I tell your wife on you,” she laughingly reprimanded
as they picked her up and began to jostle her back and forth between them.

“Once Glinda gets a look at you she'll probably join in and be the cheese,” Fred guffawed
loudly as he and his brother placed her back down to the grass. Ron jovially pushed the two of them
away.

“Back away you two prats before she takes off again,” he chuckled. Ron looked like his face
would split in two, his smile was so enormous. That is until he glanced behind the female into her
vehicle and started back in shock.

“Who the devil do you have in there woman,” he exclaimed as his brow furrowed.

She smiled at his question. “That's just Lizzie. Wait till you meet her.”

She reached into the off roader to unlock the backseat door.

“C'mon Lizzie,” she said as she pulled open the door, “there are some friends I want you to
meet.”

By this time Harry had finally found use of his legs. He stood up anxiously and began to make
his way to Ron, Tonks, Fred and George, and the late arrival. He was nearing them when the
stranger's passenger came hurtling out of the backseat and began to sprint towards Harry's
direction at a frightening speed.

“No Lizzie, no!”

Before Harry knew what was happening he was being knocked to the ground as something heavy came
to rest on his chest. All Harry could see was hair and the hints of two small, friendly blue eyes
under it all.

“Lizzie, I said no!”

Harry heard the pounding footsteps of feet racing to where he was, but his vision was obstructed
by the face that had lowered its self to his own. A wet, pink tongue began licking adoringly at his
cheek.

“Lizzie!”

As Lizzie was pulled off of him, Harry finally got a good look at his admirer. The Old English
Sheepdog barked at him affectionately as its master tugged him away. A gaggle of children that had
gathered around began to “ooh” at its size and “aww” at its shaggy blue merle coat. Their excited
murmurings brought its attention to them. The dog began to chase after them merrily as they all
squealed and yelled and scattered in over a half dozen different directions.

“Sorry Harry,” said a soft voice above him in a honeyed English accent. “She's just so
damned friendly that she jumps up on everybody like that. Here, take my hand.”

Harry squinted up at the dainty, tanned, well manicured hand that was being offered to him. As
Harry cautiously reached up and took it in his own he felt a euphoric tingle of bliss and joy surge
through out his body to every nerve ending he possessed. The feeling almost made him light headed.
So much so that he staggered back a minute before she used all of her strength to keep him
upright.

“Are you ok Harry?” she asked, voice tinged in concern. Harry couldn't answer her. He
couldn't speak. He couldn't think. All he could do was gaze helplessly into the swirling
sea of her big brown eyes, stare covetously at the pink, succulent bottom lip that moved as she
spoke to him. He didn't know how he managed to keep from running his index finger along the
cords of her delicate neck.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten me already,” she teased as her lips curled into a
cheerful grin.

“Poor blind bastard probably can't see you.”

Everyone broke into gales of laughter at George's joke, but Harry was still too entranced by
the vision before him to even acknowledge what he heard.

“What happened to your glasses?” She seemed completely amused by his helplessness.

Harry scurried his hand into the pocket of his robes, pulled out the wrecked pair of spectacles,
and presented them to her like a small school boy giving his teacher, and secret crush, an apple.
Somewhere in the back of Harry's head he wondered if he shouldn't get patted on the head
for his efforts. When she made no move to do so he shouted out anxiously, “Fred did it!”

“Oi,” Fred exclaimed.

She turned to Ron and gave him an appraising look. “And why didn't you fix it for him?”

Ron chuckled gaily as he rolled his eyes and threw his arms about her shoulder. “Only been back
five minutes and already nagging us?”

“Ronald Weasley!”

“He didn't ask,” Ron protested as he removed his arms and raised his hands to her in
appeasement. He turned to Harry and raised his wand. “Let me see those glasses Harry.”

Harry dumbly placed them in Ron's outstretched hand. Ron lightly tapped his willow to the
specs and in a blink they were brand new.

“There,” she began as she gently lifted his glasses from Ron's palm and placed them tenderly
on the bridge of his nose. “All better now.”

For Harry the world came totally in focus and he found himself looking into the face of the
woman he was in love with.

“Do you know me now?” she playfully asked as she turned her head to watch Lizzie run by while
the mass of children, led by the Weasley triplets, chased after her enthusiastically.

As she vivaciously laughed at the scene Harry took a moment to drink all of her in. Five years
had worked its self on her in a number of marvelous ways. But it was still her. She was still his
brilliant, beautiful best friend. The hair was something completely startling and different, her
long voluminous curls being replaced by a thick mane of bone straight flaxen strands that stopped
just below her chin. But the honey blonde shade made the liquid pools that were her dark rimmed
eyes stand out more now. Why her eyes are more dark amber then just brown, he thought to himself
wondrously. She looked like she hadn't loss or gained an ounce, however her voluptuous body was
very toned and gave a hint of muscle. He assumed that wherever she'd been she hadn't just
been sitting at some desk all this time. Mercifully every curve that Harry remembered and had
caressed in many a fantasy were in their proper place. Her hips swelled out enticingly from beneath
her skirt, her waist looked like just enough of a handful for his eager and wanting palms. The
plain white spaghetti strapped shirt she wore gave ample view of tantalizing golden beige skin.
Perfectly round shoulders. Beautifully formed arms. Distractingly heaving bosom. Harry had to
wrench his gaze away from it as she laughed.

Instead he brought his gaze back up to her eyes. It was always the eyes that had him, he
realized. Of course he thought her face was lovely. Of course he thought her body was sexy and
sublime. But it was her eyes he had always been drawn to. It was her eyes that could almost make
him forget himself. He knew by heart every expression they had ever bestowed on him. He remembered
them shining when they looked at him. He remembered them filled with trust, fidelity, acceptance,
faith, and love. Yes, love. He knew she had loved him, still loved him. It may not have been in the
way that he now knew he felt for her; that burning intensity that made every particle in him
ache...he knew that she still loved him though. Even if it was just as her friend. And for now that
was enough.

“Hermione,” he almost croaked, his voice under duress from the emotion that boiled within him.
There was a question in his tone.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, both completely puzzled by Harry's odd behavior. As
the befuddled expression on her face softened into a nervous yet pleasant smile she turned back to
Harry and said, “Of course it's me!”

And that was all Harry needed to hear. He sprung forward, enfolding her in his arms as though
she were his cherished, most beloved gift. She smells different, he fleetingly thought to himself,
but somewhere he could still sense the essence that was purely Hermione underneath it all. He
lifted her slightly from the ground to the point that her feet left the ground. Her arms encircled
him and as she hugged him fiercely he felt her little body begin to tremble with small sobs.

“Oh! I've missed you so much Harry. I've missed you so much,” she half cried, half
laughed against his chest. “Have you missed me?”

As Harry held Hermione in his arms he began to feel the gaping void that had been in him these
last few years slowly heal its self. He had tried to fill that vacancy with Quidditch, his Ministry
career...Ginny, but none of those things had done the trick. But now, Harry finally felt whole. He
deeply inhaled and let that breath out again as he savored this brief moment in time that he knew
would end much too quickly. He mentally filed it away with every other precious memory that was his
and his alone. And at last he smiled.

“I've missed you with all my heart Hermione.”

**A/N:** *Lizzie scared the hell out of some of y'all before you knew what was what
huh?* *Heh.*

*Now after going thru the LONGEST preamble EVAH we are about to enter phase two of the story.
The Wrath of Hermione! Yay!* **(Y’all know I’m joking right? Please tell me you know this?
Hee.)**

*I know the beginning was a bit out there and Twin Peak’ an, but I wanted to do something
different for Harry's epiphany. I didn't want to do the typical inner monologue. And the
way I figure, if you live in a world where you can talk to spirits, mirrors, and paintings it
should be perfectly “normal” to talk face to face with your inner voice. Just call it my nod to
surrealist literature. Did y’all want to kill me for the fake out?* **Padfoot** *told me
y’all would, but I am EVIL…if you haven’t noticed. LOL! If you felt like you were riding on an
emotional rollercoaster, then good. That was the exact effect I was going for. I wanted the reader
to feel pulled along on Harry’s wild ride.*

*I had originally outlined McGonagall being Boadicea's friend, but somehow got her years
at Hogwarts confused and thought that she and Riddle were in the same year (she was actually 2
years above him).* *I think I still managed to save it by having Sinistra be Boadicea's
contemporary.*

*After the next chapter (I won't even pretend that that one won't be an epic) I
promise that you will never have to go thru another one that is this long. Most of the flashback
was written for the next chapter. But as I started writing it I felt the need to get the majority
of the Boadicea stuff out of the way so I could have lots of room to explore what's going on
inside the head of the newly arrived and blonde (hee, don't kill me, like everything there is a
reason) Miss Granger in the next chapter. Y'all been dying to hear her side, well, you got it.
By the way, how did I do on this chapter and the reunion? Did you like? Did it live up to
expectations? Cause seriously? This chapter kicked my ass! I put everything I had into it. I
don't think I wanna hear if you hated it. I know you’ll still tell me if you hated it, but that
doesn’t mean that I want to hear it. LOL!*

**Ath****, Belgium** *is nick named the “City of Giants”. The festival is real. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ath*

**une** **sorcière***: a witch (French)*

**l****es** **magiciens mauvais***: the evil wizards (French...roughly)*

**And a cookie to all those who caught what was briefly mentioned in passing during the
flashback. :^D**

*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*



13. Author's Note
-----------------

Hi guys,







I just wanted to pop off this quick note so I could let you know where things stand. First off
the reviews that I got for the last chapter? Un-fucking-believable! Seriously, I am in awe of the
response and the insight in them. I can not wait so answer them. And some of you are worried cause
they were long? Are you kidding me? I LOVE them! I almost feel like I’m back in one of my creative
writing classes where everyone would discuss each other’s work and what not. Coolness!





So I know I usually update on Sundays or Mondays, however I ran into some road blocks this go
around. First, chapter 12 had been one of those chapters, much like the last one, that has been
kicking my ass. Then I was without internet (thus depriving me of my favorites list that I use like
crazy) for a few days because the roomie “forgot” to pay the phone bill. Then I got a new job. Yay!
So this week has been crazy for me**. I just wanted to let you know that I do have every intention
of finishing this story.** I’ve even been kicking around the idea of a sequel **blushes** so
please don’t think that I’m giving this up, because I am not!





That being said; bad news. At my old job I was a manager who got to set my own schedule. I
worked 40 hours in 4 days thus leaving me with three consecutive days off in a row. This was when I
usually did my typing. Although this new job is in a field that I’ve been trying to break in for
months and I will be making boucoup more money, I will not have as much free time as I did before.
So chapter 12 may take a bit to get up, but I’m hoping no more then another week. This also means
that my update posting will be a little slower then it was. But for good news; yesterday I totally
trashed most of what I had for chapter12 and came up with something that I like MUCH more. Its half
way complete, all I have to do now is just flesh it out. I promise that as soon as my beta sends it
back to me I will replace this note and put that bad boy up (usually I hold on to them for a few
days ‘till I feel secure in them). I’ve also invested in a bunch of legal pads so that whenever I
get some down time at work I will be writing away. *LOL*!





Once again, thank you so, so much for the reviews and I hope you guys can be patient and
understanding with me. Thanks!





pandie



14. Chapter 12.A
----------------

**Title**: *All Roads Lead Back*

**Keywords**: *Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. **H/Hr**,
but a whole lot of ships thrown in. Post-HBP*

**Summary**: *Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately, for him he fell in love with his best
friend...and everything went straight to hell. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

**Spoilers**: *All six books.*

**A/N**: *I am a Harmony shipper thru and thru. HBP almost sent me into a fit until I
realized that I was throwing a tizzy over a book and told myself to get over it. Hee. I then
decided to throw my hat in the fanfiction ring and see if I could come up with a realistic (at
least to me) story of my favorite couple getting together that adheres to canon. This is my first
attempt at writing a fanfic. I have the whole story already plotted out, but would appreciate it if
you would tell me if writing the rest is worth it or not.*

*No one got the cookie for the last chapter. Either I am subtle or just vague as hell. LOL!
Recall back to the conversation when Hermione is telling the three boys about the three Head Girls
who had to step down. She names Boadicea as one who was in Hufflepuff House. She also mentions a
Slytherin and a Ravenclaw, but not by name. However she tells them that the Ravenclaw left school
to marry a muggle, that she was pregnant, and the time frame it happened in. The Ravenclaw was
Harmonia Cadmus, Ptolemy Cadmus' daughter. Nothing too serious, but I thought for sure
y'all would have caught that. My bad.*

*So funny story, I realized that I made some errors in my own timeline. Yay! In previous
chapters, I mentioned that Hermione was 21 when she left, actually she would have only been 20
about to turn 21 in six months. My bad. I have corrected the mistake. I've also took care of
some other inconsistencies, grammar flubs, spelling crap, formatting problems, and added some links
for the previous chapters and will be reloading them within the next few days.*

*Thanks to **murphsmine** as always!*

*And extra big special MWAH to **Padfoot**! He stayed up with me until 5 in the morning one
night while I tried to type this and virtually held my hand y'all! He's the bees
knees!*

*I think this one actually has no warnings except that you might want to kill me at the end.
And I also apologize in advance to any Toby Keith fans. You'll see why. :)*

*Monday, 05/30/05*



As the woman re-entered the third floor bedroom, the ties of her short Kimono inspired dressing
gown fastened tightly around her, she made her way to her trunk at the foot of the bed nearest the
door and kneeled by it. She removed the ring of keys that were in her pocket and, shuffling the set
until she reached the third one, placed the key in its appropriate lock. As she deftly opened the
lid, she placed all of the toiletries that had accompanied her into the bathroom inside. She then
proceeded to open the first and second locks and removed a plain black scanty set from the former
and a lightweight, dove gray tracksuit from the latter. After closing the trunk and locking it
tightly, she dropped the clothing and keys on the bed, and sauntered over to the make shift vanity
table under the room's only mirror. Laid out on the table were enough cosmetics to service the
back stage area at a beauty pageant. After pausing for a moment, trying to find a way to sit at the
vanity, she got the trunk and pushed it before the mirror. The trunk had seen rougher treatment in
its day. It had belonged to Alastor Moody before the wily, former Auror bestowed it upon her for
her 20th birthday. He had once told her that it was necessary in life sometimes to be
able to pick up and disappear at a moments notice and for those times, the trunk would come in
handy. Sometimes she wondered if Mad Eye's magical blue eye had looked deep in her soul and had
seen what the future held for her. However, as soon as those ideas arose in her head she brushed
them off. Alastor's opinion of Divination had been even lower then hers, she musingly
remembered.



She had sniffed back large tears the night before after she heard of the dear old man's
death. It had only been two months since Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody's passing. Though he
probably would have preferred to go out fighting whatever riff raff passed for dark lords these
days, it seemed that whatever deities control such things felt he deserved an easy, peaceful end
for such a hard, painful life. He died in his sleep.



As she sat down at the table, she began her daily beauty ritual. She usually liked her eyes
smoky so she applied the crème nude colored eye shadow first before adding the dark brown one to
both eyelids and to the crease with her fingers. She next lifted the matching brown eyeliner pencil
to her face and traced it around her eyes, as well as the inner rim. Her stylist had shown her how
to do all of this and told her it added extra glamour to her large eyes and made the color of them
pop. She then proceeded to add two coats of mascara to her already long and curling lashes. After
that she lightly dusted on some face powder, she usually only wore foundation at night or for
special occasions. She added a crème blush to her cheeks before applying an apricot toned color to
her lips. She blotted them once and then re-applied the lipstick. Finding her face satisfactory,
she turned her attention to her hair.



Even after all of the straightening processes she had put it thru these last few years it still
tended to curl under at the ends. Usually this fact annoyed her and she often spent most mornings
trying to coax her hair into its sleek cut style with a flat iron. But since it was noon already,
she decided to go low maintenance on it for the day. She simply parted the honey blonde hair in the
middle and brushed it into a shining bob-like coiffure. She turned her head from side to side to
look at it from both angles, and liking what she saw, lowered her brush.



She reached for one of her perfume atomizers and released the heady scent of iris, neroli, musk,
and just a hint of patchouli at the base of her neck, behind her ears, her wrists, and along the
hollow of her cleavage. She also added just a jot at the crook of each knee and her ankles for good
measure. When she was a little girl, she had watched her mum go through this same routine. Being
the inquisitive little swot that she was she asked her mother why she sprayed her ankles. It made
no sense to the little girl that you would put perfume there where no one could possibly smell it.
Helen Granger however informed her daughter that if you did this the smell would blossom up and
envelop you all day long. And when others smelled that scent, they would always think of you. Like
all lessons she would learn, the child always remembered this bit of instruction and filed it away
with every other important information she gleaned through out the years.



In each pierced ear, she fastened a small yellow stud made of beryl and around her neck she
placed a thin platinum chain. On the chain was a large, marquise cut stone almost the same shade as
her earrings. As she sat back, hands resting on the table, she gave her handiwork a once over. In
her youth, she had never been what one would call overly concerned about her appearance. She had
gotten older though, and the tendency to scrutinize every extra line and worry over just when her
first gray hair would appear had not been lost on her. But looking back at her reflection she had
to admit that it was a nice face that gazed back at her. She just wished that her eyes didn't
look so sad. But there's nothing that can be done for that now, she inwardly sighed as she
fastened a white gold cocktail watch around her wrists.



“You look perfectly lovely dearie,” said a warm, motherly voice to her.



A small smile graced her lips as she looked back at her reflection. “Thank you,” she said
sincerely to the mirror.



“You’re welcome,” it said back in answer. “But I would reconsider all the eye make-up dear. It
does make you look like a tart.”



Her smile only increased as she ruefully shook her head.



“Thanks mum,” she replied.



As she took one final glance at herself she reckoned that she was ready to meet the day and
whatever challenges...and more important...questions it had in store for her. It wasn't like
she wasn't prepared for it all. She knew that coming back home, after all of these years away,
wouldn't be exactly the easiest thing to do. Still, it was time to put away the ghosts of her
past and try to live her life again. It was time to stop running. She just wished that she
wasn't constantly on alert, waiting for all of the skeletons to come barreling out of the
proverbial closet. But she was smart, she reminded herself. And when needed, she could summon up
enough guile to get her through. So she could handle whatever anyone chose to dish out to her with
aplomb. She had done it before with no problems. What could make now any different? She was ready
for this! You can do this Hermione, she thought to herself as she met her own eyes in the glass. I
can do this; her reflection seemed to answer back to her as she gave a proud lift of her chin.



And then she sighed.





“I deserve a bloody Academy Award.”









*From the moment she had gotten off the ship in Southampton, Hermione had felt that maybe her
homecoming hadn't been such a bright idea. Up until that point everything else about the trip
had gone well. She had been lucky enough to book passage on a cruise freighter that was pulling out
of Limassol and returning to England in a matter of days. Of course she had to fork over an arm and
a leg to get her, the truck, the trunk and her dog on the damned thing on such short notice, but
the timing of it all was nothing short of fortuitous. It was also a smooth sail across the water.
The only difficulty she had run into was a little sea sickness (that wasn't that uncommon for
her) and a Turkish businessman on his way to Salisbury who kept remarking on what a lovely mistress
she would make him. She hadn't kneed him too hard in the crotch when he tried to come into her
stateroom for a farewell nightcap. All in all everything had gone quite swimmingly.*



*But as she finally got her vehicle off the boat and started on her way to St. Catchpole she
couldn't help but notice the ominous gooseflesh that kept erupting all over her arms and legs.
She cursed herself for the ninny she was being. Of course they were going to be happy to see her!
She was their friend. They had to have missed her as much as she missed them, right? But as she
drove the near four hour distance she slowly started to revert back to that small little girl
cowering in a corner as a troll stamped its way to her. She was friendless and forgotten in the
hullabaloo. Just knowing she was going to die while no one at her new school cared. There were
still nights now, even after all these years, which Hermione still cried for that little girl. In
fact, a number of times she had to pull over on the side of the road to collect herself as the
tears fought to pour forth from her. Her eye make-up was supposedly tear proof, but she didn't
want to take that chance. It would never do to show up looking like a drowned raccoon, she thought
humorlessly. The twins would have a field day over that.*



*It was when she turned on to the two track lane that led to the Burrow that her panicked mind
started screaming at her to turn back. They'll never know it was you, she kept hearing in her
ears. They'll just think you're some muggle who lost their way. Turn back now! You still
have time. Turn back! She could see a small group of people milling about the outside of the house,
but from her distance she couldn't make out any faces. She definitely knew that they
couldn't see her. A person could stand at her very window and not be able to see inside the
spacious truck. Just like now. Hermione had turned her head for a second and was shocked to see the
shape of someone flying near her window. She almost lost control of the truck, which sent Lizzie
into excited yelps in the backseat. She turned her head to shush the dog and frantically hit the
button that sent her window down.*



*Hermione thought she had never been happier to see a face in her life! She would be proven
wrong only a few minutes later, but for the moment, as she looked at the handsome freckled face of
her best friend she finally realized that she had in fact made the right decision. Her joy was only
compounded more when she was holding in her arms the other boy, now man, who had been the most
important focal point of her short life. Once she was in Harry's arms she knew she had really
come home.*



*After that everything else became a blur. At some point Glinda came hurtling out of the house
and as soon as Hermione saw her she reluctantly disentangled herself from Harry's grip and went
running at her friend. The two woman threw themselves at each other and began a silly dance that
included laughing, crying like lunatics, and jumping up and down as they held on to each other
tight. The commotion they caused brought outside the other occupants of the house. All around her
were shouts of her name as she felt the warm, welcoming caresses they gave her. After a while she
was ushered into the Weasley kitchen. She felt as though she had been lifted up on their shoulders,
her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Before she knew what was what she was seated at the
head of the table, empress like, while everyone else looked towards her as though she were their
Northern star. Ron sat to the left of her, Harry to the right. Molly, after tearfully crying into
her hair while simultaneously asking if she was hungry, was off near the stove pointing her wand
here and there as she prepared a small feast. Arthur stood behind her chair trying his best to wipe
away small, dignified tears from his eyes while patting the top of her head on and off
affectionately.*



*Most of the other faces around her looked just as pleased and happy to have her back. All
that was left at the house now were the immediate family members, the last bit of guests had
finally departed. As she looked around the table at her family she felt the walls she had erected
around her memories silently crumble. The twins sat to her right, Glinda in between them. They had
already begun calling her Blondie and for the time being Hermione couldn't help but laugh along
with them. The rest of the table was filled in by Charlie, Percy, Penelope, Bill, and a greatly
pregnant Fleur. At the other end sat Ginny and Lavender. Hermione could almost feel the chill
wafting from that direction, but at that point of time she just didn't give a damn! The
happiness and joy in everyone else's voice as well as the laughter from the children near the
hearth was enough to intoxicate her and blind her to anything else.*



*But underneath all of the laughs and the smiles and the frivolity there was a question that
was practically being shouted at her. Why Hermione, why? She saw it in Arthur's loving and
accepting smile. She saw it in Glinda's cocked eyebrow. And most importantly she saw it in
Harry's burning, bright eyes. But no one chose to voice it to her. Not just yet. Not when she
could make a turn any moment for the door and be gone again in a flash. So instead Ron chose to
tactfully ask the next best thing.*



“*Where the hell have you been?”*



“*Ron!”*



“*Ronald!”*



*Both Lavender and Molly furiously fixed their gazes on Ron from opposite ends of the
kitchen.*



*Hermione and the rest of the room laughed at the pink color that bloomed behind the
redhead's ears.*



“*It's quite alright Molly,” Hermione offered as she snuck a glance at Harry from the
corner of her eye. She was distressed to see that he had been staring at her and caught her at it.
She quickly turned her attention towards Ron and smiled in his direction. “It's not as though I
didn't assume to hear those very words from Ron's mouth. I just expected the question to be
filled with a few more expletives,” she teasingly quipped.*



*Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard an annoyed huff from the other end
of the table.*



“*Shows you what you know,” he joked back as he leaned back in his chair and winked roguishly
at her. “I'm a family man now.”*



*George cackled at the remark causing Ron to send him a death glare. He however ignored it and
instead said, “Seriously though Blondie, where 'ya been?”*



“*Well,” she began nervously looking at all of the expectant faces, “until about five...almost
six hours ago I was getting off a boat from Cyprus.”*



*Her answer seemed to astonish them more then she figured it should.*



“*Cyprus?” Harry furrowed his brow as he stared at her intently. “But we thought you were in
America.”*



*Hermione expertly hid her shock at his words. “Why would you lot think I was there?”*



“*Well, since your wand was still registered with the Ministry we could track its usage,”
answered Percy nonchalantly. “Of course we had no idea what you were doing seeing as how you had
the good grace not to cast an Unforgivable.”*



*Hermione was amazed. In her desperation to get out of Europe she had forgotten that little
bit of information. During the Second War, after the failed assassination of Scrimgeour, the
Ministry began keeping a registry of the wands of its employees just in case Voldemort or any of
his Death Eaters managed to cast an Imperious on any other high ranking officials such as poor
Gawain Robards. After the war the practice remained. It would seem that Scrimgeour trusted no one
really. On Hermione's very first day as a new hire at the Ministry she had to submit her own
vine wood to be logged in. At the time she had been so proud that she was actually going to be an
employee for the British Ministry that she hadn't even thought how invasive such matters were.
Apparently now, after all of these years, she had completely forgotten that her wand had still been
registered. Hermione was usually good at crossing all of her T's and dotting all of her
I's. The fact that she had let that slip by her was bothersome to say the least.*



“*Well you're right, I was in the States. In fact I've been there for these last four
years. I've been living as a muggle. Well,” she said nervously reconsidering her words, “I
guess you would say I am pretty much a muggle now. I tossed my wand years ago.”*



*This revelation left the whole family dumbfounded. Hermione Granger wandless? One of the most
well known witches in the world, pretending to be a muggle?*



“*Hermione,” Ron said, scratching his head in frustration, “just what the bloody hell has been
going on with you?”*



*Hermione looked around the table and as she saw all of the curious, expectant faces looking
back at her she straightened her spine, sat up straight and rested her hands firmly on the
table.*



“*Maybe I should start from the beginning.”*





*Hermione began to tell them what she had been doing these last five years or so. For the
first year she had been gone she basically bummed around Europe, lodging at one hostel after
another. It wasn't like she didn't have the money to live such a carefree life. When her
parents died she was left the sole beneficiary of both of their wills. For years the Grangers had
run a highly profitable dentistry practice in Belgravia whose clientele encompassed most of that
area as well as Chelsea and Knightsbridge. Though not terribly rich by some standards, the Grangers
were significantly well off. Daniel Granger's only other living relative at the time had been
his mother, Bridget Rose. He knew that Bridget wouldn't need anything from him, she was
completely self reliant and had lived on her farm for years without ever asking him for anything.
He felt comfortable then leaving all he had to his only child. Helen Granger, on the other hand,
had a sister named Holly. But the two siblings had been estranged for years before Helen's
death and there was no chance of Holly Darlington contesting her sister's will.*



*Her parents' deaths as well as the selling of the family home on St. Luke's Mews left
Hermione a nicely wealthy girl. When her beloved Nan died not too long after her parents, Hermione
inherited from her as well. For the longest time Hermione had been unwilling to touch that money.
She just let it sit in the bank and appreciate. She made a comfortable living working for the
Ministry; she felt that she didn't need it. But once she left the wizarding world that muggle
money came in handy. Though she wasn't a lavish spender by any means she did spend a good deal
of it as she made her way across the continent “castle hunting”. It was a passion and hobby she had
shared with her father when they went on their many trips and vacations. France, Italy, Spain,
Portugal, Switzerland, Germany, Denmark; she celebrated her 21st birthday in front of
Kronborg Castle in Helsingør.*



*But after spending all of that time bonding with the ghost of her dad she needed some way to
feel close to her mother as well. That was when she decided to find her aunt Holly. From what her
mother told her she and her sister had been close as children and young teenagers. Then when Holly
was seventeen she met and fell in love with a Yank who was studying at Oxford. When the young man
left England Holly ran away to be with him. The bond that used to be between the two sisters slowly
fell into the large body of water that separated them. At first they tried to keep in contact. When
the American who promised to love Holly forever left her she sent Helen a letter from Miami. When
Holly's daughter was born she sent Helen a picture of the baby from Chicago. When the
Darlington girls' widowed father died, Holly sent Helen a condolence card from Little Rock. And
when Hermione was born Helen got a note of congratulations from Dallas. That was where the last
card Helen ever received from her sister came from. That was also where Hermione went to find her
aunt.*





“*Texas,” exclaimed Glinda in shock.*



“*You mean you've been in Texas all this time,” asked Harry.*



*Hermione shook her head affirmatively. “That is until I went on my trip to Cyprus.”*



“*Isn't that where they have those cow men,” Ron asked, fascinated by Hermione's tale
so far.*



*She rolled her eyes affectionately. “They're called cowboys Ron. And yes, there are some
there. But Dallas is really quite the metropolitan city.”*



“*Blimey! I didn't even know you had an aunt. I thought all of your relatives were dead,”
Ron inelegantly said.*



“*Ronald!”*



“*Well mum, I did!”*



*Harry leaned into her which caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. “I
remember you telling me about your aunt Holly. She and your mum were twins, right?”*



“*Fraternal, yes,” she responded, touched that he would remember that bit of minutiae about
her.*



“*So did you find your aunt,” Charlie asked inquisitively.*



*Hermione shook her head sadly. “She died. Almost two weeks before I landed on her doorstep.
She had been suffering from terminal cancer for years, you see.”*



*Everyone in the room seemed saddened by this news, even Lavender and Ginny. Hermione could
feel the Weasleys' empathy for her.*



“*But, luckily for me her daughter still lived in the house,” Hermione finished, a big
accomplished smile on her face.*



“*That must have been wonderful news Hermione,” said Arthur excitedly from behind her.*



“*It was,” she said in answer. “Cynthia took me into her home that very night. I lived with
her for a few months until I got an apartment with a few friends I made at my job.”*



“*Zat sounds fascinating 'Ermione,” Fleur sweetly chirped as she rubbed at her swollen
belly lovingly. “Whatever do you do?”*



*Hermione looked from face to face, knowing that her answer would completely amaze them, and
relishing the looks she knew would appear at her answer.*



“*I've been working at a daycare center. I'm a preschool teacher.”*



“*Bloody hell!”*



*Hermione turned to look at Harry. If she was being honest that was the response she had been
expecting from Ron.*



“*But you hate kids,” her ex-boyfriend practically shouted.*



*Ah, that was more like it.*



“*I never said that I hated kids,” she said as she brought her attention to Ron. “You said
that I hated kids. In truth they did make me uncomfortable for awhile. You should have seen me the
first time I had to take a little boy into the bathroom by myself. Between him and me, I don't
know who was more embarrassed,” she chuckled.*



“*But after a while I really started to love my job and love the children. They were really
great kids,” she warmly gushed. “Cynthia is one of the head lawyers for Deeringhams, it's
basically the Texan version of Harrods, except they are all over,” she said as an after thought.
“Well the owners of Deeringhams sit on the board of trustees that run a daycare center for the
under privileged children in the area, you see. The Deering family is very modern and socially
conscious like that. Well, Cynthia arranged for me to replace one of the teachers at the center
after the woman went on maternity leave. She just never came back and I just stayed on.”*



“*Wow,” Ron responded in awe.*



“*You can say that again,” Harry mumbled.*



“*Wow!”*



“*Git!”*



*Hermione giggled at the little exchange. God! She had missed her boys so much.*



“*Speaking of keeds,” Fleur said as she turned her head to look at her brood by the hearth, “I
zink eet is time for my leetle ones to go to bed.”*



*This statement almost caused a small coup amongst the group at the grate. There were shouts
and pleas for ten more minutes. The children had been playing with the assorted pets; Serge,
Crookshanks, and Lizzie. The triplets had been trying to coax a few naughty words from the jarvey
while the girls had been brushing and playing with Lizzie's thick coat. Lizzie meanwhile seemed
intent on making friends with Crookshanks. She cheerfully sat in front of the chair that
Crookshanks was perched on, staring at him jovially as she waited for him to acknowledge her.
Crooks however was having none of it. He was too busy licking haughtily at his paw. PJ meanwhile
was reading a story book to little Dash and Leo near the corner as Marc, ever the adult, looked
on.*



*With Fleur's statement Percy and Penelope decided it was time for them to take their
children home as well. They both said their goodbyes, Penelope giving Hermione a friendly hug
before picking up the child nearest to her, and the six of them portkeyed out of the Burrow to
their home in Exeter. After all four children gave their new “aunt” a kiss on the cheek, Fleur
hustled her children up the stairs to get them ready for bed. That just left Violet and Felicity.
Glinda was nowhere near ready to leave just yet. She still looked thoroughly amazed to have
Hermione back after all of this time. Violet was spending the night at the Burrow and Lavender, for
her part, wasn't budging an inch from the room. Ron called Violet to him and sat the little
girl on his lap. Fred did the same to his daughter. Hermione then floored everyone when she asked
if she could hold Lish. Felicity after all was supposed to be her godchild. She held out her arms
to the little girl and the child climbed across her mother, her uncles' George and Harry and
settled herself in Hermione's lap as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
Hermione shifted her so that Felicity was straddling her thigh and the child leaned her head
adorably on Hermione's shoulder.*



“*Ducks! What the bloody hell did they do to you over there,” Glinda bemusedly asked. “When
did you become the bleeding Child Whisperer?”*



“*Hermione, if anything I'm glad you're back so you can explain to me half the things
this woman says,” said Fred snarkily. Glinda repaid him for the remark by pinching his bum under
the table.*



*As everyone laughed, Molly came bustling from the stove laden down with plates. She sat
before Hermione one plate with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, another plate with gammon and
eggs, and a dish of custard. Knowingly she also set three eating utensils on each plate. Ron and
Harry looked across Hermione, sent a spirited grin each other's way, and both picked up a fork
and began eating out of the plate nearest to them. Hermione merely shook her head adoringly at
them. Molly also floated bottles of butterbeer to all of the adults in the room.*



“*Mum, you should rest,” said Ginny tersely from across the table.*



*As far as Hermione could remember this was the first time Ginny had spoken since they had
come into the house. When Ginny first laid eyes on her the petite redhead paused, as though seeing
a ghost, and then proceeded to give Hermione a tense and awkward hug. Since then however, Ginny
seemed comfortable just staying on the sidelines of this reunion. That is until now.*



“*You've been running around like a chicken since dawn. There is no need to go to all of
this trouble. It's just Hermione,” she continued. Then thinking better of how that statement
might have sounded she added, “She's practically family after all.”*



“*Yes,” said Molly as she affectionately rubbed at Hermione's cheek, “she is family. And
if I hadn't seen any of you lots' face in all these years I would go to the very same
trouble. Dig in dear.” She then sat in the chair that Fleur vacated. Arthur walked over to his
wife, stooped to kiss her cheek, and bade everyone a good night. As much as he wanted to stay up
and chat some more he had a very busy day at the Ministry to look forward to. Before heading up the
stairs he kissed the top of Hermione's head.*



“*We've all missed you so very, very much dear girl. I'm so very happy that you
finally came home.”*



*Hermione felt her eyes go wet at Molly and Arthur's words. She called on every bit of
strength she possessed not to bawl her eyes out right there as she watched him climb the stairs.
Instead she picked up a fork and began making headway on the pudding. In truth she was starved. The
long drive from the docks really wore her out.*





“*So Hermione,” Lavender said drawing Hermione's attention to the other blonde, “what
brings you back here? Now?”*



*Hermione softly chuckled at the distrusting underlying tone in Lav's voice. “Well,” she
began slowly, easing her fork down, “I'm here for Ron.”*



*These words made all action at the table cease. Ron had been lifting a spoonful of custard to
Violet's mouth. His eyes went wide. Harry was staring at Hermione. Again! Only this time he was
staring with the most peculiar look on his face. Hermione didn't even want to glance down at
the end of the table.*



“*That is to say, I'm here for Ron and you Lavender,” she quickly amended. She looked at
everyone and smirked at the stunned faces. “I'm here for the wedding sillies!”*



*She could feel Harry release the breath he had been holding near her right shoulder. Everyone
else seemed to relax simultaneously at her statement as well.*



*She recounted the day, only a few days prior, she'd drifted into a small meze restaurant
in Limassol. When she sat down at the table she noticed a newspaper laying haphazardly on it. As
she picked it up her jaw nearly hit the table as she recognized the winking picture of Pavel
Dimitriov. The first time Hermione had ever seen Dimitriov was when she was 14 and watched him,
Viktor, and the rest of the Bulgarian team play against Ireland in the World Cup. But the handsome
Dimitriov hadn't changed that much in the eleven years or so that had passed since then. He was
also apparently still a whore if the article detailing the paternity suit that fourteen different
witches in 10 different countries was filing against him, was true. Viktor had often told her of
the ladies man that his team mate was.*



*What Hermione found was a copy of a day old International Seer. She quickly looked around to
see if the paper's owner was coming back for it. Obviously a wizard or witch had been in the
restaurant before her and had carelessly left the Seer in the muggle eatery. Hermione quickly
exited the restaurant, paper in hand, and walked to her hotel nearby. Once in her room she poured
thru the periodical. This was her first contact with anything magical in years. She searched for
any mention of anyone she knew from Great Britain. That was how she saw the Weasley wedding
announcement. As soon as she saw that Ron's commencement was going to be held in a matter of
days she arranged passage to England on the very next boat pulling out of the port town.*



“*Blimey! I would have married Lav ages ago if that's all it took to get you back
home!”*



*Nearly everyone found the joke funny. Lavender however did not. She primly stood up from her
seat, plucked Violet out of Ron's arms, and exited out of the Burrows doors. Ron smiled
embarrassedly at everyone as he quickly followed his fiancée out of the door. George, Fred, Bill,
and Charlie snickered loudly at his retreating back.*



“*Well,” began Hermione evenly as she stroked Felicity's sleeping head that was nestled
comfortably on her bosom now, “I don't know if I would have showed up any other time before
now. I was pretty content in Dallas although I had been contemplating moving for a while now. I
just happened to be in Cyprus recharging my batteries before I decided where I was going to go to
next. But it does almost seem as though fate brought me into that restaurant, doesn't
it?”*



*She looked to her right and her gaze locked with Harry's for a moment before she
forcefully wrenched it away.*



“*Then again I've never put much store in fate.”*



*George, trying to make a joke out of what she said joked, “Well I think it's fated for
Ronniekin's hand to be very busy for awhile. Lav Lav doesn't look like she is going to be
too accommodating tonight”*



“*George!”*



“*Sorry mum.”*



“*I heard you, you prat,” snapped Ron as he re-entered the kitchen holding Violet asleep in
his arms. Molly got up, gathered the child from Ron, and headed up the stairs with her.*



“*Lav's gone home to her mum's. You know she can't stay with me any longer
'til the wedding,” he said as he took his seat next to Hermione again.*



*For a few moments the kitchen was bathed in only the sounds of cutlery hitting dinnerware as
Harry, Hermione, and Ron finished off the food on their plates. Glinda soon removed Lish from
Hermione's embrace and cradled the little girl in her own arms. Fred and George started on
Bill, trying to get him to tell them what Fleur was having. Bill however wasn't disclosing the
information. Soon Charlie informed them that he was coming home to stay for a few months. Maybe
even settle down for good with a nice bird. Everyone was shocked yet pleased with this statement.
Charlie hadn't really lived at home since he left Hogwarts. He was always off at some foreign
locale after another, wrangling dragons. But after his time in Sweden he felt that now was the time
for him to finally put down some roots. Harry briefly mentioned that he wanted to discuss a case he
was working on as soon as Charlie was free. This statement confused Hermione. What would a Seeker
need a Dragon Keeper for? When she asked, Ginny bragged on how her husband was now one of the most
well known and respected Aurors in the country. Hermione couldn't believe it! She asked what
else had changed since she had been gone. Everyone then began to tell her about the marriages, the
births, and sadly the deaths she had missed out on. Moody and Winky's were the ones she took
the hardest. Ron annoyingly made a big deal out of Oliver Wood being engaged to Alicia Spinnet.
Hermione said that she was happy for them. She was shocked though to hear that Cormac Mclaggen had
married Pansy Parkinson. And more then that, the two were having a baby. From where Hermione was
sitting it looked like Ginny was just as mystified by the whole thing.*



“*And how about you duckie,” Glinda said as she expertly raised an eyebrow in Hermione's
direction. “Let's see those hands.”*



*Hermione, being thoroughly confused as to what Glinda was implying, lifted both of her hands
before her.*



“*No rings on those fingers then?”*



*It took Hermione only a second to catch on. “Oh,” she said as her cheeks flushed pink. “No,
no rings on my fingers.”*



*Once again she felt Harry's heated gaze on her. She felt as though he were trying to look
straight thru her.*



“*Well why not,” Glinda badgered her. “Aren't you a girl who looks like you still single?
It ought to be a crime!”*



*Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I'm just poor wife material.”*



“*Well surely Hermione there is someone in your life,” Ginny pressed, tossing her hair over
her shoulder. “Way back when you always had someone new lined up.”*



*Ginny's comment suddenly made everyone in the room uncomfortable. Charlie tittered
nervously while Bill excused himself and went up the stairs to bed. Harry looked at his wife,
almost for the first time that evening, and sent her a displeased look as he gathered one of
Hermione's hands in his own. Ginny however ignored this; she just kept her eyes trained on
Hermione. Ron disgustedly rolled his eyes as he leaned back and protectively put an arm around
Hermione's chair. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had felt so well cared
for.*



“*Actually, for awhile now, Lizzie has been the only companion in my life,” she joshed as she
sat up straight in her seat. “I had a blind date just a few years ago that just about put me off of
men forever.”*



“*What the devil could have happened that was **that** bad,” Glinda asked as Harry made a
queer choking sound.*



*Hermione giggled at the memory. “Well you see one of my room mates, Amelia, was dating this
bloke who worked for this tool company. Her boyfriend was closing this big deal with an exec from a
firm based here. So lover boy gets it into his head how great it would be if the two Brits meet.
Mind you, when he first met me he thought I was from Connecticut. So he invites the poor bastard
out for a few drinks and corners Amy into bringing me along as the sacrificial lamb to the
slaughter. Our other room mate even got in on the act, forcing me to go. Benny even...”*



“*Who’s Benny,” Harry suspiciously questioned, interrupting the flow of her story. Everyone at
the table looked at him, Hermione chief among them. “Just curious, is all,” he bashfully
said.*



“*Benitez is...I mean, was my other room mate.”*



*Harry scrunched up his face as if trying to decipher a difficult Arithmancy problem. “You
lived with a man?”*



“*Well...yes,” Hermione said in answer, bewildered by Harry's line of questioning. “If you
recall Potter I once lived with two men.”*



*Ron and Charlie snorted at her joke.*



*Harry gave them both disdainful looks before arguing, “That was different. Ron and I were
your best mates. Any other bloke might be out to take advantage of you.”*



*Hermione sighed. He was still playing the over protective brother.*



“*I really didn't have to worry about that with Benitez. You see, I had a vagina. I
don't think he was very interested in it. Besides his boyfriend would have had a few choice
words for me if he had.”*



*Ron, who had been nursing his bottle of butterbeer, spat the dark liquid out. Charlie reached
over to pat his back while stifling his laughter. Fred, Glinda, and George however practically fell
over each other from laughing so hard. The only ones who seemed like they weren’t amused were Ginny
and Harry.*



*Felicity began to stir in Glinda's arms and Fred reached over to take his daughter from
his wife. He told Glinda to stay while he took Lish home. He would fly them on his broom; she could
just floo into their cottage when she was ready. Glinda, who abhorred flying on any contraption she
couldn't get an in-flight movie and a bag of peanuts, readily agreed. After she kissed her
family goodbye she turned dancing eyes back towards Hermione.*



“*So finish, tell us about the date from Hell.”*



*Hermione chuckled at Glinda's excitement. Glinda always enjoyed a good story.*



“*Well there isn't much to tell. I showed up to the bar when who should I spy sitting
beside Amy's boyfriend but Dudley Dursley.”*



*Hermione giggled madly at the stunned faces of Harry, Ron, Charlie, George, and Ginny. Glinda
seemed to be the only one in the dark.*



“*No fucking way,” said Ron in awe.*



*Harry was still too shocked to say anything.*



“*Who is this Dursley bloke,” asked Glinda.*



*George turned to Glinda, a large grin on his face. “Remember Fred and I told you about
Harry's muggle cousin?”*



“*Oh yeah,” Glinda said as realization dawned on her. “The one who got the pleasure of being
WWWs very first guinea pig.”*



“*You got set up with Dudley,” Harry asked, baffled.*



“*Uh huh.”*



“*I haven't seen him in years, thank Merlin!”*



“*What did he say to you,” asked Ron.*



“*Nothing. He was a perfect gentleman at first. Big as a house still, but sweet.”*



*Both Ron and Harry scoffed at this.*



“*It's true. He was actually quite shy when we were introduced. He didn't seem to
recognize me. My hair wasn't blonde by then, but I figure after not seeing me for years I did
look quite different. Plus the bar was dark and smoky. We actually got on quite well.”*



“*Well where did the hell part come in,” Glinda asked.*



“*Oh, that would be about the time he walked me home and thought he was spending the night. He
even got a little aggressive with me.”*



*Harry made a strangled sound and looked as though he was ready to leave his seat, hunt his
cousin down, and give him a good throttling then and there. Hermione sensing his jumbled thoughts
laid a gentle hand on his wrist to hold him in place. He calmed down quickly.*



“*Don't bother,” she said to him. “He didn't get too far. I simply asked him when the
last time he had been turned into a piglet. He took one good look at me under the bright lights of
my hallway and took off like a streak.” Hermione chuckled softly to herself. “You know I never
figured a man that big could run that fast.”*



*Everyone's laughter brought Molly back down the stairs.*



“*I just got the girls back to sleep. You lot need to keep it down.”*



*Molly's chastising words made Hermione look to her watch.*



“*Oh damn,” she exclaimed. “I hadn't intended to stay this long. I have a reservation at
the Blakes and it will take me forever to make the drive over.”*



“*You're staying in London then,” Harry nervously asked.*



*Hermione began to stand up. “Yes. I booked a suite as soon as I made the arrangements to get
on the boat. I wanted something in town so I wouldn't have to go too far to look for a
flat.”*



*Glinda, Ron, and Harry all seemed to inhale deeply at her words. All three were frightened to
speak in case they misunderstood what she meant. It was up to Charlie to ask the important
question.*



“*You're looking for a place to live?”*



*Hermione bit on her bottom lip as she looked between Harry and Ron. She hadn't realized
that she hadn't made her plans clear.*



“*I'm sorry; I thought I made that part clear. I'm coming back home.”*



*Before Hermione knew it she was being engulfed in a hearty bear hug by both Harry and Ron.
The two tall men lifted her easily off of the ground.*



“*Put me down you prats, put me down,” she shouted amusedly. “What do I look like, a doll you
can just fling about. I already had a taste of the Twin Sandwich.*



“*Oh yeah,” Ron said cheekily, “Well this is the Trio Panini!”*



“*Leave it to Ron to get technical when it comes to food,” said Harry as he sweetly kissed her
cheek. Hermione had to consciously remind herself not to put her hand to the spot just to touch
it.*



*Glinda practically pulled the two men off of Hermione so she could get in her own
hug.*



“*You mean it? You've really come to stay,” she asked as she held on to her friend tight.
Hermione shook her head up and down, too choked up to speak. “Well forget about that fancy schmancy
hotel love. You're coming to Hogsmeade with me!”*



“*I would kick this one out,” Ron said referring to George, “so you could stay at my place,
but Lavender would kill me.”*



“*Well why don't you just come home with me,” Harry said eagerly. “Me and Ginny I mean,”
he quickly corrected as he looked at his wife and promptly turned his back to her as he saw the
incredulity in her eyes. “We have more then enough room at our house. We have room after
room.”*



*Although her face looked impassive to anyone looking at her, Hermione had to control the
horror struck expression that threatened to spread across it. Stay at Harry's?! What did these
people think she was made of? That was a horrible idea!*



*Ginny walked up to her and reached out her hand to her. “Harry is right Hermione. We have
more then enough room. We would love to have you.”*



*To say that Ginny's eyes were frozen blue ice chips wouldn't have come close enough
to describe them. The redhead's cold eyes seemed to challenge Hermione. Come stay with me. See
how happy my life is. I dare you! At least in her opinion that's what they seemed to
say.*



*An insincere smile seemed to graft its self to Hermione's face. “I wouldn't want to
impose,” she said as she carefully removed her wrist from our of Ginny's grasp.*



“*Well you won't be imposing on me,” said Molly as she wrapped Hermione in a motherly
embrace. “You think I would let you come all the way back here and then send you away to some big,
drafty hotel,” she asked. “Merlin no! You will stay right here. You can have Ginny's old
room.”*



*Ron, Glinda, and George all made noises of approval. Although Hermione was touched by the
offer she still valiantly tried to protest. “But...but...where will Charlie sleep?”*





“*I don't mind bunking down on the couch for a few nights Hermione.”*



“*See Hermione, this will be perfect,” insisted Ron as he threw his arms around her
shoulder.*



“*I won't take no for an answer Hermione Granger,” Molly said firmly as she turned the
young woman around to face her. “It's much too late for you to drive all that way. Besides dear
I think your friend would protest if you tried to leave now.”*



*Molly nodded her head in the direction of the fireplace. Sleeping peacefully in front of it
was Hermione's beloved pet. Curled up on top of Lizzie was Serge. The lordly Crookshanks was
sleeping high above them on his chair.*



*Hermione's hesitance eased up at the sight of the resting animal as well as Molly's
hopeful face.*



“*Are you sure it won't be too much trouble,” she asked, just a hint of uncertainty in her
voice.*



“*Dear, it won't be trouble at all.”*



*Hermione then looked at the bright smiles of Glinda, Ron, George, and Charlie and decided
that maybe it would be alright for her to stay at the Burrow after all. It would only be for one
night, two at the most hopefully. As Hermione studied Ginny's face she could see that the young
woman was quite relieved that Hermione hadn't taken her up on her offer. For once Hermione
could agree with her on the sentiment. But it was the expression on Harry's face that troubled
her. It was guarded. As though he were trying to hide from her how he felt about this whole
situation. Was he mad that she hadn't chosen to stay at his home? Was he disappointed? He
probably thought it would be harmless enough for her to stay with him for a few days. Hadn't
she slept in a bed with him once? It would be like old times. He probably still saw her as that
same teen aged girl who was his trusted best friend, who was like a sister to him. Of course he
wouldn't see anything wrong with her staying in his great big home where he slept with his
ravishing flawless bride and he lived his wonderful perfect life.*



*But she could.*



“*Alright then,” she said as she focused her attention on Molly instead. “I'd be more then
happy to stay.”*





*Thirty minutes later Hermione was resting comfortably in the third floor bedroom where
she'd once spent a handful of summer nights, gossiping and giggling with a little girl who had
been her very first female friend. She fondly remembered that hazy, lazy summer, just before she
turned 15, when she and Ginny started to bond. She could still recall the morning that Ginny nicked
a very large maroon brassier out of her mum's room and both girls took turns trying it on,
praying for the day that they would have enough to at least half way fill it. Hermione could still
hear her own laughter as she watched Ginny's freckled face go from disbelief to horror as she
described to the younger girl what a tampon was and where muggle women put them. And if she tried,
she was sure she could see despite the darkness of the room the faint shapes of two adolescent
girls huddled under the sheets of Ginny's bed, confiding and whispering to one another the name
of the boy each girl fancied. The fact that both objects of affections were upstairs in the attic
bedroom, probably dead to the world, only helped to fuel their girlish giggles. As Hermione finally
pulled the duvet tight around her she could only wonder if her life had really been that easy back
then or had time simply tampered with her memories to make everything seem so idyllic. Probably a
bit of both, she said aloud to know one but herself and the darkened room, then rolled over on her
side and closed her eyes. Probably a bit of both.*









*In fact those were simpler times. They were times when no one gave the slightest thought of
dark lords rising from the pits of hell to throw everything in disarray. Days when youth promised
you a future, not death for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Days when a little boy
hadn't yet been told that it was his responsibility to save the world. Days when all Hermione
Granger had to worry about was whether or not a badge marked with a large **P** would come her
way in another year or if Ron would notice the two whole inches she grew while vacationing with her
parents in Majorca. That's where Hermione had been before she came to spend the rest of her
summer at the Burrow. The Granger women had spent a few days sunning themselves on a beach in
Pollença while Hermione and her father explored the remnants of the old watch tower and palace of
Sóller. All in all it had been a pleasant get away, even if Hermione felt she had been forced to it
at first. The trip had been part of the deal that enabled Hermione to go to the Quidditch World
Cup. When Ron's family offered to take Hermione and Harry to the championship game and then
deliver them to school for the start of term Hermione, despite her indifference to all things
Quidditch, jumped at the offer. Any chance to spend more time with her two best friends were well
worth the bother of the silly little game. All she knew was wherever Harry and Ron were she wanted
to be as well. It was a desire that grew and grew with each passing year of their friendship. Her
parents, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to let her go as long as she spent a few weeks with them
beforehand. Though her parents were proud of her accomplishments at Hogwarts and her status as a
witch, Helen and Daniel Granger couldn't help but feel that with each passing year they were
being slowly marginalized out of their daughter's life. It was as if they no longer belonged to
her world or she to theirs. Hermione noticed the change as well, but felt too young and inadequate
to do anything about it. When Daniel offered her the proposal she figured that maybe the little
family holiday with her parents would be enough to make up for it all. Although Hermione would have
preferred to have gone straight to the Burrow, she and her father shook on the deal. Sadly no one
knew at the time that the vacation would be the last real bit of quality time the little family
would ever spend with one another.*



*After they arrived back in England Daniel drove Hermione straight to the Burrow and tried to
ignore the sad tug on his heart as his one and only child gave him a quick kiss goodbye and ran
blissfully towards the Weasleys' door. The only thing that made the situation bearable for the
Grangers was the fact that their little Hermione Jane was finally happy. Before they found out that
Hermione was actually a witch, that wasn't always the case.*



*As a child making friends had never come easy for Hermione. She was always different from the
other kids. She thought that studying and learning new things was the most fun that could be had.
She raised her hand in class more times then the law should allow. During Break Time she preferred
sitting on a bench with a well worn and much loved copy of Peter Pan or Through the Looking Glass
as opposed to making daisy chains with the other little girls or pretending not to notice the boys
playing leap frog near by. And most importantly Hermione could make things...happen...without even
trying. She was what the “polite” well raised children called odd. The other little bastards chose
far nastier names for her. Usually the modus operandi used was clever word play on her name. Well,
clever for a bunch of primary schoolers. Her-morngy, Herma-ninny, Germy Hermy. One 8 year old, snot
nosed monster named Sebastian Bingham called her Hermaphrodite during morning Assembly for three
days straight. It was only on the third day, as the other kids laughed uproariously at her
embarrassment and hot tears threatened to stream down her face that Hermione retaliated the only
way she knew best. She dared Sebastian to spell it. That was the last time Bingham ever looked her
way.*



*Hermione learned an important lesson that day. She was smarter then most of her peers and
when needed she could use her rapier sharp mind as a fierce weapon to protect herself.
Unfortunately for Hermione she never noticed that she also inadvertently used her keen intelligence
as a shield and barrier to keep others from getting too close. Through out her primary school
career she was a very lonely girl. When she got to Hogwarts she hoped that all of that would
change, but she only received more of the same. That is until Harry and Ron came barreling their
way into the girl's bathroom on that All Hollow’s Eve and forever wove themselves into the
fabric of her life.*



*In Harry and Ron she found two people worthy of all of the care and devotion that had been
hidden away in her big heart for years. In Harry and Ron she found two people who accepted and
loved her for the bossy boots, know-it-all, pain in the ass that even she knew she could be from
time to time. In Harry and Ron she found two friends that she knew she would have all of her life.
And most importantly in Harry and Ron she found what had been missing without her even knowing it
had been lost, she found the two missing puzzle pieces that completed her. Heart, mind, soul...the
Trio.*



*Theirs was an odd friendship. It was very rare that you saw a relationship, especially one as
strong and powerful as what the three children shared; develop between two boys and girl. Sure
Hermione never understood the boys' near obsession with Quidditch and sure Harry and Ron tended
to label any oddness on her part as “girl issues” more then her liking, never the less, she would
have never traded them for all the gold in Gringotts. But as she got older she did start to wish
that there was some form of female outlet in her life. Someone who could relate to some of the
changes Mother Nature was bestowing on her as well as another little girl who she could confide
things that she would have been too shamed to share with her boys. Hermione's dorm mates,
Lavender Brown and Parvatti Patil were out of the question however. In Hermione's humble
opinion Lavender was silly at best and vacuous at worse. Parvatti wasn't that much better if
judging by the titles of her book collection; The Necromancer’s Naughty Nymph and The Potion
Master, the Witch, and his Magic Wand to name just a few. Although she got along well with Padma
Patil and Susan Bones, often sharing many classes like Arithmancy or Runes with them, the three
girls' relationships with one another back then was best described as competitive rather then
close. Each girl knew early on that the other two would more then likely be her competition for
Head girl in a few years. Eventually Hermione realized that she had done quite well for three years
without female companionship. She figured that Harry and Ron's friendship was all that she
needed. It was after reaching this monumental decision that Ginny Weasley decided to enter the
picture.*



*Before that summer of '94 Hermione and Ginny had never really associated with one
another. Of course they knew each other pretty well, Ginny after all was Ron's baby sister and
a fellow Gryffindor, the difference in ages and personality however made the idea of a friendship
between the two of them seem unlikely. That fact didn't stop Hermione from trying to befriend
the younger girl when she first came to Hogwarts though. At first Hermione had tried to be friendly
with the redhead, giving her advice or offering her assistance with homework assignments, Ginny
however struck Hermione as being overly secretive and slightly standoff-ish. Later on they would
all discover that Ginny Weasley had fallen under the thrall of Tom Riddle's diary for most of
the year, but at the time Ginny's seemingly reticence to form any kind of relationship with her
strengthened in Hermione the belief that she obviously sent off some kind of pheromone that
repelled other members of her sex.*



*Then one day shortly after the fiasco with the dark mark and poor little Winky, while Harry,
Ron, and the twins were off near the lake behind the Burrow, flying or causing some sort of trouble
(at least to Hermione's thinking), Ginny cautiously approached the corner of the room she had
been reading in.*



“*Yes,” asked Hermione, looking over the top of her Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four.
Although she didn't know it, her face was stern and drawn, a facial expression that was quite
the norm for her when she was immersed in one of her school books. Hermione always took her studies
very seriously. However this was the look that often made people think she was unapproachable. Or
worse still, a wet blanket. Ginny Weasley however seemed oblivious to this thinking.*



“*I don't mean to be a bother, I'll leave you alone,” she said as she turned on her
heel to exit the front parlor of the house.*



*The lines of Hermione's face softened and a genuine, shy smile crept to her face. “Oh,
you're no bother Ginny,” she said as she settled the book on the floor next to her feet. “I
just figured that you were outside watching the boys. I'm absolute rubbish on a broom myself.”
Hermione flushed an embarrassed pink. It always tweaked her ego a bit that she was a witch with
absolutely no head for flying. Hermione wasn't used to being rubbish at anything. “What about
you?”*



“*Oh I've been stealing my brothers' brooms since I was six. But shhh,” she said
putting a finger mischievously to her lips, “don't tell them about it.”*



*Ginny grinned down at her and Hermione couldn't help but return the smile. This girl
before her was worlds different then the shy tongue tied one she was used to encountering. Of
course Harry was usually around for those times, thought Hermione analytically. As soon as that
thought rose up Hermione brushed it easily to the side.*



“*Although I don't support theft in any manner,” Hermione began in a false grave voice, “I
think that's absolutely brilliant,” she said as an admiring smile broke across her face. “Do
you think you might try out for Quidditch this year?” Hermione patted the spot next to her on the
floor, a clear invitation, and Ginny's smile brightened as she eased down next to her.*



“*Well I am a bit scrawny for Keeper, don't you think? With Wood gone that's about the
only option open,” Ginny said in an easy, carefree tone. “I wouldn't want to be a Beater for
all of the galleons in the Malfoy vault. The twins are just too good to replace and besides I
wouldn't want to end up with man arms like Pug Face Parkinson,” she joshed as her freckled face
wore a naughty grin.*



*Hermione bit the insides of her right cheek to keep herself from smiling. Although Pansy
Parkinson was a cow it wasn't really nice to talk about her that way...even if her arms were
rather masculine.*



“*I would love to play Chaser, but Angelina, Alicia, and Katie are unbeatable as a team. I
couldn't hope to compare.”*



*Hermione nodded her head in agreement. The three Gryffindor Chasers did work magnificently
together. Probably because they were all such close friends Hermione surmised. Hermione could only
wonder how Katie Bell was going to take it in a few years when the two older girls left
Hogwarts.*



“*Then there's Harry,” Ginny said dreamily as she hung her head down and smiled. “But who
could replace Harry? Dad says that he's the best thing to happen to Gryffindor house in
years.”*



*Hermione couldn't miss the near worshipful tones in Ginny's voice. It was painfully
obvious that the poor thing still fancied Harry. But Hermione knew that as long as Ginny treated
Harry as though he were some near god-like figure he would never look her way.*



“*Is that what you wanted to talk about, Harry” Hermione asked in an almost sharp manner. She
was used to other girls asking her questions about Harry and sometimes even Ron and it bothered her
to no end. She hated that most people only saw her as a conduit to one of her boys. It hurt her to
think that this was what Ginny was doing. Hermione had almost fooled herself for a moment into
thinking that Ginny wanted to make friends.*



*Ginny must have caught on to a bit of Hermione's frustration because her face quickly
took on a look of worriment.*



“*Oh no...no...that's not it at all,” Ginny said, voice trembling. “I...I...,” Ginny
stammered as her ears burned red, “I wanted to talk to you about school.”*



*At the word 'school' Hermione's face perked up. “School?”*



“*Yes, I...it's just that I'm going to be starting my third year soon...”*



“*I know, isn't it exciting,” Hermione said as her eyes danced cheerfully. “You get to
choose two new classes. You have so much to choose from. There's Runes and Arithmancy, Muggle
Studies and Magical Creatures...Divination...” Hermione scrunched up her nose at that last subject.
“Although Trelawney is a fraud and anyone who would tell you different is an idiot,” Hermione said
as she held her nose high.*



*Ginny smirked. “Like Parvatti and Lavender?”*



*Hermione couldn't help herself from wearing a similar look on her face. “Well I
didn't say it.”*



*The two girls laughed at the remark.*



“*But seriously your third year is so important Ginny. I mean, just think, you're only two
years closer to O.W.L.s. And then after that you only have another year before you have to think
about N.E.W.T.s. And then there's all the new spells you're going to learn,” she said as
her eyes glowed and her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.*



*Ginny gave Hermione a wide eyed look of awe that made Hermione blush furiously.*



“*Sorry,” she said abashed. “I probably sound so boring to you.” Hermione hung her head low.
She could only imagine what Ginny was thinking about her now. Why would someone as funny and pretty
as her want to befriend someone whose nose was constantly in a book.*



“*You're not boring Hermione,” Ginny declared forthrightly. “You're pretty far from
boring. Boring would be Percy or...or...what's that puffed up Hufflepuff's name again?
He's one who is constantly bragging about his scores and what not.”*



“*That would be Zacharias.”*



“*What I wouldn't give to be able to shut his gob.”*



“*Ginny!”*



“*Well I would,” Ginny answered with out a hint of apology. “But you're nothing like them.
Besides, I know how important school is to you. Ron's told me.”*



*Hermione felt her face go very warm at the mention of her secret crush's name.*



“*Ron talks about me then,” she asked as casually as she could muster. However she
wouldn't meet Ginny's gaze, thus missing the look of understanding that alighted in the
younger girl's eyes.*



*Ginny smiled as she said, “Talks about you? He won't shut up about you, at least to me
and mum. 'Course he wouldn't dare say anything in front of Fred and George, they would
never leave him alone if he did. But he's constantly going on and on about something you said,
or something you did. Why, to hear him tell it, you would almost think that he considers you the
only girl in the world...”*



*As Ginny said all of this it took every drop of Hermione's poise and dignity to refrain
from jumping from the floor and clicking her heels at these words. That is until Ginny said
something that completely threw her for a loop.*



“*...him and Harry that is.”*



*If Hermione hadn't been concentrating on how odd Ginny's last words were she might
have caught the hint of edge in the girl's tone. But at the time she had been so perplexed by
the statement that she was oblivious to everything else.*



“*Somehow I doubt that. I'm just the only girl that they know well.” She then sighed
forlornly. “Sometimes I don't think Ron even recognizes the fact that I am a girl.”*



“*Why not? You're cute...enough.”*



*As much as that last bit smarted Hermione couldn't really fault Ginny for it.*



“*Ginny Weasley,” she half scolded the redhead as though she was her pupil, “my head is too
small for my hair, my teeth are too big for my face, and right now I'm wearing a training bra
that makes me feel like I'm a right and proper fraud.” She despondently sighed as she leaned
her head back against the wall. “Trust me; I know when I'm licked.”*



*Ginny rolled her eyes at the tirade. “Mum says girls like you are just late bloomers, is all.
I still think my brother fancies you.”*



“*Well he sure has a funny way of showing it,” Hermione sulkily replied. Then she and Ginny
locked gazes and simultaneously huffed, “Boys!”*



*This caused both girls too fall upon themselves in laughter.*



“*Golly Hermione, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”*



*Hermione looked at Ginny in amazement. “You like me?”*



“*'Course I do! You're not at all like these giggling idiots who only care what new
robes they can get daddy to buy them.”*



“*Well yes, my giggling quotient is quite low,” Hermione said in mock severity.*



*Ginny smiled at the joke. “See, you're smart and funny too. I wish I could be like
you.”*



“*Like me,” Hermione bewilderedly responded. “Why would anyone want to be like me?”*



*Ginny shook her head at the inquiry as if it were the silliest question ever asked. “Why
wouldn't they? All the professors’ brag on how you are the smartest witch Hogwarts has seen
everyone knows you're going to be Head Girl in a few years, and best of all Harry Potter is
you're best friend. Who wouldn't want to be you?”*



“*But I don't even think of it like that,” Hermione tried to explain. “I've never
thought of Harry like that. Harry is just...” she paused as she searched her brain to find the best
way to describe just what she meant. “Harry's just Harry to me.”*



*Ginny's smile tightened ever so slightly as she said, “Well, we can't all be so lucky
now can we?”*



*The conversation was taking a very odd turn in Hermione's opinion, but before she could
protest Ginny's last remark the other girl effortlessly changed the topic.*



“*Do you think,” she said nervously as she fingered the frayed edges of the skirt she was
wearing, “do you think we could maybe...I don't know...hang out some more. Together.” Ginny was
so obviously embarrassed by the offer that she couldn't even look at Hermione. But if she had,
she would have seen the bright, hopeful smile that had begun to form on the other girl's
face.*



“*I mean, I would understand if you don't want to, you have Ron and...Harry. But I think I
could learn a lot from you. Spells and such. I know this great concoction we could put in your
hair, make it shinny like my own and it would be nice to have a girl I could talk to from time to
time. You just don't know how lucky you are being an only child Hermione! Having six brothers
is hell...oops,” Ginny said as she quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry,” she sheepishly
apologized.*



*Hermione merely smiled at the slip. “That's alright. I am friends with Ron, I've
heard worse.”*



*Ginny smiled.*



“*And I would like it very much if we...hung out. And there are so many spells I could teach
you. In fact I've been working on a new one. Would you like to see it?” Ginny shook her head up
and down enthusiastically as Hermione stood up from the floor. She drew her wand out of her jean
pocket. Ginny stood up as well.*



“*But won't you get in trouble,” she nervously questioned Hermione.*



*Hermione only smiled at her trepidation. “The first time I tried it out I did. Got one of
those letters from Hopkirk's office. But I'm sure I could get away with it here. With five
of age magical people staying in this one house right now they could never track it back to
me.”*



*Hermione then breezily explained to her how the Ministry really couldn't track an
individual wand. In a house where so much magic was practiced regularly a small spell like hers
would slip easily thru the cracks.*



“*You mean I could have turned Percy into a slug a long time ago?”*



*Hermione's mischievous smile was all the answer that Ginny needed. “Yes, but don't
tell Ron or Harry. Merlin only knows what they could get up to if they knew!”*



“*Forget that, just imagine the twins.”*



*The very thought of what trouble the Weasley twins could stir up before they officially were
allowed to perform magic sent Hermione's eyebrows into her hairline. “This remains our little
secret then,” she conspiratorially said as she offered her hand to Ginny.*



“*Something tells me we are going to have a lot of those,” Ginny said as she took
Hermione's hand in hers and gave it a firm shake.*



*Hermione was almost made speechless by Ginny's statement. She felt tears begin to prickle
in her eyes, but commanded herself not to let them fall. She didn't want Ginny to think that
she was some silly ninny or something.*



“*Yes, right. Well the incantation is roentgenesco. It's a variation on a vanishing charm
with a bit of a Protean thrown in.” She said all of this as if Ginny should obviously know what she
was talking about. Of course Ginny didn't, but she didn't want to confess this fact to
Hermione. “It makes you see thru things; doors, ceilings, plastic. Thin walls even.”*



*Ginny was obviously impressed by the scope of the spell, if her wide opened mouth was any
indicator. “Did you learn that in your third year?”*



“*Goodness no. I...I sort of came up with it on my own,” she said, hoping that she didn't
sound half as conceited as she feared she might. She smiled bashfully at Ginny. “You see
Harry...being Harry...you just never know when that sort of thing might be necessary.”*



“*Galloping Gorgons Hermione! Is there anything you can't do?”*



*The praise in Ginny's voice did nothing for Hermione's modesty.*



“*Well keeping my toast from turning into bits of charcoal seems a bit hard, but other then
that...” she said cheekily, trying to deflate her own ego as much as she could. Ginny could only
laugh at the bit of self deprecation.*



*Hermione then walked over the wall next to the doorway that led into the kitchen as Ginny
followed after her. Hermione expertly raised her wand and pointed it towards the old wallpaper.
With her shoulders squared and her spine straight Hermione looked perfectly in her element.*



“*Now I must warn you, you must tread with caution with this spell,” she advised her
friend.*



“*Why? What could happen to me?”*



“*You just might see something that scars you for life,” Hermione admitted. “Honestly, a girl
should never see their parents doing...**that** ever!”*



*At first Ginny was at a loss what Hermione could possibly mean until Hermione's arched
eyebrow gave her a clue.*



“*Oh,” she muttered in awe. Then again she said, “Oh.” That time it was laced in mock horror.
Both girls almost succumbed to a nice lengthy giggling fit until Hermione had the good grace to try
and act her age and calmed Ginny and herself down. Once Ginny looked as though she wouldn't
fall to the floor in hysterics anymore, Hermione cast her spell at the wall. Instantly a picture of
Mrs. Weasley standing in her kitchen appeared before them. The Weasley matriarch was cooking, as
was usual. She had a bottle of sherry in her hand, the kind she used to make her Sherry Trifle
with. Surprisingly enough, 'til that day, no one ever knew just how much Molly Weasley actually
nipped out of the bottle while she was preparing her Trifle.*



“*Blimey! No wonder mum always seems so happy after making that god-awful thing.”*



*Hermione covered her mouth so she wouldn't laugh too loud.*



*Both girls continued to look at the wall. The spell was so good it was almost as if they were
staring into a telly. Professor Flitwick would have definitely given Hermione an O for her effort.
Seeing the admiring glint in Ginny's eye only made Hermione even prouder of her work. As the
sounds of a heard of wildebeest began to come tramping thru the kitchen (really only the boys done
with their play) Hermione ended the incantation. Ginny turned to her, idolization and something
else....what was it...envy maybe...burning in her eyes. Hermione however ignored the latter and
only seemed to see the former. It was nice to know that she could impress Ginny so well.*



“*Cor Hermione, you know everything!”*





*And that was how their tenuous friendship began.*





“*Hermione, how can I get Snape off my back and still pass Potions?”*



“*Hermione, do you know a spell that can make my robes look new?”*



“*Hermione, what do you really think of Cho Chang?”*





*Hermione never tired of giving Ginny her solicited advice. It felt nice that someone
genuinely respected her opinion. Of course she knew that, in their own way, Harry and Ron
appreciated all she did for them such as advising them about their homework or trying to keep them
out of trouble. But she also knew that at times they did think she was a nag. However, Ginny seemed
to hang off of her every opinion. Ginny's glowing praise and admiration drew her in, moth like.
It would burn her as well one day too.*









“*Hermione....I can't stand it! I just can't stand it!”*



*Hermione had just come from Ron and Harry's bedroom. It was the Christmas holidays and
though she was supposed to be in Gstaad skiing the slopes were her mum and dad, she had come to
spend her vacation at Grimmauld Place instead. Hermione loved skiing! It was one of the few sports
that she was actually good at, but when she learned of Harry's prophetic dream and then his and
the Weasley children’s' flight from Hogwarts right before the end of term she knew that her
place was with him. Of course her parents had been disappointed, but they seemed to understand how
important being with her friend right now was to her. They dropped her off in front of the Black
family home on their way to the airport. Hermione barely had time to shake the snow flakes out of
her hair or even take off her gloves and jacket before she searched him out, her need to see and
comfort Harry being that great. He had been surly, an irritating step down from his usual moody
self, when she first barged in on his hideout in Buckbeak's room. He asked her why she
wasn't with her parents. Hermione told him a simple white lie about her not being that good a
skier. She instinctually knew that if Harry thought she was chucking her vacation for him he would
be even surlier. Somehow she had managed to get Harry out of that room, fed, and arranged a
quasi-intervention for him in his bedroom with the rest of the Weasley children. By the end of the
night Hermione had felt her job had been well done; Harry no longer believed himself to be a vessel
of evil and had returned to being the moody 15 year old boy he had been for most of the year. A
definite improvement!*



*After Ginny and the twins had left the room, more like been hustled out rudely by Ron, the
three friends put their heads together and discussed a few other things before deciding it was time
for bed. In actuality Ron had just drifted off to sleep while Hermione was talking and she stormed
out of the room in a snit. When she arrived to the room she was staying in she hadn't been
prepared for what Ginny threw out at her.*



*At Ginny's outburst Hermione rushed to the side of her friend's bed.*



“*Ginny what's wrong? Are you alright,” she asked frantically.*



*Ginny huffed indignantly at the question.*



“*Of course I'm not alright! How could you! How could you not tell me! I thought we were
friends.”*



*Hermione was at a loss of what could have sent Ginny into her current state.*



“*But we are Ginny,” she insisted. “I don't under...”*



“*Harry kissed Cho,” she hissed as her skin turned a sallow color that made her freckles stand
out.*



*Hermione finally let out the breath she had been holding once Ginny said that. So that is
what this is all about, she thought to herself.*



“*And?”*



*Ginny's blue eyes seemed to snap fire at Hermione's apparently nonchalant
demeanor.*



“*And,” she snarled, voice dripping in disdain. “Didn't you think I'd want to know
something like that? You know I still have a thing for Harry. But instead I had to hear it from the
Fred and George, who got the story from Ron. And if Ron knew about it I know that you did too.”
Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought she almost heard an accusation in Ginny's
tone.*



*The truth was that Hermione had been trying to think about anything but that kiss that Harry
and Cho had shared only a few days prior. She had known that Harry had a crush on Cho since at
least the end of their third year and had felt terribly bad for him when she turned down his
invitation to the Yule Ball that next year. But at the start of the new school term Hermione began
to get the impression that Cho Chang had decided to change her tune where it concerned Harry. And
for some reason Hermione didn't like it one bit. But since Harry seemed to be so excited over
the prospect of dating Cho Hermione decided to be happy for him. When he told Ron and her about the
tear stained kiss Hermione had tried to detach her brain from her own jumbled feelings and explain
to Harry the best way she could what she thought was going on in Cho's head. She knew she
sounded clinical, almost un-feeling, but even that was better then her annoyance that the pretty
Ravenclaw had ruined Harry's memory of his very first kiss forever and the disbelief that such
a dingbat could have ever gotten sorted in Ravenclaw. The fact that Hermione was having such catty
thoughts unsettled her greatly as well. She didn't understand them at all. So she turned her
frustrations out on poor Ron, insulting him rather nastily. But she told herself that he deserved
it. The way he was acting one would have thought that he had kissed Cho Chang himself. As if he
would ever have the stones to haul off and kiss a girl, Hermione thought darkly.*



“*Of course I knew about it, but...I mean...It's no big deal Ginny,” she said as she
seated herself on the bed facing Ginny.*



“*No big deal?!” Ginny looked at the other girl as though she had went mad.*



“*Besides,” Hermione countered, “she kissed him.” It was a petty thing to say, but still...it
was true wasn't it?*



*Ginny frowned. “That's it then,” she said dejectedly. “I have no chance. Cho Chang is
pretty, and popular, and plays Quidditch. What more could Harry possibly want?”*



*Hermione's brow wrinkled at the remark. “I hope a lot more then that!”*



*Ginny rolled her eyes as if Hermione was being simple minded. “Be serious Hermione, you know
what I mean. Against someone like Cho I have no chance. I even tried to take a page out of your
book and make Harry jealous, but he didn't seem to care that I was dating Michael.”*



*Hermione was flabbergasted at this admission. She had suspected that Ginny had finally
settled on another boy so she could get over Harry. Hermione had no idea that Ginny had done so to
gain Harry's attention. It was almost devious. She wasn't sure if she liked this
admission.*



“*What do you mean by my playbook?”*



“*Come now Hermione,” Ginny snickered drolly, “as if you went to the ball with Krum because
you enjoyed his conversational skills and his interest in house-elves' rights.”*



*Hermione's mouth fell open, aghast that Ginny would suggest such a thing. People had been
speculating on Hermione's reasons for going to the Yule Ball with Viktor ever since it
happened. According to half of Hogwarts population it was a desperate act to get Ron to notice her.
According to The Prophet it was her way of playing with poor little Harry's heart. The truth
was far simpler. Viktor had a nice bum. The day she noticed this fact was the day that she conceded
to stop hating Quidditch at least a little. Of course she never told another living soul
this.*



“*I was not trying to make Ron jealous,” she insisted. “As though I needed the trouble! He
just went from being a clueless blind git to being a jealous blind git. Who, might I add, was still
clueless,” she fumed.*



“*And just so you know I went with Viktor because he happened to find me interesting,” she
said haughtily.*



*Ginny's lips twisted themselves into a smirk. “I bet he found two things about you very
interesting.” Ginny outright laughed at the pink shade that Hermione's cheeks turned. “If I
didn't know better I would think that Malfoy's spell had been aimed lower.*



*Hermione couldn't believe that Ginny would say something like that. Of all people Ginny
knew how embarrassed Hermione was of the growth spurt she experienced shortly after term began the
year before. Hermione was so confused by the rapid change in her body that she had begun to wear
her robes and school uniforms looser. Only Ginny and a few other girls in Gryffindor seemed to
notice the change then thankfully. However that summer when she had shown up to Grimmauld Place
wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans it was obvious that Ron noticed the change
as well. In fact his eyes kept drifting down to her shirt whenever she spoke to him. She was torn
between feeling flustered that Ron would even look at her that way, smug that now she could compete
with the likes of Hannah Abbot and Lavender Brown, and incensed that the redhead would think of her
as if she was just a piece of meat. Unfortunately she didn't know which one she felt more so
she ignored the matter. Besides, Harry didn't seem to notice so she figured that it was no big
deal anyway.*



“*You're getting to be as crude as your brother,” she said dismissively.*



*Ginny's smile instantly fell from her face and she looked like she was going to hit
Hermione.*



“*Oh, so you're too good for my brother now, eh,” Ginny accused.*



“*What?!”*



*Ginny paused, as if realizing all at once the horrible words that were coming out of her
mouth. She jumped off of her bed and scuttled over to where Hermione was seated.*



“*Sorry Hermione,” she apologized. “It's just this whole Harry thing is making me nutters.
But I might as well accept it; a girl like me could never have a boy like that. Besides I should be
used to getting things secondhand. Why not a boyfriend as well,” she sighed dismally as she looked
at the floor board. “I might as well settle for someone like Goyle or Neville,” she
snorted.*



“*Ginny,” Hermione said reproachfully, “do you even know who Harry is? Harry doesn't give
a fig about that kind of thing.”*



*These words only seemed to make Ginny despondent. Hermione decided to change her
tactics.*



“*If it makes you feel any better, this thing with Cho is just a passing fancy,” she said,
trying to cheer her friend up. “Harry will be over it in no time.”*



*Ginny looked up at her suspiciously, “How do you know this?”*



*Hermione grinned back at her cheekily. “Because I know my Harry Potter.”*



*Instead of finding what Hermione said funny Ginny seemed to mull over it seriously.*



“*Yes,” she muttered. “Yes you do. There's probably no one who knows him better, even
Ron.”*



*Hermione blushed at the declaration.*



“*That's probably why he listens to everything you say.”*



*She quirked a smile. “Harry? Listen to me?”*



“*Just look at today for instance. All of us had been trying to get Harry out of that room for
hours. Then you show up and just like that he does.”*



*For some reason Hermione did not like where this conversation was heading.*



“*Oh yeah,” she snidely retorted, “just like that. Never mind the fact that my hair is still
slightly singed from where it made the acquaintance of the patented Potter Death Glare.”*



*Ginny ignored Hermione's denials.*



“*It's not surprising, is it? Harry has been relying on you since last year.”*



“*Yes, when nearly the whole school ostracized him,” she protested.*



“*In fact the amount of influence that you have over him is almost unsettling.” Ginny began to
twirl a lock of her hair lazily. “I bet you could convince Harry to do almost anything.”*





*Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on in. She didn't care for the
feverish light in Ginny's eyes or the intensity of her words. “And what would I convince Harry
to do?”*



“*Well, I know you don't like Cho,” Ginny began cautiously. Hermione began to protest, but
Ginny stopped her. “Don't deny it. It's written clearly on your face. Now if you told Harry
how you fee...”*



“*No,” Hermione said in a low, steady voice.*



“*Hermione...”*



“*I said no! Even if I had the power to sway Harry's opinion, which I don't, I would
never do something like that. I'm no fan of Chang, but if Harry wants Cho I want Cho for Harry.
It's as simple as that.”*

*Ginny's blue eyes began to well up with tears at Hermione's heated pronouncement. “If
you wanted to Hermione you could help me get Harry,” she claimed.*



“*Well maybe I don't want to,” Hermione muttered to herself. Unfortunately for her Ginny
heard every word.*



*The younger girl didn't say anything for a minute. She just scrutinized the brown haired
girl as she sized up the situation before her. Then realization dawned on her.*



“*Hermione,” Ginny began hesitantly, “You don't...you don't fancy Harry, do
you?”*



*That tore it! Hermione pitched herself from the bed and went to her trunk. She began
searching for her flannel pajamas, the ones with the yellow ducks on them. She couldn't explain
why Ginny's question set her off. All she knew was that she wanted to remove herself as far
away from the other girl as she could manage. As soon as she found the pajamas she turned around so
that Ginny wasn't in her sight and she began pulling her clothes off of her and throwing them
on the bed haphazardly. This was not at all like Hermione, neat freak extraordinaire, but she
barely cared about how wrinkled her clothes would be in the morning. As she slid the pajama bottoms
on and put the shirt on she tried to calm her nerves. But her hands shook as she tried to fasten
the buttons.*



“*Hermione...” Ginny tentatively murmured as she got up from the bed and walked towards
Hermione.*



“*You've found me out Ginny,” she cried mockingly. “I'm in love with Harry! This whole
thing with Ron had only been part of my nefarious plan to win Harry for myself. Aren't you so
clever?”*



“*Look Hermione, I'm sorry. I really am. Of course I know that there is nothing between
you and Harry.” Hermione stopped the assault on the little buttons of her top to look at Ginny
fully. She knew that what Ginny was saying was true; still she felt a small pang of sadness at the
words.*



“*Nothing but friendship that is. I don't know what could have come over me to suggest
something otherwise.”*



*Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and led her back to her bed. They both sat down on it,
facing each other. Ginny continued to hold Hermione in her grip.*



“*I know how important that friendship is to you.”*



*Hermione released the breath that she had no idea she had been holding. Her drumming
heartbeat that had been pounding in her chest finally slowed to a livable pace. She began to relax
at Ginny's calming, dulcet tones.*



“*But just think about it Hermione,” Ginny continued, “Harry may have a girlfriend who
doesn't understand the connection that you two have. Who might not like the fact that the
person closest to Harry in the world is another girl. She might even try to cut you out, make Harry
choose. You or Her, who do you think Harry would choose?”*



*Tears had been threatening to fall from Hermione's eyes, but she bravely held them back.
Something in her told her that she didn't want Ginny to see how her words were affecting her.
Was that it, Hermione wondered. Is that why I've been having such nasty thoughts about Cho? Do
I think she would turn Harry against me? That line of thinking started to make a dull vague sense
in Hermione's mind. She had been so used to being the only girl in Harry's life that now
that she was going to be replaced, by a girlfriend of all things, her muddled feelings had started
to surface. Hermione knew that a girlfriend would trump a best friend every time. So was Ginny
right? Would Harry forget about her just to chase after some pretty face?*



“*But if I was Harry's girlfriend,” Ginny said, intruding on Hermione's thoughts, “you
wouldn't have to worry about that. None of that silliness would ever come up. Then you could be
with Ron and I could have Harry.” Ginny embraced Hermione in firm hug. “Then we could almost be
like sisters,” she said into Hermione's shoulder. “Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't
that be perfect?”*



*Hermione's skin began to crawl at the question. For some reason Ginny's idyllic
portrait she painted sent waves of disquiet through Hermione's mind. Would she really like
that, Hermione wondered.*



“*Well,” Ginny said as her voice turned steely, “wouldn't it?”*



“*Of course,” Hermione proclaimed in a wan voice.*



*Ginny pulled back from her and beamed a large smile at her.*



“*You'll help me then,” she asked.*



*Hermione sighed resolutely. “I can give you advice; tell you what you need to know about
Harry. But I am not going to break up Harry and Cho for you,” she said, her voice razor sharp with
defiance.*



“*That's fine, that's fine,” Ginny replied quickly, too scared that Hermione would
change her mind any minute.*



“*I know that with you helping me Hermione Harry will be sure to come around to me. You know
everything after all.”*



*Hermione smiled weakly. Yes she did. Hermione knew it all. If Ginny wanted Harry she knew
just how to make it happen. Besides, it wasn't such a bad idea, was it? Ginny was the kind of
girl she would want for Harry if she had to choose. Down to earth, good humored, sweet, with some
intelligence to her. It also didn't hurt that the young girl had the makings of a great beauty
some day. From the pictures Hermione had seen she even vaguely resembled Lily Potter. If Hermione
had any trepidation with trying to help Ginny the inner romantic in Hermione quelled it. It would
seem fitting that the Hero would finally find the girl of his dreams right beside him, the girl who
had been pining away for him all along. It would be perfect. With that thought her mind was
settled. She wanted Ginny for Harry.*



*It was just too bad for Hermione that she had yet to realize that she wanted him too.*

*Of course at the time she didn't know what she felt for Harry was the first flush of
love, real love...the kind of love that seemed to possess you wholly and hold you in its grips
'til you were rung dry, because she thought it was the Weasleys' youngest boy she wanted.
Hermione had felt the first romantic stirrings of her heart all at the tender age of 12. Draco
Malfoy had called her a name, a horrible, horrible name and Ron had drawn his wand on the blonde
boy to defend her. Of course the sensible part of Hermione's brain told her that she should
have found such displays of testosterone vulgar and uncouth. But there was another side of
Hermione, a side that she often camouflaged with her books and her big words that found the whole
thing terribly dashing. That was the moment she was sure she had settled on what she wanted. It
took five years for Ron to finally catch up to her, but when at last they became boyfriend and
girlfriend Hermione was sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.*



*Then one night she awakened from a deep enchanted sleep where she dreamt of a man with dark
hair that she loved and wanted above all things. Her heart quickened at his smiles. Her skin burned
where he kissed it. In his arms she felt a bliss that made her want to laugh and cry...and cry and
laugh and just...be. Hermione was sure she had never experienced such joy, such happiness in all
her life. As she felt her conscious mind slowly ease its self from its dream state she tried to
hold on to the thread of that other life, the life that she didn't want to leave, by the tips
of her fingers. Instead it slipped effortlessly from her grip. But as her eyes slowly began to open
she smiled a content, joyous smile. He had followed her out of her dream world and into the real
one. Then her eyes focused clearly and Hermione realized that it was Harry. That it had been Harry
all along.*



*Hermione wanted to die in that very moment. Hermione wanted to find some corner to squeeze
herself into and just cease to be. Her mind felt like it couldn't deal with what she now knew
to be true. Because she did know that the dream only told her the truth. She realized it as soon as
she saw Harry's concern filled eyes staring down at her while they were the only two people in
the Head Girl's suite. She did love him. She loved him with all that she had. It was that
simple.*



*Except for the part where her boyfriend was probably somewhere near by.*



*And that's when Hermione began to cry.*



*The transferring of her affections from one best friend to the other had been so seamless
that she hadn't even noticed the difference 'til it was too late. Just one day while her
mind and her eyes had been doggedly looking towards Ron, her heart and her soul and turned to
Harry. And that's where they remained. Even now that she was back home in England.*









As Hermione made her way down the Burrow's staircase she had to wonder what folly had
brought her back here. She was still in love with Harry, nothing had changed. Did she really think
she could come back and pick up where she left off as though nothing happened? Did she really think
she could go back to ignoring the plaintive longing of her heart whenever her thoughts turned to
him? Did she really think this was a good idea? When she hugged him the night before she could feel
the altogether kind heart and innate goodness that made Harry...Harry still there and she had to
force herself to let him go. She made the decision then and there to try to avoid the special
little hugs that they used to share at all costs. In Hermione's opinion it was like playing
with fire. If she found herself in Harry's arms again she might not want to let go. How then
could she possibly explain that? No, thought Hermione, shoulders set with resolve, the best thing
for me to do is try to keep my distance from Harry as best I can. She was highly impressed with her
plan, thinking that it would be a piece of cake. Then she neared the end of the staircase, looked
up, and spied before her the very man whose very visage was imprinted on her soul.



Damn.



Harry was facing her in profile, his long onyx black hair lying past the collar of his dark
scarlet robes. Hermione wondered at the weight of all of that hair and imagined for a second what
it would feel like if it rubbed against her cheek. His shell pink lips were slightly opened, as if
though she had caught him in the middle of a thought and as his tongue slipped out to capture some
moisture along the ridge of his upper lip Hermione reached out an arm to clench the banister of the
stairs. That was when she realized that this wouldn't be as easy as she suspected.



“Well hello there stranger,” she said as she plastered on a bright, sunny smile and reached the
bottom step of the stairs.



Harry turned in her direction and at the sight of her his emerald fire eyes seemed to dance.
Hermione had to force one leg before the other in fear that she would go jelly legged any moment at
the sight of him. She wanted to curse herself. Here he was excited to have her home, nothing more,
and she was acting like an addled brained teen anger.



“H-Hermione, h-hello,” he stammered out as he met her at the stairs.



“And what pray tell is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this,” she shamelessly teased.
Really how could she not when he just looked too delectable standing there, staring so innocently
at his dear trusted friend. Bastard!



Harry seemed to miss the coquettish tone in her voice and bewilderedly asked, “Huh?”



Hermione sighed deeply. “It's almost one o'clock Harry. Why are you here? Aren't you
supposed to be at work?”



She crossed from the stairs and fully entered the kitchen. Molly was bustling back and forth
between the table and the stove while Hermione detected the scent of Eggs Florentine in the air, a
favorite of hers. She turned to continue speaking to Harry and found that he had followed close
behind her. Really a tad too close for her liking. They were practically nose and nose. Well...nose
and chest. Nicely toned chest. Damned Auror robes were practically indecent if you asked her!



Hermione self-consciously took a step back.



“Not playing hooky, I hope,” she asked.



Harry seemed to be just as embarrassed by the fleeting brushing of their bodies as she was
because he seemed very flustered.



“Oh,” he exclaimed. “Oh no, I'm...I'm not skiving work.” His face relaxed into an easy
smile. “I'll have you know that I am on official Department business.”



“Right,” Hermione wryly answered him as one of her eyebrows arched upwards. “And this
departmental business has nothing to do with Molly's cooking I suppose?” By this time she and
Harry had both made it to the table and were sitting down, Harry right next to her. A mug of black
coffee sat before each of them.



Harry sent her a cocky grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him. Preferably at the same
time.



“Bloke's got to eat. Besides, who could turn down Molly Weasley's Egg Florentine?”



Molly had just approached the table in time to hear Harry's praise, she clucked “You dear,
dear boy”. She then placed a plate of the egg dish of spinach and cheese in front of both of them.
She patted Harry's head adoringly before placing a quick kiss at Hermione's temple.



“You two tuck in,” she said as she turned to attend to some other matter. Harry did so
gladly.



“Honestly Molly, you didn't have to go through all of this trouble for me,” Hermione meekly
said, knowing that any protest on her part would be useless.



Molly pointed her wand at the few dishes she had currently in the sink and they began to
magically wash themselves.



“No trouble at all dear. I actually tried to wake you up earlier so you could eat with the rest
of the family, but you put the pillow over your head and mumbled 'five more minutes
mum'.”



“Oh my,” Hermione remarked, turning pink. Harry almost spit out his food, he was laughing so
hard. Hermione sent him a nasty glare before turning back to Molly.



“Where are that adorable little Dash and his sister, Molly? I was hoping to get better
acquainted with them. They're too young for day school, aren't they?”



“My yes,” answered Molly. “But since Fleur had an appointment today with Healer Bones-Goldstein
she decided to take the little ones with her. I told her to just leave them with me, but she said
she wanted to give me a break for once. She's such a lovely girl that way.”



Hermione bit on her lip to keep herself from smiling. There was once a time when Molly Weasley
would have rather hexed Fleur Delacour so much as look at her. What a difference a happy marriage
and four or five grandchildren make, Hermione couldn't help but think.



“Poor dear had to take a temporary leave from Gringotts. This last babe has been troubling her
so. But such is a witch's lot in life,” Molly added wistfully before returning to her
chores.



Hermione was very proud of herself for not rolling her eyes at the woman's outdated words.
She glanced over at Harry and saw that he was watching her and from the joshing glint in his eye
probably knew exactly what she was thinking. She playfully stuck her tongue at him before she began
to clear her plate.



“Harry...” Charlie began as he came bustling through the door that led from the parlor, but
stopped as his eyes landed on Hermione.



“Oh, hello there Hermione,” he greeted her. She said hello back to him and he focused his
attention back to Harry.



“Well Harry I just sent Gerda a note. Last I heard from her she was still in Greenland chasing
down a species thought to be extinct, the Snow dragon.”



“The Snow dragon,” Hermione gasped. “But I thought that it was just a myth.”



Charlie smiled brightly at her, warming to his favorite subject. “So did I 'til Gerda found
fragments of an egg that doesn't match any other known species on record near the Baffin Bay.
Gerda wanted me to accompany her when she first set out, but I was still finishing my work in
Sweden.” He then turned back to Harry. “Anyhow, it might be a while 'til I hear from her
again.”



At these words Molly sent the muffin pan she had used to cook with crashing into the cupboard.
She looked terribly cross as she faced her son. “Still writing to that Winkler woman, eh?”



“Mum,” Charlie groaned as he rolled his eyes. “Sorry I couldn't be more help,” he directed
to Harry. “I'm just not that familiar with the dragons of the Americas, especially the
Peruvian. But Gerda should be able to help you. There's nothing that Gerda doesn't know.”
he said matter-of-factly.



“Thanks Charlie,” Harry replied. “I can't tell you how much this means,” he said as he
lifted up the mug of hot coffee and cautiously took a sip.



Hermione had no clue who this Winkler woman was, but by judging from Molly's reaction she
was no friend of Mrs. Weasley. Molly began cursing hot epithets under her breath that always seemed
to end or begin with the phrase 'that woman'. Molly stormed out of the kitchen and into the
parlor. Charlie sheepishly smiled at the room's other two occupants before following after his
mother to calm her down. Suddenly something began to snap into place for Hermione.



“That's right,” she said as she turned towards Harry, “you did say that you had some big
case you were working on. What's it about,” she asked.



“Err...”



Harry had been doing that since she first met him. As much as it irritated her to no end,
Hermione always thought Harry was at his cutest when he was at a loss for words. It also reminded
her that no matter how much Harry aged, when you got right down to it, he was that same 11 year old
boy she once knew. Thoughts like that always comforted her for some reason.



She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Your case Harry, what's it about?”



It was obvious that Harry didn't want to discuss it with her for whatever reasons, but she
didn't quite understand why he was so agitated about the whole thing.



“I...um...it's confidential,” he just barely managed to spit out.



“Confidential? Really now Harry,” she said as she smirked at him, “when did you start keeping
secrets from your best friend?”



“Probably 'round the same time she started keeping them from me,” he darkly muttered, eyes
never leaving his plate.



She had only meant the statement as a joke, but Harry seemed to take it to heart and lashed out
at her. Whoever said that words couldn't kill obviously left out the part where they sure as
hell could maim you if given the chance.



“Oh...” she barely squeaked out. “I see.”



For a second her eyes burned, but she fought down the urge to bawl her eyes out. Instead she
pushed away from the table, her brunch half eaten, and walked over to the hearth where Crookshanks
was stretched out. At the sight of her the stood up and she leaned down to scoop him up in her
arms.



At least you still like me Crooks, she ruefully thought as she nuzzled her face to the cat and
he purred affectionately back at her.



“Shit,” Harry clumsily swore as he left the table and walked over to her, arms before him in
supplication. “Hermione, I didn't mean for that to come out that way.”



“And yet it did,” she perfunctorily replied. She kept her back turned to him.



Harry dragged his hands through his longish hair in frustration. “Merlin Hermione, don't
think that I'm not happy to have you back home,” he said, a touch of aspiration in his voice.
“I couldn't even begin to tell you how much.”



Hermione turned to face him then, the plaintive tone of his words almost unnerving her.



“But...just exactly how long are we all supposed to pretend that you didn't run away?”



“I did not run away,” she snapped furiously. “Children run away! I am not a child!” She brushed
past him and sullenly made her way back to the table. She threw herself into her chair and rested
Crookshanks in her lap.



“I know you're not a child,” he remarked as he walked and stood over her. “Right now however
you are acting like one.”



“What do you want from me Harry,” asked Hermione nastily as she cut her eyes away from him.



“I want to know why you left...us,” he evenly replied. “I want to know why you stayed away for
five years and didn't even bother to send us a note letting us know that you were still alive.”
Harry then dropped to his knees and forcefully turned her around to face him. Hermione however
refused to meet his eyes.



“I want to know what you're hiding.”



That statement got a reaction from her. She swiveled her head in his direction, her eyes
widening, and mouth dropping open.



“You might still be smarter then me Hermione, but I'm not dumb,” Harry plainly stated.



“Look Harry I...”



“...and if I ever lay eyes on that Winkler woman again there's no telling what I'll do,”
came Molly's voice, interrupting whatever Hermione could have said. Molly had her back turned
as she re-entered the kitchen while Harry got up off the floor and took his seat again.



“We'll finish this later,” he said as he leaned over and whispered the words in her ear
sending chills down her neck. Hermione couldn't figure if it was from the proximity of his lips
near her or the fact that she was scared as hell that he meant what he said. In either case
Hermione strengthened her resolve not to get left alone with Harry any time soon.



“Harry, if you know what's good for you, stay away from that so called 'Dragon
Huntress',” Molly disgustedly advised him. “She's nothing but trouble. All of those young
boys...apprentices,” she said sneering the last word, “calling her mother, disgusting! If she
wanted a young boy to call her mum so bad she should have had one of her own.” Molly plopped
herself down in the chair on the opposite end facing Hermione. She seemed oblivious to the tension
in the room between Harry and Hermione. Hermione wanted to keep it that way.



“Well,” she said as she exaggeratedly looked at her watch, “as much as I would love to stay and
chat I really should try to make some headway on finding somewhere to stay.” She was about to place
Crookshanks on the floor when she realized that she hadn't seen her dog since coming
downstairs.



“Where's Lizzie,” she asked Molly.



Molly practically beamed at her. It was obvious that the older woman had fallen under
Lizzie's spell. Wherever Hermione took her people couldn't help but fall in love with her
shaggy beast.



“That darling dog of yours met the acquaintance of a bumblebee and had the pleasure of chasing
it around since dawn,” Molly tittered. “Now I think she is just sunning herself.”



Hermione left her seat to walk over to the kitchen window above the sink that faced the
backyard. As she looked out of it she caught sight of the dog lazily rolling back and forth in the
grass, her tongue hanging happily out of her mouth.



“Oh Lizzie,” Hermione lovingly sighed.



“In fact she looked like she was having so much fun that the older children wanted to chase
bumblebees all day as well,” said Molly jovially as she joined Hermione at the window. “Arthur had
to force them to go to school.”



Hermione chuckled. “That's Lizzie for you. She's never met a butterfly...or a
squirrel...or a frog for that matter that she didn't like.” She turned to face Molly as she
continued to pet Crookshanks. “By my house there was a duck pond that I just couldn't keep her
out of. It seemed like I was forever trying to get rid of the scent of wet dog.”



“Well she's a sweet girl.”



It was at this point that Crookshanks obviously decided that he had enough of the admiring talk
that centered around the dog. He jumped down from Hermione's arms and instead slinked his way
over to Harry where he rubbed against his leg before being lifted onto his lap.



“Aww Crooks, I did miss you,” Hermione insisted while stifling giggle. She had walked back over
to the table and was standing next to Harry's chair. Crookshanks however moodily turned his
head from her.



“That's right Crookshanks,” said Harry as his eyes twinkled, “us men have to stick
together.”



“You're not helping,” she said with false severity. Harry laughed.



“You know I would have never figured you for a dog person.” he said.



“That makes two of us then,” Hermione answered. “I didn't even think I liked them until I
found her. Or I should say, until she found me. I was driving late one night when she ran out into
the middle of the road. I almost lost control of my truck trying to avoid hitting her.”



Molly turned away from the window to face the other two. “Did someone loose her?”



“That was my thinking at first. She had no license or registration on her, but she looked too
well cared for and loved to be a stray. I took her home that night and instantly started looking
for her owner. I put up signs, made calls, but nothing ever came of it, thankfully. It only took me
a few weeks before I couldn't bear the thought of being parted from her. I've had her for 5
months now.”



“What are you going to do about Crookshanks,” asked Harry giving the cat a scratch behind the
ears.



Hermione folded her arms and regarded her old pet for a moment. Of all of the situations she
knew she had to deal with upon coming back a custody battle for her house cat had never entered the
list.



“I don't know,” she honestly answered. “I did miss him, yes I did,” she said directly to the
fur ball as she petted him lovingly, “however it seems a bit brutish of me to snatch him out of the
arms of a little girl doesn't it? Then again Crooks could have already made his decision.”



“What do you mean,” Harry curiously pondered.



“Well...Crookshanks was my familiar, a witch's cat. When I decided to no longer be a witch
he decided to no longer be my familiar,” she carefully explained. “Of course you did jump the gun a
bit old boy,” she quipped as she scooted down to her heels and nuzzled her face to Crookshanks'
face. She then pulled back and looked at Harry. “I could just be over reaching though and Crooks
left to get away from my incessant snoring,” she said in jest.



Harry's brow furrowed. “But you don't snore,” he said innocently enough before realizing
what a loaded statement it was. “I mean...” he mumbled, trying to fix his own mess, “I just
remember that you don't. S-snore that is.”



Hermione froze; too scared to look over her shoulder and see the peeved expression she knew had
to be on Molly's face. Good job Harry, she waspishly fretted in her mind, just announce to your
mother-in-law that you and I have been in a bed together before. And while you're at it mention
the fact that her baby boy also came along for the ride. Old fashioned Molly would probably just
love that. Probably mention it at the next family gathering...in Hell, Hermione mused.



Yes, well,” Hermione said trying to change gears quickly, “I'm sure Ron's little one and
myself will work something out eventually.” She stood up. “But for now I must leave you Crooks. No
decent landlord will have me if I show up with a cat and a dog. Probably think I'm running a
petting zoo.”



She turned to Molly finally. “Do you mind terribly watching Lizzie and Crookshanks Molly?”



Molly smiled and said, “Of course not dear. I'll be glad to.”



Hermione sighed in relief as she smiled back at her in return.



“Oh,” Molly chirped lightly, “here's a thought. It's already so late and I'm sure
you aren't looking forward to the drive into London. Why don't you let Harry apparate you
over and then he can keep you company. You two can catch up.”



Oh God!



“Say, there's an idea,” concurred Harry as a huge grin spread from his left to his right
ear.



Yes, a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.



The last thing she needed was to be left alone with Harry. She might do something stupid like
trip, fall on top of him, and snog him to death. Or if he kept hounding her she might just slug him
one good time. By the scrutinizing look he was giving her Hermione figured that it was probably
going to end up being the latter.



She tried to calm her nerves and retain her cheery outward exterior, but Molly's proposal
had all but sent her screaming out of the room.



“Well as wonderful as that thought of yours was Molly, I'm sure Harry has more important
things to do with his day then worry about me,” she nervously said.



“Actually I don't,” he replied as cool as a cucumber. He began to unzip his Auror robes to
reveal a simple white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks underneath. Even when he dressed so
plainly, to Hermione's mind he still looked ridiculously delicious. This just would not do, she
thought to herself fearfully. She had to find a way to put him off the idea.



“But you have to work.”



“I'm on an extended lunch break.”



“Then you should see about your wife,” she said, her voice edged in slight annoyance.



Harry dropped Crookshanks to the floor and leaned back in his chair as he said, “She's at
the spa.”



Molly clucked her tongue in disapproval as she began to clear the table of the few plates and
cups on it. Either the woman was as thick as a post or she was blatantly ignoring the heated gazes
that Harry and Hermione was sending each other. Hers read vexed. His said that he had her right
where he wanted her.



Smug bastard thinks he knows why I don't want to be left with him.



“Listen,” Harry began slowly, trying to ease Hermione into his idea, “I'll shrink your
truck, we'll pop off in some back alley somewhere, and we can take it from there.”



Hermione eyed him anxiously. It sounded easy enough, but when had anything ever been easy for
her.



“Think of it this way; if the promise of my charming company isn't enough to sway you just
think of all the quid you'll save on petrol.”



Then he decided to play dirty with her. He flashed her a charming, white toothed smile.



“You know you want to say yes.”





In truth she didn't really want to, but Hermione said yes any way.





*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*





“Dwight Yoakam...Travis Tritt....Toby Keith?” Harry held up a cd case of a man in a cowboy hat
with a sulky, disagreeable look on his face and showed it to Hermione. “Are these actually their
real names?”



Hermione took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at what Harry was holding. She
frowned.



“Keith? I thought I destroyed that one,” she said bemusedly. “Well, no matter.” She then pressed
a button near her left arm. All of a sudden Harry's window came down, Hermione stretched her
arm across to pluck the offending cd out of Harry's hand, and she unceremoniously threw it out
the window.



“There,” she said as she pressed the mysterious button again, this time sending his window back
up and smiled at him triumphantly. “All better now.”





Currently Hermione and Harry were in her truck pulling away from a bed-sit in Maida Vale. The
place was too small for her liking and she didn't really care for the neighborhood. She had
already seen several lovely 'crawl spaces' in Little Venice, Marylebone, and St John's
Wood. Before she and Harry had set out on this little adventure she had already done her research,
looking up rooms and flats to rent on her trusty laptop she took with her always. She really
thought that finding a place to live in London would be easy. Every other place she had lived had
practically fallen in her lap; she figured this time would be no different. The three bedroom in
Diagon? The landlord had practically thrown the keys at Harry when word got out that the Savior of
all Wizarding kind needed a place to live. He probably would have let her, Harry, and Ron live
there free of charge if she hadn't negotiated a deal on the monthly fee, much to Ron's
displeasure. The place in Brixton? Glinda had already been living there for three years when she
invited Hermione to move in with her and split the rent. In Dallas she had gone from out one
person's door and into another. But now she was faced with the very real difficulty of finding
a place to call her very own that she could live in, live with, and most importantly afford. So far
it was proving to be a daunting task. She had already run through all of the places she had check
marked to see and she really didn't have any idea where she was going to go next. As she turned
west on Elgin she decided to just keep driving until she hit...something.



Harry was looking at Hermione as though she had lost her mind.



“What? Don't look at me like that,” she told him. “Those aren't my cds anyway,” Hermione
explained. “Despite loving Texas I never became enamored of Country and Western music. Or line
dancing. Or football.” She looked at him and smirked. “It's a rather beastly game, you'd
probably love it.”



He ignored her little crack. “If they aren't your cds who do they belong to?”



Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but at that moment her mobile rang. She had left it in
the truck the night before and when she and Harry had first started out she had seen that she had
about 6 missed calls, three from the night before and three that morning. She picked the phone up
and looked at the call screen. After seeing the same number of the previous calls she muted it and
put it back down.



“Those are Collier's,” she finally replied. “Poor thing is as blind as a bat, yet won't
wear his glasses. After the fifth car accident he got his license revoked. Since I'm such a
good friend I took pity on him and chauffeured him around whenever I could. Really great guy,” she
said as a small smile affixed its self to her lips. “Terrible taste in music. Those other disks are
mine.”



Harry reached into the glove compartment and pulled a few more cases out.



“Joshua Tree...Rio...Journey's Greatest Hits Collection...” Harry gave Hermione a bewildered
look. “I don't bloody well know who these people are.”



Hermione shook her head sternly. “And to think you were raised by muggles.”



“Yes,” Harry said drolly, “and they were so good to me, weren't they,” he cracked.



Hermione tried her best not to smile, but failed. “Touché.”



Once again Hermione's phone began ringing, but instead of answering it she took the Greatest
Hits cd from Harry and while keeping only one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road she
wrangled the disk into the truck's cd player. She then pushed a button repeatedly until she
reached the song that she wanted.



“I didn't really discover this band until I got in the States, but I love them,” she
explained to Harry as the slow strains of a song began to play. “Number 12 is a classic.”



Harry however didn't seem to share her opinion on music.



“Ugh,” he groaned, scrunching up his nose. “You mean to tell me that muggles actually listen to
this?”



“As if the Weird Sisters are any better,” Hermione derisively scoffed.



“He sounds constipated,” Harry said simply as he straightened his glasses on the bridge of his
nose.



“I'll have you know that this was one of the greatest male vocalists of his day...” Hermione
insisted to him passionately, “even if he did sound constipated.”



Harry knew she was joking by the upturned left corner of her lips. This caused him to laugh out
loud and her to follow him. Once their laughter died down Harry turned nervously towards her.



“So this friend of yours,” he casually brought up. “Cauliflower is it?”



Hermione rolled her eyes.



“Collier.”



“Is he like that flat mate of yours, Ben...something...you were telling us about? I mean...when
you say he's your friend, just how friendly do you mean?”



Once again Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't even turn to look at Harry as she answered
him.



“Are you asking me if Collie is gay or if he's seen me naked,” she asked tartly. “You have
to be more specific you see. Cause Benitez has seen me starkers numerous times and it never made a
jot of difference really.”



By the sound of silence that hung in the air one would have thought Hermione's answer had
sent Harry into cardiac arrest. Hermione quickly glanced in his direction to check if he was still
breathing and met his annoyed green eyed stare.



“You're teasing me.”



A smile curled its self on her lips.



“Harry Potter gets a gold star.”



Harry looked like he was going to have some choice words for her. But then her mobile rang
again. He looked between her and the phone sitting in one of the cup holders and asked, “Aren't
you going to answer that?”



Hermione shook her head no. “It's a wrong number. Let's see if I turn it off if they
will get the message,” she said as she did just that. After a few minutes she finally came to a
stop as she parked the truck. Hermione shut the engine off, took her keys out the ignition and
tossed them into her purse, and without a word to Harry opened her door and proceeded to climb out
of the vehicle. Harry hadn't even realized that Hermione had a destination in mind when she
started driving, but as she took determined strides around the front of the truck she approached
the cobbled lane that led into a cul-de-sac. This was about the time that Harry finally lost his
patience with her. He jumped out of the passenger side and before Hermione could get passed him he
grabbed her upper arm to stop her progress.



“What the hell do you think you're doing Harry,” she snapped at him irately. “Let me go!”
She tried to shake him of his grip on her. What Hermione hadn't realized was that she was now
dealing with a Harry Potter who'd had years of intensive physical training as part of the
process that made him an Auror.



“I'll let you go after we talk.”



“Harry not now,” she pleaded.



“Yes now,” he said in answer. “I'm not going to let you put this off any longer.”



Seeing the determined look in his eyes, Hermione decided that it was in her best interest not to
struggle anymore. It would be pointless. Instead she relaxed herself in Harry's grip and turned
to face him. He instantly let her go allowing her to cross her arms before her in a belligerent,
closed off manner.



Thinking he was making progress Harry's gaze softened as he looked at her.



“Why did you leave?”



“I told you all last night I...”



“I don't mean all of that nonsense you were spouting about castles and what not,” he
snapped. “You didn't take off like a thief in the night just so you could see some crumbling
old rubble in France somewhere.”




Hermione's eyes started flashing and she started sputtering indignantly.




“Are you calling me a liar?” she demanded.




“Yes.” Harry didn't even blink as he said it. “Yes I am.”




Well that did it! How dare he say something like that to her? Of all the nerve! To actually
accuse her of lying! Never mind the fact that it was true, that was beside the point! When the hell
did Mr. Oblivious catch a clue? Hermione didn't like this brand new development one bit. She
turned to walk away from him but Harry grabbed her wrist and forced her around to face him. She
opened her mouth to protest when all of a sudden she stopped. She felt her vision go hazy. His eyes
seemed to pin her in place, but she barely had time to notice their queer luster as images started
to come at her at lightning speed. She would have asked who was turning on and off the sunlight,
because that was almost what it felt like, but she was far too busy watching her life flash before
her eyes. Literally!




She was 8 years old and a crowd of jeering children were surrounding her, pointing and
laughing...She was 12 and she looked up in wonder at a black haired boy, no older then herself,
holding on for dear life to a Troll as though if he were riding a bronco...She had just innocently
entered the Common Room only to see Ron's lips melded with Lavender Brown's...Harry had
found her where she was hiding and was trying to comfort her...Harry was holding her hands as they
stood before 2 black coffins...Harry was staring straight at Ginny while Hermione stood behind her,
dressed in her pink silken Maid of Honour robes. Rufus Scrimgeour had just asked if there was
anyone who objected to the union...




Hermione pushed Harry forcefully away from her. Her whole body felt as though it were about to
overheat. Her complexion had taken on an angry red flush. She turned away from him and stormed her
way down the cul-de-sac, passing the row of large semi detached houses. Of course Harry came
following after. He easily caught up and trotted along side her.




“Legilimency Harry?!! You bloody well tried to break into my mind?!!” She turned on him,
nostrils flaring. “When the fuck did you even learn how to do that?!!”




Although she was furious that Harry had actually tried to secretly and sneakily probe her
thoughts, she couldn't stop the ghost of the old Hermione from rising up. She was simply amazed
that Harry was a Legilimens now! Back during the war he was still having trouble blocking his own
thoughts, much less even thinking about looking into those that belonged to other people. But now
here he was, obviously gifted in the craft and using it on her. And without a wand no less! She had
been used to seeing Harry do bits of wandless magic, but usually only in emergency situations.
Obviously he found that this was one of them.




“I've picked up some new tricks since you've been gone,” he answered simply. “I rarely
do it. Not even with suspects, but it does come in handy every now and then.




“Aren't you talented,” she sneered crankily. “Look, I don't know who you think you are
Harry Potter, but I've been away too long just to come back here and allow you to treat me as
if I were some common criminal,” she fumed as she raised an accusatory finger at him. She could
only imagine the spectacle they were making in front of the people who lived in the quiet
niche.




“I don't care how long you were gone or even where you went! I don't care who you bloody
well saw while you were there! I don't!”




He grabbed the hand that was pointing towards him, eased the palm of his hand along the
underside of her bicep, and pulled her closer to him. Hermione felt her pulse rate go into over
drive at the simple, yet intimate feel of this move. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to
calm her nerves.




“But I do care that you went away and didn't even bother to tell me why. I care that
you've been keeping secrets from your best friend. That you still are keeping secrets from your
best friend. I'm sorry that I did what I did, but how else am I going to get you to tell me the
truth?”




Harry hadn't let go his grip on her. More then anything she wished that he would just let
her go.




“I have no secrets,” she retorted high handedly as she looked at him fully. “I am an open
book.”




Harry snorted at the remark.




“Why did you and Ron pretend to still be together back then?”




She forcefully removed herself from Harry's strong hold as she said, “At the time I
didn't want to burden you with Ron and my problems.”




“Burden me,” he exclaimed as though astounded that she would even say something as simple
minded. “After everything we've been through together? Burden me? How could you ever be a
burden to me?! I lo...”




Hermione had been facing away from Harry, but turned her head and stared directly in his eyes.
He had been saying something and choked on his words. This wasn't so surprising; Harry had
never been what one could call smooth when it came to getting his point across. Still, something in
his tone had stopped Hermione short. For that matter his face had gone a rather deathly pale shade.
The way his eye bulged in terror made her stomach clench in fear. She felt herself effortlessly
slip back into her old role of protector of all things Potter.




“'I'...what Harry,” she said as she grabbed onto him, searching his face for signs of
whatever was bothering him. “You...what? Are you alright? What's wrong? What were you about to
say Harry?”




He swallowed hard.




“I looked for you,” he croaked nervously as the coloring came back into his face. “Me and Ron.
We looked for you everywhere,” said Harry, diverting his attention to the ground as though he found
his boots fascinating objects of wonder. “But you didn't take any of the job offers you had.”
He caught her eye again. “I didn't even know you had job offers. Why didn't you tell me you
had been planning to move away,” he asked her, almost petulantly.




Because you would have talked me out of it, Hermione thought to herself sadly. She turned her
head to avoid Harry's gaze.




“You were already so busy,” she answered. “With Ginny...and all.” She didn't notice the way
he seemed to flinch at the mention of his wife's name.




“Why didn't you take any of those jobs?”




Because you would have found me and brought me back.




“Changed my mind I guess,” she whispered.




Harry tenderly placed both of his hands on her shoulders and brought her around to face him. The
pained look on his face was almost enough to reduce her to a weeping mess. It tore her up inside to
do this to Harry, to keep from him the answers he was practically begging her for. In truth she had
been doing this to him for years. Desperately trying to keep him at a distance, for fear that he
would see...something in her eyes when she would have given anything to be the one always at his
side. Pretending to be happy because it made him happy while smiling broadly in his face when it
was all she could do not to throw herself in his arms and confess what truly resided in her heart.
But she knew she couldn't tell him this, no matter how many questions he asked. The funny thing
was that there had once been a time when she would have denied Harry Potter nothing. But seven long
years of practice had skilled Hermione in the craft of artifice and half truths well.




“What can I say Harry,” she sighed wistfully, “I was tired. I was tired of being me. I was tired
of trying to be everything to everybody. It started to feel like everyone wanted things from me
that I felt at the time I couldn't give. Not then at least. Ron wanted a wife, Molly and Arthur
wanted a new daughter. The Ministry wanted a loyal and faithful little worker bee. It started to be
almost too much for me.”




“But that doesn't make sense Hermione,” Harry countered, looking very confused by all that
Hermione was telling him. “You and Ron had already broken up. Molly and Arthur already considered
you one of their own. And you were leaving the Ministry.”




“Yes,” she agreed, “but it felt like what I was just moving towards more of the same. The
Minister in Marrakesh thought he was getting a...a...super hero or something. Hermione Granger,
co-defender of the Magical World, Right Hand to the Man who Triumphed, Greatest Witch of her Age.
They wanted a trophy, they didn't want me. And that was about the time I started wondering, was
that all I was? Was that all Hermione Granger was? Just some witch?




Harry was so abashed by these words that he dropped his hands from her. “Just some witch?!
Hermione...”




“Haven't you ever made choices Harry,” Hermione asked, cutting him off. “Choices that you
made at the time because they seemed to be right, but later realized were so wrong? Choices that
you felt that you couldn't live with now, but you knew you had to? Choices that you wished, for
the entire world, you could take back, but you knew you couldn't?”




“Yes,” he whispered in a low, strangled voice.




“Well, Hermione Granger did to. So one day, I decided I just didn't want to be her anymore.”
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and began to slowly walk forward as Harry followed next to
her. Her eyes stared straight ahead. “Nearly a decade of my life had been devoted to being a witch.
And at first it brought me so much happiness.” She turned her eyes towards him. “It brought me you
and Ron. But then...but then something happened and I could no longer pretend to fill the role that
had been meted to me.”




She stopped her progress and turned to face him fully. “You must have known I was unhappy for a
long time Harry.”




She didn't say it as a question, but he answered with a shaky nod of his head, up and
down.




“I decided that being in this world; your world was never going to make me happy. I could never
have the things that I wanted. So I decided to just chuck it all and find my happiness else
where.”




Harry's eyes began to water and Hermione had to stop herself from telling him that she took
it back. That she took it all back. That she didn't mean to say it. Not if it made him so
unhappy to hear. But her tongue could not seem to form the words.




“And did you find it? Your happiness, did you find it,” he sadly asked.




“For awhile,” she said as she grabbed one of his hands. “And then I started missing you and Ron
frightfully. I would be out somewhere and hear a deep belly laugh nearby. I would turn around
praying to see a redhead there and feel my heart sink because it wasn't him. Whenever I saw a
man with green eyes I would almost start to cry because they weren't yours.”




Harry brought her hand holding his up and kissed it gently. She felt her whole body
involuntarily shiver and drew her hand back quickly so he wouldn't notice.




“That's when I knew that I had to come home,” she explained while ignoring the sad
expression on his face. “But you see I was so scared. It had been so dreadful of me to just leave
the way I did. I started to convince myself that you all didn't want me back, that you had
moved on without me. And then I saw Ron's announcement in the paper. And somehow, I just knew
that it was time to come home. I had to come back for Ron.”




Although Hermione didn't know it, those words, however innocently they were meant sent
daggers through Harry's heart.




“So do you understand now why I did what I did? And why I mentioned none of this last night with
all the Weasleys around? Even just a little?”




There, nothing she had told him had been lies. Of course nothing she told him was the whole
truth either.




“I...uh, I guess,” he responded, his voice constrained. “But Hermione, you said that you felt
that everyone wanted things from you. What...what did I want from you?”




Hermione stared into Harry's nervous, apprehensive gaze and tried to smile. Tried and
failed.




“Nothing. You wanted nothing from me.” And that was the one thing she had said all day that was
completely true.




“But because I had to leave Hermione behind, I had to leave you behind as well. And I'm
sorry Harry, I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. But at the time I felt that it was what I
had to do. Can you ever forgive me?”




Once again she felt the irresistible urge to just throw herself at Harry and cry in his arms
rear up again. But this time she refused to fight it. She tentatively stepped closer to him and
encircled her arms around him, pressing her face into his firm chest. She heard the unmistakably
rhythms of his heartbeat pound furiously at his ribcage and felt, rather then heard his quick
intake of breath. Please forgive me Harry, please, she begged in her head. She had no idea what she
would do if he didn't. Was he still mad at her? Did he hate her for what she did? Did he no
longer want to be her friend? All the way on her journey from Cyprus Hermione decided that even if
she couldn't be with Harry, she could still stand beside him. She could still be his friend.
Even playing that small role delegated to her was better then having no part of Harry in her life
at all. It had taken her five years to accept this fact. But Harry's minute hesitation almost
killed the slim ray of hope inside her that had carried her back home. She was about to fall into
despair when she felt a set of strong arms snake around her waist and pull her tightly against him.
She felt the almost undetectable feel of lips pressing themselves in her hair and that's when
she knew that all was forgiven. He didn't even have to say the words.




They stood there, just holding on to each other, in the middle of the cul-de-sac for a few
minutes. Maybe hours. Time was irrelevant. They were just Harry and Hermione again. An old, gray
haired grandmother happened to peek out of the window of the house they had been standing in front
of. She smiled at the couple. She remembered a time when she had been so hopelessly in love as
these two before her were. She briefly wondered if they were going to buy the house for sale at the
end of the row, before closing her shades and giving the two young people their privacy. A little
boy on his way home from school passed them and pulled a face. Probably going to kiss or something,
he disgustedly thought as he hurried pass them to avoid seeing such a gross display. To everything
going on around them, Harry and Hermione were oblivious. Then Harry opened his eyes slowly and
actually took a good look around him for the first time.




“Um...Hermione, why does everything look so familiar here,” he asked as he took in the sight of
all of the houses around him. “Why do I feel like I've been here before?”




Hermione pulled back from him and giggled girlishly. “Silly, that's because you have.” She
took one of his hands in her own and began to walk up the path with him. She pointed a short
distance in front of them. “Right there is where Draco Malfoy almost knocked you silly and you
almost flattened his nose.”




At her words realization began to wash slowly over his features. “He should have let me. It
would have made a vast improvement,” he smirked.




Hermione playfully rolled her eyes and ignored his statement.




“You see that lamp post,” she asked as she pointed to the end of the path. “It has a dent in it
courtesy of the bicycle I got for my sixth birthday. I had begged and badgered my dad to take the
training wheels off the bike, although I was no good on it even with the damned things on. Dad
tried to warn me that I wasn't ready, but I was a determined little thing. As soon as he let me
go I went careening into the dratted poll.”




Harry seemed to find her story amusing. He wore a large grin as he said, “Sounds like an epic
battle. Who won?”




Hermione smiled triumphantly as she lifted up her left elbow and pointed at it. “Lamp post 1,
elbow 12 stitches.”




Hermione and Harry came to a halt in front of a beautiful, three story mock Victorian. Hermione
stared at it, a soft little smile gracing her lips.




“Now that house,” she said as she lifted a finger to point it out to Harry, “in that house lived
one Eustace Youngfellow. He took me out on my very first date. We went to the cinema.”




Harry scowled. “And I'm just hearing about this?”




“Well big brother, it's a bit late to do anything about it now. Besides, I was 17, it was
Christmas break, and you and Ron were nowhere around.” Hermione folded her arm in Harry's and
continued on her way as she spoke on.




“We went to see...bother...I can't remember what we went to see,” she said as she gnawed on
her lip. “Something with aliens...and guns...and lots of things getting blown up. A simply dreadful
movie. Eustace was a perfect gentleman though and he was even kind enough to have red hair.”




Harry made a coughing noise that made Hermione roll her eyes. “Look, I had just watched Ron
slobber all over Lavender on the train and I wanted my own pound of flesh. I was miserable company,
but Eustace asked if he could take me out again the next time I came home in June. I said yes. Then
he died that May.” Harry's steps faltered as he turned his head to look at her.




“Drunk driver,” was all she said in answer.




She came to a stop in front of a three story house that looked like it bore a new coat of paint.
A sign stood in front of the house, noting that it was for sale. Hermione knew that the five
bedroom dream house would fetch a pretty penny on the market. It had when she sold it.




“And this was my house,” she said as a lonely tear cascaded down her cheek. Hermione however was
so entranced at being back at her childhood home that she paid it no heed. “Did you know I picked
it out myself,” she asked a proud lift to her chin. “We lived in Sunnighill before this, but when
mum and dad moved the practice they wanted something closer to the office. Whenever the Realtor
would take them out to look at houses I always came along. 'Let's let Hermione Jane
decided', dad would say. The agent probably thought my parents were completely barmy, letting a
4 year old make a decision like that, but the poor chap held his tongue. We looked at houses
everywhere; Kensington, Knightsbridge, Pimlico. Then we saw this one. As soon as I entered the
corner bedroom on the first floor I turned to my mother and said 'can this one be my room
mummy'. Dad made an offer for it that very day.”







She paused as she gazed longingly at the house. The smile that was on Hermione's face was so
heart achingly beautiful that it rendered Harry speechless for a moment.




“I know this house like a mother knows the face of her own child,” she affectionately stated.
“My mum's study was on the ground floor, next to the kitchen so she could smell it if her food
was burning.”




“So that's where you got it from.”




“Prat,” she said as she smacked him jovially on his arm.




“She had a loose floor board in her office and that's where she would hide our gifts. Of
course dad and I knew about it, but we never ever peeked.”




Tears began to slowly tread down her face. “On Saturday night's we would play Scrabble in
the dinning room or watch one of my mum's old movies in the lounge. Dad always wanted to watch
something silly like Our Man Flint, but got voted down every time,” she snickered as she wiped half
heartedly at her eyes.




“Every few months dad would get out his old penknife to mark out how tall I was growing in the
kitchen door frame. And on some mornings, though I would have just been measured the day before, I
would jump into my parents' bed and shout 'daddy, I dreamt I grew a whole inch in my
sleep'. And while laughing all the way he would march me downstairs, line me up next to that
frame and exclaim, 'my oh my Hermione Jane, I think you did'. Of course he was lying, but
he had already told me whoppers about Father Christmas and where babies came from so really what
was one more? So then he would pull out his penknife and mark out the new, suspect inch for
posterity and ask me, 'Hermione Jane, how did you manage that'. And I would say, 'magic
daddy...I used magic'.”




“You know Hermione; I think this is the most I've heard you talk about your parents since
they died.”




“It probably is,” she said as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. She
dabbed at her eyes and rubbed her red and runny nose as she tried to regain her composure.







“I guess I felt that the less I talked about them, the less guilt I would feel. Faulty logic to
be sure,” she added as she placed the hankie back in her purse, “but I was grieving so it made
sense at the time.”




“Guilty,” questioned Harry, baffled at the quick flash of emotions she seemed to have cycled
through in such a short time. Now her words seemed remote. Dispassionate. “Why would you have felt
guilty?”




Hermione looked away from Harry's penetrating stare. Instead she turned her eyes to the
cobbled path.




“I killed my parents Harry. I'm the reason they died.”




“Hermione, you aren't making sense. Your parents died in a car accident on their way to a
seminar in Edinburgh. You were no where near there at the time.” He placed his hands lovingly on
the sides of her face and brought it up so he could look into her eyes. Hermione closed her eyes to
avoid his gaze.




“How could it possibly be your fault that they died?”




Hermione's eyes slowly opened as she asked him a simple question.




“Do you remember Amycus Carrows?”
















*To Be Continued...*
















**A/N:** Don't hate me! This one really got away from me. I knew it was going to be long,
but I never dreamed that I was actual going to have to do a part A and B. But seriously, Hermione
has so much stuff going on with her that it had to be this way. I did offer to put her back in the
magical coma though. Would have made things so much easier. :)

So I hope to have part B up in two weeks. It's going to be mainly a flashback of the night
that they rescued Boadicea with some H/Hr goodness on the side. It picks right up from where
Harry's flashback in the last chapter left off. The good news? It's already written. The
bad news? It's written in a composition book. And I type slooooooooow. Please be patient with
me. I am trying. I'm just really not used to having no free time at all so when I do get some
the last place I want to be is sitting in front of my computer. But I am trying. As I mentioned
above I came home one night and typed until 5 in the morning. That is how much I want to finish
this story. I hope you liked it. I know you have questions. You're supposed to have questions.
If something seems odd and slightly off, that's because it's supposed to seem odd and
slightly off. Heh. As I've said time and and time again everything is for a reason. And
don't think that now that she is home everything is going to get tied up with a bow real
quickly. As I mentioned before we are now entering phase2 of the story and boy do I have stuff
planed! ;^)

*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*





15. Chapter 12.B
----------------

**A/N**: *First things first, in my rush to get the last chapter up I forgot to add a very
important thing. I forgot to thank you guys, the reviewers. I know I may sound goopy, but I truly
appreciate the reviews. You guys are so AWESOME! Not only do some of you crack me the hell up, but
I honestly think your input is helping me make a better story. When I look at the first few
chapters to the ones now, in my opinion, my style and the story have improved. Of course I've
been writing more and more (lol), but I guess that can't be helped. So if y'all want to
write a dissertation (y'all know who y'all are MWAH) go right ahead. If you just want to
say that you like it, cool. If you want to tell me it sucks, aiight. I might cry, but like Gloria
Gaynor said...Anyhoo, believe me or not y'all are actually helping me strengthen my plot
points. I can see what is working, what's not. I can see when my subtlety is working, I can see
when I need to pull out the sledgehammer. I know I promised to replace the chapters with the fixed
versions, but I didn't realize that to do so would wipe out the reviews. And I like the
reviews. :). But I am going to start reposting the story elsewhere so when I do and you still want
to see the more polished effort I'll tell you where.*



*I got an interesting criticism at ff.net that basically said that the story could be called
Everybody Loves Hermione, or something like that. Well ya know what? I fully cop to that! HEE! I
quite simply adore the girl and am her bitch! :) I think she is one of the best female characters
EVAH! You are never going to find a bigger Herms in HBP apologist then me. LOL! It wasn't until
I read one of the reviews at portkey *winks @ **Luke*** that I even realized that Herms
**IS** the star of this story. I honestly hadn't intended that to happen, but I guess it
just unconsciously did. Oh well! However, in my opinion, I feel that my version of her is as flawed
and “human” as all of the other characters in my story. She just happens to kick ass a little more
then the others. What can I say, I'm biased. :^D*





*Thanks to **murphsmine** (the best smut cheerleader a girl could have) and her Brit friend
**Pip**! I did some major overhauling right before I posted this so all mistakes are mine. I
just wanted to get this one out cause I'm going to be MIA for a little bit. A friend has asked
me to collaborate on a two-act she is working on and it looks exciting. **I AM NOT GIVING UP THIS
STORY THOUGH!***



***Warnings:** MAJOR flash! I'm actually nervous about this one. It's a little
different from what I think I usually put out. I think its a little more action packed (for me that
is) then the usual. I tried to decrease the dialog, but I guess I just need to embrace my strengths
and just shut it! HEE! This one is also a little darker so...If incest and a very ambiguous
suggestion of necrophilia gives you the major squick just turn right around. If you hate the idea
of bad things happening to good nuns turn right around. If even the lightly implied idea of what
**Hr/R** might have done together makes your eyes bleed I'm telling ya you are NOT gonna be
happy with your bleeding eyes! But as I mentioned last time I threw in some **H/Hr** goodness
through out to temper it all. Enjoy!*










*The Monastère Sainte Claire, that's where Boadicea DuManoir had been residing for 52
years now. At least that was Professor Sinistra's tale. If everything that the Astronomy
teacher revealed was true, it was quite possible that DuManoir was in possession of the disguised
Ravenclaw Penseive and more importantly one of Voldemort’s horcruxes.*




*Of course some pieces of the troubling puzzle just were not fitting right, to Hermione's
mind. No matter what Dumbledore said it still seemed inconceivable that Boadicea was some how
descended from the Ravenclaw line. More then likely a grandmother or even a great grandmother of
DuManoir's found it in some estate auction or in a trunk that had been tossed aside with no one
knowing what treasure lay inside it. Also it seemed terribly implausible that Voldemort would have
had a “mudblood” lover. Voldemort seemed the type who wouldn't sully himself with an
undesirable like the former Head Girl. Maybe Professor Sinistra got it all wrong. All the
information she had was second hand at best. Then there was the fact that Boadicea was insane. She
killed a man, tried to kill her mum; maybe the great love affair she told her friend about was just
a figment of her own imagination.*




*Then why are Voldemort's minions looking for her?*




*That was the sticking point that Hermione kept coming back to. He's looking for her. Why
else would he be looking for her? Really, in some sick twisted way it was really brilliant
thinking. Leaving a horcrux with one of his Death Eaters would be an expected move. But leaving it
with some expendable 'mad muggleborn', to quote former Headmaster Black, was inspired. Who
would ever think to look to her? Hermione could almost admire the boy who had been Tom Riddle.
Almost. She just preferred to save her esteem for people who actually had souls.*




*The important thing right now was that Voldemort was looking for Boadicea. In fact, if the
intel they had gathered way back was correct, he had been looking for her since August. The fact
that he hadn't been able to find her yet gave them some hope. Harry had already informed them
that Professor Dumbledore didn't believe that Voldemort could tell when a horcrux had been
destroyed, whatever connection he had with that piece of his soul long gone. It was obvious that he
couldn't tell where he had misplaced one either. This little nugget of information not only put
them on equal standing with Voldemort, but actually tipped the scales in the Order's favor.
They had a hot lead on where to possibly find one horcrux. They pretty much knew for certain what
another one might be. Four of them were already destroyed. As long as Voldemort didn't know
that they even knew what a horcrux was they had a fighting chance. Harry had a fighting
chance!*




*Why is he looking for her then?*




*Did Voldemort discover that Harry and Professor Dumbledore had figured it out about the
horcruxes? Or worse, could they have a double agent in their midst? Had Malfoy become a member of
the Order for the sole purpose of spying on them? True, she had finally gotten to the point that
she didn't want to hex that pointy arrogant nose off of his pointy arrogant face every time she
laid her eyes on him; this development however did not negate the fact that Hermione trusted the
wanker about as far as she could throw him. And to quote Ron, after many a dismally played round of
Gobstones on her part, she threw like a girl! But before she could have Malfoy tried and found
guilty of treachery by reason of being an enormous git, she quickly dismissed these thoughts from
her head. She was starting to sound as unreasonable as Ron, or more like Harry these days. She was
allowing her opinion of Malfoy to sway her view of the facts. Malfoy had brought them the Cup, had
even told them how to destroy it. He was on their side now. He was still a vainglorious,
supercilious, ill-tempered obnoxious jackass; but like themselves he was also an enemy of Voldemort
and these days that had to count for something. Right?*




*Then why is he looking for her?*




*Whatever the case, the fact still remained that Voldemort was after Boadicea and there was no
telling what he would do to her if he found her. The Order needed to intercept him before this
could happen. That's why it was so distressing that nearly half an hour after being told where
DuManoir was Harry, Malfoy, and herself were still stuck in the Headmistress' office.*




“*And furthermore,” continued McGonagall who had been lecturing them for what seemed an
entirety, “you are not to make a move without Remus Lupin's or Auror Shacklebolt's
expressed approval. Am I understood Miss Granger?” Despite addressing Hermione the
Headmistress' eyes were trained steadily on Harry.*




“*Of c-course Professor McGonagall,” Hermione managed to stammer out as she and Harry tried to
edge their way towards the door for a third time. Malfoy was practically out of it already.*




“*And that goes for Mr. Weasley as well,” she called after them.*




“*Where is Gingerlocks by the way,” Malfoy sneeringly asked as the three teens made it to the
spiral staircase now going downward. “Still writing a letter to mummy all this time?”*




*Harry, who looked as though he was pulled as tight as a snare drum and just spoiling for a
reason to snap swung around fiercely towards the blond.*




“*Malfoy, I swear I'm going to remove your big fat mouth from the rest of your face if you
don't shut it,” he growled as he made a move to lunge at the other boy. Hermione grabbed his
hand and held him in place.*




*Malfoy grinned as he stepped on the staircase and looked over his shoulder at them. It was
the smile the boys had designated as his 'I **LOVE** being a bastard' look. Harry and
Hermione followed close behind.*




“*If that threat was coming from Granger here I might have taken it seriously. But I'm
afraid Potty you just don't have her talent with a wand without the Half Blood Prince helping
you out.”*




“*Who said anything about wands,” Harry seethed in a cold, chilling voice. The look he was
giving him made the idiot swallow hard and quickly look away.*




*Hermione could feel the tingle in the air that Harry's emotions were putting out. Power.
It seemed to be a living, breathing thing that emanated from him. It gave her a heady, almost light
headed feeling. And ye Gods was it sexy! Harry's normal goofy cuteness seemed to just fade away
at these times and be replaced by this sort of primal confidence that made him...dare she say
it...hot! If she was the kind of witch that went in for that kind of thing she might have swooned
at his feet. But she primly and firmly reminded herself that she indeed was not that kind of witch,
that there were more pressing concerns right now, and if needed she wasn't afraid to turn her
wand on herself and douse a brisk spray of water at her face to cool her down. Damned ruddy
hormones!*




“*Could you two call a cease fire to this little battle of egos please,” she reprimanded them
both, sick and tired of their constant bickering. “How are we supposed to work together, much less
save someone's life if you two and Ron won't stop attacking each other? It's so
childish!”*




*Harry looked at her incredulously as he asked, “Oh? And what do you call it when you and the
ferret are going at it?”*




*She opened her mouth to tell Harry that she had no idea what he was talking about, but before
she could Malfoy took it upon himself to answer the question for her.*




“*Foreplay.”*




“*Shut up Malfoy,” she and Harry yelled at the git at the same time.*




*Harry looked like he was trying to restrain himself from tearing Malfoy's head off. He
purposefully turned his body so he wouldn't have to look at the back of Malfoy's head and
brought his gaze towards Hermione.*




“*We need to find Ron,” he told her anxiously.*




“*He's probably off somewhere sulking,” she said in answer. She knew that Ron would
probably not speak to her for at least a whole day. He was sure to be embarrassed over the little
joke she made about his mum. If he was still upset she couldn't muster up enough feeling to
really care. Maybe a night with little “couple” interaction would do them a world of good. It
definitely would do me world of good, she inwardly sighed as they neared the bottom of the
staircase and the stone gargoyle started to move to let them out.*




“*Either that or stuffing his face,” she continued right before her eyes fell on the crumpled
form of her boyfriend by the wall facing the entrance into the Headmistress' office.*




“*Or just laying in a heap in the halls,” Malfoy dryly quipped.*




*She and Harry practically tossed him out of the way to run quickly to Ron's side. Ron was
out cold and the side of his face looked badly bruised, as if he had been on the loosing end of a
fight with a sledgehammer.*




“*Ronnie,” Hermione cried, kneeling by his side. She gathered him by the shoulder and gave him
a desperate shake. She felt an immense wave of guilt pour over her as she recalled her disloyal and
selfish thoughts just a scant few seconds before their discovery. How could she be so callous,
Hermione wondered to herself. Ron was a good boyfriend! He deserved better then a fraud for his
girl.*




“*Ronnie, please answer me,” Hermione begged as she told herself over and over again that she
would never forgive herself if anything happened to Ron. She promised, to whatever deities were
listening, that if he would just be ok she would never raise her voice to Ron again. She would turn
a blind eye if she saw him raise a fifth or sixth éclair to his lips. She would be the perfect
girlfriend. She would even try not to roll her eyes the next time he talked about Quidditch
incessantly. “Please Ronnie, this isn't funny! Wake up!”*




*Harry pulled her back a bit so he could get closer to Ron. He got on his knees and pulled out
his wand from his back jeans pocket and pointed at their best friend.*




“*Ennervate.”*




*Ron's body seemed to shiver for a moment before he opened his blue eyes and groggily
stared at Hermione.*




“*Scabbers,” he whispered with difficulty.*




“*Is that his pet name for you in the sack,” Draco snarkily inquired from his place next to
the stone gargoyle. “Romantic,” he smugly stated.*




“*You arse,” Hermione yelled as she looked over her shoulder at him. “It's not a pet name,
it's his pet's name!”*




*Harry hovered near Ron, checking him all over for any other bruises or injuries. Although
Hermione could tell that Harry had been deathly worried for his best friend when they first found
him, he had effortlessly slid in to his role as leader now.*




“*Ron, who did this to you,” he asked fiercely as though he were ready to take the offending
party down single handedly.*




*Ron pulled himself into a sitting position, his chin resting on his knees.*




“*P-Pettigrew,” Ron whispered, voice choked in pain. “Peter Pettigrew.”*




*Hermione quickly looked at Harry and saw the intense fire that had lighted in his eyes the
moment they found Ron now grow into a powerful flame. Pettigrew after all had been his parents'
friend; their friend and partial executioner. He was the one who had betrayed the Potters to
Voldemort, giving up the secret where the young couple as well as their baby boy had been hiding.
It was also the appropriately nicknamed Wormtail who caused Harry's godfather Sirius to
languish in an Azkaban cell for years, accused and believed guilty of the crimes that he had
committed himself. If anyone should have been angry and bitter towards Pettigrew is should have
been Harry. But when given the chance to have the ultimate revenge on the traitor Harry had chosen
the higher road and begged for the pitiful man's life. Of course Harry hadn't been able to
look into the future and see Pettigrew's subsequent escape and assistance in bringing Voldemort
back into the world, still Harry's act of kindness back then amazed a young Hermione. Who in
this world was that selfless? Who was that goodhearted? If Hermione hadn't been friends with
him for nearly three years by that point she would almost think Harry Potter was too good to be
true. These days though Hermione had to wonder what Harry would do to Wormtail if given a second
chance, especially now after this assault on Ron.*




“*Pettigrew,” Harry asked, a far away look in his eyes.*




“*He was here,” Hermione asked Ron. “He was here in the castle? Are you sure?”*




“*What happened,” Harry demanded firmly.*







*Groggily and a tad irritably Ron began to tell them how the side of his head met the
acquaintance of Wormtail's magical silver fist. Part of his irritation was due to
Hermione's attempts to try and heal the rather large, blueish black lump on his head that
seemed to be growing by the minute. Being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived in the Infirmary one
would think that Hermione would have known all there was to know about healing charms and spells.
But the little feminist in Hermione protested this kind of thinking. Why should she play
'nurse' just because she was the female member of the group, she seethed inwardly. Let Ron
open up a book for once! If he could memorize by heart the scoring average of the entire British
Quidditch league each year, he could learn how to brew up a proper bottle of Pepper Up. But that
was as likely to happen as Trelawney correctly predicting whether or not it would rain the next
day, she archly conceded. So Hermione did learn a few of the necessary spells and potions that she
felt would come in handy; incantations that would heal cuts, charms that would cool burns, draughts
that would either cure you of your head ache or knock you out long enough that by time you finally
came to your head ache was gone. But she only did so grudgingly. That was probably why she was
lacking her usual brilliance when performing them. The fact that Ron wouldn't stay still long
enough to let her get his swelling down was also not helping matters.*




“*Dammit Hermione,”Ron gritted out through his teeth, “that hurts!”*




“*Well if you would stop fidgeting about like you were hopped up on sugar quills I could fix
it for you,” she barked at him, her annoyance making all her vows of a minute ago take a running
leap out of the window.*




*Malfoy's snort of disgust made her turn to him as he sauntered over to her side. “Move
Granger,” he pompously sneered as he motioned her out of the way. Hermione haltingly did so and
before she or Harry could do anything to stop him Malfoy drew his wand on Ron, placed it's tip
on the injury, and said “integrosectum”. Before their eyes the bruise began to go down and
Ron's face returned to it's natural color.*




*Although Hermione should have been grateful for Malfoy's surprising, yet helpful
assistance she instinctually knew that he was going to find some way to rub his act of “kindness”
in her face. She knew him pretty well by now. He hadn't helped Ron out of the goodness of his
heart. He just wanted to show her up. Hermione got up from her position on the floor as Harry began
to get the rest of the story out of Ron. Hermione stepped a few paces away and of course the prat
took this as an opportunity, while Harry's attention was diverted else where, to annoy the hell
out of her.*




“*Looks like we finally found your Achilles Heel,” he smarmed near her ear. “And I don't
mean your boyfriend.”*




*Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a vexed sigh as she folded her arms in front of
her.*




“*I knew there had to be something you weren't good at.”*




“*One or two things, but not much else Malfoy,” she grumbled crossly, her nose upturned. She
would have slapped him about the head, but she didn't want her hands to be covered in the hair
product he used to slick his hair back.*




*Malfoy's cold gray eyes raked up and down her for a moment before his face broke out into
a smarmy leer that made her skin crawl. “I'm almost intrigued enough to test out your
claim.”*




“*Ugh,” she sputtered as she threw her hands in the air in disgust and tramped her way back
towards Harry and Ron, his evil sounding chortle following after her. Malfoy was always saying
things like that these days. He lived for getting a rise out of Ron mostly, Harry mainly. As of
late though she had noticed that Malfoy had begun looking at her with a bit more...interest in his
eye. She would have been lying if she said that some small section of her female vanity wasn't
flattered by it. Still she swore if the smug arse even thought of trying something on her she would
give his other cheek a smack to match the one he received from her back in third year when he
taunted and insulted Hagrid so cruelly. As if she would even let him touch her. Hmph!*




“*So tell me again,” she heard Harry say to Ron as she settled at his side and peered down at
her boyfriend, “are you sure that Pettigrew was listening at the door?”*




*Ron shook his head in an up and down motion. “I'm telling you Harry, I came looking for
you and Hermione. When I didn't find you two back at the room I went into your trunk and got
out the Marauder's Map. I saw the little Harry and little Hermione dot in with McGonagall,
Sinistra...him,” he snarled as he threw Malfoy a nasty glare, “but what I didn't expect to see
was the little Peter dot that looked like it was outside the door.”*




*Harry and Hermione looked at each other, both of their faces registered shock. Hermione sunk
to her knees.*




“*There's no way we could have missed that,” Harry exclaimed.*




*Hermione anxiously bit down on her lip. “If he was in Animagus form we would have,” she said
in a weary voice. “He probably even got up the stairs when we went. I bet that's how he got
into the castle.” She closed her eyes to stop the tears that were about to fall. “He heard
everything!”*




“*And why not,” Harry shouted harshly as he pitched himself from the ground and began to pace
the hall back and forth. “Riddle already lost his inside man in Snape,” he proclaimed.*




*Hermione could feel Malfoy's heated stare at the back of her head, but she ignored this
and tried to concentrate on making Ron comfortable where he was.*




“*Wormtail would make the next best spy, wouldn't he” continued Harry. “Riddle just traded
in one rat for another.”*




“*Yes...well...it looks like your div of a best friend let him get away,” Malfoy drawled in a
bored voice as though he were completely disinterested in the whole drama unfolding before
him.*




“*I did not let him get away!”*




*Malfoy's taunt had incensed Ron so much that the redhead had jumped up, ready to strike
out at the Slytherin. But he was obviously still woozy from his encounter with the Death Eater and
shakily slid back to the ground as Hermione tried to keep him calm.*




“*By time I had got over here he was coming from behind the gargoyle. He wasn't Scabbers
by then. I tried to surprise him, throw a leg locker at him or something, but...” Ron paused and
swallowed nervously, “I don't know how to describe it! He threw that...that...hand up in front
of him. The spell bounced off and came back at me. I had to drop to the floor to avoid it.
That's when my wand slipped from my hand.”*




*Hermione couldn't control the disappointed groan that slipped from her mouth.*




“*It rolled to his feet and he scooped it up and pocketed it in his robes. Before I knew what,
his fist was coming at my face and then...blackness.”*




“*Oh Ronnie, if you would have just practiced your non-verbal spell usage more...”*




*Malfoy sniggered loftily as he leaned back against the wall. He seemed to find all of this
entertaining. Hermione was about to toss off a cutting remark to him, but Ron beat her to it. The
only problem was that he directed it towards her.*




“*Yes, yes Hermione, I'm a dumb stupid git” he snapped. “I'm already down, are you
sure you want to keep kicking?!”*




*Hermione pulled back from Ron, shocked at the venom in his words. She knew she was only
trying to help him, she wasn't trying to put him down. Why couldn't he see that? Why
couldn't he and Harry understand that sometimes this was the best way she could show them how
much she cared for them and loved them? She was sure she was about to cry right then and
there.*




“*He didn't mean it Hermione.”*




*Harry had dropped down to Hermione's side. She hadn't noticed him make the move, but
there he was; his sad green eyes trying to convey to her that he did understand what she meant by
what she said.*




“*Tell her you didn't mean it Ron,” he said a tad shirtilly to his best mate. Ron however
turned his head and muttered a few indignant words under his breath. Seeing that he wasn't
going to get the answer he wanted out of him Harry switched gears.*




“*Did Pettigrew say anything to you Ron,” he asked.*




*Ron looked back at Harry, completely avoiding the miserable expression on Hermione's
face. “He did actually. Something about...about...”*




“*Spit it out man!”*




*Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sent Malfoy their best death glares.*




“*Maggot face, I did just get my head bashed in. Sorry if I'm a bit slow at the moment.”
The three friends then focused on each other again as Ron said, “Right before I lost consciousness
he did spout some nonsense about his master being pleased that the blood traitors found his toy for
him.” Ron then looked between Harry and Hermione who were gaping at each other. The terror filled
expression that both wore was not loss on him. “ Then he turned into Scabbers again. What did he
mean Harry?”*




*As if answering Ron's question Harry simply said to Hermione, “We have to move
now!”*




*Hermione felt a nervous pull in her stomach at these words. Something in his tone called up
memories of their unfortunate trip to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius' subsequent death,
her own near fatal injury. For a moment she almost protested.*




“*Harry...”*




*Harry's exasperatedly straighted his glasses on his nose as he sternly stared at her. “We
can't wait on the rest of the Order Hermione. Pettigrew has a head start on us. For all we know
Voldemort is already on his way to Boussac.”*




“*But Harry...” she tried again.*




“*What? Going to accuse me of playing hero again,” he chided her resentfully.*




*A lone tear cascaded down her cheek. Hermione simply brushed it off and looked Harry square
in the eyes.*




“*I wouldn't do that,” she simply said. “Never again.”*




*Harry looked completely chastised by her statement, but before he could open his mouth to
offer an apology she cut him off.*




“*You're right.”*




*Her words not only stunned him, but seemed to baffle Ron as well.*




“*I am?!”*




“*He is?!”*




*If the situation wasn't so serious she might have laughed at their bewildered faces. But
time was of the essence and they couldn't spend the rest of the evening lollygagging
about.*




“*We have to be quick about it though!” She got up from the floor and Harry followed suit.
Both of them reached down to help Ron to his feet.*




“*We could apparate,” Ron offered.*




“*Yes and splinch your self in the process,” she calmly dismissed. “Who here has ever been to
Boussac?” She looked between Harry and Ron as both boys muttered their negative replies to her
question. “Hell, raise it if you've even been to France?”*




“*Ahem,” called Malfoy from his place on the wall opposite them. His right hand was elegantly
raised in the air.*




“*You would,” Ron enviously grumbled.*




“*Jealousy doesn't become you Weasleby. Well,” Malfoy paused, gave Ron a superior look
once over and said mockingly, “neither does that head of hair of yours, but I suppose you can't
help that.”*




*Ron made a move to lunge at Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione each grabbed an arm to hold him
back.*




“*The Malfoy name is still very powerful in French wizarding circles. I've often visited
my cousins at their villa in Provence.”*




“*Unfortunately for us it looks like they had the good sense to send you back every time,”
Hermione snickered, effectively knocking the conceited, self-satisfied smirk off of the blond's
face. Ron looked like he was ready to kiss her for the comment, any hard feelings from before wiped
away in her defense of him. Harry however looked peeved.*




“*Listen,” she said as she turned her attention back to her boys, “trying to apparate there
would be folly. Besides not knowing exactly where we are going, it also is too far of a distance.
We need...we need...”*




*Hermione desperately tried to wrack her mind trying to find a solution to their problem. Then
the answer seemed to jump out at her all at once.*




“*That's it,” she beamed as she quickly turned to Harry. Harry opened his mouth to
question her, but she was already ahead of him.*




“*You and Ron go up to the room and get your brooms,” she instructed them. “Harry, get your
invisibility cloak as well as some thick coats for all of us to wear.” All four of them were
dressed simply in jeans and jumpers. The warmth of the castle hardly gave a hint of the true
temperature outside. But it was Fall and at night the air was nippy. As high up as they were going
to be Hermione figured it might just be near arctic. They were going to need some form of warm
clothing.*




“*Once you two are done meet us at Hagrid's.” She then looked at Malfoy. “You're
coming with me.”*




*She sent both Ron and Harry a look that told them that she was not to be debated on this. She
hated to do it, but the boys just might try to kill him if she sent him off with them. She turned
and began to walk pass Malfoy. He pushed off from the wall and practically swaggered towards
her.*




“*Trying to get me alone?”*




*She swung in his direction, ready to change her mind and hex the nose off...or at least give
him a good kick in the shins. “Bugger the hell off Malfoy!”*




“*Lovely,” he drolled. “Kiss your mum with that mouth?”*




“*I always knew you had a mind like a sewer, but even I didn't think you capable of those
kind of kinks!”*




*Hermione and Malfoy were about to turn into the next corridor when she heard Ron say to
Harry, “You ever get the impression that when those two get started they forget that there are
others in the room?”*




“*Oh shut up Ron,” was the wrathful reply Harry gave to him.*




*As she and Malfoy rounded the corner she heard poor Ron's faint voice bewilderedly ask,
“But what did I say?”*













***~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~** *













*As Hermione hastened her footsteps towards Hagrid's hut she had to wonder what
foolishness actually sent her out here, on this chilly October night, with out a coat on. She was
freezing! She had her arms wrapped around her trying to ward off the chill, but that was of little
help. It also was not helping matters that Malfoy was trotting beside her as though it were a sunny
Spring day. He was babbling some nonsense about it being beneath a Malfoy to shiver like a
commoner. Idiot! However she knew that she had to take care of a few things before the other two
boys showed up.*




*Once they reached Hagrid's Hermione went towards the pumpkin patch. She knew that if
Hagrid was here he wouldn't mind that she was about to borrow his friend, but the half giant
was off with the other Order members and he wasn't that much of a concern to her right now. She
came around to where the fence was and found exactly what she had been looking for.*




*The gray coated creature studied Hermione and Malfoy sharply with it's orange colored
eyes. Actually it seemed to be paying particular attention to Malfoy as it ruffled it's wings
menacingly and took a few jerky steps on his hooves towards them and then backed away. The creature
clicked his talons together and made a stabbing motion with his steel-colored beak at the air.
Hermione however knew that there wasn't much to worry about since the animal was tethered to
the fence post. At least for now. As she cautiously ambled closer to the beast she had to remind
herself over and over again that there was nothing for her to be scared of. He would remember her.
She prayed that he remembered her. She kept steady eye contact with it and when she reached the
point that she felt was close enough, she bowed before it. She kept her head down for a mere second
or two before she looked back up to see if she should make a run for it. The creature however had
already sunk to it's scaly knees and was standing up. Hermione exhaled the breath that she
hadn't been aware she was holding.*




“*You know this chicken,” Malfoy asked obnoxiously from behind her. Hermione could feel the
hairs on her neck bristle at the very sound of his voice.*




*As she looked over her shoulder at him she hissed through clenched teeth, “Yes, and you do
too. So if you don't want to spend the rest of the evening picking your entrails from out the
grass I would bow.”*




*Taking the threat in her voice to heart, Malfoy looked straight into the hippogriff's
eyes and bowed slowly. For a moment the hippogriff regarded Malfoy with an odd tilt to its head.
Hermione quickly searched her head for a spell that was strong enough to incapacitate a full grown
hippogriff long enough so she could get Malfoy away from here. Really she shouldn't have been
so surprised should she? Hippogriffs ate ferrets after all. But before she could settle on what to
do the hippogriff repeated the same bow it did for her to Malfoy and then straightened.*




“*Fuck all,” Malfoy whispered in a strained voice. Hermione glanced at him again and saw the
realization that was in his eyes. “I thought this...this...thing had escaped.”*




*Hermione smiled at him with a gleeful smugness that surprised even herself, before she turned
and faced the hippogriff. “You thought wrong. Witherwings, meet Malfoy.” She then looked back at
the boy behind her. “Malfoy, meet Witherwings. Or as his friends like to call him...Buckbeak.”
Hermione had no idea that Malfoy's pale, pinched face could loose even more color. She almost
reveled in his fear.*




“*That...beast was supposed to be destroyed for what it did to me.” Malfoy looked at Buckbeak
hostilely. He was smart enough to take a few steps back however.*




*Approaching Buckbeak with a bit more confidence now, Hermione reached out a hand to pat his
beak. He allowed her to do so and closed his eyes as though he were enjoying the feeling
immensely.*




“*Aww Malofy,” she cooed in a soft mellow voice used to soothe the hippogriff and mock the
blond, “I guess daddy couldn't manage to get everything you ever wanted for you, now could
he?”*




*It wasn't until the final word left her lips that Hermione realized what she had just
said. She might dislike Malfoy...greatly, she might think that he deserved to be taken down a few
pegs, but this did not merit the cold cruelty she had just used to taunt him about his father. In
her opinion Lucius Malfoy was a heartless fiend who she hoped, if their was any justice in this
world, was in Hell getting a sunburn. But he was Malfoy's father and she knew that the teen
still mourned his passing. If he loved his dad even a fraction as much as Hermione adored and
treasured her own father she knew that her low blow had been uncalled for. Hermione had to wonder
what changes this war was making in her for her to say something so unfeeling.*




“*I'm sorry Malfoy,” she apologized as she made her way back to him. He preferred to not
look at her and kept his eyes on the grass. “I shouldn't have said that. I guess...I guess I
just got carried away.”*




“*Whatever,” he sullenly mumbled, still avoiding her eyes.*




*She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze of comfort. “I
**am** truly sorry,” she said again. “I mean it.”*




*This time Malfoy only nodded his head.*




“*What's going on here?!”*




*Hermione took a step back from Malfoy and pulled her hand from him as though she had been
burned. Both she and Malfoy turned to see Harry and Ron trudging their way towards them, both of
their arms laden down with items. Hermione couldn't understand why she felt so rattled by
Harry's accusing tone. She hadn't been doing anything to warrant the look that he was
giving her. All she was doing was standing in the middle of a pumpkin patch with a hippogriff and a
ferret. What the hell did he think she was doing?*




“*Yeah Hermione, what's going on,” asked Ron.*




“*Nothing,” she stated righteously. She then looked to Harry. “Did you get everything I told
you to get?”*




*Harry stared at her then at Malfoy for a moment before answering. “We did, but...” he began,
then paused as though trying to figure out the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. “Help me
out here Hermione,” he continued. “Merlin knows that you've been saying and doing some things
lately that have been confusing the hell out of me ever since...”*




*...you drank out of that Cup. Harry didn't bother to finish the sentence, but they all
knew that was what he was thinking.*




“*But...um...aren't you afraid of flying,” he finished as he looked at her, uncertainty in
his eyes. It had been obvious that flying to Boussac had been part of Hermione's plan all
along.*




“*More like a afraid of falling,” she said as she walked towards him and Ron and took a winter
jacket from each of them. She turned to hand one to Malfoy and began to put the other one on. “But
right now we have to fly. It's the quickest way.”*




*Ron came up beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Don't worry Hermione,” he
said reassuringly. “As long as you hold on tight to me you have nothing to worry about.”*




*For a moment Hermione just gaped at him, unsure of how to explain to him that what he was
suggesting was not part of her plan. Ironically it was Malfoy who helped her do so.*




“*I'm not riding with him,” he shouted as he pointed a finger in Harry's
direction.*




*Before Hermione could yell at the prat for being such a childish oaf Harry raised his own
finger at him.*




“*He's not riding with me!”*




“*Unless Potter here buys me dinner and takes me dancing first none of my bits are rubbing up
against any of his!”*




“*Shut up Malfoy,” shouted the Trio in unison.*




*Malfoy was of course broomless. The night that Hogwarts was breached he didn't have time
to retrieve his precious Nimbus. He probably assumed that he and the Death Eaters would have come
out of the melee victorious so he didn't have to worry about it. Once aligning himself with the
Order he had the opportunity to use any one of the school issue brooms that Madame Hooch kept
locked up, but when Hermione had once suggested this to him he sniffed disdainfully at the idea. A
Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead riding a Shooting Star, he arrogantly informed her.*




*Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed out a weary sigh. “Look, if it's such a big deal
Malfoy can ride on Buckbeak,” she said as she pointed out the hippogriff.*




*Malfoy balked at these words. “Not on your life! Are you mad?! That thing...” He paused,
realizing that his voice was a bit loud and that Buckbeak had suddenly found him interesting
again.*




“*That thing has already tried to kill me,” he spat in a hushed whisper. “If you
think...”*




“*Buckbeak wouldn't try to kill me, would he,” she asked, cutting off the rest of his
endless whinging. He stopped short to look at her. “You'll be riding with me.”*




“*Well I guess I can make the sacrifice,” he sniffed haughtily.*




*Harry and Ron however did not take this news as lightly as he did.*




“*Hell no,” Harry informed her firmly. Before she could respond to him Ron got into the
act.*




“*There's no way I'm letting Malfoy get that close to you,” he said. “He might try to
knock you off!”*




“*Hey,” exclaimed an insulted Malfoy.*




“*I forbid it!”*




*Hermione's eyes seemed to outgrow her face as she turned on Ron, hands placed firmly on
her hips and seethed, “You forbid it?!”*




*She couldn't believe that Ron actually had the audacity to say such a thing to her! Just
because they were together that didn't give him the right to order her to do anything. She was
about to pull out her wand and show Ron just what she thought of him asserting his “boyfriend's
rights” when Harry grabbed one of her arms and pulled her a few steps away from the other two,
nearer to Buckbeak.*




“*I think we're being grossly unfair to Granger here,” Malfoy called after them right
before Ron stepped up to him and began calling him every name in his arsenal. Malfoy matched him
insult for insult. Both boys were so wrapped up in their war of words that they completely ignored
Harry and Hermione. Harry quickly bowed before Buckbeak and the hippogriff wasted no time bowing
back. He and Harry were old friends after all. Harry approached the hippogriff and gave him an
affectionate pat to the head. Buckbeak playfully nudged him. Harry continued to pet the hippogriff
as he focused his attention on Hermione.*




“*I don't like this at all,”Harry said to her.*




“*And you think I do,” she asked. When Harry didn't answer her she changed
tactics.*




“*Harry, if Malfoy and I ride along with you and Ron where do we put Boadicea?”*




*He resolutely sighed and she could tell that she had got her point across.*




“*I have an idea,” Harry said loudly, drawing the attention of the other two boys back to him
and Hermione. “Ron, you take my broom,” he said looking at his friend. “Malfoy can ride yours.
I'll ride with Hermione.”*




*Hermione could only wonder at Harry's insistence that Malfoy get no where near her. Did
he think she couldn't take care of herself? Although it warmed her at times to know that he was
so protective of her she couldn't help the irritation that bubbled up inside whenever he and
Ron treated her like some...some...girl. Hermione also didn't care for the idea of being so
close to Harry for what would be a long period of time. Hermione didn't think her sanity could
take it, much less her heart.*




*Like herself, Malfoy didn't seem too enamored of the plan. Then again he had totally
different reasons.*




“*A Malfoy wouldn't sully himself with an inferior broom bought second hand,” he
obnoxiously told them. Ron's ears went red at the statement.*




*Harry positioned himself right in front of the jerk. Their nose were almost touching.*




“*A Malfoy is going to be sitting in the dust alone in the dark if he doesn't shut the
hell up,” he coldly informed him. Before the two of them could come to blows, Ron spoke up.*




“*Don't you t-think,” he said haltingly as Harry turned his green lamp like eyes on him
causing him to stammer a bit. “I mean, shouldn't I ride with Hermione?”*




*Hermione felt that her fuse was getting shorter and shorter by the second. Did these prats
forget that she was standing right there? They were acting like she was some old quill that could
be passed back and forth between them. Because she was too busy being huffy about the ill-treatment
she felt she was receiving she hardly noticed the peculiar expression that passed quickly on
Harry's face.*




“*You're right Ron,” he said calmly. “You are her boyfriend.” Hermione pursed her lips at
the sentiment. “Be my guest,” Harry said as he looked between Ron and Buckbeak.*




*Ron's eyes left Harry's face and goggled at the hippogriff. Although he had helped
feed and tend to the animal before, back when Sirius and Buckbeak were hiding at Number 12, Ron had
never considered actually riding the creature. He loved to fly, but racing brooms were more his
speed. Brooms did not have the tendency to gut you if they were feeling fussy.*




*As the redhead took a timid step towards Buckbeak he nervously swallowed and closed his eyes
for a minute. Buckbeak reared up on his hind legs and came down with a hard thud. Ron scuttled
backwards to where Malfoy was standing.*




“*On second thought...” he managed to squeak out as he threw his Cleensweep at Malfoy and
grabbed Harry's broom from him.*




*For once Malfoy couldn't muster a snide remark to throw at Ron. Even he must have been
aware of the hypocrite he would be if he had.*




“*So what's the plan,” he asked instead. “Grab the barmy old crow and run?”*







*In answer, a dark figure stepped out from behind a wide oak tree nearby.*







“*Sounds like fun,” she said mirthfully. “Can anyone join?”*







*Nymphadora Tonks made her way from the edge of the woods that surrounded Hagrid's hut,
dressed in her scarlet colored work robes. From the neck down she looked all business, an Auror who
was not to be messed with. But the look of amusement on her heart shaped face coupled with the
peppermint green color of her hair belied this fact.*




“*Tonks,” Hermione gasped.*




“*I've never met a witch who was more commitment-phobic about a hair color,” Malfoy
drawled in disgust.*




*Tonks brought her delighted attention towards him and smiled jovially. “Hi'ya
cuz.”*




*Malfoy snorted. He and Tonks had been at odds for the last few weeks. When he had first
joined the Order he tried to pretend as if he and Tonks weren't related at all. He would
constantly make comments about her appearance, her lack of coordination, and her boyfriend. Tonks
took great enjoyment of reminding him that their mothers were sisters and thus they both swam in
the same gene pool. Then one night during a impromptu party to celebrate Headmistress
McGonagall's 72nd birthday it looked like Malfoy had decided to make friends with
his first cousin. They had been drinking out of two mysterious goblets and singing a few Weird
Sister songs together. No one really seemed to pay much attention to this odd occurrence. Just
about everyone had been in a good mood that night actually, most of them coming to the conclusion
that if this was going to be their last year on this Earth they wouldn't let a single occupant
of the castle have a birthday without some fanfare. That night in the Great Hall Hermione had been
positioned in a corner with Ron's arms wrapped about her shoulders as he and Harry shared a
bottle of Firewhiskey between them. She had wanted to scold them soundly, but Harry's long face
stopped any nagging words that might have come from her mouth. He must miss Ginny dreadfully, her
melancholy thoughts told her. These thoughts almost dulled her to the rest of the goings-ons of the
room; the Headmistress laughing flirtatiously at a joke Charlie was telling her, Professor Flitwick
looking skeptically at a plate of treacle fudge that Hagrid was offering, Ron whispering feverish
pleas to go off somewhere in her ear. But even Hermione couldn't miss it when Draco Malfoy
jumped up on one of the tables and started doing a dance that looked rather like the Macarena, in
Hermione's opinion, before their very eyes. What they wouldn't find out until Tonks
mischievously told them later was that she had secretly slipped a bit of Scintallation Solution
into Malfoy's goblet of mead. The brew caused the drinker to be the life of the party. And make
an ass of themselves obviously, Hermione reckoned. Thinking that the grumpy Slytherin needed to
loosen up, Tonks considered herself doing a kindness for a beloved family member. Malfoy tried to
avoid her as much as he could after that incident.*




“*So, what are my little charges up to this fine night, hmmm,” she playfully asked as she
looked back and forth between all of them.*




“*We...er...” sputtered Harry.*




“*Well Tonks, its like this...you see...” chimed Ron.*




*Malfoy scoffed disgustedly at their attempts to try to get one over on the Auror. “You lot
can't lie for shit.”*




*Hermione, ignoring Malfoy's insulting words, stepped towards Tonks purposefully,
shoulders set.*




“*I'm going to be straight with you Tonks, because we've already lost enough time,”
Hermione said to her. “Remember that “thing” Voldemort was looking for?” Tonks shook her head
affirmatively and Hermione continued. “Well it was actually a person and we think we know where she
is.”*




“*Blimey,” was all that Tonks said in shocked answer.*




“*But the thing of it is that Voldemort might now know where she is too.”*




*Hermione then quickly filled her in on the whole Wormtail situation.*




“*We can't wait for the Order,” she explained as she tried her best to express to Tonks
why the four of them had to make a move now. “We have to get there first. And...” Hermione
swallowed as she pulled her wand out of her jeans pocket and held it on Tonks in desperation. The
three boys simultaneous intake of breath sounded like an explosion in her ear. “And I won't
allow you to stop us,” Hermione continued, her brave words sounding false to her. “I'll hex you
if I have to.” She stiffly lifted her chin.*







*Pleasedon'tcallmybluff. Pleasedon'tcallmybluff. Pleasedon'tcallmybluff.*







*Tonks eyed the young girl up and down, sizing up the situation. Although she could tell that
Hermione didn't want to go to the extreme measure of threatening her, if push came to shove she
wasn't so sure that the teen aged girl wouldn't go through with it. Tonks couldn't help
but admire that kind of pluck.*




“*I believe you,” she said, not blinking an eye. The simple statement seemed to rattle
Hermione and for a moment her wand arm wavered. But the honesty in Tonks words made her slip her
wand back into her jeans.*




“*Besides, who said I was going to stop you?”*




*Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked between each other, shock registering on their faces.*




“*You're not,” Ron asked.*




“*But aren't you supposed to be spying on me,” Harry asked, his words coming off slightly
bitter. “Making sure I don't do something brash and stupid?”*




*Tonks impishly grinned. “I believe Remus' exact words were 'keep an eye on him'.
He never said where I was supposed to keep an eye on you. So I'm coming with.”*




*They were completely bowled over by Tonks' words. Hermione tried to form several
sentences and failed. By Ron's befuddled expression one would have thought he had entered his
bedroom only to find the N.E.W.T.s examination board. Poor Harry just seemed worn and exhausted.
Only Malfoy looked as though nothing his cousin could say would ever really surprise him.*




“*If you lot tell me this is important then I believe you,” Tonks clarified. “I recognize the
fact that you aren't children anymore and I don't think you deserve to be treated like you
are. You're Order members. Merlin knows you all have gone through more then anyone your age has
a right to. When I was your age all I had to worry about was whether or not Charlie would ask me
out for a Hogsmeade weekend.”*




*Ron's mouth fell open at the admission. “You fancied Charlie?”*




“*Madly,” Tonks exclaimed. “But he went for the pretty, witty types and I had a hard enough
time not tripping over my toes,” she chuckled. “Luckily Remus finds it cute.”*




“*The klutz and the lycanthrope, a tale of star crossed lovers,” Malfoy annoyingly
grumbled.*




*Tonks heard him and sauntered over to where he was standing, a great big smile plastered on
her face. “Since I left my broom at the castle I'll just ride along with you
Angelface.”*




*Malfoy grimaced. “Goodie.”*




“*Y-yes...w-well...” stuttered Hermione, trying her best to regain her control. “Now that
we've settled the seating arrangements I think our best bet is to get on our way. It's
going to be a long trip.”*




*Ron rubbed at his stomach forlornly.*




“*We're going to need to head south first and then...and then I guess once when we get
near Central France we could ask for directions.” For the first time Hermione started to sound a
little unsure of her plan.*




“*I think if any Death Eaters were looking for us they would expect us to go that route,”
Tonks said. “We might try going over the Atlantic and then hooking a left.”*




*Hermione's throat went dry at the thought of flying over all of that water. Maybe she
could handle flying with Harry after all.*




“*I...I...I...”*




“*Granger, your yapping is wearing on me,” Malfoy said dismissively as he trudged up towards
her, took a shiny gold object out of his pocket, and tossed it at her.*




*Hermione caught the object before it beaned her on the head and took a good look at
it.*




“*A compass,” she asked anemically. Then she opened the 'compass' and gasped.*




“*Gee Malfoy, there's a little spell called Point Me. Ever hear of it,” Ron smugly asked
as he and Harry traded smiles.*




“*You idiots,” rebuked Malfoy harshly. “That is a Psychopompus.”*




“*Guider of the lost,” Hermione whispered in awe. Inside of the compass-like casing, instead
of the usual arrow and lettering, a tiny red ball of energy floated. The ball was no bigger then a
large pebble, but it pulsed and throbbed like a living organism.*




“*It can find any thing, any one, any place. Even if its unplottable.”*




*Malfoy's little curio rendered Hermione speechless. She had read about the Psychopompus,
but never dreamed that she would actually hold one in her hands one day.*







*Nearly 2000 years ago, in the ancient and doomed city of Pompeii lived a priestess of the
fire God, Vulcan. Her name was Trivia and she was a witch. Trivia was also what was called an
Imbuer. She had the ability to transfer fragments of her own magical energy and infuse them into
objects to create powerful relics. It was an incredible power that came with a huge cost. Each time
she used it she took years off of her life. But it was no matter to Trivia, she knew that her
destiny would end in ashes. But Trivia had three sons; Evander, Latinus, and her favored child that
was consecrated to her God, Mulciber. On the eve of her death she gave each young boy a
Psychopompus she had made for them. Inside the Psychopompi she placed what remained of her magical
essence. She told them that they were to flee the city and that they should use the Psychopompus to
take them wherever they wanted to go. All they had to do was tell the trinket where that was and it
would lead them to it. Latinus chose to find power. He settled in Albion, what would one day be
England, and became the lord of a great tribe. Evander chose to find his heart. He eventually wound
up on an island in Oceania, the husband of many wives. Mulciber however refused to leave his
mother's side. The next day was the Vulcanalia and he and his mother went to the temple to
preside over the burnt sacrifices offered on the feast day as they usually did. However that year
there would be no festival. Vulcan chose to claim all of Pompeii as his sacrifice instead. Whatever
became of Trivia and her son was never really known. Some say that Vulcan took pity on his beloved
priestess and changed her and her son into cormorants. But others believed that Trivia and Mulciber
used the last bit of her magic that she stashed in his Psychopompus and disappeared from this
world, never to be seen again.*




*For years many a witch and wizard hoped to find one of the remaining two Psychopompi which
had fallen into legend. Some said that Merlin had once been in possession of one. Numerous great
explorers through out history were accused of using a Psychopompus to direct them to new lands and
discoveries. Hermione had even read once that Albus Dumbledore was believed to have one hidden
somewhere in Hogwarts. Then again Professor Dumbledore had also been rumored to have a scar above
his knee that resembled a map of the Underground. Hermione used to think that story was as much
twaddle as the Psychopompus. Then Draco Malfoy practically dropped the magical object in her
lap.*










“*You've had this all this time.” Harry tersely asked Malfoy.*




*The blond pompously lifted his chin in the air and sneered, “How do you think I found
Durmstrang?”*




“*We could have used this thing to find all the other horcruxes by now!” Once again Hermione
felt that pulse of energy coming from Harry. He was livid!*




“*Couldn't have expected everything to be handed to you, now could you Potter?” Draco was
sneering at the black haired boy contemptuously, but Hermione hadn't missed the first
expression that had flickered on his face. Astonishment. Draco hadn't withheld the Psychopompus
from them to be a brat, he simply hadn't thought of using it for that purpose. And to think he
was a pretty good student! They should have thrown him back to the Death Eaters, let them
suffer!*




*Harry seemed to bristle at the answer, but before he could start an argument with him, Malfoy
walked over to Hermione and lifted the Psychopompus out of Hermione's hand.*




“*All you need to do is tell it who or where or what you are looking for. The more specific
you are the better. Like this,” Malfoy said as he concentrated on the small ball of energy. “Rego
rexi rectum.”*




*At these words the little red ball turned blue.*




“*Take me to...” he said, pausing to look at the faces surrounding him. As his gaze settled on
Harry an evil and malicious smile coiled its self on his lips. “Take me to the nearest
virgin.”*




*The blue ball of energy began to softly hum and sprang into life. But before it could get
very far Hermione snatched the Psychopompus out of Malfoy's hand and snapped the little ball
back into its case. However it had been very obvious to all what direction the Psychopompus was
heading in. If Draco's laughter hadn't given the fact away Harry's very pink cheeks
would have.*




“*Knew it,” Malfoy smarmed.*




“*You are such an odious little pygmy troll,” Hermione retorted as she restrained herself from
slapping the bastard and stamped away from him instead. She tried to ignore the eyes on the back of
her head that she knew belonged to Harry.*




*She went to the rope that tethered Buckbeak to the fence and unknotted it. Next she untied
the rope from Buckbeak's neck and was preparing to mount him when she suddenly saw his head
snap back. The quick movement unsettled her at first until she realized that the hippogriff had the
bloody carcass of a ferret in his beak. She couldn't stop herself from smirking. As the
hippogriff bent down to finish his snack she turned around to see Harry standing close by and the
smile slowly faded away from her lips.*




“*I figured Buckbeak would like a treat before we got on our way,” was all he said. Hermione
curtly nodded her head.*




*The air of awkwardness that laid between them was palpable. Malfoy's little joke opened
up a can of worms that she preferred to not dwell on. She used to think that she didn't want
Harry to know what all went on between her and Ron because she didn't want him to feel lonely
and left out. But now you know different don't you, she downheartedly told herself. Hermione
tried to focus her attention on anything but Harry's eyes. She glanced over to her right to see
Ron and Malfoy bickering while an amused Tonks looked on. Before she could walk over to see what
the trouble was she heard Harry softly call her name. She looked back to see that he had already
mounted Buckbeak and was offering his hand to her to give her a lift up. Hermione tentatively took
it and felt herself effortlessly raised up and placed in front of her best friend. Once the other
three members of their party realized that Harry and Hermione were ready to go they all prepared to
lift off on their perspective brooms. Malfoy and Ron awaited their signal, Harry and Hermione were
going to go in the lead. Harry gave a gentle nudge with his right foot to Buckbeak's
hindquarters and the hippogriff unfurled his wings. It scratched at the ground for a moment before
taking a running start and then soaring into the sky.*




“*Hermione,” she heard Harry's worried voice call to her. At the time it sounded a bit
muffled, but that was only because she had her face pressed firmly into Buckbeak's feathers.
Her eyes were closed, and she held the poor hippogriff in a death lock about the neck.*




“*Are you alright Hermione,” Harry asked, his voice almost drowned out by the wind.*




*Hermione turned her head slightly and tried her best to look over her shoulder at
Harry.*




“*Why would you ask?”*




“*It's just that...you screamed.”*




*Hermione's cheeks would have turned pink if that weren't already that color due to
the cold. She hadn't been aware that she had made a sound.*




“*Force of habit I guess,” she sheepishly said with a tiny smile.*




*She sat up as straight as she could muster and held the Psychopompus before her. She opened
the clasp and watched as the little red ball hovered up.*




“*Rego rexi rectum.” The ball glowed blue. “Take me to the The Monastère Sainte Claire in
Boussac,” she said to it as it began to hum and float off before them. Harry placed his hands
around her so he could get a good hold on Buckbeak to help steer him. Hermione sat up, steel
spined, so that she wouldn't rub up against Harry. Both of their eyes were focused on the blue
orb in front of them. They flew like this through the night sky for a good length of time, neither
saying anything to the other. Hermione had no clue as to what Harry's thoughts could be, but
all she hoped was that he didn't ask her any questions about her and Ron that Malfoy's
little stunt might have brought up. The way that Hermione's stomach was boiling she just
didn't think she could handle that at the moment. Not at this height at least.*




“*Um, Hermione?” Harry's voice sounded nervous and uncertain in her ear.*




*Circe!*




“*Yes Harry?” She figured that she sounded no better then him.*




“*You could...um...I mean, if you want, you can lean back on me. You know, so you aren't
uncomfortable or anything.”*




*Thank Merlin!*




“*Oh. Ok then. Thank you.”*




*That hadn't been what she expected him to say to her, but for this she was thankful.
Truth be told Hermione had been a little stiff sitting so straight and upright for so long. She
cautiously laid back into Harry and he instantly guided one of his hands to her hip. A burst of
warmth seemed to fill her through out. She sighed. Although she knew the move was done to keep a
good hold on her she couldn't help the emotional flutterings in her stomach that it produced.
Normally she would have chastised herself for being such a silly goose, but for once she decided to
just live in this one moment. Harry was always being such a good friend to her; looking after her,
protecting her, taking care of her. It wasn't his fault that she felt things for him that she
shouldn't. He wasn't the blame of the complications that she was bringing into their lives.
He couldn't help it if he would never look at her the way that she looked at him. But high up
in the sky, amongst the clouds, she could pretend that none of that existed. Up here there was no
boyfriend whose heart she could break. Up here there was no girl for him to go home to. Up here it
was just Harry and Hermione.*




*And she could pretend.*













***~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~** *










“*I still think we should have gone with the ones I transfigured.”*




“*Nuns don't dress like that anymore Tonks!”*




“*But I saw it in a film once. There were nuns and Nazis. People dressed up in tacky curtains.
And singing. Although that was the part that was a bit confusing.”*




“*It was a musical and that film is over 30 years old Tonks.”*




“*Well how was I supposed to know.”*










*Hermione shook her head wearily. She was tired to the bone, they still hadn't found
Boadicea, and Tonks was chatting and chirping about as though they were on a picnic. Sometimes
Hermione found it hard to believe that the woman was actually an Auror. Though her wand work
couldn't be denied, Hermione had practiced dueling with her before and had received a nice set
of boils on her forehead to prove it, she still wondered if Tonks ever took anything seriously.
Besides Professor Lupin, that is. Like when they first touched down in front of the cloister. It
was decided that she and Tonks, being the women in the group, would sneak into the nunnery and look
for DuManoir. The boys would act as their guards. Before the dust had settled from that decision
Tonks had already pulled out her wand and transfigured her robes and Hermione's clothes into a
proper nun's habit. A proper nun from the 1800's. The long black tunic, the scalpular, the
white bib, cap, and various veils and under veils; it had all been way too much. The boys had
practically rolled around in the grass, laughing at the two of them when Tonks was done. Tonks
seemed to think the whole thing jolly fun as well. Hermione had threatened each boy that she would
hex off something that they would be sure to miss if they didn't shut up and then promptly
changed Tonks and herself into an outfit that was more workable. They were disguised as novitiates
in simple black skirts and blouses with a white veil over their hair. She asked the boys how they
looked. Malfoy told her that the skirt made her look fat. Harry and Ron had to restrain her when
she made to tear him limb from limb.*




*After using her wand to get into the cloister Hermione took out the Psychopompus and told it
to lead them to DuManoir. Tonks carried Harry's invisibility cloak in her arms. They were
currently descending a long flight of stairs that seemed to lead into a basement. As far as they
knew they had miraculously gotten there before the Death Eaters. Surely there would have been a
dark mark above the monastery if they hadn't, right?*




“*Are you sure it was such a good idea giving your wand to Ron?”*




“*Yes, we needed a clear cover,” Tonks said from behind her. “We couldn't leave him out
there defenseless. If something were to happen he would be a sitting duck other wise.” In a way
Hermione guessed she could see the sense in that.*




“*Besides, I don't think I have much to worry about with you leading the way,” Tonks
continued airily. “You're pretty sharp with a wand and I've seen the security crystal
captures of that night at the Department of Mysteries. You'd make a pretty good Auror one
day.”*




*Hermione's brow wrinkled as she turned to look back at Tonks. “But I got hit!”*




“*And,” asked Tonks. “I did too. It happens. I still think you would be brilliant. I could see
you and Harry making quite the team.”*




*At the comment Hermione bristled. What the hell was Tonks getting at? What was she trying to
imply?*




“*Why me and Harry,” she asked, a tad too roughly. “Why not me and Ron?”*




*Tonks seemed to stew on the question for a bit before innocently saying, “Dunno. Ron wants to
be an Auror?”*




*Hermione sighed. Of course Tonks wasn't trying to insinuate anything.*




“*No,” she simply said in answer.*




*As of late Ron had been talking about his future plans, their future plans, a lot. He had
already constructed huge castles in the sky for them where she was his wife and he was something
amazing, he just didn't quite know what yet. She did know that he had long ago put away any
ideas about being an Auror. He often said that once the War was over all he wanted was his girl and
his broom and he would be happy. His blue eyes would always take on a bright, giddy glow whenever
he told her about these dreams of his. And her heart would always feel like someone was squeezing
the pulp out of it.*




“*Well I see Ron going for something flashy. Something to make him stand out from the rest of
the redheads,” Tonks said as they left the staircase and stared following the little blue ball down
a narrow hall. “Now that cousin of mines on the other hand...”*




*Tonks almost hooted at Hermione's stunned expression.*




“*Draco Malfoy? An Auror?”*




“*He has pretty good natural instincts.”*




“*Honestly,” Hermione dismissively said as she rolled her eyes, “Draco Malfoy would have to
care about someone other then himself for that to ever happen.”*




*Tonks softly chuckled. “Aww...Angelface can't help the way he was raised. I almost feel
sorry for him in that respect.”*




“*Yes, but he can help the person he's going to become. You know the saying, the apple
doesn't fall too far from the tree. All of his family are monsters.” Hermione paused to look at
Tonks. “Present company excluded of course.” Tonks laughed.*




“*Besides he can't be an Auror. He'd be a liability. The bad guys would smell all the
product in his hair coming a mile away.”*




*Tonks nodded her head affirmatively. “True. And it would be such lovely hair without all of
that goop,” she said fondly.*




“*You almost sound like you have a crush,” Hermione said wryly, looking at Tonks from the
corner of her eye. They had just made a sharp left only to end up in another narrow
corridor.*




“*Well I'm not blind,” she exclaimed. “If I was a bit younger I wouldn't mind kissing
that cousin. What about you?”*




“*Pardon me, I think I vomited a bit in my mouth.”*




*Tonks laughed outright at the comment and Hermione had to remind her to be quiet. She was
acting as though they were at a sleepover giggling over which boy they fancied.*




“*What about Harry?”*




*Hermione's foot steps halted and she turned around to face Tonks fully. Tonks paused as
well.*




“*What about Harry,” Hermione cautiously asked.*




“*You think he might become an Auror?”*




*Hermione mulled over the question for a moment before continuing on in the direction they had
been going. Tonks followed suit. They were just in time to see the Psychompus make a right around a
corner and hurried along after it.*




“*I don't know,” she finally said in answer, her voice sounding almost lifeless. “Harry
used to talk about it, his future. But he doesn't much anymore.” Hermione's yes began to
burn just thinking about this. “He has these dreams you see...Sometimes I get the feeling that he
doesn't even think he'll have a future.”*




*Tonks seemed oblivious to Hermione's depressing state.*




“*Well I bet there's a certain red haired girl who could convince him otherwise,” she said
cheerily.*




*Hermione turned her sad brown eyes towards Tonks and frowned. “What?”*




*Tonks smiled brightly. “Ginny,” she replied as though it were the most obvious answer in the
world. “I saw the way the two of them were huddled up at the funeral. Almost gave me the habdabs
actually. Thought that Lily and James were back from the dead.”*




*Tonks giggled, but when she caught a glimpse of Hermione's downcast face she stifled her
gaiety. The girl obviously didn't find the humor in what she said at all.*




“*Sorry,” she offered. “Tact was never my strong suit. As I was saying,” she continued, “all
he has to remember is that he has that waiting for him and Harry should perk right up.”*




*Tonks then winked conspiratorially at Hermione. Hermione smiled back at her weakly. It was
all she could do other then run her own head into the wall over and over again. Luckily, before she
could give herself a nasty case of brain damage they came before a door and the Psychopompus ceased
humming and turned red again. Hermione took out it's case and trapped it back inside of
it.*




“*Oh look, we're here,” Hermione drolled as she placed her hand on the doorknob and gave
it a turn. It was locked so she pointed her wand at it and smiled when she heard the click that
meant it was unlocked. Once again she turned the knob and as it gave way she gently pushed open the
door and made her way into the small sparse room. It was almost like a cell. There was no hint of
ornamentation anywhere, just a small cot and a stone floor. She'd expected it to be dark, but
surprisingly enough the room was all aglow from the light of over a dozen lanterns. For a moment
Hermione thought to herself how odd this was for such a late hour, but then she looked towards the
window, at the room's only occupant, and all thoughts of what was odd and what was weird left
her.*




*The girl looked to be about 17 or 18 years old and was dressed almost similarly as they were.
Her long ebony hair hung down pass her shoulder in waves. She stared out at them with unblinking,
violet colored eyes and seemed to tilt her head as if to see if they were really there or figments
of her imagination. A set of full, thick lips sat under a nose only Modigliani could have painted.
She had a round face with dimpled cheeks. This fact, added with all of her other more mature
features, would have given her face a certain little girl adoreableness if only there had been some
sort of expression on the girl's face. Instead she was giving them her best impression of a
blank slate and for what it was worth, it unnerved Hermione greatly.*




“*I think that thing is broken,” Tonks whispered near her ear, in reference to the
Psychopompus.*




*Hermione never took her eyes off the girl. “I don't think it is,” she whispered back as
her eyes drifted upwards and settled on the hair ornament fixed in the girl's hair.*




*Hermione took a few nervous steps forward and asked, “B-Boadicea?”*




*The sound of the name actually culled a reaction from the girl. Fear.*




“*Oui. Qui est vous? Que voulez vous,” she screeched, her panicked eyes looking back and forth
between Hermione and Tonks.*




“*Son of a bitch,” Tonks swore. “I thought this one was supposed to be Sinistra's age,”
Tonks said as she came fully into the room and closed the door behind her.*




*Hermione turned to look at her companion. “She is,” she answered her.*




“*Son of a bitch,” was all Tonks could muster again.*




“*Qui est vous?! Qui est vous,” Boadicea demanded over and over again. Her cries were so loud
that Hermione quickly pointed her wand at the door and placed a silencing charm on it. Boadicea,
who hadn't noticed the wand before, went wide eyed at the sight of it now.*




“*Vous n'êtes pas censé être ici.”*




“*Shouldn't she speak English? Didn't she go to Hogwarts,” Tonks bewilderedly asked.
“What is she saying?”*




“*At first she wanted to know who we were and what we wanted,” Hermione said as she took a few
cautious steps towards the girl. “Now she says we shouldn't be here. I don't think she
speaks English anymore.”*




*But for some odd reason Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that Boadicea still
understood it.*




“*Je suis Hermione,” she said as she placed her hand on her chest, “et Tonks.” She pointed
back at the Auror. “Nous sommes amis. We're friends.” Hermione held a hand out slowly to
her.*




*Boadicea looked at Hermione suspiciously before scurrying to her little cot in the corner of
the room and sitting on it.*




“*Que voulez vous?!”*




*Hermione wracked her brain for the best way to explain to the girl what was going on.*




“*Nous sommes venus pour te retire d' ici,” answered Hermione slowly. “We've come to
take you away from this place.”*




*At this statement Boadicea's alarm seemed to slacken and she slowly rose up from the cot.
A ghost of a smile danced on her lips before she asked sweetly, “Tom?”*




*Merlin! Sweet Circe! Dear merciful God in Heaven!*




“*Est-il venu pour moi?”*




*She wanted to know if Tom had come for her. All these years she must have sat at that window
and waited for the day when Tom Riddle would come and take her away, Hermione achingly thought.
Boadicea was still in love with him. Even after everything he had done to her, she still loved him.
Even after he had cast her aside. To her mind she still belonged to Tom Riddle, time had changed
nothing for DuManoir. In fact, it would seem that time had stood still for her somehow. Now she was
ready to go back to the love of her life, and Hermione could not allow that to happen.*




“*Tom,” she asked again, hope brimming in her eyes.*




*Hermione shook her head yes and smiled kindly at the girl. “Oui. Nous vous lui
porterons.”*




*Boadicea let out a jubilant cry before pitching herself into Hermione's arms and hugging
her tightly. She began spinning the both of them around like a school girl. Her laughter filled the
room.*




“*What just happened here? What did you say,” asked Tonks. She couldn't make heads or
tales of the situation.*




“*It doesn't matter,” Hermione said assertively. She pulled Boadicea along with her
towards the door. “We just need to get out of here now!”*




*Just one lie, that was all it is. Just one lie. It was a lie for a good reason. That's
all it is. That's all it is.*




*Hermione's hand was on the door knob when all of a sudden she heard a loud thud coming
from outside. It sounded like someone was stumbling their way down the hall towards them. If she
was hearing correctly it sounded like it was more then one of them.*




“*I still thin' we took too long interroga'in tha' wi'ness, love,” she heard a
high pitched, female voice say from outside.*




*A slurred, baritone voice answered her back in the same Cockney accent she used, “Master said
we were to get 'is toy by any means Sissy. And the Mummy Superior wasn' bein'
'elpful. I 'ad to find some way to convince 'er.”*




*The female must have found what her friend said extremely funny because she let loose a
cackle that set Hermione's teeth on edge.*




“*I don't thin' Master 'ad tha' in mind,” the high pitched voice said
back.*




“*But she 'ad such a pret'y mauf. Seemed a waste not to use it.”*




*Once again that bone chilling cackle rended the air.*




“*Oh shit!”*




*Hermione turned towards Tonks and nearly went white at the expression on the older
woman's face. Tonks was sweating bullets, despite the cold bite of the air, and she looked
absolutely scared shitless.*




“*What's wrong,” Hermione worriedly asked her.*




*Tonks glanced at Hermione, then back at the door. “Death Eaters. And from the sound of that
laugh it could only be Alecto and Amycus Carrows. Sid and Nancy look like the Weasleys compared to
them.”*




*Hermione looked fearfully at the door and then towards Boadicea who had a far off dreamy look
on her face. It couldn't end like this, Hermione's racing mind shouted out again and again.
It just can't end like this!*




“*But I read about the Carrows. They helpedbutcher a whole family once, or something. I
thought they were siblings, a brother and a sister.”*




*Tonks and Hermione's eyes locked. “They are.”*




*This was bad. This was bad. With no time to digest what Tonks could possibly mean by that
Hermione walked closer to the door and contemplated putting a locking spell on it. She was just
about to do so when Tonks swore again.*




“*What,” Hermione nearly cried, her heart in her throat.*




“*We have more problems,” Tonks responded. “Anti-Apparation ward.”*




“*Fuck!”*




*It had just gotten worse.*




*Hermione had often heard the saying, “blood ran cold”, but until that very moment she never
knew that it was an actual phenomena. She was sure she could feel the jagged edges of little icy
chips floating through her blood stream. They couldn't apparate out. Tonks didn't have a
wand. They were as good as dead.*




“*Thin' Master will whip us?” By now Hermione could only assume that the female voice
belonged to Alecto Carrows.*




“*'Ere's 'oping.”*




*She saw the doorknob begin to slowly turn. Without very much thought Hermione did the first
thing that came to her mind. She grabbed the invisibility cloak, pushed Boadicea into Tonks arms,
and before the Auror could offer any protest threw the cloak over the two of them. They disappeared
before her eyes. Thinking fast, Hermione dropped her wand down the front of her blouse. She might
have been able to stun one of them, but she was never going to be able to take both out single
handedly without some sort of miracle being involved. Hermione quickly made the decision that
maybe, just maybe she could bluff her way out of the door. Right now anything was worth a
try.*




“*Well, well, well,” said a squat, rolly polly man dressed in soiled black robes from the
doorway, a stubby wand in his hands. “What do we 'ave 'ere?”*




*Hermione almost suspected that she was going to loose her lunch if the man kept leering at
her the way he was. But she called upon every bit of Gryffindor courage she could muster and
innocently turned large, round eyes on him.*




“*Que voulez vous?”*




“*Vu, vu wha'?*




“*Pardonnez-moi,” she said as she gave the man a small bow of her head. “Je pense que je vais
maintenant. Je dois bientot commencez mon priere du matin.” She then tried to walk effortlessly by
him, but nearly gagged on the smell of his body stench and the scent of stale ale that clung to
him.*




“*Not so fas',” Alecto Carrows said as she stepped into the room and into Hermione's
way. She was about her brother's size and was dressed in robes that matched his, only hers were
slightly cleaner. But not by much. The two siblings resemblance to each other was so strong that
Hermione had to wonder if they were twins. Neither masculine nor feminine, the pair seemed to revel
in their androgyny. If not for their voices she wasn't sure if she would have been able to tell
them apart. Both of them had chin length gray hair that was dirty and stringy and severely lined
faces. A bulbous nose, only a mother could love, sat in the middle of both faces. Two sets of dark
brown eyes roved every hill and valley of her body and when she shuddered involuntarily she was
greeted by identical thin lipped smiles.*




*Hermione quickly backed away from them, but gave no hint that there were two other people in
the room with her.*




“*I know you,” she said as she eyed Hermione from head to foot. “I've read abou' you
in the paper once. Your famous.” Alecto then smiled proudly displaying her 5 missing teeth. “Still
Potter's lit'le mudblood 'hore?”*




*Although Hermione tried not to show any emotions she couldn't control the rage that
swirled through her at these words. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes narrowed.*




“*Is tha' a no,” the wench taunted. “Got tired of you, did 'e?”*




*Hermione's eyes burned furiously in the woman's direction, but she refused to give
her any satisfaction.*




“*Where's the other mudblood,” her brother asked casually as he came further in the
room.*




“*I don't know what you're talking about,” said Hermione stubbornly.*




“*I thin' she's lyin' Ahmy.”*




*Amycus smiled at her feraly as he twirled his wand in his fingers. “Naugh'y lit'le
girl. Workin' you're way to a spanked bot'om, you are.”*




“*No fair Ahmy,” chided Alecto as she pouted in her brother's direction. “You got to
'ave fun with the las' one.”*




*An annoyed, belligerent look flickered upon Amycus' face. This was sibling rivalry at
it's best.*




“*But remember Sissy, you got to kill the nun.”*




*Apparently Alecto didn't find her act of cold blood murder quite fulfilling enough. She
stuck out her bottom lip so far Hermione was shocked it wasn't gathering dust from the floor.
This seemed to be Amycus' undoing. He pulled his sister into a quick hug and gave her a loud
smacking kiss on her forehead. He then turned to Hermione and leered at her menacingly.*




“*I jus' can' deny my Sissy anythin'”*




*His yellowish, canine like teeth almost made Hermione, beloved daughter of two dental
practitioners, weep.*




“*Come now poppet, you don' really expect us to believe tha' you're 'ere all
by your lonesome. Tell us wha' your frien' is using,” the disgusting little man said as he
took a step closer to her and swayed on his feet. That brief little movement awakened a well of
hope so deep in Hermione that she almost did a cartwheel. The man was drunk! The sister didn't
seem to be, but the fact that he was intoxicated was all she needed to know.*




“*A disillusionmen'? Transfigure themselves?”*




“*Uh, uh,” answered Alecto for her. Her eyes were glued near the floor. Hermione eyes turned
to see what she was looking at and nearly cried out at the sight of Tonks and Boadicea's feet
fully unveiled for all to see. From what she could tell someone, more then likely DuManoir, had
been trying to lift the cloak off of them.*




“*Come ou', come ou' wherever you are,” Alecto sing songed as she took out her wand
and waved it like a conductor leading an orchestra, “There you are. Accio invisibility
cloak.”*




*The cloak went flying off of Tonks and Boadicea. Tonks, Merlin bless her, tried to catch it
and pull it back but it was no good. The cloak landed in Alecto's hands. The sight of
that...that...woman touching Harry's cloak, the cloak that he treasured, the cloak that had
belonged to his father sent a lightning bolt of hatred and wrath through Hermione that she was
almost made sick by it. Suddenly all of the lanterns in the room dimmed and everything seemed to go
still.*




“*You give that back,” she growled as she reached her hand down her blouse and slowly pulled
out her wand.*




“*I don' thin' I wan' to,” the bitch said. She then turned to her brother.
“Jus' thin' Ahmy, we could fuck righ' under this with other people in the room and no
one would ever know the difference.” She gave her brother a sickening grin as she wrapped her arms
around him.*




“*Like tha' ever stopped us,” he cheekily responded, then let out a wheezy, drunken
giggle. His sister joined him with her own cackle. Then she pressed her lips onto his and the two
commenced to eat each others face before their disgusted captive audience. At least that's what
it looked like to Hermione. Even Boadicea seemed to be disturbed by the vulgar display.*




“*Ugh,” gasped Tonks as she looked at the pair, disgust radiating from her eyes.*




*Alecto paused in mid-snog to spare a glance at Tonks.*




“*You're a Black,” she stated.*




*Tonks, gaze never wavering, said, “Yes.”*




*Alecto's face scrunched in distaste. “I don' like you Blacks.”*




“*I'm broken up inside over the fact.”*




“*Bunch of fuckin' poncies,” she snarled as she disentangled herself from her
brother's embrace. “First Regulus, then Narcissa and 'er lit'le pup. An' tha'
Bellatrix thin' she's too good for the res' of us. I'm gonna enjoy killin'
you.”*




*Tonk's merely smiled coolly and calmly at the threat. “You can try.”*




*And for the first time Hermione understood clearly why Nymphadora Tonks was an Auror.*




“*Listen my lit'le lovelies,” Amycus cut in, seemingly growing tired of Tonks and his
sister's battle of wills, “you two 'ave somethin' that we wan'.” He looked at
Boadicea and the girl slowly backed herself into the wall by the window to get away from his
lecherous stare. She slid down the wall and brought her chin to her knees. She began rocking back
and forth silently mouthing the same thing over and over. Tom. Tonks went over to the young girl
and got down on the floor to comfort her.*




“*Me an' Sissy aren' let'ing you out the room until we get it. Now it can either
be easy or it could be 'ard.” He started that wheezy giggle of his that seemed to amuse his
sister since she started clapping her hands merrily. “Personally I like 'ard.”*




“*Empty threats Carrows,” Tonks shouted back at him confidently.*




“*Wha'? Thin' the calvary is goin' to ride in,” asked Alecto mockingly.*




“*If you had any frien's out there I assure you tha' they been picked off one by one
by one.” Amycus seemed almost saddened that he would miss out on such carnage.*




“*It's only fair,” chirped Alecto. “Our back-up deserved some entertanmen'. I'm
afraid tha' me an' Ahmy got...detained a bit.” She and Amycus looked at each other and both
burst into laughter. If anything Hermione wanted to hex the two of them for their annoying
laughter.*




“*Your frien's are dead,” said Amycus.*




“*An' soon you will be too,” added his sister.*




“*You can kill us, but Harry will not rest until that souless monster is dead,” Hermione said
in a low steady voice, eyes unblinking. “And that is a promise.” Her wand was pointed at Amycus,
awaiting the perfect shot. She and Amycus eyes then locked as both sized each other up.*




“*This one 'as spunk,” he said. Alecto gave her a disdainful once over and sniffed. “I
'ate spunk.”*




*The comment caused a smirk worthy of a Malfoy to alight Hermione's face.*




*Amycus pointed his wand at Hermione, his hand wavering slightly and opened his mouth to
speak. Before he could utter a word Alecto placed a halting hand on her brother's arm and
looked at him wondrously.*




“*But Ahmy,” Alecto gasped, “aren' we going to play with them firs'?”*




*Amycus eyes darted towards his sister and smiled wickedly.*




“*After.”*




*And that was just the moment Hermione needed.*




“*Accio wand!”*




*Amycus' wand sailed out of his hands and Hermione plucked it from the air. The Carrows
looked quite frankly shocked for a second, but before either could compose themselves Hermione
turned her wand on Alecto.*




“*Conjunctivitus!”*




“*Argh,” screamed Alecto in pain as she dropped the invisibility cloak and a hand went up to
her eyes. She still held her wand on them though.*




“*You bitch! I can' see! I can' see,” she said as she stumbled back and forth. Amycus
looked at his sister and then turned vengeful eyes towards Hermione. He let out an unearthly,
almost animalistic sound before he went charging at her. She flicked her wand at him.*




“*Impedimenta.”*




*The spell knocked him back to the wall giving Hermione just enough time to turn to Tonks and
throw his wand towards her. Alecto kept yelling, “I'm gonna ge' you! I'm gonna ge'
you! I'm gonna ge' you, jus' you wai'!”*




“*Here,” she shouted over her shoulders as Tonks lept from the floor to catch the wand. As
Hermione turned back around she saw Alecto still stumbling about, waving the wand furiously every
which way.*




“*Avada-”*




“*Noooooooooooooo!”*




*The spell could have hit anyone of them. Hermione had no time to make judgment calls. She
just sent out silently the first spell that entered her mind.*




*Alecto staggered back as though an invisible hand had pushed her. Her eyes widened. She
looked down at her chest to see the fabric of her robes ripped and a wide red slash across her
bosom. She pressed a hand to the wound and let out a blood curdling cry when she turned it up to
see it covered in red. If she could have seen what Hermione could she would have found similar cuts
on her face. Blood oozed out of all of them.”*




“*Ahmy,” she wailed, the voice of a frightened little girl. She wilted to the floor on her
hands and knees. She dropped her wand and didn't seem to notice it as it rolled on the floor
away from her.*




*Tonks came up beside Hermione and looked on the scene.*




“*What the hell spell was that,” she asked in awe. She had already changed back into her Auror
robes.*




“*Sectusempra.”*




“*I've never seen anything like it.”*




“*Neither have I,” Hermione droned mechanically.*




“*Ahmy,” the blood soaked woman wailed again from the floor. By now she had turned on her
back. “Ahmy, where are you? I can' see you Ahmy, it's so dark.” Hermione however had
already ended the jinx on her.*




*By this time Amycus had regained consciousness and when he saw his sister lying in a bloody
heap he ignored the rest of their presence and crawled across the floor to her. He gathered his
sister in his arms and ran a loving hand over her cheek, smearing his hands with her blood.*




“*Wha' happen' to your pret'y face, love,” he sobbed as tears worked their way
down his face. “Who did this to you?”*




“*The mudblood Ahmy. She didn' play fair,” she sniffed. “It hurts Ahmy, make it stop.” The
siblings cries and wails were almost maddening.*




“*Take Boadicea and as soon as you can apparate outside do it. Get her as far away from here
as you can.” Hermione told Tonks, eyes never wavering from the Carrows.*




“*Hermione-” Tonks began in protest.*




“*He doesn't have a wand,” she said as she looked over at the older woman, “he can't
do anything to me. Get her out of here,” she said firmly. Tonks, seeing the hard, steely look in
Hermione's eyes let any objections she might have raised fall. She went to Boadicea and pulled
the girl up by the arms. The two of them ran out of the door and as soon as Tonks reached the
hallway they disappeared in a loud pop.*




*Hermione slowly inched her way forward and dropped down on her heels to retrieve Harry's
cloak. As she was rising up Alecto's whole body began to seizure. Her eyes closed and her mouth
contorted in a silent scream of pain. Her whole body shook as though electricity was surging
through it. Amycus called out her name over and over again. And then just as suddenly as it began
it stopped.*




*Alecto Carrows never opened her eyes again.*




“*Is she dead,” Hermione asked wearily, praying that she didn't loose it right then and
there. Amycus didn't hear her, or if he did he ignored the sound of her voice.*




“*I-I...” Hermione stammered haltingly, “I didn't mean for...I mean...I didn't want
to...”*




*Hermione searched for the best way to apologize for accidentally killing her own would be
murderer. Killing Alecto had never been Hermione's intention. But the Death Eater had been
about to cast the Killing Curse at them. She had to defend Tonks, Boadicea, and herself. She had
just used the first spell her mind hit upon. Sectusempra. The Half Blood Prince's very own
creation. The spell that Harry had used on Malfoy. The very spell that Hermione had berated Harry
over and over again for using. The spell that even he regretted turning on the Slytherin. And here
she had used it on another human being.*




*But she shouldn't have died, Hermione's tortured mind told her.*




*What Hermione didn't know was that Alecto Carrows had a bad heart. The shock of her
attack had killed her.*




*Giving up on trying to offer any condolence to Amycus, Hermione quickly made for the door.
But before she could cross the threshold Carrows' low, deep voice stopped her in her
tracks.*




“*Everythin' you ever love you mudblood bitch,” he said as casually as though he were
telling her directions. Hermione turned around to look at him, but he kept his back to her.*




“*Anyone you ever care about, anyone who ever loves you I'm goin' to destroy.” He then
tossed her a look over his shoulder. “An' then I'm gonna drin' your tears.” There was a
promise in his words.*




“*Yes...well...good luck on that,” she replied with as much fortitude as she could manage. She
then turned around, exited into the hall, and apparated outside.*













*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*










*The scene behind the cloister of the Poor Clares was a madhouse. Everywhere Hermione looked
she saw wizards and witches dueling, wands pointed here and there. Or she saw bodies scuffling in
hand to hand combat. Chants and incantations filled the air as well as shallow breathing and noisy
grunts and screams. The battle was fierce. As much as she didn't want to she couldn't help
but notice the bodies that were lying on the ground, unmoving.*




*And somewhere in the middle of all of this is Harry, Hermione worriedly thought as her teeth
began to gnaw madly at the corner of her bottom lip.*




*There were men and women dressed in Auror as well as mundane every day robes. Hermione easily
recognized the various members of the Order of the Phoenix. There were also several dark cloaked,
hooded figures running about. In fact she saw one chasing after Tonks and Boadicea as the two of
them fled in the direction of the woods in back of the nunnery. Buckbeak and Harry and Ron's
brooms were in those woods. She saw the hooded figure raise a wand towards Tonks, but instantly the
person went down. His knees had been tuned backward. Hermione swung her head to the right in time
to see that Ron was the one who had jinxed the Death Eater so expertly. She couldn't stop her
squeal of triumph, nor could she control the gigantic grin that came along with it. Before she
could call out Ron's name however she same him begin to duel with a reedy looking fellow who
was hoodless. Hermione was almost certain the man had been one of the Death Eaters who participated
in the fight at the Department of Mysteries almost 2 years ago. Ron and the man circled each other
for what seemed like forever before the man sent a spell at Ron's head. Ron dropped to the
ground, rolled, and pointed his wand at the man setting his robes on fire. As the man ran off in a
panic Ron turned back to the battle and headed straight in again.*




*Hermione heard a noise in the sky and turned her face upwards. She saw a red blur fly from
out of the trees. It looked like Tonks and Boadicea, but from the distance she was at Hermione
couldn't be sure. What Hermione did see was the pink, rosy hue of dawn breaking across the sky.
It almost surprised her that it could actually be a new day. She felt certain their nightmare night
would play endlessly on loop, but so far they had actually lived to see another morning. So far at
least. Hermione almost gave into the giddy headed feeling of joy until she looked behind her and
saw the dazzling green skull with its serpent tongue hanging in the air over the monastery.*




*Hermione turned around just in time to see the crowd clear and got a good view of Harry
chasing down Walden Macnair. Macnair appeared to be wandless. Macnair also appeared to be terrified
of the young man who was stalking him as if he were a gazelle. Harry flicked his wand out at him
and shouted “encapsilaria”. The Mime spell effectively trapped its victim in an invisible cage.
Macnair pitched forward and hit an invisible wall causing him to bounce back. He soon found himself
trapped in on all sides. He turned towards Harry and shouted soundless epithets at him. Harry
reached him and was staring admiringly at his work when suddenly his head swiveled around in her
direction.*




“*Hermione,” he shouted frantically as his hand raised up quickly before him. Hermione felt
some form of heat or energy pass by her quickly over her shoulders and when she turned around she
saw the body of a female Death Eater fly through the air and hit the wall of the building. It made
a loud thud before falling down to the ground. Hermione took a shaky step backwards as she realized
that she knew the black robed woman...more like girl. Carmen Calatrava. The petite brunette had
been a prefect in Ravenclaw House. Calatrava had just left Hogwarts two years ago. She had asked to
borrow a quill from Hermione once. What kind of madness is this, Hermione's overwhelmed brain
asked. She then anxiously turned around saw a sight that nearly stopped her heart from
beating.*




*Off in the distance Harry had been preparing to run to her when Peter Pettigrew snuck up
behind him and bashed the side of his head with his silver fist. Harry, surprised by the sneak
attack barely made a sound as his body crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.*




“*Harry!” Hermione screamed his name with all her might. She screamed so hard she felt the
inside of her throat go raw. She tossed the invisibility cloak over her and took off running
through the endless sea of bodies that battled it out on the small stretch of field behind the
nunnery. Hermione didn't care about all that now. She hardly noticed Mr. Shacklebolt holding
off two enormous sized Death Eaters at once; a fellow who looked like an even larger version of
Gregory Goyle and a big blond whose face looked like it had been bludgeoned by the ugly stick. She
barely took note of Charlie limping away off the field. When she tripped and fell and found herself
looking into the sightless gaze of poor Old Mr. Doge she only took a moment to close his eyes
before she sprung up to her feet again. She just had to get to Harry. She needed to save
Harry!*




*She was almost near him when she saw Wormtail straddle the unconscious boy. The foul little
man had Ron's wand in his hand and had its tip pressed harshly into Harry's throat.*




“*Think Master will think kindly on poor Wormtail if I kill you for him little Harry,” the
pale faced, beady eyed rat asked Harry in his frail squeaky voice.*




*As if hearing the answer he wanted, Wormtail pressed the wand into Harry's throat even
more forcefully and had opened his mouth to speak.*




“*Avada...umph!”*




*Draco Malfoy had just came out of nowhere and threw himself at Pettigrew, knocking the man
off of Harry. The two of them rolled around on the grass before coming to a stop, Draco on top of
the balding little man. Draco began to pummel the man's rat like face over and over again until
he pulled back his fist and suddenly grabbed his arm in pain. By this time Hermione had reached
Harry and had him safely in her arms. She threw the invisibility cloak over them so they
couldn't be seen. Hermione looked in the direction the spell that hit Draco had come from and
saw a simply gorgeous specimen of man sauntering up. With his long dark hair and bedroom eyes he
looked like he had stepped off the front cover of a romance novel. Draco, still sitting on Petter
turned to look at the man.*




“*Uncle.”*




“*Draco.”*




“*Aunt Bella here?”*




“*No, she finds such outings beneath her. How's your mother?”*




“*In hiding.”*




*Hermione felt as though she had wandered into another dimension. Draco and his...uncle were
acting as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to have a family chat while
people lay dying near them. Draco's uncle still held his wand on him.*




“*Oh nephew, what would your father say if he saw the riff raff you've aligned yourself
with,” the handsome stranger tsked.*




“*Not sure. Would be a pretty good trick. See, my father is dead. Your master killed him,
remember?”*




*For his impertinence Draco's uncle hexed his other arm. Draco fell off of Pettigrew and
clutched at the bicep. His face was a sickish gray color. Wormtail took this as an opportunity to
revert to his Animagus form. The little nebbish man transformed himself into a rat with a little
silver paw and scurried away through the field and into the direction of the woods. Hermione saw
her chance, while Draco's uncle's attention was diverted, to reach for Ron's wand that
lay in the grass near where she sat. As she was reaching her hand out though she heard Draco's
agitated voice call out the word “no”. Hermione's eyes swiftly looked to where Draco was, still
clutching at his arm, and saw that he was looking right at her! Actually, he was looking at her
hand. She had stretched her hand so far that it had come from under the invisibility cloak and
unlike the rest of her body could be seen. Draco's uncle who had been watching Wormtail scamper
off was just about to turn around to face her when he heard Draco's cry.*




“*No,” the man asked with a hateful sneer. “'No'....what little dragon,” he
condescendingly asked again as he brought his attention back to Draco. Hermione quickly grabbed the
wand.*




*Draco looked his uncle in the eyes and said slyly, “Know what my father would say to me?”
Though Draco looked like he was in a great deal of pain he still seemed to hold his own with the
older man.*




“*I await it with bated breath.”*




“*In the end,” the young Slytherin began confidently, “Malfoys always come out on
top!”*




*The man chuckled wickedly. “So much arrogance for one so young,” he snidely said. “I love it
in comrades, absolutely abhor it in enemies. I guess it can't be helped though. Humility was
never in large supplies on either side of your family tree. But take heart little dragon. Because
you're family, I'll kill you last,” the dark eyed man magnanimously said as he turned his
back on Draco. That was when Draco took out his wand from his pocket and shouted “incarcerous”.
Thick ropes suddenly appeared from no where and wrapped themselves around the Death Eater all the
way to his feet. The man fell forward cursing Draco's name.*




“ *Because you're family Uncle Rodolphus, I **won't** kill you,” Draco said as he
shakily stood to his feet and stumbled up to the man. He slowly turned Rodolphus Lestrange over,
conjured a hankerchief, and stuffed it in the man's mouth. Draco then made his way close to
where Hermione and Harry were and fell into the grass near by. Hermione pulled the cloak off of
them. *




“*You ok,” he tersely asked her. She shook her head yes.*




“*You?”*




“*My hair hurts,” he muttered.*




*Hermione timidly reached out a hand towards Malfoy. She barely touched his arm when he reared
back in pain.*




“*And my arm! And my arm,” he yelped through clenched teeth.*




“*What happened out here,” she asked him.*




“*Not too long after you and Tonks went in the mark,” he said, looking up at the sky, “went
up. Your two wankers nearly lost their shit and tried to run in after you, but we got ambushed.
Luckily the Werewolf and the others came riding in soon after. Who was the bird Tonks came running
out with?”*




“*Later. I promise. You're going to want to be at full strength for this.” Hermione
positioned Harry so that he could be comfortable and she could look him over to make sure he
wasn't too badly hurt. His head was in her lap. There was a painful looking red mark where
Pettigrew had practically punctured Harry's throat and one of the arms of his coat was tearing
at the seam. Other then that Harry looked none the worse for wear. She stroked his hair maternally
as she looked about her. The battle was over and it looked like the Order had come out on top. She
saw Aurors Proudfoot and Savage collecting the Death Eaters who hadn't managed to escape,
Lestrange included. She saw the able bodied helping assist the wounded. She saw the dead being
floated away. The sky was full of brooms flying off. Unfortunately she didn't see Carrows
anywhere.*




“*You saved Harry's life,” Hermione remarked as she turned to face Draco again. Although
she tried to disguise the shock in her voice it was there as plain as day. “Why did you save
Harry's life,” she asked him.*




*Draco held her gaze for a moment, searching for something to say before drawling, “I have a
bet on Potter winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile next month. I plan on
collecting.”*




*Hermione quirked a half smile. “Malfoy, I guess I was wrong about you. I'm sorry,” she
said genuinely. “I've never been so happy to be wrong about something in all my life!”*




*Malfoy looked gobsmacked by the declaration. She could practically see the gears turn in his
head as he searched for some kind of reply to give her. Finding none he settled on huffing,
“Well...I wasn't wrong about the skirt. I still think it makes you look fat.”*




*Maybe it was because she was tired. Maybe it was because she had almost lost her life several
times today. Or maybe it was simply because she found the joke funny. Whichever the case,
Malfoy's snide comment elicited a belly laugh from her so deep and powerful she felt she had to
hold her stomach to keep it in. In fact she laughed so hard that Harry stirred to
consciousness.*




“*Hermione,” he said weakly as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.*




*She smiled down at him. “Uh huh.”*




*He smiled. “Your alive.”*




“*I am,” she said as she smiled sunnily at him. “And thanks to Malfoy so are you.”*




*The smile that had been playing at Harry's lips suddenly came to a halt and he looked
towards Malfoy as if to hear him deny Hermione's obviously delusional words. Instead Malfoy
smiled a Cheshire-like grin. Harry turned his head back and glumly said, “I think I would have
preferred the Avada.”*




*Hermione giggled.*




“*Hermione! Harry!”*




*Hermione looked up to see Ron bounding towards them. His face was smudged with dirt, his
jumper looked like it had been through a shredder, but he looked bright eyed and exhilarated. He
dropped down to the ground beside Hermione, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her in for a kiss.
Hermione was just so happy to see that he was whole and not in pieces that she tolerated the
affectionate display more then she would normally have had. Malfoy made a gagging sound. Harry
jumped off her lap lightning quick.*




“*Were you hurt,” Ron asked. She shook her head no as she handed his wand back to him and he
made a delighted sound.*




“*Alright Harry?”*




*Harry slowly shook his head as he pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “Yeah.” Ron smiled
happily at both of them before Malfoy made a huffy noise and brought their attention to
him.*




“*Fine. Just don't ask about me.”*




*Ron's lips curled in distaste. “I wasn't planning.”*




*Ron then began to excitedly babble on about the battle they had just participated in. Harry
indulgently listened to the redhead go on and on with a huge grin on his face. Neither saw it when
Hermione mouthed the words “thank you” to Malfoy. They both missed it when Malfoy curtly nodded his
head to her.*




*Auror Shacklebolt and Professor Lupin then came near them to check if they were all ok.
Instead of receiving the tongue lashing she thought they were going to get Shacklebolt commended
them on a job well done. He informed them however that they needed to get out of there quick before
the Ministry officials showed up to obliviate any poor nuns who happened to see the early morning
skirmish. Also the muggle authorities had been notified and were on their way to collect the Mother
Superior who had the misfortune of meeting the Carrows. Shacklebolt made no mention of Alecto and
although it made Hermione's stomach boil she didn't either.*




*Hermione helped Harry up and Ron floated Malfoy. They headed back into the wooded area where
Buckbeak and Harry's broom was. Ron took every opportunity he could to knock Malfoy into a
tree. Both looked displeased that they would have to share a broom, but since neither found the
prospect of riding Buckbeak palatable they both shut up. Once they had gotten high up enough in the
sky Hermione pulled out the Psychopompus. She was just about to say the incantation that activated
it when Tonks and Boadicea appeared seemingly out of thin air. The two of them had been flying
around under a cloaking spell, waiting...hoping for the four of them to show up. Her sudden
appearance however spooked the hippogriff so badly that Buckbeak started flying wildly sending the
Psychopompus out of Hermione's hands. Unthinkingly she reached after it as it went hurtling to
the ground. She almost followed it. Luckily for her Harry caught her about the waist and pulled her
back firmly on the hippogriff.*




“*Dammit Harry,” she wrathfully yelled at him as she turned as far sideways as she could. “How
could you do that?”*




“*Do what,” Harry bewilderedly asked.*




*She stared at him reproachfully. “You're a seeker Harry! You could have easily caught
it!”*




*Harry looked at her as though she had gone mad. “But who was going to catch you?!”*




“*I'm expendable! You might have found the rest of the remaining horcruxes!”*




“*And we will,” he plaintively yelled, the wind drowning out their voices to everyone but the
two of them, “but not without you!”*




*The statement seemed to make Hermione aware all at once just where she was. High up. In the
sky. On a hippogriff.*




“*I almost fell,” Hermione said as her throat constricted at the thought.*




*The left corner of Harry's lips tugged up in a smile. “Yes you did.”*




*Her head swam momentarily and she had to fight off a bad case of nausea and dizziness. She
just reminded herself that if she fainted up there it would not help matters. It was a long way
down and from their height she wouldn't look too good once she hit the ground.*




*Harry, sensing Hermione's distress pulled her back so she rested against him and rubbed
her arms reassuringly and whispered in her ear, “Don't worry, I've got you. I've got
you. I'll always catch you.”*







*The little group eventually made it back to Hogwarts.*










*Alecto Carrows' body was never found when the Ministry and the muggle authorities
searched through the Monastère Sainte Claire. Her brother Amycus disappeared as well. The rumor
that went around was that the siblings were hiding in fear from Lord Voldemort due to their botched
handling of the mission he sent them on. Stories popped up all over of the two being seen in the
most unusual places. Sunning in Monaco. Hiding out in a missionary in Manila. Leading boat tours in
St. Kitts. Hermione however knew the truth. She knew that Alecto was dead, she had watched her die,
she had played a part in her death. And she knew for whatever reasons her brother spirited her body
away. Hermione told only two other souls about the experience in Boussac, Harry and Ron. The night
she sobbed the story out to them they both told her without hesitation that she did what she had to
do. That of course they knew she didn't mean to kill the woman. That if she hadn't done
what she did she and Tonks could have ended up dead. After awhile their reassurances made her feel
better and she began to believe them. This was after all a War. Casualties happened. What was just
one more death in the scheme of things? After awhile none of them ever brought up the name Carrows
again, it was anathema. Of course she left out Amycus' threats, but she did that only because
she didn't want to worry Harry and Ron. She was starting to become an old hand at keeping
things from her boys anyways. Besides, it was only an empty threat. She was sure of it. She tried
to put the whole ordeal out of her mind. Hermione had almost accomplished it.*










*Then her parents' brand new car plunged off a simple country bridge on a cloudless,
perfect day. And she knew. If Hermione needed anymore proof, a few months later she received a note
written in a straight , no nonsense hand that confirmed it for her.*










*Everything you ever love.*



















“I never heard from him again after that,” Hermione said as she looked sadly at her old house.
“I don't know if he died or if he just got bored playing with me but...there you have it.” She
turned to look at Harry. “I'm a right Lizzie Borden I am.”




Harry's face wrinkled in confusion. “Who?” He then shook his head. “Never mind that.
Hermione, when your parents died the Ministry did a thorough investigation, remember? It was found
that their accident wasn't caused by magical means.”




“Wrong. Although no magical means could be determined, it could not however be ruled out. The
findings were inconclusive.” She looked straight at Harry. “I read every memo, every piece of
paperwork that was filed. Don't you get it Harry? He wanted me to know. Carrows wanted to make
sure I knew exactly why my parents were dead. To everyone else it would just look like some poor
muggle schmuck drove him and his wife off a bridge. But I knew.”




“I remember Carrows from the night Dumbledore died,” Harry told her absentmindedly. “Him and
that face ache of a sister of his. Hermione, why didn't you ever tell me all of this
before?”




“I didn't want to be a bur...”




“If you say burden so help me...” Hermione only sighed as she looked away from him. “So I'm
the only person who knows about this,” Harry asked.




Hermione didn't say anything, but the way her teeth started working on her lip told him the
answer.




“Who did you tell? Ron?”




She was going to draw blood soon.




“Malfoy?!!” Harry could barely contain his outrage.




She dismissively waved her hand. “I didn't tell Draco anything. He forced it out of me, the
prat,” she grumbled. “Draco was there in my office when I got that last note. I tried to burn it,
but he snatched it out of my hands before I could.”




Although the idea that Draco Malfoy could ever know something about Hermione that he didn't
made Harry want to drown the git in a shallow pool, Harry chose to be a bigger person and not dwell
on it. For now at least.




“Why would you think you were somehow responsible for your parents' death? Carrows was the
sick fuck responsible, not you.”




Hermione regarded Harry for a moment before taking the conversation in a completely different
direction.




“I almost went to a different school,” Hermione told him in a false, cheery voice. “Did you know
that?”




Harry sent Hermione a baffled look, but chose not to interrupt her tale.




“École La Découverte de Mme Dupont. That's the school I would have went to instead of
Hogwarts. Madame Dupont's School of Discovery. 'Where young girls become young women'.
It was in Zürich. Ever hear of it?”




Harry shook his head.




“It should have been called Mrs. Dupont's Holding Cell for Crazy Rich Girls,” Hermione said
as she mirthlessly smiled. “Cause that's what it was. It's where the wealthy sent their
daughters when they didn't know what else to do with them. Drug addicts, girls who were a
little too fast and loose with the boys, and the insane girls. Guess which one I was?”




Harry shook his head disbelievingly at her. “Why would your parents ever send you to a place
like that?”




“Because they were at their wits end Harry,” Hermione explained. “They didn't know what else
to do. They felt like they had no choice in the matter.”




Seeing Harry's mystified expression Hermione tried to explain things the best she could.




“I still remember that story you told us, me and Ron, about you ending up on the roof when those
muggle hooligans tried to chase you.”




A small smile grew on Harry's lips. He always thought of those times as the BTMs, the days
before the magic. Before he knew that he had a gift and that he wasn't a weirdo and a psycho
like his Aunt and Uncle tried to browbeat him into believing.




“Once when I was 9 or 10 both my parents had to go into the office so they sent for a sitter.
Usually one of them always tried to be home with me when I came home from school, but this day I
guess it couldn't be helped. Usually when this happened they got Old Mrs. Crittenden from a few
houses down to look after me. I liked her,” Hermione smiled. “She made good biscuits. Whenever Mrs.
Crittenden stayed with me she would take me for a walk to Holland Park to look at the
peacocks.”




Harry sniggered. For some reason he found the idea of Hermione looking at peacocks humorous.




She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Sue me, I was a child. I liked to look at the peacocks. So,” she
continued ignoring the grin on his face, 'this one particular day it was bucketing down out
real hard so she told me that until it stopped we couldn't go. I must have sat at my window for
ages, wishing over and over again that it would just stop raining outside. And then just like that
it did.”




“Okay,” Harry said warily, “that doesn't sound so fantastic. So it stopped raining
outside.”




“Exactly,” she replied. “It stopped raining outside and instead started raining in my bedroom.
The whole place was soaked. Of course by time my parents had come home it had stopped, but the
damage had already been done.” Hermione shook her head ruefully. “I was always doing things like
that. I had no way to control it. And worse, my parents knew I was doing these things but had no
idea how I was doing it.”




“So they thought you were mad,” he asked incredulously.




“It's not like they wanted to,” she defended, “but it was the easy answer. It may be wrong
most times, but the easy answer is easy for a reason. See mum had this friend, Janice.” As Hermione
said the name her words practically dripped with disgust. “They went to uni together. Janice was a
psychotherapist. Janice was also a cow,” Hermione added nastily for good measure. “She somehow
convinced my parents that all of these “stunts” I was pulling were cries for attention and that
since I was such a loner I was destined to be some social deviant.”




Harry gaped at her in horror.




“I know,” she said in answer to him. “I told you she was a cow! She's the one who convinced
my parents to send me to that school. To this day I'm convinced she was getting kickbacks from
Madame Dupont.”




“My opinion of therapy isn't that high,” Harry told her. “I wouldn't be surprised.”




Hermione didn't seem to hear him though. Her eyes were focused completely on her house. Her
home.




“My parents loved me. They wanted the best for me. If sending me away to that school would help
they would do it. But then my Hogwarts letter arrived and everything was explained. I wasn't
crazy, I was a witch!” She smiled sadly. “We were so happy! Now all these years later all I can
think is if I had just gone to Madame Dupont's my parents would still be alive. If I wasn't
a witch, if I didn't go to Hogwarts, if...”




“You hadn't met me,” Harry finished for her.




Hermione turned her big sad brown eyes towards Harry. She looked at him as though he were
babbling gibberish.




“That's not what I was going to say,” she stated.




“But if you had never been my friend the war would have never touched you. You would have never
ran up against Carrows and his sister.”




“But then I wouldn't have met you. I don't blame you for my parents' death.”




He took her by the shoulder and turned her around to face him. “Good. Then you shouldn't
blame your self either. Your parents loved you. We're so proud of you. I remember that year we
ran into you and them in Diagon. They stuck out like sore thumbs.” Hermione softly chuckled at the
memory. “But the way they looked at you...It was like you were their whole world. Especially your
dad.”




He slid one of his hands down her arm and took one of her hands in his. He playfully swung it
back and forth. “Did Ron ever tell you about that night we had to get you out of there,” he said
motioning towards her old house with his head. She shook her head, but was completely
interested.




“So your parents show up, days before you told us they were supposed to. Everyone was already at
Hogwarts by then. Me and Ron were still there because we hadn't decided on a way to move you.
We were still hoping you would wake up because the prospect of getting you up on one of our brooms
and you coming to up there...”




“Jesus,” Hermione exclaimed, the very thought of it giving her the willies.




“Exactly,' he smirked. “Merlin only knows why we didn't just apparate you out.”




“Trying to apparate an unconscious person is virtually impossible,” the know-it-all in her
explained. He quirked a smile at her and she bashfully smiled.




“Well there you go. Only a certain sleepyhead wasn't around to tell us this. Guess you were
too busy dreaming.”




The smile slowly faded away. “I guess.”




Harry's smile faltered too. He was about to ask her what he said wrong when she asked, “So
what did you two end up doing?”




Harry's smile came back even bigger then before. “Wrapped you up in my dad's cloak and
Ron threw you over his shoulder.”




“What a plan,” she mockingly said as she laughed.




“It was a good plan,” he insisted, tongue planted firmly in his cheek. “It worked. Or it at
least it almost did. When your mum asked where you were Ron told her that you had gone off to
school ahead of us, but had left some things and sent us for them.”




She turned to walk back in the direction of the truck and he followed. They were still holding
hands. “Let me guess, both your arms looked completely empty.”




He boyishly smiled down at her from her side. “Of course. The way Ron was holding you it looked
like he had a herniated disk.”




Hermione laughed outright at that.




“We were almost out the door when your father asked to speak to me for just a moment. Ron kept
going, wanker.” Hermione gave him a playful shove for that. “I turn to look at your dad and he has
the strangest expression ever on it. I turn to see what he's looking at and its your feet
sticking out from under the cloak.”




“Goodness,” said Hermione stopping to look at Harry. Her eyes were filled with laughter.




“It wasn't funny,” Harry protested though his own smile told her it was. “You're father
was a pretty imposing bloke. I never imagined a dentist could be so intimidating outside of his
office. I was convinced he was going to throttle me.”




The image that Harry was painting for her was absolutely hysterical to her. She was practically
crying with laughter.




“But all he said was 'take care of her'”




And with that she was just crying. Harry pulled her into a deep hug and comfortingly rubbed her
back. He murmured nonsense words in her hair that made no sense, but made all the sense in the
world. He also didn't notice the mess she was making of his shirt.




“What do you think your parents would say if they knew that you had carried this guilt inside
you all this time.” he whispered near her ear.




She sniffed as she pulled back from him and opened her purse to look for her handkerchief. “Dad
would tell me to stop being a goose,” she said as she found it and rubbed it against her red raw
nose.




Harry looked her in the eye and in all serious said, “Stop being a goose.”




His solemn order only made her laugh as she dabbed at her red rimmed eyes and returned her hanky
to her purse.




Hermione had lived with her guilt for so long that it would take some time for her to let it go.
She would always think to herself, "what if". What if she hadn't gone along to
Boussac that night? What if they had just waited on the Order before they went? What if she had
simply used a disarming spell? Hermione however knew that Harry was right. Her parents would want
her to find some measure of peace, not continuously blame herself for something she couldn't
have controled. They would want her to **live**, not live under the shadow of what a mad man had
done. As Harry tenderly looked down into her face she had to wonder why she hadn't just told
him all of this in the first place.




“You were a daddy's girl weren't you,” he asked.




“Terribly so,” she admitted. “Mum used to joke that I had an Electra complex. I was 10 before I
found a book that told me what that was and instantly wanted to scrub my eyes out with soap for
reading it.”




“I'm more then half that age and have no clue.” She stifled a giggle. “But I tell you what,
if you don't start smiling more I'll have Ron read to you from his journal.”




“Are you trying to cheer me up or torture me?”




Harry grinned. “He's writing his own vows you know. Told me so himself. Quite proud of the
fact. ”




Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “You've accomplished the
unimaginable. You've made me feel something other then contempt for Lavender Brown. Poor
woman.




“Ah...ah...ah, that's Lavender Brown-Pye soon to be Weasley.”




“Woman has more surnames then a bloody directory,” Hermione muttered archly. That got a belly
laugh out of Harry and she finally released her own smile to match his.




“But at least she has a place to live,” Hermione said forlornly. “This whole day has been a
waste.”




Harry grabbed at his chest. “Like a knife to the heart,” he quipped.




“Well not a total waste,” she giggled as they continued on their way. “But I still need a place
of my own,” she stated. “Don't get me wrong, Molly and Arthur are sweet for letting me stay,
but the Burrow is much too cramped. Just this morning I accidentally walked in on Charlie in the
shower.”




Harry's footsteps stopped and he swung around to look at her. “You what?!!”




She shook her head up and down innocently. “And let me tell you, I now know for a fact that no
two Weasley men are created equal.”




Harry grabbed her arm and hooked it in his own as he started moving again and she got pulled
along. “Yes, we need to find you a new place,” he said tensely. “In fact...”




Harry stopped again and Hermione looked at him curiously. A delighted smile slowly worked its
self on his face and Hermione couldn't help but think how adorable it was. Like a little boy
trying to please his mum.




“I can't believe that I didn't think about this before,” Harry said to her. “I know the
perfect place for you. All the room you need.”




“Sounds good so far.”




“It's a bit out the way though.”




She chuckled. “I can afford the petrol. How's the rent,” she asked.




“I'm sure the land lord would be more then willing to cut you a deal,” he said, practically
bouncing on his toes.




The more Harry talked this place up the more she liked the sound of it.




“I'm intrigued. How does he feel bout house pets?”




Harry naughtily grinned. “He has no problem with them. In fact he might even be willing to throw
in a wide, open back yard for that Shetland pony of yours to run around in.”




She playfully swatted him for disparaging a lady's weight. “Lizzie is just big boned.”




He laughed.




“I don't know Potter,” Hermione said, feigning distrust. “Place sounds too good to be true.
Why hasn't it been snapped up by now?”




Harry's huge grin tapered down to a small smile at the question, but he never took his eyes
off of her. “Waiting for you I guess.”




Hermione tried to ignore the faint color that tinged her cheek at his words. She was just being
silly. She bent her head over her purse, trying to hide her face, and pulled her keys out.




“Well, why are we standing here,” she airily asked, looking back at him. “Let's go.” She
began to walk towards the direction of her truck. He grabbed her arm to stop her.




“No, not that way,” he said as color slowly rose in his cheeks as well. “I-I can get us there
quicker. I can have us there in the blink of an eye.” He held out her hand to her. “Trust me
don't you?”




Hermione ruefully smiled at the question. As though he even had to ask.




“Of course,” she said in answer.




He looked around to make sure no one was looking and said, “Then let's go.”




She stepped closer to Harry and placed her hand effortlessly in his hand. It was warm and he
gave her hand a small squeeze as he winked at her.
















And like that they were gone.














***AN:** Wonder where Harry has in mind? ;)*



*Now y'all see why I had to split this bad boy. Even I'm not crazy enough to have
y'all read a chapter that is over 100 pages long. LOL!*



*Next chap will feature an impromptu house warming, a trip into Ravenclaw's Penseive, the
end of Boadicea's sad tale, and UST out the yang! Whoot! Sadly Couple Blonde Ambition (D/Lu)
aren't in it (they are still getting the “present” from chapter 10...heh), but they get to have
their very own reunion with Herms in the chapter following it. Now I know I said this one was going
to take two weeks and I got it out faster. But the fact that I hated having that “TO BE CONTINUED”
hanging and the complete BALL I had writing this one hurried it along. As I explained up top the
next one will be two weeks. Maybe longer. But hopefully not by much.*





*A pyschopomp is a term used for a spirit, angel, deity, or what have you that guides souls
thru the Afterlife; Anubis, Hermes, Charon, Micheal the Archangel. That's where I got the idea
for the Psychopomus. History channel RAWKS!*



*Trivia and her story are all mine, but of course the tale of Pompeii is not.*



*I think the Malfoy/Buckbeak chicken line might be similar to one in the movie POA. I know
it's not in the book, but I can't shake the feeling that I heard something similar to it
somewhere. But I'm not the biggest fan of the movies and I've only seen it twice.*



*Amycus and Alecto are canon. They fight in the Battle of the Tower at the end of HBP. As you
see however I had my fun with them. I tried my best to produce the Cockney accent, but I had to do
it lightly or you wouldn't have understood what the hell they were saying. This isn't the
last you'll see of Amycus, but I'm not saying that he will pop up again in this story.
Mwahahahaha!*



*Carrows' line about hating Hermione’s spunk is of course a Mary Tyler Moore reference.
I’ve never even seen an ep of that show, but that line in ingrained in my consciousness.*



*The idea of drinking someones tears I fully cop to borrowing from the classic and bestest
episode of SouthPark of all time Scott Tenorman Must Die. Yes, Eric Cartmen would make a hell of a
Death Eater. LMAO!*





*As I've mentioned my French is really really rusty. I can understand Haitian Kreyole, but
my French...is no so good. So here is a rough translation of what was said:*



Oui. Qui est vous? Que voulez vous?=Yes. Who are you? What do you want?

Vous n'êtes pas censé être ici.=You aren't supposed to be here.

Je suis Hermione et Tonks. Nous sommes amis.= My name is Hermione and Tonks. We're
friends.

N ous sommes venus pour te retire d' ici.= We're taking you away from here. (very
roughly)

Est-il venu pour moi?=He's come for me (very very roughly)

Oui. Nous vous lui porterons.= Yes. We'll take you to him.

Pardonnez-moi.=Pardon me.

Je pense que je vais maintenant.=I have to go now.

Je dois bientot commencez mon priere du matin.=I have morning prayers to go to.



*Unfortunately all my friends speak Kreyole as well so they are of no help. If anyone can help
me clean this up it would be greatly appreciated.*





































































16. Chapter 13
--------------

**Title***: All Roads Lead Back*

**Keywords***: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr,
but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.*

**Summary***: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

**Spoilers***: All six books.*

**A/N:** *I am so sorry for how late this chapter is. I never wanted it to take this long
to get it out. I took an honest to goodness break from the computer, came back after a week or so,
got to about the last five pages typed and **BOOM** ...lost almost every thing. This one version
is completely from memory because (like a dumbass) I threw away my hand written notes or save the
chapter to a disk. This chapter isn't what I would like it to be, but I hope you guys can find
something to like in it anyways. You might think that this is the longest piece of fluff ever
written and if you do, cool. If you find more to it, that's always cool too. :)*

*Thanks to **Padfoot** and **murphsmine** for their help and insight I couldn’t do it
without them!!*

*As always, thank you for all of the encouraging, thoughtful, funny, and even critical
reviews. I really do take them all to heart.*

**Warning***: Lucky, lucky. No warnings needed for this one. It's a long one, but
it's also a Harry and Hermione free for all. Enjoy!*

**Disclaimer:** *If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*

**Tuesday, 05/31/05**

“So then she makes her eyes all big like this,” Ron said as he gave his best impersonation of
Hermione's sometime wide eyed look, “and goes, 'Oh Harry, we have to tell her, we have to
tell her.'”

Ron had Glinda, Fred, George, Charlie, and Hermione in stitches. For the last half hour or so he
had been plying them all with tales of the Trio's formative years at Hogwarts, mainly for the
benefit of Charlie and Glinda. As Ron went into his over exaggerated impression of the embarrassed
yet amused woman sitting on the couch all five of them laughed uproariously. It was a pretty good
copy. Judging by Hermione's ringing laughter, she thought so as well. Harry however barely
glanced at Ron. His field of vision was too occupied by the sight of ten little toes with nails the
color of candy floss. Merlin what they must taste like, he wondered. The two tanned limbs that they
were attached to weren't bad at all in his estimation either. Poor Ron! He could have very well
been Professor Binns, with the amount of attention that Harry was giving him.

“Not a tear in her eyes mind you, but that old bag Umbridge hardly seemed to notice.”

“Hermione, I'm shocked,” scolded Glinda from her seat next to the brunette. “Pulling the
poor helpless female routine?” Despite the words she was giggling madly.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do?” Hermione asked, trying to hold back her own laughter.
“That ghastly woman was about to *Crucio* Harry. I couldn't allow that to happen!”

“No she couldn't,” continued Ron as everyone's attention shifted back to him. He was
still standing as he finished his story. “So what she does is make up this cock and bull story
about Dumbledore having some secret weapon in the forest and the toad faced hag actually falls for
it!”

Although Fred and George had heard this story dozens of times they still laughed the hardest,
especially at any insulting word against their one time Headmistress. If anyone had hated Delores
Jane Umbridge as much as Harry it was the twins.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on Um-bitch that she was as stupid as she was ugly,” George
said with a snigger. He was stretched out on the floor next to the big squashy leather recliner
that Charlie was seated in. Lizzie was obediently lying down next to him. He had been feeding her
bits of food and the two of them had become friends for life.

“Cor! That sure is a lot of stupid in’ it?” Fred joked. He was sitting on the arm of the couch
next to his wife. A poor lonely love seat was positioned to the left of all of them.

As Ron fell back on to the couch on the other side of Hermione he looked as if he was still too
tickled over the story he was recounting.

“Fred, you've never spoken truer words,” Ron said as he chuckled. “Unfortunately I
didn't get to witness the centaurs carry her off, but I'm sure it was brilliant,” he said
as he looked down at Harry who was on the floor near Hermione. Harry however missed what Ron said
because he was too busy being distracted by her bare legs that were dangling enticingly beside
him.

Oh look, she just uncrossed them again.

“Well Harry, wasn't it brilliant?”

“Oh y-yes,” stammered Harry quickly as he turned his attention towards Ron. “Quite brilliant,”
he added with a nervous smile. He prayed that no one could tell that he didn't have a clue what
he was agreeing with.

The small party of seven was all seated in the newly refurnished living room of the Potter
cottage in Godric's Hollow. Half eaten bowls of melting ice cream were littered on the floor
and the coffee table as well as empty take-away cartons and bottles of butterbeer. The mood was
cheerful and merry as they celebrated Hermione moving into her new home.

Every time Harry thought those words to himself he couldn't help the giddy little smile that
settled on his lips.

*When the idea to bring Hermione to Godric's Hollow and have her live in his family's
cottage came to Harry it seemed truly inspired. She needed a place to stay and he had an empty
house that was begging to be filled. What better place for Hermione to live? She loved the old
house as much, maybe even more then he did if he remembered correctly. When Harry first apparated
them over to the house Hermione's eyes had been closed. It was almost as if she had known
somehow where Harry was taking her and wanted to hold off the big moment of reveal to savor it.
Then again she probably hadn't apparated in years and the sensation of being transported
side-along made her dizzy and she was just trying to get her bearing. Still, Harry preferred the
first explanation better. Especially when he saw the awe-struck look of wonderment and joy that was
on Hermione's face. Harry felt breathless whenever he saw this look.*

*Since the house was way at the edge of town and the villagers still thought the place was
haunted he wasted no time pulling out his wand and saying the incantation that would break the snow
globe over the house. Once that was done he slipped the wand back in its holster and looked at her.
As she turned to face him, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes, she worked her mouth open and
closed but no words came out. Harry tried to tell her that it was alright, that she didn't have
to say anything, but before he could get those words passed his lips 135 lbs of soft, trembling,
wonderfully fragrant flesh threw its self into his arms. Her arms latched around his neck to pull
him into a hug. His arms found themselves wrapped around her waist tugging her close. And dear
Merlin, did it feel good! This by itself would have been amazing, but coupled with the dizzying
feel of her breasts pressed firmly into his chest tantalizingly moving up...and then down as she
bounced in excitement all thought quickly left his brain.*

*Before he knew what was what he had bent down and had her cradled in his arms. She could say
nothing to halt or hinder him because her mouth was too busy being suckled, massaged, and nibbled
on by his own. Any doubt that she didn't want this too was squelched once her tongue hesitantly
flickered against his lips. Taking this as a good sign his tongue sought hers and swirled and
danced with it. Someone moaned and he wasn't too sure that it wasn't him, but Hermione
didn't seem to care. Using the arm that she still had around his neck she placed her hand on
the back of his head, threaded her fingers in his hair and roughly held his head in place. As if he
needed the encouragement. Ha! Her other hand then began to gently caress his cheek and that tender
action was all that was needed to give him the impetus to swiftly make his way over the threshold
of the door, cross quickly to the foot of the stairs and, taking two steps at a time, make his way
up. Without breaking his stride he turned towards the nearest bedroom, the room that used to be
his. He had long ago placed all of the old house furniture in the basement so there was nothing in
the room but the bluish gray plush carpeting. But that should be enough, he assured himself. He was
just about to lower himself and Hermione onto the floor when she breathlessly pulled her lips away
from his, looked desirously into his eyes and said the words he longed to hear from her.*

*“Harry...need...air...”*

*Well, not exactly the words he had been longing to hear.*

*“Harry,” she said again. “Don't you think this hug has gone on long enough? I kind of
miss breathing.”*

*Harry took a step back and shockingly realized that he was standing outside of the cottage.
Hermione was in his arms but only wrapped in a friendly hug and not in the passionate embrace that
he had been imagining. He instantly understood that what he had just experienced had only been some
fucked up delusion worked up to obviously drive him insane!!! As he slowly loosened his hold on her
Harry had to wonder just what the hell he was thinking. It was almost as if he tried to make one of
his crazed dreams come true. What happened to all his good sense?*

*It went straight out the window once you thought about shagging her on the shag rug, said the
little voice coming from his head. Sadly it wasn't the one attached to his neck.*

*Shut it you! Hermione would probably sock me for thinking such things.*

*You never know unless you try, it answered back. Such a helpful little fiend it was.*

*And then what do we tell the missus later?*

*Bugger! I Forgot about her.*

*Exactly.*

*If Harry wasn't already in such an anxious state he would have realized that he had now
graduated from conversations with abstract beings to having chats with his own dick.*

*“Sorry Hermione,” he said with chagrin as his arms dropped to his side.*

*She skittishly smiled back at him. “Quite alright. I guess we both just got caught up in the
moment.”*

*Harry wished fervently then that he had still had his Auror robes on. Surely they would have
hid the fact that he was sporting a rather impressive semi. Maybe she won't have noticed, he
fervidly hoped. That wish was dashed as soon as he saw Hermione's saucer like eyes glance down
at the tented material of his slacks and quickly look away.*

*“Let's go inside,” she said, voice slightly higher then normal. She walked quickly
towards the house, as if to hide her crimson cheeks from him.*

*Sorry, said the little criminal in his pants.*

*Duly fucking noted, he disgustedly thought to himself.*

*That brief moment of embarrassment was glossed over once he and Hermione stepped into the
house. As soon as she got inside she started running around the place like a kid on Christmas day.
She didn't even care that the place was empty. She sprinted up the stairs and back down. She
twirled around the wide living room to the point that she collapsed drunk-like onto the floor. This
only made her laugh and Harry laughed right along as he helped her back up. She then headed towards
the patio, practically yanking the sliding glass door off its tracks and made a bee-line for the
tree. The tree swing was still there and this seemed to please Hermione greatly. She daintily
seated herself on it and using her own feet to give herself the momentum she needed, pushed from
the ground and began to lazily swing back and forth. As Harry watched her big glowing smile that
grew larger by the second, he felt some of the tenseness that he had been struggling with from the
moment he had been left alone in her presence slacken. It was a welcome change. With all of the
conflicting emotions inside of his head it was starting to sound like a cacophony in there.*

*First there was the undeniable chemical reaction his body seemed to have whenever Hermione
looked at him, smiled at him, or even touched his hand. What to call it? Was it lust? Desire? Need?
That morning, when she had cheerfully greeted him while walking down the Burrows stairs dressed in
a simple, yet very nicely fitting jog suit all he had wanted to do was take her hand, walk her
right back up those steps, and convince her that she would feel so much better if she took the suit
off. He knew he would feel much better. It would definitely give her something to smile about.
Harry loved sex just as much as the next warm blooded male of his species, but there was just
something about this woman that turned him into some kind of lust crazed maniac. Randy? It was more
like he was ravenous for her. Forget having a monster in his chest, the one in his pants seemed to
now be working independently from the rest of him these days. Was it any wonder he had chosen to
block out these feelings for her all those years ago? If he hadn't how would he have ever
passed Transfiguration back then? Or Potions for that matter. He would have spent every waking hour
he could trying to figure out how to get around the damned enchantment that turned the stairway to
the girls dorms into an indoor slip and slide just to get at her. That wouldn't have been very
conducive to his studies now would it?*

*These thoughts were usually followed closely by shame. If what he harbored for Hermione was
some sweet, innocent, “never meant to be” kind of love, Harry was sure he would have been able to
handle that. Probably. Maybe. After all wasn't that basically what he had unwittingly endured
all these years in the first place? He had always loved Hermione for the person who she was; her
giving nature, her fierce mama bear tendencies, her stubbornness to usually look for the good in
others as well as a million plus one other amazing qualities that she possessed. But now all of
that coupled with the acute awareness that he also wanted her made him feel guilty over his failure
to control his raging libido. It was one thing to deal with a dream Hermione (Merlin, how many ways
had he dealt with the dream Hermione in the last few months). But it was a completely different
matter to have these desires running through him now that the flesh and blood version was here.
Harry was pretty sure that she wouldn't appreciate all of the things they had been doing
together, so to speak, in his head. She would probably be disgusted and worse, disappointed in
him.*

*The guilt was however being drowned out by a stronger emotion. Grief. Grief for what could
never be. Through the dreams he had gotten just a taste of what being with Hermione could have been
like. But that was just it, they weren't real. It was never going to happen. Hermione
didn't see him that way. Had never seen him that way. Would never see him that way. If Harry
thought there was a chance other wise...who knows what he would have done. But Harry knew that
trying to hold on to that kind of pipe dream was useless. In fact, if Harry's worse fears were
true, Hermione was probably still in love with her best friend. The one with the red hair. Oh,
there was also that sticky little matter he called his marriage to consider also.*

*The emotion that outweighed them all was fear though. Now that Hermione was home, he had to
make sure she stayed here. He couldn't allow her to leave again. He wasn't sure he could
stand it if she did, either by her own will or by that of some outside menace. The information she
had told him about Carrows was distressing enough and as soon as he got the chance Harry planned to
use all the pull in the Department he had to see if Amycus could be tracked down and put away for
good. If they could never prove that he had something to do with the Grangers' deaths he would
still have to answer for all of his years in service to Riddle. No matter what Harry would never
allow Carrows to ever hurt Hermione again. But truthfully it was a different madman that was
Harry's main concern. There was a picture of a dead girl, still sitting on his desk at the
Ministry that just couldn't be ignored.*

*And what of Mrs. Potter? Oh, Harry was quite disgusted with himself as well. None of this was
fair to Ginny. She was his wife, he had pledged a vow to her. He had promised her forever. Of
course he was stupid enough to do all of this without the benefit of actually loving her, which
still didn't mean that he could just toss her to the side as though she were rubbish? He
couldn't cast her off like she was some albatross around his neck?*

*Could he?*

*Of course not.* *There was nothing he could do to put an end to his marriage.*

*Was there?*

*Of course there wasn't. There was no way to overturn the Rites. None.*

*But Merlin help him, Harry could no more stop how he felt for Hermione then he could make the
tides turn direction. Actually he probably had a better chance at the latter. So where did all of
this leave him?*

*Nowhere.*

*As Hermione went back and forth in the swing all of these crazy, jumbled, mixed-up thoughts
that plagued him thankfully tapered down to a dull roar. He simply became just another love sick
fool with a goofy grin on his face watching a pretty girl...no...an attractive woman gliding
through the air. It was a perfectly innocent picture. Sweet even. He just wondered what it would
look like if she was wearing a skirt instead. It was with that thought that he excused himself to
the bathroom. If you wanted to be technical about it he ran like the dickens for the downstairs loo
as Hermione's concerned voice called after him.*

**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**

*Early the next morning Harry stopped by Ron's to fill him in on Hermione's new living
arrangements. She had been so excited about living in the Hollow that she wanted to move in that
very night. The two of them went straight to the Burrow, after collecting her vehicle, so she could
get her trunk and dog. He suggested just letting Molly pack up her* *trunk* *for her and
send* *it* *later, but she seemed pretty adamant that no one touch her things. Although
Harry found that odd he let it go for the time being. When they got back to the Hollow Harry
immediately set about putting up several protective wards around the house. He put up restrictions
for Polyjuice, burglary, and apparition among others. He also put up a ward that prevented anyone
who intended harm to Hermione from getting within 10 feet of the place. Such a spell was*
*only used to protect witnesses who testified in high priority cases brought before the
Wizengamot, but Harry didn't bother telling Hermione that. She would probably yell at him for
treating her like a fragile child. Truth be told if Harry could have put her under the Fidelius he
would have, he was determined to make sure that she was safe all the way out here by herself, but
he knew that would never fly with her. So he did the next best thing, he asked her if it was
alright for him to be her fail safe, for emergency purposes of course he strongly reminded himself.
He alone would be able to bypass the wards. She told him that she just assumed that such would
naturally be the case. Who else did she trust as much as she trusted him? she asked. Harry felt as
though he were walking on air after that statement.*

*Harry came by to see if Ron would help him get Hermione's old furniture out of the
basement. When Hermione took off she originally left all of her parents old furniture behind. Since
she was such an over achiever her rent was already paid up for the next month so they remained
there. Once that ran out Harry, sure that she would come back any day, continued to pay the monthly
fee. He wanted to make sure she was able to pick right back up where she left off when she
returned. It took a year for everyone to convince him that all of this was for naught. Harry still
couldn't bare the idea of anything happening to her beloved possessions so one afternoon he and
Ron spent the day shrinking the furniture and other knick knacks and putting them away in boxes.
Harry then stored the boxes away in the cottage's basement where they remained, untouched, for
years. When Harry informed Hermione of all of this she was so moved that she thankfully forgot the
awkwardness from earlier and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. It t**ook all of Harry's
will not to* *turn his head. Instead he decided to put all of his 'energy' to good use
and set up her bed and other things in the master bedroom. Once that was done they both collapsed
on the mahogany bed, side by side, and chatted away about nothing and everything for hours. After
they ran out of words they still remained next to each other, content to just be in the other's
presence. Harry would have been perfectly fine remaining where he was forever if she hadn't
yawned and suggested that they call it a night since it was nearing three in the morning. She was
tired and wanted to spend some quality t**ime in the house alone. Besides* *he had a wife
to go home to, she reminded him.*

*At first Ron seemed to be in a daze as Harry told him everything. It was nine in the morning
and the redhead had just rolled out of bed to answer the door. Harry hardly noticed the time, he
had already been up for hours. He had gone to work early to handle some matters with the Cadmus
case, make some inquiries about Carrows, and to see about hooking up the fireplace in the cottage
to the floo Network so Hermione could floo back and forth between her place, the Burrow, Fred and
Glinda's, or any place else she wanted to go. He also took it upon himself to put a restriction
on who could floo into the house; only Ron and Glinda for now. Although he was sure Hermione would
probably be a little peeved by his boldness he told himself that he was simply doing it for her
safety.*

*Once he had about two large cups of coffee a toothy grin spread on Ron's face. The
caffeine was starting to kick in and Harry could tell that his best mate thought that both
Hermione's new place of residence and the suggestion of stopping in were smashing ideas. Just
the day before Ron and the majority of the Wasps had managed to convince their crazed captain that
if he didn't lay off all of the special training they all would be useless by time it came to
face Appleby for the Cup. This put the fear of Merlin into Talbot so bad that he forbid them all to
even go near their brooms for at least three days and to get some much needed relaxation. In
Ron's opinion spending the day with Harry and Hermione, two of his favorite people in the
world, was just what the Healer ordered. Harry also looked forward to spending quality time with
his two best friends, but if he was being honest, he did have a few ulterior motives behind the
visit. Mainly he wanted to be near Hermione as much as he could, but the problem was that Harry
simply didn't trust himself alone with her. He might foolishly stare at her like a puppy or
spend too long sniffing her. Just what was that new smell that clung to her, he wondered. It was
nice. Different. But nice. He might even get so wrapped up in one of his little fantasies that he
would forget himself again and...who knows...ravish her or something. How does one 'ravish'
someone anyway, Harry absentmindedly wondered. No matter, he could not allow this to happen. So he
needed Ron to act as a buffer between Hermione and himself. Plus there were those suspicions that
Harry had, a few unsavory misgivings on what truly brought Hermione back home only a few weeks
before the wedding of one Ronald Weasley. Harry wanted to see the two of them interact with one
another. He needed to see if any of that sexual tension that he used to hear so much about, but
truthfully never noticed or cared to, still simmered between the two ex-lovers. Why? Because Harry
Potter is a masochistic son of a bitch, he sullenly told himself.*

*Once Ron showered and dressed they were both about to apparate to the village when George
suddenly came home early from the shop. He left the* *WWW* *in care of the store manager
so he could go over to Hogsmeade and spend the day with his other half. Fred, who took the day off
from his own store as well, was staying home with Glinda and Charlie. George had originally planned
to go over to his twin's house to have breakfast and had come home to see if Ron wanted to join
him, but when he heard where Harry and his brother were going he wanted to tag along. Harry tried
to make it sound very dull and boring so George wouldn't come. Harry had already suggested
throwing a Welcome Home party or get together for her, but Hermione strongly declined. She wanted
some privacy for a while, she told him. That answer actually relieved Harry. The less attention
Hermione's homecoming garnered the better, he believed. Harry tried his best to explain to
George that Hermione wasn't up to seeing too many visitors. Ron chose to convey the situation
succinctly to his brother.*

*“No gits allowed.”*

*Harry rolled his eyes towards the havens at the remark. Ron might as well have rolled out the
Welcome mat for George Weasley.*

**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**

*It was somewhere between the fourth and fifth time he knocked urgently on the door and
didn't get a response that Harry nearly went into a blind panic. When he knocked a sixth time
and still received no answer Harry apparated directly into the house frantically calling
Hermione's name. He was so distressed that he ended up on the bottom of the stairs instead of
the foyer as he planned and ran smack dab into Hermione running down to see what the commotion was.
They collided with one another and both went tumbling to the floor, Hermione on top of him.*

*His body immediately reacted to the feel of her pressed up against just about all of the
places a bloke liked to be pressed up against. She was wearing the barest scrap of some silky
turquoise material that sent all of his blood rushing in a downward direction. In some circles the
tiny article of clothing might have even be considered a dressing gown. It did cover up the most
important, vital places. Drat! But Harry had seen just enough of golden colored thighs, arms, and
the barest sliver of breast to almost send him into a tail spin. Hermione scrambled off of him and
plopped herself on the bottom step of the stairs, using a hand to pull the top of her dressing gown
closed. As Harry sat up from the floor he could only thank the stars that this time he was
mercifully wearing his work robes.*

*Oh yes, because when she was just straddling you she didn't feel a thing right, he could
practically hear his little Harry tell him.*

*Wait 'til I get my hands on you, he thought crossly.*

*Flirt!*

*Hermione eyes went wide with shock. It was an almost comical expression and Harry would have
laughed at it if he hadn't realized just what caused her to jump off of him. The bugger in his
pants had obviously been right. Harry ashamedly tried to apologize to her when a wild and crazy
idea suddenly struck him. She almost seemed to be as affected...hell, aroused by this little scene
as much as he was. Her pink cheeks, rattled countenance, and shallow breathing seemed to attest to
this fact. And Harry couldn't be sure, but he almost thought he saw the faint impression of her
nipples through the flimsy material of her dressing gown. It was almost as if they beckoned him and
Harry couldn't stop himself from answering the call.*

*Harry slowly stood up from the floor and crossed the short distance that separated the two of
them. There was no thought in his action, it was simply as though some magnetic force was drawing
him to her. As he stopped before her, his eyes never leaving her own, Harry wasn't sure what he
was about to do. He wasn't even certain if this was actually happening, but as his right hand
tentatively left his side he just knew he had to touch her. Somewhere. Everywhere. Or die. And the
fact that she looked as though she were making no move to stop him only spurred him on. His tips of
his fingers had barely touched the surface of her cheek when a loud pounding noise startled them
and they both turned in the direction the noise was coming from.*

*“Are you guys alright in there?” came the muffled sound of Ron's voice through the front
door. He pounded again. “I heard a noise. Is everything ok?” he asked worriedly.*

*Who the hell invited Ron?!*

*The sound of Ron's voice produced an quick intake of breath from Hermione. This caused
Harry to look back towards her and see a befuddled and panicked expression cross her face as she
looked between the door and him. Before Harry could say a word Hermione sprung up and ran up the
stairs. That's when Harry cursed himself. He was a married man who almost made an
inappropriate* *pass at* *his childhood friend. She hadn't been turned on just then,
she had obviously been shocked at his forwardness. That was the only way to explain it. Now she was
probably trying to get as far as she could from him. Hermione was barely settled back home and
already, in the space of two days, her best mate who was supposed to be happily married had
practically jumped her. She must think the worse of me, a gloomy voice said in his head; the one up
top this time.*

*When Hermione finally came back downstairs Harry's worries were confirmed. Her face was
pinched and she looked harassed. She had changed into a pair of lounge shorts and a bulky orange
sweatshirt that had the picture of a cow in gray silhouette. Under the picture, written in block
letters was the words 'Longhorns Do It Better'. Her face looked freshly scrubbed and he
noticed that it was devoid of all of the goop she seemed to be so fond of putting on it these days.
He liked this version better. She looked more like the girl he had fallen in love with. The hair
was still highly distracting however, but since it was pulled away from her face in a no frills
ponytail he didn't focus too long on it. Lizzie had come running down the stairs behind
Hermione and headed straight towards him. Harry bent down to pet the dog and let her playfully lick
at his face. He tried to use the poor thing as a shield to protect himself from Hermione's ire,
but when he took a peek from behind the animal he found that Hermione wasn't even looking at
him. She kept her eyes on Ron as she told them that she didn't feel much like company. She had
just come in from an early morning run through the village and when the two of them showed up she
was just getting out of the bathtub. She had hoped to spend the day alone. To his dismay she
didn't even spare him a glance as she said all of this. It looked like Hermione was trying to
very politely, yet firmly kick them out of the house and Harry couldn't help but think that he
was the reason why. When she headed towards the front door and opened it the three of them were not
prepared to see the grinning faces of Mr. And Mrs. Fred Weasley as well as George and Charlie
standing on the other side, arms filled with packages.*

*Their appearance only seemed to heighten Hermione's irritation, but before she could slam
the door on her guests faces (and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she was close to doing it)
Glinda decided to play her trump card. When George mentioned that Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all
goofing off at the Hollow and suggested that they go crash the party Glinda knew that it would take
some pretty big guns to get them through the door. Remembering Hermione's love of the Chinese
restaurant around the corner from the old flat in Brixton, she made sure that their little group
stopped in at* *Mister Chopsticks* *and picked up some vital bargaining chips; spring
rolls, shrimp dumplings, lo mein and just about all of Hermione's favorites. They even stopped
at a grocers to get a few cases of Neapolitan ice cream to scoop up with the fortune
cookie**s**, a long held tradition in the former Granger/Vengadasalam household. When
Glinda told Hermione what was in the bags she grudgingly let them in the door.*

*After about ten minutes the tense air that hung about the house dissipated and the day turned
into a fun gathering of good food, friends, and memories. First the guys set up the rest of
Hermione's furniture. She and Glinda directed them from the couch while sampling all of the
food. Ron let them know that if there were no potstickers left when the men got done with the grunt
work that there surely would be hell to pay. After that was taken care of everyone settled down in
the lounge and began passing back and forth various take-away cartons as they all ate a little bit
of every dish and laughed and gossiped about everything under the sun.*

*George filled them all in on why Charlie had decided to spend the night at Fred's the
night before. When George stopped in to have dinner at the Burrow he discovered his big brother
laid out on the couch asleep looking like a five knut Knockturn Alley whore. It turned out that
Violet and Rosemary had “borrowed” some of their Aunt Hermione's make-up from her room and
decided to make their uncle look pretty. Charlie took the ribbing from everyone in stride and told
Hermione as she tried to apologize through tears and laughter that there was no need to. George let
them all know that as soon as he got the pictures he took developed he would let them all have
copies. Ron told him to make sure he got him wallet sized ones. Charlie told them all that he
preferred the calm and quiet of a dragon preserve to a household filled with five kids and he was
going to stay with Fred since he and Glinda only had one little one.*

*Glinda shared some of her horror stories she experienced with her little one man company. She
ran a muggle match making service where she set up young London singles on lunch dates all from the
comfort of her home. Of course the use of two desk top computers, a laptop, a PDA, a Blackberry and
two separate mobile phones also helped lighten the load. Their Hogsmeade home had so much
electronic gadgetry in it that Fred hardly was allowed to use magic in it. Too much magical energy
caused the muggle technology to go haywire. When Felicity's accidental magic started to
increase they had to start sending her to the Hogsmeade Little School in town to help keep
Glinda's business from exploding, literally. For six years she practically ran the company as a
lark, what better way to be in everybody's business? But the last three years of success and
financial solvency had been a nice surprise. She was even starting to look at the prospects of
crossing over and working with witches and wizards. Her only mistake was that she accidentally made
mention of these plans in front of Pansy McLaggen one night at a social gathering. The blonde
harridan got it into her head that she would make an excellent partner in the venture, even if
Glinda was (regrettably) a muggle. Pansy hadn't left Glinda alone since.*

*Ron gabbed on about the upcoming British Cup, Fred and George entertained them with tales
about the stores, and Charlie told them some amusing antidotes about his time in Sweden. When most
of them tried to fish stories out of Hermione about her years in Texas she looked uncomfortable,
but ended up telling them funny stories involving her former flat mates Amelia Calhoun and Benitez
Cohen as well as the daycare center where the three of them worked together. The talk of kids led
Fred and Ron to bragging about their beautiful daughters. This time it was Harry's turn to get
cagey as once again his family wondered just when he and Ginny were going to start popping out
babies. Mercifully Hermione told them that Harry would have kids when he was good and ready and to
just leave him alone. He wanted to kiss her for the comment, but then remembered that he was in a
room with four of his six brother-in-laws and decided that it probably wouldn't be a good idea.
Harry then expertly switched the subject to their former years at Hogwarts.*

*It was as if they had all found a Time Turner and stepped back through time. The series of
memories that they began to share were so palpable that Harry felt as though he could almost hold
them tightly in his arms. The Weasley twins nearly flooding the castle, Bill almost loosing his
Head Boy badge and Charlie almost getting thrown off the House team when the two of them and Tonks
threw a wild party in the Forbidden forest, the Trio's experiences with the little baby dragon
Norbert; although all of these stories had been told and told again through out the years they
still seemed fresh and still made all of them laugh. Glinda also loved to hear about all of their
old adventures. When Glinda first discovered Hermione's little secret it always amazed Harry
how well she took the news. Hermione later told him that one of Glinda's favorite books as a
child was all about good and bad wizards, elves, magical rings, and dark overlords. The woman was
simply ecstatic to grow-up and find out that magic really did exist in the world. Glinda also
off-handedly mentioned once that she used to belong to some club called the D&D where she was a
Dungeon Master in her wild and misspent teen years. Since it sounded kind of kinky Harry chose not
to press further.*

*It was a lovely day. The only sore spot for Harry was that he couldn't help the feeling
that Hermione was purposefully ignoring him. Of course no one else would have thought that such was
the case, she talked to him easily and answered his questions as well as asked him some of her own.
However Harry felt that she seemed distant. When they first all sat down to eat she didn't save
him the other place on the couch next to her. Instead she grinned gaily at Ron when he plopped down
where Harry felt he should have been sitting, the git! Of course this did afford Harry the prime
spot to look at her legs to his heart's content and not be caught at it, still the whole thing
rankled him. Then there was the fact that she would hardly look him in the eyes, but every now and
then he would catch her staring at him. She would always turn her head quickly and act as if she
had been listening to Ron or the twins and found whatever they were saying particularly funny, but
Harry knew that she had been looking at him beforehand. He figured that she was probably still put
off by the run in they had earlier. Either that or she was still annoyed that he and Ron had
intruded on her day of rest. But that hasn't stopped her from laughing at every word that's
come out of Ron's mouth, he grumpily thought. In fact she had nearly laughed herself into a
stupor when Ron began to tell them all about the time that he and Hermione were snogging away in a
broom closet near the Infirmary when they were supposed to be at an Order meeting. Peeves caught
them at it and was on his way to rat them out when Hermione and Ron offered to get the Bloody Baron
off his back for him if he didn't say a peep. Hermione thought that appealing to the
Baron's intellectual senses was the best route to go. She tried to have a meaningful
conversations with the blood stained ghost about the castle's rich history and offered to read
to him from her many books if he liked. The Baron merely looked at her grimly. When it was obvious
that her tactics weren't working Ron introduced the terrifying ghost to the wonders of
wizarding porn magazines. The Baron forgot all about Peeves and Ron and Hermione were safe to snog
in any broom closet of their choosing from then on.*

*As Ron told them all of this and the rest of the group laughed Harry had to actually sit on
his wand hand, the need to hex Ron was just that strong. Harry felt nearly nauseous with jealousy
and the worst part was that instead of smacking Ron, or at least berating him for telling the
story, Hermione only smiled brighter at her ex-boyfriend and girlishly giggled as he tickled her on
her side and she poked back at him. And she still won't look at me* *in the eye**, a
sad little voice in Harry's head sighed. Harry almost wanted to run from the room and hide his
face, but then Hermione did something miraculous that nearly made his heart dance inside his chest.
She reached into one of the bags nearest her, pulled out a fortune cookie, and absentmindedly
cracked it open in her hand. She then removed the little paper, tore up the printed words in tiny
pieces, and gave the two broken halves of the cookie to Harry. It was a routine they had developed
long ago. Whenever they would go to a Chinese restaurant or get take-away Hermione would remove the
fortunes from the fortune cookies for him. Although he loved the little crunchy cookies themselves
any talk of future telling reminded him of being told over and over again that he was going to die
in Trelawney's class or brought up unpleasant reminders that his whole life had been dictated
by a prophesy. As usual, being sensitive to his needs, Hermione would get rid of the offending
strip of paper before he could even look at it. Their friends all thought it was just another one
of those weird Harry and Hermione things, but after awhile hardly noticed it anymore. When she left
he no longer wanted anyone to break open his fortune cookie for him, not even Ginny. In truth he
had almost forgotten that Hermione used to do this, but as soon as she placed the shells in his
palm he was so over come that he he clasped her hand in his own and held onto it. Although that
panicked look flickered in her eyes for a moment when it faded away she smiled down at him tenderly
before she removing her hand from his. Harry hoped that no one looked too closely at him because if
they did they couldn't help but notice his flushed cheeks and gleeful little smile. Ron could
keep his closet snogs, Harry had his own precious memories of Hermione too! Although he had to
concede that a closet snog would be nice.*

*Once the fortune cookies started being handed out Hermione got up to get the ice cream out of
the freezer. After she was gone for a good length of time Harry went towards the kitchen to see
what was taking so long. When he discovered that she wasn't in the kitchen he opened the patio
door to see if she was outside. Not finding her there he headed back out to the staircase to see if
she had gone upstairs. He was about to head up when he heard a curious sound coming from the
bathroom in the little area near the stairs. It almost sounded like Hermione was arguing with
someone, but Harry couldn't detect a second voice in there with her. Although Harry knew he
shouldn't, he was actually surprised that she hadn't knocked him silly for reading her mind
the other day, he still pulled his wand out of his* *robes* *and cast a charm on the door
so he could hear what was being said.*

*“I don't care how you got this number! You're not allowed to call me again, am I
making myself clear,” he heard Hermione's agitated voice yell. It was almost reminiscent of the
way she would talk to him and Ron when they were being particularly thickheaded about something.
But Harry also detected a pleading note to her voice.*

*“Don't call me again. Never! Just leave me be!”*

*Whoa! What was this all about, Harry wondered. Who was she talking to?*

*“Loose my phone number. Pretend you never never knew it. Are we understood?!”*

*And then there was silence. Harry pressed himself closer in hopes to hear better. But all of
a sudden the knob was being turned, the door was yanked open, and before him stood Hermione. She
had her mobile in her hand. She obviously hadn't been prepared to see him standing there
because she jumped back at the sight of him.*

*“H-Harry,” she barely choked out, “Um...did you need to use the loo?”*

*He answered the question the only way he knew how. “Er...yes!”*

*“Oh.” She tried to nonchalantly hide the phone behind her back but Harry noticed.*

*For a few moments neither of them said anything, just stared at each other. The air between
them however felt thick with a myriad of unsaid words and actions. As though both of them were
waiting, almost impatiently, to see what the other one would do, who would make the first move. It
was a feeling almost akin to holding your hand over a flame and seeing how close you could get your
fingers to it before scorching yourself. And then doing it again. It felt reckless. It felt
tempestuous. It felt willful, as though possessing a mind of its own and Merlin help him Harry
loved it! In fact he could almost see himself giving into it, pulling her into the bathroom with
him, and closing the door just so he could see what her response would be. The way she was looking
at him from beneath heavy lids made him wonder if she felt the same taught energy that was longing
to be unleashed. Instead of giving into the temptation though he tried his best to push past it. He
also was curious about the yelling.*

*“Is everything alright Hermione?”*

*“Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?”*

*“Oh, no reason.”*

*He didn't want her to know that he had been listening at the door a few minutes ago. He
feared that she would think he was either a prat for being so nosy or a perv. Probably both. She
probably just got another one of those wrong number calls again he figured. If something was really
wrong he felt certain that she would tell him now, especially after they had cleared the air the
day before. Having gotten that out the way he smiled shyly at her and she blushed prettily as she
returned his smile with a timid one of her own and cast her eyes to the floor. But when she glanced
back up at him and their eyes met that mind drugging tension soon settled in again. It practically
begged to be released. Harry's eyes even drifted from Hermione's face to the door behind
her again as he wondered...*

*“The bathroom...” she mumbled in a thick voice*

*Harry quickly shifted his eyes towards her again. “Huh?”*

*“Didn't you need to use the bathroom?”*

*Dammit! His desire for this woman was obviously making him loose his mind.*

*“Um, yes. Bathroom.”*

*“You could have used any of the ones upstairs, you know.”*

*“I didn't want to be rude.”*

*“Silly,” she playfully chided him. “This is your house. Everything in it is at your
disposal.”*

*Harry had to stop his mind from going to a very bad place at these words. Well actually it
was a nice place, but still...*

*“....since I'm all done in here you can use this one. Too bad though, you just missed
your opportunity to rifle through my knickers,” she said tartly with a naughty smile. And then, as
though realizing what she said, her face blanched.*

*Harry's eyes widened at the quip. Did she...did Hermione just flirt with me? As Harry
watched Hermione's teasing smile suddenly falter and he heard her squeak out an apology as she
rushed passed him Harry realized that it was too hard to tell. But the thought of what her knickers
might look like did fill his mind with some lovely little images as he walked into the bathroom and
closed the door behind him. Hell, he told her he was going in there anyways. He just made sure that
he took the charm off the door.*

*When he was done and joined the others back in the lounge Ron was just beginning the
highlights of Delores Umbridge's greatest hits at Hogwarts. Everyone had bowls of ice cream but
Harry didn't feel left out. As soon as he sat back down on the floor Hermione handed him a bowl
of strawberry, his favorite flavor. She then promptly returned to half ignoring, half stealing
covert glances at him. It was all very confusing for Harry so he decided to focus on her legs
instead. The legs were safe, even if he did long to run his index finger down the length of her
left calf muscle. He was curious to see if it was as hard as he thought or as soft as he hoped.
Thankfully Ron asked him another question before he decided to test it out for himself.*

“Come again?” Harry asked confusedly as he turned his attention to Ron.

“Mate, what the hell is wrong with you? You've been out of it for the last hour,” his oh so
helpful friend pointed out. Harry looked up at Ron and the redhead actually reared back from the
annoyed look Harry gave him. Ron's puzzled face showed clearly that he had no idea what he
could have said to make Harry that aggravated with him.

“Probably having flashbacks of all the horrible things that toad woman did to him,” said George.
Harry always knew that George was his favorite Weasley twin. “I mean taking away Quidditch from a
bloke was just a low blow.”

“My hand still hurts a bit when it rains,” Harry added as he held his right hand up.

“Oh Harry,” cried Hermione as she reached down and grabbed the hand. She held it in both of her
hands and inspected the skin as if to see if she could still see the faint imprint of the words
'I must not tell lies' there and make them go away. As Harry watched her work her bottom
lip between her teeth as her soft warm hands held on to him tightly he felt a calming, soothing
sensation move through him. This was his Hermione; always worried about him, always looking for
someway to take care of him...protect him. It almost boggled his mind to think that she had been
like this with him since he was thirteen years old and got his brand new Firebolt confiscated. For
his own good, she told him then. Why had it taken all these years for him to see what he had in
her? Never mind Ron, or Ginny, or Cho, or even Riddle. Why was he destined to be a dumb clueless
git for the rest of his life? It was so unfair!

“It's alright Hermione. It's feels just fine now,” Harry said as he brought his other
hand to touch hers. At the contact she blushed and withdrew her hands from his. Well that was
interesting, he thought to himself.

“Whatever happened to the woman?” Charlie asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

“Centaur stampede,” Harry answered as uninterestedly as if he was describing paint drying.

Charlie wrinkled his brow. “But...centaurs don't stampede.”

“Exactly,” said both Fred and George at the same time as they raised their butterbeers in a
toast, huge grins displayed for all to see.

“Somehow Bane and the rest in the Forbidden Forest found out that she was organizing a protest
rally in Hogsmeade,” began Harry as he explained the circumstances surrounding Umbridge's death
barely a year ago.

“What was that shite organization called again?” asked Ron.

“People for the Unethical Treatment of the Four Legged,” replied Fred.

“In her later years she just became an out and out bigot,” said George.

Ron shook his head in disgust. “Completely barmy.”

“So a handful of people show up to the rally but before she could begin her speech about twenty
centaurs galloped through the town and...uh...” Harry faltered, looking for a delicate way to
describe the woman's body after the attack.

“Flattened her like a pancake,” Fred said for him. Since that was about right Harry really saw
no need to negate what Fred said and shook his head affirmatively instead.

“Merlin! What a way to go,” said Charlie.

“I just hope that the hag has beach front property in hell right now and there is sand up the
crotch of her thong currently.”

“Oy!” shouted Ron as he threw both of his hands over his eyes. “Thanks a lot for the hysterical
blindness Fred!” Fred chuckled at his little brother's discomfort.

“Well, although I can't say that I take any particular joy out of another's pain,
I'm not too saddened to hear that Umbridge is no longer able to ruin the lives of others,” said
Hermione. “I think I'll hate that woman forever for what she did to Harry,” she said
primly.

Harry smiled adoringly at her. “You did take care of her for me though. The look on her face
when Grawp came bursting through the trees is still one of my favorite memories.”

Once again her cheeks were tinged with pink and Harry had to wonder if he was really seeing it
or if it was just a figment of his very frustrated imagination.

“Well that was our Hermione for you,” said Ron mirthfully. “She always came through for you in a
pinch. Isn't that right Harry?”

Harry tried to sneak a peek at her again, but to his dismay her eyes were steadily focused on
Ron. “Yeah,” he answered, a touch of misery in his voice.

“Even right from the start,” continued Ron, totally unaware of his best friend's inner
turmoil. “Take the troll for instance. Glinda, you should have seen this beast,” said Ron as he
turned to face his sister-in-law. “He had to have been 20 feet at the least. And he was a mean
looking bastard too! The blood lust shone clear in his eyes...”

“Brother,” George said to Fred as he interrupted Ron's story. “Ever notice that every time
he tells this story something else changes?”

Ron gave them both scathing looks, but they ignored him.

“I reckon the next telling will have the troll doing the can-can through the Great Hall,”
answered Fred with a smirk.

“Shut it you two,” snapped Ron amidst the laughter from the others. “As I was saying,” he said
as he tried to continue his story. “Hermione told McGonagall, Quirrell and Snape the sweetest
little lie right on the spot. She didn't even blink. Saved Harry and my arses for sure!”

Harry chuckled at the memory. He could still see Ron's stunned expression when Hermione told
the tall tale. Truthfully the look on his own face couldn't have been much different.

“I think I might have even fallen in love with you that very night!”

Harry's smile fell. Just like that the story wasn't as funny anymore.

Hermione giggled and playfully swatted Ron on the arm. “Flattery gets you everywhere,” she
teased him.

Although it was obvious that Hermione and Ron were just joking with one another Harry was just
this close to petulantly telling them to go get a room. His two friends had never had this
easy-going rapport with one another, even back when they dated, so what made now different? Harry
could still remember Hermione telling him once, ages ago it seemed, that loving someone completely
could be difficult. Since her relationship with Ron always appeared so angst filled and stormy
Harry figured that was what she meant. He assumed that whatever difficulties Hermione had with Ron
was what kept her from staying with him. Had Hermione finally made peace with whatever it was that
made her break it off with Ron in the first place? Was this the reason behind her return? Harry
shook his head as if to free these thoughts from his mind. If I think about this too long I'll
go nutters, he told himself. Besides, he shouldn't worry about them being all gooey with each
other. It was when they argued with each other the so called “sexual tension” was on display,
right? This? This wasn't so bad. He could handle this.

Although if she puts her hand on his thigh just one more time....

“Listen Blondie,” George said as he fixed Hermione with a rueful stare, “just because you were
all hot an bothered for this one,” he said as he jerked his thumb in Ron's direction making
Harry decide that Fred was now his favorite Weasley twin instead, “I still don't think it's
fair that you let these two get away with murder when you were always coming down so hard on me and
my poor innocent brother.”

“Yeah! No fair Blondie! No fair!”

Charlie began laughing at the word 'innocent' so hard that tears actually sprang to his
eyes.

A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips, but she valiantly fought it. “That's because
most times I didn't have to worry about these two exploding the castle,” she said as she looked
at Harry and then at Ron.

“Well, most times at least.”

“Hey!” Harry and Ron exclaimed with equal parts amusement and scorn.

Glinda and Charlie laughed along with her, but Fred and George seemed unwilling to let the
argument go for the moment.

“It was always 'George, you can't make the ickle firsties drink that green goop,
it'll a burn holes straight through their tongues',” said Fred in a mocking, shrill voice
that made Ron roar with laughter.

“Or 'Fred, I'm taking five points from Gryffindor if I catch you and Angelina in the
Astronomy Tower again,” George said as Glinda snickered.

“Stop sending Moaning myrtle Valentine cards addressed from Harry. It only encourages her!”

“If you think I won't tell Professor McGonagall that you broke the window trying to fly into
the girls dorms you're mad!”

“And I won't stop Filch from hanging you up by your thumbs either!”

Ron found this conversation thoroughly entertaining. He practically bounced on the edge of his
seat as he raised his hand excitedly. “Oh, I've got one! I've got one! 'I hope
you're pleased with yourselves. We could have been killed, or worse, expelled'.”

“No! No!” Hermione protested as she hid her embarrassed face with both of her hands and shook
her head. Everyone laughed. “I was never that bad! Never!”

Ron poked her in the side as he chuckled at her mortification. “I'm afraid dearest that you
were.”

“Thank God you lost that stick up your ass by time I met you ducks,” Glinda kidded. “I mean sure
you were uptight a bit, but you must have been a monster back then.”

“Ron called me a nightmare,” she said in a feigned accusatory voice as she smacked Ron's
thigh...AGAIN!

“But I meant it as a compliment,” he replied to her as he threw his arms around her shoulder and
pulled her in for a friendly embrace. Harry practically felt his blood boil under his skin.

“I don't recall that one,” Fred said to Ron.

“That's because it happened in our first year,” Harry said, dragging his eyes from his two
best friends who were making him increasingly annoyed by the minute. Ron still had his arms wrapped
around her!

“If I recall correctly we had just had our first brush with Hagrid's sweet puppy,” Ron told
Fred.

“You lot were scared of a puppy?” asked Glinda in puzzlement.

“Well Fluffy was quite special you see,” Harry explained. “Fluffy was guarding the Philosopher
Stone.”

Glinda however still looked confused.

“Oh, did we neglect to mention that Fluffy was 25 feet tall and had three heads?” Ron asked her
cheekily.

“Blimey!” Glinda then turned to Fred. “And I'm actually supposed to send my daughter to this
school?”

“Don't worry Glinda,” Ron said turning to her, “What doesn't kill Felicity will make her
stronger.”

“How reassuring,” Glinda drolled.

“Ron!” admonished Hermione as she pulled away from him (finally) and pinched his arm causing Ron
to yelp. The rest of the group laughed at this, Harry the loudest.

“Tell her you're joking,” she told him. She then turned towards Glinda. “He's joking,”
she said to her friend. “Besides, Fluffy doesn't even live in the castle anymore. Felicity will
never see him.”

“Like there's a Weasley worth their salt who is going to stay out of the Forbidden Forest,”
said George.

“I don't think Perce has ever gone in,” Charlie mentioned.

“I rest my case.”

Glinda rolled her eyes. “So Percy was a wanker even then?” Glinda bitingly asked.

“You and Percy don't get along?” Hermione questioned.

“Not since the day that Philmore, Kentmore, and Barrymore,” Fred said pronouncing the names in a
snooty voice, “set fire to Glinda's mum's antique Persian rug,” he answered for her.

“You mean the one she got from Korea?” George jokingly asked and ducked when Glinda tried to
bean him with a spare fortune cookie. George cracked it and shared half of it with the dog ignoring
Hermione's protests.

“Aren't the triplets too young to be doing any magic?” Hermione asked in wonder.

“Of course,” replied Fred. “That's why one of them got a hold of Glinda's lighter
instead.”

Hermione gave Glinda a disappointed look. “Right before I left you quit.”

“I didn't quit, I got pregnant. Big difference,” Glinda easily said. “And I only have a fag
or two a day now. But that wanker of a brother of Fred's tried to blame the whole thing on me.
Said that my disgusting muggle habit could have killed his precious brats, the git,” she seethed.
“Before I had no problem watching the terrors for Penny so she could go to work, but now I refuse
to do it!”

“Did you ever find out which one did it?” Ron queried.

“No,” she gruffly answered. “The little bastards dummied up when I tried to get it out of
them.”

“The trick is to get Kentmore by himself,” George said. “He's the one most like Perce.
He'll squeal on the other two in a heartbeat.”

“You know, I kind of feel sorry for Percy,” Charlie generously said which was met with boos and
hisses from the twins, Glinda, and Ron. “No, seriously,” he continued. “From Bill's letters I
kind of get the impression that none of Percy's dreams and goals ever came true for him.”

“Well that's what he gets for selling out his family to the Ministry,” said Ron indignantly.
“He even tried to turn me against Harry at one point. As if there was anything that could have ever
made that happen.”

Hermione looked pointedly at him.

“Well,” he sheepishly mumbled, “not after the last time.”

“Yes, well...regardless of the fact it didn't work out for him. He's still just the
Minister's assistant and it's been what, nine years? They don't seem to have much faith
in him over at the Ministry.”

Fred didn't appear to have as much sympathy for Percy as Charlie did. “Well the idiot was
taking orders from a man under *Imperio* for almost a whole year. Can you blame them?”

“That's just what you call plain incompetence,” snickered George. “Bloke couldn't
organize a piss-up in a brewery.”

“Well with Scrimgeour bringing Adair in from Burkina Faso and promoting him over Percy I can
only imagine that our brother probably feels used and discarded.”

“Then he should leave the Ministry,” Fred stated. “It's not like George and I haven't
offered him jobs.

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “You told him that he could sweep up the back storeroom two
nights a week.”

“See,” said Fred as he looked back towards Charlie. “I was even willing to overlook the fact
that he's under-qualified!”

“Listen,” said Glinda interrupting the Weasley brother chat, “since Percy Weasley isn't my
husband it really isn't my problem if he feels inadequate, now is it? I just feel sorry for
Penny.”

Harry and George both howled with laughter while Hermione and Charlie tried not to laugh along
with them. Ron looked at his sister-in-law in wide eyed awe, mouth open. Fred bent over and
lovingly smacked her on the forehead.

“I don't want to talk about him anymore,” she continued as her eyes merrily landed on
Hermione. “I rather talk about Hermione,” she leaned back into the armrest on the couch and laid
her head against Fred's chest. “And her lovely blonde hair she brought all the way from the
States for us to play with.” Fred and George snickered.

“Bother,” said Hermione. “Should have seen that one coming.”

“So what's with the hair?” Glinda asked.

“What,” said Hermione, “you don't like it? I haven't had it too long.” She
self-consciously smoothed her hand over the top of her head.

“I like it,” said Ron helpfully, earning a smile from Hermione.

Dear Merlin, did she actually dye her hair for Ron?! Everyone knew that Ron had a thing for
blondes. The very idea did not sit well with Harry. At all!

“You would,” Harry grumpily mumbled which made Hermione look at him with almost a hurt
expression and caused Harry to want to sink into the carpeting.

“Good one Harry,” said George. “Ron would marry a screech owl if it had blonde hair.”

“Low blow. No need to bring Lavender into this,” quipped Fred with a smirk.

Although Charlie had the good grace to avert his head so Ron wouldn't see him laugh, Glinda
and Hermione nearly collapsed on each other from laughing so hard. Harry even cracked a smile
himself until he realized that Hermione was laughing a bit too hard at Lavender's expense. This
in turn made him frown. Ron however looked like he was ready to murder Fred. He jumped up from the
couch, but Hermione yanked him back down again.

“That's not funny,” Ron shouted at his brother. He then looked at Hermione. “It's not
funny Hermione!”

“Well it is a bit,” Hermione said as she tried to stifle her giggles. At the sight of Ron's
pained face she looked contrite as she mumbled, “Sorry.”

“So why did you change your hair?” Glinda asked again. “It's a bit dramatic for you,
isn't it?”

“What? A little hair dye? It's not drastic at all like Harry's,” Hermione said bringing
the focus of the conversation and her attention to him. “I mean, look at him,” she said as she
started to run her fingers through his long hair. The sensation made him want to nuzzle her. “He
looks like a Beatle.”

Harry raised a brow and looked at Hermione. She was making no sense again.

“Oh don't worry Harry,” Glinda said as she spied Harry's mystified expression. “I'm
sure she means one of the cute ones. Ringo.” Glinda winked at Hermione.

“Stop it,” Hermione barely got out due to her crazy giggling. “Harry's a Paul or a John at
the least.”

George turned to his Charlie and asked, “Do you know what these two are going on about?”

“Not a clue.”

Fred simply smiled. “Welcome to my world.”

“Well there's no need to insult poor Harry. He's a good enough looking bloke,” said
George in defense of Harry's honor. “I mean sure the hair's a bit girlie...”

“Thank you George,” Harry dryly said.

“Welcome mate,” he replied. “But I don't see why you have to say he looks like a bug.”

Glinda turned fully to face Hermione. “I blame you for making me marry into this family.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at the comment.

“It's a band,” Ron said as every turned towards him. “The Beatles. It's an old muggle
band known for their long hair and some bird who broke them up.”

George threw Glinda an exasperated look. “Well why didn't you just say that?”

“Wow Ron,” said Hermione to Ron, “I'm really impressed. How did you know that?”

Ron, puffed up with pride by Hermione's compliment said, “Well see, Lavender has this
book...”

“And suddenly I'm not interested anymore,” said Hermione as she feigned a yawn and turned
from Ron. All he could do was huff at the dismissal.

“Well back to the hair....” Glinda tried again.

“Hair, hair, hair...it's like you are obsessed Glinda Weasley. And what do you find so funny
George?” Hermione asked as she dodged the question once again and looked down at George.

“Oh nothing,” he said with a grin. “Just thinking about all the dumb Blonde jokes me and Fred
are going to get to use on you.”

“You mean you lot actually have some new ones instead of the same tired ones you've used
over and over again on Lav and Fleur?” Ron bitingly asked.

“Say Brother, he has a point,” said Fred to George.

“Yeah, on his head!”

Ron muttered a nasty retort under his breath. It was drowned out by Glinda's put out
growl.

“I'm starting to think you are purposely avoiding the subject,” she said to Hermione. Harry
inwardly agreed to this assessment.

“So what?! I'm blonde now, who cares?” Hermione asked in a highly nettled voice. “It's
no big deal. I just wanted a change. People do change, you know? Am I not allowed to change?”

“Of course you are,” said Glinda. She didn't look fazed by Hermione's contentious
demeanor, but Harry was a bit taken aback at it. She seemed a bit too riled up over a simple matter
of hair dye.

“I actually like the color on you. Just takes a bit to get used to. You hardly look like
yourself. People probably won't even recognize you at the V-Ball.” Glinda clapped her hands
excitedly. “Ooooh! I can't wait 'til the reactions!”

Shit! He hadn't even thought about the V-Day Ball, Harry realized.

“The V-Ball,” Hermione said, almost to herself. “I almost forgot about the V-Ball.”

Harry couldn't of course. He was basically the guest of honor every year.

*The Ministry hosted the Victory Ball at Hogwarts each June to celebrate the end of the Second
War and Voldemort's reign of terror. Technically the war had been over since April, but when
Harry and Hermione went missing for weeks after the final defeat the British wizarding
society...hell, the wizarding world as a whole all went to a stand still waiting for their boy hero
to return to them. Once he and Hermione reappeared at the Burrow near the end of May and the
Ministry got word of this plans were put into motion immedia**tely to celebrate the return
of*

*the Chosen One, The Man Who Triumphed. On the 13**th* *of June Scrimgeour hosted a
gala at Hogwarts to bestow the Order of Merlin**, First C**lass on Harry as well as other
commendations to Hermione, Ron, Remus, and many of the other Order members. Harry didn't really
want to go. In fact he wanted nothing to remind him of the ordeal he had gone through. He was ready
to have a normal life that had nothing to do with Tom Riddle. As far as Harry was concerned that
chapter of his life was over. But he couldn't turn down the chance to see his friends get the
recognition for all their hard work. They deserved the honor, far more then he did in his opinion,
so he agreed to go along with it. Ron in particular seemed quite excited at the prospect of such a
big party, but he kept mum over why. He just said that he had big plans. Harry shrugged the cryptic
words off.*

*The night of the gala he had been so proud of Ron and Hermione as they both received medals
for their heroics. In fact he had been so preoccupied with gazing at Hermione who was standing to
the left of the podium while the* *Minister was droning on and on* *that he barely heard
what was being said. But as he saw Hermione's lovely face go from confusion, to disbelief, and
then to out and out shock he knew something big had been said. Harry however hadn't been
prepared for Scrimgeour's little ambush as he tried to declare July 31 Harry Potter Day. Harry
had been incensed! He threw the medal on the ground, stormed off the dais, and marched right out of
the Gr**eat Hall. Ginny, his date, had* *tried to get his attention as he crossed the
floor, but he just wanted to be left alone.*

*He ended up hiding out in the Room of Requirement. When he had walked back and forth before
the door he had no idea what he would find on the other side, but he honestly hadn't been
expecting his nursery from the cottage in the Hollow. Like a zombie he walked inside the blue and
yellow wallpapered room with its teddy bears dancing and frolicking about and plopped himself on
the the blue-gray carpet. His head lolled back onto the wooden crib and he waited for Hermione to
find him. She would come, he knew she would. She alone would understand why he was so upset. Riddle
had already taken so much away from him. Now it was expected for his own birthday to be forever
linked with that demon? Instead of quiet little gatherings with Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the rest
of his make-shift family he was supposed to endure ticker tape parades and long boring speeches
about how wonderful he was for all eternity? Like hell he was! Harry wasn't going to stand for
it! As soon as Hermione came through the door he was going to tell her that too.*

*But hours seemed to pass and Hermione didn't show.*

*Harry was starting to drift off to sleep when finally the door opened. Well it's about
time, he nearly said before biting down on his tongue. There was no need to wind her up, he was
just relieved that she had finally come for him. But when the door fully opened and the other
person walked into the room it wasn't quite who he had been expecting.*

*“Malfoy?!”*

*Harry leaped from the floor and his hands automatically clenched into fists.*

*“If it isn't the Git Who Hid,” Malfoy's oily voice drawled. “I figured you would come
here to sulk. What happened Potter,” he said as he leaned against the closed door, “not enough
admiration for you?”*

*“Malfoy, you don't know shit about me so get the fuck out!”*

*Malfoy's lips curled into a smug smile as he crossed his arms in front of him. “I
don't think I want to.”*

*“Why don't you just go back downstairs,” Harry said gruffly. “That is if the party is
still going on.”*

*“Oh, it's just breaking up.” Harry flinched. It was as if they all didn't even care
that he was upset.*

*“What? Thought that the world would come to a screeching halt just because you had threw a
wobbly?”*

*“Go to hell,” Harry said through gritted teeth.*

*“Been there,” the blond said as he pushed off from the wall and walked towards Harry. “The
room service was dreadful and they forgot my mint* *on* *the pillow.*

*Harry wanted to break every bone in the git's body, but he was trying to control himself.
Hermione would be quite peeved if he did.*

*“You know, Azkaban would be well worth the trip if I could just make your ugly face
disappear. Permanently!”*

*He could still threaten the hell out of Malfoy's life though! But the Slytherin merely
laughed at what he perceived as idle threats.*

*“Ah, but you see Potter you can't kill me. You won't. You have too much
'honor',” his lips smacked disdainfully on the word, “in you to do a thing like that.
Besides, you owe me.”*

*Harry disgustedly snorted. “And to think Hermione actually thinks you've
changed.”*

*Malfoy's superior smile dropped. Struck a nerve did we, Harry smirked to himself.*

*“Like you know anything about it,” Malfoy angrily said as he stuck out his chin towards
Harry. He then decided to change tactics with his assault.*

*“I got to dance with the Littlest Weas**ley**.”*

*“Thanks for telling me, I'll make sure Ginny gets sanitized.”*

*“Talks on and on about you, you know. She's quite annoying. The two of you are perfect
for one another.”*

*Harry rolled his eyes.*

*Draco moved closer to Harry and glided his fingertips across the top of the crib. The
seemingly innocent gesture made Harry want to re-arrange Malfoy's face.*

*“Danced with Hermione too,” he said nonchalantly.*

*Harry stepped so close to Malfoy that if someone had walked into the room at the very moment
they would have thought they were interrupting a very intimate moment.*

*“You are nothing to her,” Harry said in a low, deadly calm voice as he grabbed onto the
fabric of Malfoy's dress robes and pulled the other young man towards him. “You will never be
anything to her. Don't ever forget it.”*

*“And who are you?” he spat in Harry's face.*

*“I'm her best friend,” Harry said as he pushed Malfoy back from him.*

*Malfoy scoffed. “Then why don't you go and be her best friend.”*

*Harry gave Malfoy a blank look that made him roll his eyes and curse under his
breath.*

*“I don't even know why I bothered,” Malfoy muttered as he turned on his heel, crossed to
the door, and pulled it open.*

*“Finally,” Harry said as he turned his back on him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to
say if he wanted Malfoy to leave.*

*“You missed the floor show Potter,” Harry heard him say. Harry didn't bother to look at
him. He figured that if he ignored Malfoy that ass would go away. “Yes, it was quite the spectacle.
The Red Menace actually got down on his knees and proposed to Hermione.”*

*“R-Ron asked Hermione to m-marry him?” Harry somehow asked although he had to wonder how he
managed it as there was currently no air in the room.*

*“He did indeed. A pretty impressive ring too. Can't imagine how he could afford it. But
you sound shocked Potter. Don't tell me you didn't know about this?”*

*Harry actually had no clue. Ron hadn't mentioned it to him. Of course to be fair he
didn't like discussing Hermione much with Ron these days and Ron seemed to notice the
fact...still...this was the kind of thing you tell a best mate! Didn't Ron think that Harry
might have liked to know this?*

*“Of course I knew,” Harry said as he looked at Malfoy dismissively. “It's a given that
the two of them are going to get married eventually.”*

*Malfoy snorted.*

*“So what did she say?” Harry tried to casually ask although his voice wavered. Anyone with
even a drop of sensitivity to them would have noticed his tenseness, but this was Malfoy after all.
The jerk only shook his head and turned to the door again as if to leave without answering. Harry
felt an intense wave of anger burst from him and suddenly the door swung closed and locked. Malfoy
stepped back from it and turned rebellious eyed towards Harry.*

*“What. Did. She. Say?!”*

*Malfoy studied Harry's belligerent face. Harry could see the conflict on the other
man's face. It was obvious that Malfoy wanted to tell Harry something, but the need to
aggravate him was almost as powerful. In the end the former purpose won out.*

*“You should go see about you friend,” was his reply.*

*For a second Harry's heart seized in his chest and he just stared helplessly at his
nemesis. “Is Hermione hurt?” Harry took a step closer to him. “Is she alright?”*

*“No,” Malfoy said. “Probably won't be for awhile.” Malfoy then sighed. “The party ended
because...a messenger arrived. There was an accident. The Grangers...the Grangers are
dead...Hermione...”*

*Harry didn't stay to hear the rest. The door to the Room of Requirement wrenched open as
Harry went careening into the hall. He needed to find Hermione. He needed to talk to her. Comfort
her. He had to be there for her like she had been there for him all these years.*

**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**

*He found her sitting by the lake, her back resting against a tree. As he walked up to her she
gave no hint that she noticed him even standing there. Her eyes were looking at the surface of the
water, but by the dreary, listless look to them Harry had to wonder if she even saw anything before
her. She had taken off the fancy blueberry robes that were sitting next to her and was dressed
simply in a ivory blouse with tiny delicate buttons and a black skirt. Her legs and feet were bare,
her shoes and hose were nowhere to be seen. Harry's could almost imagine that he felt the
sorrow coming from her, but her face was for the most part expressionless. Her face was still blank
when she looked up at him, reached for his hand, and placed an object in it.*

*“Here,” she said in a low, even voice.*

*Harry practically goggled at her. Of all of the things he had been expecting her to say, that
wasn't one of them. He was so shocked at her odd behavior that it took him a moment to realize
what she had placed in his hand. It was the Order of Merlin pin that he had thrown at
Scrimgeour's feet. Harry put it in his pocket.*

*“I got it for you. I know you don't care anything about it, but one day your children
might.”*

*Harry didn't want to talk about the stupid medal. “Hermione...”*

*Harry paused to think of something to say. What could he say to her? Sorry?*

*“Where's Ron Hermione?” Harry asked as he slowly sunk down to the grass next to
her.*

*“I think he went home,” she murmured. Her eyes still were looking ahead of her. A large
tentacle broke the surface of the water and crashed back down, but Hermione didn't seem to
notice the antics of the Giant Squid.*

*“I said some things that he wasn't too happy to hear.”*

*Her words made no sense to him. He figured that she must be in shock and just
babbling.*

*“You shouldn't be out here by yourself,” he said as he took one of her cold hands in
his.*

*Hermione turned her head and the smallest trace of a smile played about her lips and lit up
her eyes before she turned back to the lake. She squeezed his hand. “I'm not.”*

*He waited a moment, expecting her to say something else, but she seemed perfectly fine to
just sit quietly with him and hold hands. Truthfully Harry would have been fine with this
too.*

*“You should go find Ginny,” she finally said after a few minutes. “She's worried about
you. She was going to try and look for you, but Arthur thought you might like to be alone.” She
then looked at him again. “Your girlfriend needs you right now.”*

*“You need me right now.”*

*Once again Harry thought he saw a sad smile before is faded away.*

*“What happened Hermione?”*

*“A car accident,” she mumbled before chuckling darkly. “A car accident,” she said again, her
words filled with bitterness this time.*

*“Hermione...”*

*“I don't want to talk about it right now Harry. I just want to sit here.”*

*“Alright,” he said. “Then we'll just sit.”*

*How long they sat beside the lake was anyone's guess. The Giant Squid even eventually
grew weary of performing for them. But Harry was willing to sit there next to Hermione as long as
she needed. He held onto her hand and tried to convey to her in the single act of his touch how
much she meant to him, how much he cared for her, and how much he knew just how she felt. Dawn was
just beginning to break across the sky when Hermione finally released her grip on him.*

*“I should go,” she said as she gathered her robes from the grass and began to stand up. “I
need to go back to the Burrow and take care of a few things...rent a car. Nan is flying in later. I
called her. She wants to be with me when I go to the m-mor...”*

*Hermione's whole body lurched forward a bit, as if the words were too heavy and caused
her to loose her footing. Harry reached out to hold her steady, but she had already straightened
herself and was standing firmly upright.*

*“She wants to be there when I go to collect my parents.” Her voice was so icy that Harry had
to stave off the shiver they produced within him.*

*“I'll go with you.”*

*She shook her head. “That's sweet, but not necessary. Although Ron was quite furious with
me he offered as well. But I'll be fine.” She turned as if to walk away from him.*

*“Hermione...”*

*“I'll be fine,” she said again and began to walk away. Hermione had only gotten a few
steps away when suddenly she turned back to Harry, a determined look on her face.*

*“Can I ask you for a favor?”*

*Harry quickly advanced towards her. “Anything! You know I'd do anything for you,” he said
and hoped that she believed how heartfelt the sentiment was.*

*“Reconsider what Scrimgeour was offering.”*

*Anything but that! His jaw actually dropped in shock at the suggestion. She couldn't be
serious! He knew that she was grieving, but to actually ask that of him...*

*“Hermione...”*

*“Hear me out. I know that you just want to go on with your life and forget all that you have
suffered because of that...that...” her face scrunched in disgust as she searched for the right
word. When she wasn't able to find it she morosely sighed and said, “Because of Voldemort. But
you have to realize Harry that you aren't the only one who has suffered. All of us have
lost...something because of this war.” She looked directly in his eyes and grabbed him by the
shoulders. “When you took down that bastard that wasn't just for you Harry. It wasn't just
your victory. All of us won! All of us won and the world must always remember that! Because there
is always going to be another Dark Lord to fill the place of the last. It will never stop!
Dumbledore killed Grindewald and Voldemort followed right on his heels. Why? Because people became
complacent. Because people forgot what it was like to live in fear because of who or what they are.
They forgot what it was like to see loved ones killed for senseless reasons. They forgot because
there was no reason to remember. But no one should ever forget what you did for this
world.”*

*Although her eyes were red and her face was splotchy and her eyes were pooled with tears,
Hermione fiercely restrained herself from giving in to the misery and pain that was so strong that
her body shook from it. It was almost like she was forcing herself not to cry. But in a way it was
alright. Harry's own face was wet with the tears that he'd shed for her.*

*“Please Harry, don't let them forget! Because then all of this would have been for
n-nothing! And I have to b-believe th-that it was for s-something!”*

*Hermione threw her arms around him and clung to him desperately. He had to step his foot out
behind him so as not to teeter back due to the force of her embrace. His arms came around her to
bring her closer as he tried to comfort her.*

*“Please Harry! I have to believe that,” he heard her whisper into his robes. Then she pulled
away from him and ran across the lawn towards the castle.*

*Later that day, although his head was mostly filled with thoughts of Hermione, Harry went to
the Ministry to see Scrimgeour. Although he had behaved badly the night before and he apologized
profusely for it the Minister of Magic was more then happy to see him. Harry thanked him for his
award and explained the reason for his visit; a proposition. More like a compromise. Although he
was proud that Scrimgeour would bestow upon his birthday the honor of a National holiday (Harry had
nearly choked on the ridiculous lie), he felt that he was undeserving of such accolades. Especially
when he had so much help in defeating Voldemort. In fact, Harry said conspiratorially to the
Minister, through out the whole ordeal and months of trying to bring down Voldemort it had almost
felt like he had the power of the Ministry backing him all the way. Harry honestly didn't know
how he kept a straight face through the conversation, but somehow he managed it. It was important
that he get across to Scrimgeour that all of wizarding kind should feel responsible for
Riddle's end, that he couldn't have done it with out everyone believing in him. It was
bullshit, but it was good bullshit. Of course Scrimgeour was too savvy to fall for Harry's
spiel, but there was just enough of the politician in him to see how well such tripe would go over
with the wizarding populace as a whole. Two days later Harry read in* *the Prophet* *the
Ministry's plan to make the second Saturday in June Victory Day, a day of celebration for
magical people all across Great Britain. Scrimgeour took the credit for the idea, but Harry
didn't mind. Hermione actually smiled for the first time in days the morning the article was
printed. Ginny playfully teased him at the Burrow's breakfast table that Harry Potter Day had a
nicer ring to it, but seeing how proud he was of how the whole thing came about she didn't
tease him for too long.*

“I haven't gone to a Victory Ball in ages,” said Hermione.

“And you're not going to this one,” Harry said, his voice nearly screeching with dread.
Everyone in the room looked at him as though he were mad. Harry didn't care though. The idea of
Hermione going out in public stirred warning signals in his fevered mind.

Glinda arched a a dark eyebrow in his direction as she tossed her long, inky black hair over her
shoulder. “And what's to stop her? Planning on locking her in her room and tying her to the bed
Potter?”

The effect of such naughty imagery wasn't lost on him. It almost wasn't lost on the rest
of the people in the room either, but Harry delicately shifted his position on the floor. It
didn't help matters though that Hermione's cheeks turned pink as she looked at him and then
quickly looked away again. Isn't that just great! Now she doesn't just think you are a
pervert, she has proof of it.

“Er...um...It's just...you know...the papers.” And the people who read papers. “The media
was always so harsh with Hermione.”

“Fuck *The* *Prophet*,” Glinda said, tossing off the curse word as though it were part
of her every day speech. Which it was. Woman had a mouth like a bloody dockworker.

As usual Fred was amused by just about everything that his wife uttered. “Here, here,” he said
as he clapped his hands. George and Charlie joined in as well. One would have thought that they
were at a Quidditch match, the way they were acting.

“In fact, fuck *Bitch Weekly* too! That's the problem with you magic people, so
goddamned old fashioned! So what if Hermione dated a bit?! She fooled around with a few men, big
deal! I've had more!”

Ron's mouth dropped open. He was completely scandalized.

“And a woman or two at uni!”

Even Charlie's eyebrows raised up at that. Ron gulped, too mortified to speak. George and
Fred only grinned. It was their regular entertainment to see Glinda on a tare. Sometimes they would
set her off just to see what new combination of swear words she would invent. It looked like
Hermione was also enjoying Glinda's rant and the discomfort that it produced in Ron as well as
Harry.

“That's what I've never gotten about your 'world'. Everyone acts as though
you're supposed to marry the first bloke you ever kiss and have a house full of kiddies by time
you're 23. Sometimes life just doesn't work out that way. Why those two bitches that are
friends with Angelina act like I'm the one responsible that she and Freddie didn't work
out. When she's the one that slept around on him.”

Fred rubbed at Glinda's shoulder reassuringly, but she was warming up to her subject
now.

“Every time they see me it's the same look in their eye; usurper.”

“Oh, you get usurper?” asked Hermione. “I used to get interloper and social climbing
muggleborn,” she said with a mirthful glint in her eye.

“That's not funny Hermione,” Ron said sourly. “Don't make a joke out of it! It's all
that no-good Skeeter woman's fault. Making it out like Hermione was some...some...flirty floozy
only out to date purebloods.”

“But you, Wood, and Davies are purebloods,” George said helpfully. He jumped back when both Ron
and Harry growled at him. Poor Lizzie went running from the room and through the kitchen.

“Skeeter made it into a bigger deal then it was,” Harry muttered. “You know she hated Hermione
since fourth year. As soon as she became editor at the Prophet she used it as her personal pulpit
to attack Hermione. Then the other papers followed suit.”

Harry turned towards Hermione, trying his best to sway her from the idea of making such a public
splash so soon. “If you go it's just going to start up again.” He remembered well how much some
of those stories used to hurt Hermione, even though she tried her best to act as though they
didn't. Harry however was shocked by her response.

“Let it,” she said. “Glinda's right, to hell with the press! I don't care what they say
about me anymore! The only people's opinions that really count know who I am so it doesn't
matter. Besides with all of those people who were at the Burrow after the party I'm sure my
reappearance is already making the rounds.”

Harry didn't utter a peep. He didn't share with them the fact that just the other day,
right before he stopped in at the Burrow to talk with Charlie (and get a peek at Hermione) he paid
a visit to the guests who were the last to leave the commencement. For a wizard as skilled as Harry
it was quite easy to erase just one small memory from a person's mind. They wouldn't even
miss it. Of course Harry felt terrible for going to such extreme matters, but really, how else was
he going to keep Marietta Edgecombe and her like from blabbing the news that Hermione was back all
over town? However when he got to Neville's house he couldn't bring himself to callously
take advantage of his old friend. He was actually shocked to find Neville still at home so late,
Harry figured that he would probably have to stop at the store to catch him. But when Neville's
house guest came down to the kitchen wearing only one of Neville's t-shirts and a smile and
then ran right back up again at the sight of him, Harry grinningly understood the reason behind the
late start to the brown haired wizard's day. Ten minutes later Candide came back downstairs
looking very wrinkled but gorgeous still in the same floral print sundress she wore to Ron's
engagement party, apologized to Harry, gave Neville a long and passionate kiss goodbye, and walked
out the house. Neville tried to play the whole thing off with as much dignity as he could, but
Harry only laughed and gave him a congratulatory clap on the back. Once the male bonding was done
he told Neville that he needed him to keep mum on the fact that Hermione was in England again.
Harry was a bit taken aback when Neville suspiciously asked him why, but Harry easily told him that
it was because of a case he was working on that somewhat concerned their mutual friend. In a way it
wasn't that much of a lie.

“Anyway, once I go to Ron's game everyone will know I'm back.”

Ron practically jumped on Hermione. “You're coming to my game?!” he asked excitedly.

“Of course I am,” she said as she smiled indulgently at him.

Just great! She might as well call a press conference. Harry was almost disconsolate. What could
he do, forbid her from going to both the Ball and the game? That was like asking if he wanted a
black eye with his split lip.

“Its settled then,” said Glinda. “Hermione goes to Ron's little thing...”

“Little?!”

“And the Victory Ball. And I get to buy a new gown.”

Fred pulled Glinda back so he could look in her face. “But you just bought a frock.”

“Yes love, but Hermione's back now. I simply must get a new one!” She turned back to
Hermione as a huge smile spread across her face. “We'll go into London, hmm?”

Glinda's excitement was rubbing off on her because her smile was just as cheery. “That
sounds do-able.”

“And,” Glinda said as her eyes took on a sly glint, “you can let me drive Big Ben out there,”
she said nodding her head in the direction where Hermione's truck was parked outside. Hermione
laughed at her brazenness.

“I thought muggles gave their motor vehicles female names?” Charlie asked as he chuckled.

Glinda smiled cheekily at her brother-in-law. “I'm a feminist.”

“And I'm the Maharajah,” Hermione quipped.

“Well I'm the best friend,” said Ron. “So if Glinda gets to drive Ben so do I.”

Harry's ears perked up. He had been hoping to ask Hermione to let him take the truck for a
spin since he rode in it the day before.

“If Ron gets to drive it, I get to drive it.”

Fred and George both sat up straight. “Oy!” they shouted.

Hermione laughed at their jockeying for her favor.

“Who among you have a drivers license?” she asked in a teacher-like voice. Harry and Glinda both
raised their hands co-operatively...like idiots. Harry had to laugh. For the first time Harry could
see how she might have made a good teacher. Ron looked at the both of them an scowled.

“Bloody tests!”

On a whim Ron tried to get a license the same time that Harry did, but failed the exam
brilliantly!

“You drive Harry?” Hermione asked in a surprised voice.

“It's part of the requirements for the Department. Sometimes we have to drive muggle cars
when we're undercover.”

“Oh,” she remarked. “Do you like it much? Being an Auror?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. He wanted to tell her about the Defense professorship that was
awaiting him in September. He could just picture her amazement and the proud look that would be on
her face. But he wanted to do it when it was just the two of them. He didn't want to share that
moment with anyone else.

“It's alright I guess,” he said as her forehead wrinkled. She opened her mouth to speak, but
Charlie cut her off.

“Stop being so modest Harry. According to Ginny we are all sitting in the presence of the future
Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement .”

What the hell was Charlie talking about?!

“When did Ginny say that to you?” he asked. Charlie had to have it wrong. Why on Earth would
Ginny tell her brother something like that?

“She sent me a letter just last week. She's very proud of you mate. Bragged on and on about
you.”

“Ginny brags when Harry ties his laces correctly,” Ron leaned over and stage whispered to George
causing him to laugh loudly.

Ignoring Ron's comments Hermione said briskly, “Well she's his wife isn't she? Ginny
should be proud of Harry!” Hermione then gave Harry a big smile that made him feel sick to his
stomach. Harry just hoped that he didn't wince every time she said the words “his wife."
That would be just perfect...except not.

“Congratulations Harry,” she said. “That's wonderful news!”

Harry tried to correct her, tried to tell her that Ginny made the whole thing up, but she cut
him off before he could.

“So how is Draco?”

Malfoy?! Why the hell did she have to mention Malfoy?! Oh that's right, to drive you bat
shit crazy!

“Is he even still with the Department? You all haven't mentioned him. Do you ever work
together? Do you see him much?”

Charlie, Fred, and George burst into laughter. George actually laughed so hard that he threw
himself across the floor and practically rolled around on the carpet. The only comfort Harry found
was that Ron at least looked as displeased as he felt.

“Oh, they work together...much,” giggled George.

Fred concurred. “You could even say that they work side by side.”

“They're quite the pair.”

“Each other's better half.”

“Could you two idiots be quiet!” Ron looked between his two brothers and rolled his eyes. He
then said to Hermione, “The Great Albino Ferret is Harry's partner.”

Hermione laughed. Madly. She laughed so hard that she threw her head back and her arms wrapped
around her as she fell back onto the couch. But slowly the realization that no one else was
laughing at the joke began to sink in. Her laughter began to peter put, her grin began to fade. Her
eyes searched the faces of all those around her before saying, “But they would kill each
other!”

George picked up Harry's arm near him and pretended to feel for a pulse.

“Well he is a bit pale...”

“Prat!” Harry snatched his arm away. “Yes, Malfoy and I are partners.”

Hermione's baffled face was adorable. “And...and you two get along?”

“Define 'get along',” Harry half-jokingly said.

“Harry...”

“We get along well enough. We've never hexed each other in the line of duty,” he said
proudly as though that made all the difference. “He's still an arse, but Luna has been a
calming influence on him.”

“Luna?” Now Hermione looked completely perplexed now. “But what does Luna Lovegood have to do
with Draco?”

Glinda grabbed Hermione's arm to turn her around. Her grin was nothing short of colossal.
“Oh duckie, have I a story to tell you.”

And Glinda told it. Everything! Warts and all. Harry watched Hermione's face intently as she
heard that Malfoy and Luna were now a couple. Harry was curious as to how she would handle this
news. He was rewarded with a non-reaction. Hermione gave no outward sign one way or another on how
she felt about the pair. This didn't give Harry much comfort though. It was beginning to dawn
on Harry that somewhere along the way Hermione had become quite adept at hiding her thoughts and
emotions from him. He had to wonder just how long such had been the case. But Harry didn't have
time to think on this long because Glinda had just reached the part in her tale on just how Luna
and Malfoy got together.

“You left poor Luna at the alter for Lavender?!” Hermione thundered as she whipped her head
around towards Ron. “LAVENDER?!”

“What's wrong with Lav? She's a good sort!”

Hermione scoffed disgustedly at Ron.

“C'mon Blondie, don't be so hard on her,” Fred said good naturedly. “To tell you the
truth I'm willing to give any bird high marks who could take you on when it came to these two
prats,” he said as he pointed at Harry and Ron.

“Lavender Brown? Take me on?” Hermione rolled her eyes arrogantly. “Honestly.”

“Now you must admit that sweet little jinx she hit you with at Ron's party was a
winner?”

Hermione was facing Fred therefore didn't see the frantic hand signals that Ron was making,
trying in vain to get Fred's attention.

“Almost didn't think those ears were going to come off of you. It was brilliant!”

George looked questioningly at Ron. “But I thought that you told me that you were the one that
hexed Hermione that night?”

“What?!”

Ron's eyes bugged out in terror as he looked at first from George then at Hermione. “Sweet
merciful Merlin,” he whimpered.

Harry sighed resignedly. Batten down the hatches boys, Hurricane Hermione was about to roar
through.

*The incident Fred was referring to was one that Harry didn't actually get to witness for
himself, but he had heard enough accounts of it to get a good idea of what took place. He had even
heard a dramatic retelling of it on the Wireless one evening as read from the Daily Prophet not too
long after. According to all the reliable (and some not too reliable) witnesses one night, at a
party to celebrate Ron finally making it onto the starting line up for the Canons, Lavender jinxed
Hermione with a pair of long, brown donkey ears that replaced her own. The spell had been so
powerful that no one at the party could manage to get the ears off Hermione, not even the talented
witch herself. Harry missed the whole thing, he had been...busy...in a corner with Ginny at the
time, but as soon as they heard the commotion coming from outside of the house Harry ran out to
investigate. He found the crowd electrified by the scene they had just witnessed. Apparently
Hermione and Oliver had been sucking each others faces off (at least according to Ron) on a bench
when Lavender approached Hermione to take her to task for throwing her relationship with Wood in
poor Ron's face. Especially at a party in Ron's honor! Hermione tried to ignore the other
young woman, but Lavender wasn't having it. She began to insult Hermione calling her all kinds
of names. Still Hermione ignored her and tried to leave the party with Oliver. Hermione would have
gone quietly too if Lavender hadn't accused her of using Ron. It was that accusation that broke
the camel's back. Hermione began to spar with Lavender like a champ. Although Lavender was no
slouch, when it came to confrontations, Hermione could get vicious with her barbs and retorts when
pushed to it. And according to most there that night she put up an excellent show. Eventually Ron
and Oliver joined the argument and as a matter of course wands came out and Hermione ended up with
the ears. When Harry reached the scene Hermione had already disapparated away, Oliver and Ron were
trading blows, and just about everyone was pulling out two-way mirrors or looking for the nearest
floos so they could spread the gossip. Once Harry got a grasp on the situation he told Ginny that
he was going to look for Hermione and quickly disapparated on the spot. After checking her flat,
his, the Burrow, and a few more places he eventually found her in a private room on the fourth
floor at St. Mungo's. As soon as Harry walked through the door his footstep faltered and his
eyes were drawn to the hairy ears. She was sitting up in a bed reading from a book about animal
transfigurations that was in her lap. She looked up as soon as he opened the door and closed the
book.*

*“I look like an ass.”*

*Harry paused for a moment, somewhat unsure of what to say to her. “But a cute one,” he
finally settled on. He even added a surely goofy looking smile for good measure.*

*Hermione scrunched up her face, determined not to smile at the remark. “You will not make me
laugh Harry Potter. I'm quite alright stewing in my righteous indignation, thank you very
much.”*

*Harry chuckled. He approached the bed and sat down on the chair next to it, leaning in
towards her.“What happened?”*

*“What, Ron had nothing to say?”*

*“He...uh...Ron and Oliver were still...discussing matters when I left.”*

*“Figures,” she said with disgust. “I reckon one or both of them will show up here before
long. I need to get the hell out of here before that happens.”*

*“Sure. Right after you tell me your side of the story.”*

*“What's to tell? Lavender just decided that I would look better with a set of ass'
ears. Oh, that's right after telling me that I was acting like a tart.”*

*“We're you?”*

*Hermione's eyes narrowed at him and Harry sat back in his chair. “Don't you start
with me. Maybe I shouldn't have been so...forward with Olie like that in front of Ron. But I
honestly didn't know he was out there in the backyard. Plus I've had a few so I can't
be blamed entirely for my actions."*

*Harry now understood how all of this confusion could have happened. Hermione was a light
weight when it came to alcohol. She couldn't handle the stuff. A single glass of champagne or
wine made her giggly and loopy. A shot or two and she was just this side of dancing on tables. Half
a flagon of firewhiskey and either he or Ron were carrying her home over their shoulders. The next
day she would hide her face in shame over her antics from the previous night. It was for this
reason that she rarely drank. It was very hard for her to act all superior and high minded with him
and Ron after one of their pub crawls if she could barely stand up or remember her name. She once
told him that she didn't seem capable of making good decisions when in that condition. Bad
things tended to happen. In fact,**the last time,* *Wood happened.*

*But there was something that bothered Harry. He didn't remember Hermione drinking that
night. When Hermione and Oliver first showed up at the party she and Harry had settled down on a
worn couch and chatted away for hours. He had been keeping his distance from her for the last few
weeks, due to Wood, but as soon as she walked through the door of the house he realized just how
much he missed her; her company, her laughter, the way the corners of her eyes would crinkle when
she smiled just so. He didn't even mind that she babbled on and on about her work or the really
cute thing that Crookshanks had done the other day. In fact he missed her so much that he tried to
convince her to move back in with him and Ron. He had never really gotten over her moving out. Just
one day everything was happy in their little household, excluding a tense moment here and there
between her and Ron, and the next her things were packed up and she was living in Brixton with
Glinda whom she barely knew at the time. When he asked her about it she said that she needed to
learn how to live without him and Ron always being there. The answer was painful to hear, but in a
way he understood it. Hermione and Ron had been permanent fixtures in his world for nearly half of
his life. They all were closer then close. Some even said too close. Harry knew that there were
whispers about what went on behind their closed door...but that kind of thing didn't concern
him. Just like it still didn't concern him. He wanted Hermione back with him...and Ron, where
she belonged, and told her as much while the party raged on around them. She laughingly told him
that she would have no place to sleep since Ron turned her old room into a game room. Harry joked
that she had to come back since he and Ron were just two helpless wankers who needed her to clean
up after them and pay a third of the rent. She teased that he should have his girlfriend move in
and do that for him. Harry rolled his eyes mirthfully. Ginny had told him very firmly that she
would live with him only when she was Mrs. Harry Potter. Harry said this to Hermione. At that exact
moment Ginny, who had been gossiping away with a few friends, showed up and plopped herself in
Harry's lap. Hermione told Ginny that her ears must have been burning and then timidly excused
herself to go find her date. Thirty minutes later the drama started.*

*“You seemed alright when we were talking. I didn't notice that you were tipsy.”*

*“Harry, and I mean this in* *the nicest way**, you wouldn't notice it if a
kelpie roller skated through the door and kicked you in the balls.”*

*Harry's jaw dropped at the insinuation and her language. As if he were really that
thick!*

*“You know how Olie loves his whiskey. I took a sip out of his cup and...whoo...there went the
world.”*

*Harry glowered at Hermione. He was tired of hearing about Olie this and Olie that, thank you
very much. If she would just stop this foolishness and go back to Ron where she belonged...*

*“So what's going to happen with...” he eyed the troubling appendages, “those?”*

*Hermione frowned and distractedly began nibbling on her lip. “Nothing. For at least three
days. Something must have went wrong with Lavender's spell. Healer Wilkie thinks that she got
the incantation mixed up in her head...the idiot. The ears don't want to budge now. He gave me
a potion, but it's going to take three whole days before they fall off and my own ears grow
back in. Three whole days! I'm absolutely mortified by this whole thing! I can just imagine
tomorrow's headline. And when I was filling out my paperwork in the waiting room everyone was
looking and pointing at me.”*

*Harry reached out and took a hand in his. He knew just what it felt like to have people look
at him like he was a circus freak. He could sense that she appreciated the comforting
gesture.*

*“Oh by the way, when I was filling out the forms I had to put down someone as my medical
guardian. I put you. I hope you don't mind? It's just...well...it would have been my
parents but...and Ron...well...Any way if it's too much of a hassle...”*

*“Hermione, you know I'd do anything for you.”*

*“I know.” She gave him a small smile as she removed her hand from his.*

*“So what exactly do I have to do?” he asked.*

*“Nothing,” she stated. “Harry you won't even have to worry about it. Trust me. The
guardian is just in place to make decisions for you in case something happens. But really it's
just a formality. Just a name to put on a blank line. I mean, I'm not like you and Ron, flying
all about the place willing to break my neck for Quidditch.” The way she wrinkled her nose as she
said the word so disdainfully made Harry snicker. “Nothing ever happens to me.”*

*Harry folded his arm across his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “Hermione, you've
been turned into a cat, petrified by a basilisk, and stayed in a coma for nearly a month...and
thats just the highlight reel.”*

*“Know-it-all prat,” she huffed as she fell back on the bed.*

*“Takes one to know one.”*

*It was a good thing that he was already at a hospital. If the book she threw at him had
actually connected with his skull he would have had one monster of a headache.*

“Ronald Billius Weasley! You hexed me?!” Hermione was standing up in front of Ron, arms planted
on her hips, feet spread wide apart. She was gloriously enraged! Harry almost imagined he could
feel the air crackle with electricity. Everyone was simply riveted by her display of fury. George
even conjured up a bag of popcorn that he and Charlie passed back and forth between them. They
munched away as they enjoyed the floor show.

“Just a little,” Ron squeaked out. He looked as though he were trying to make his large frame
squeeze between the cushions of the sofa in order to get away from her.

“And you let Lavender take the blame all of this time?!”

“She wanted to! She knew you'd kill me then if you knew that it was me that did it.”

“I'm in a mind to kill you now!”

“It's not like I was aiming for you. You just got in the way,” he foolishly tried to
explain. “I wanted that git Wood! I bet you didn't even hear what he was saying to me. He had
the nerve to call Lav a replacement shag!”

“Well if the bed sheets fit!”

Ron jumped up from the couch and nearly dwarfed her. His eyes burned furiously at her. “Now you
wait one minute miss! Don't you say that about Lav! You were just as responsible for that
fight.”

“And how do you figure that?!”

“If you hadn't acted like a...like a...a...”

Hermione rolled up the long sleeves of her sweatshirt. She fixed Ron with a steely glare. “Say
it and you walk down the aisle with a limp Weasley!”

In Harry's opinion she looked like she meant business. Ron must have thought so to because
he paused to rethink his next words.

“You were trying to make me jealous,” he accused her.

Hermione laughed mockingly. “Jealous? Ha! Must have been a Thursday if I was trying to make you
jealous.”

Glinda giggled. “Well you must admit duckie, you did turn into the kissing bandit as soon as you
had a pint or two.”

George began to choke on his popcorn. Charlie slapped him on the back helpfully. Hard.
Hermione's eyes fleetingly glanced at him before she turned a murderous glare on Glinda.

“Oh please, that shite doesn't work on me and you know it,” Glinda dismissively said with a
smirk.

“Listen Hermione,” interjected Ron, hands raised before him in appeasement. “It was an honest
accident. I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said sincerely. He then grinned. “Besides, it could
have been worse. I actually meant to turn Wood into a horse's ass. Who knew that e*quus
asinus augeo* would do that*?*”

Harry dropped his head into his hands. Ron really could be an idiot at times.

Hermione made a sound that was a cross between a lion being bitch slapped and an elephant being
circumcised. In other words it was inhuman. She threw her hands in the air and seethingly stamped
her way out of the room and into the kitchen.

“And they said those two crazy kids would never make it work. Oh wait...”

Glinda smacked Fred hard on his arm causing him to yelp in pain.

“I better see about her,” she said as she exited in the same direction as Hermione.

After a moment of silence Charlie said, “Well, that was...fun?”

Ron slowly sat back on the couch.

“She's never going to speak to me again, is she?”

Fred dismissively rolled his eyes at the question. “Please! How many times have you said that
before? And mum would always catch you two snogging somewhere shortly after.” A big grin then
formed on his face as he looked at Harry. “Almost reminds you of old times, doesn't it mate?”
he asked him.

Harry's heart sank. It sure did.

“I'm going to go talk to Hermione,” Harry said, avoiding Fred's question as well as his
concerned look.

Harry got up and left the living room. When he walked in the kitchen he saw that the sliding
door was still open. Looking outside he saw Hermione pushing Glinda in the tree swing. Lizzie was
yipping and yapping as she frolicked around them. If Hermione was still mad she gave no outward
sign. The two women looked like they were enjoying themselves and Harry felt himself wanting to
join them. He had even began to walk out towards the patio when he an odd sound broke his stride.
It was like a buzzing, humming sort of a noise. Harry looked all about him to see where the sound
was coming from. When his veered to the right of him he found the answer.

Hermione's mobile.

It was sitting on the maroon and crème striped cushioned bench that was a part of Hermione's
old breakfast nook. Harry's head quickly turned back to the patio. Hermione obviously was too
far away to hear her mobile go off. He had barely heard it. He just couldn't believe that she
had been so careless to leave her phone out in the open. What was she thinking? Anyone could just
walk right up to the table and pick it up, turn it on...answer it to see who was calling. Harry
slyly glanced out the doorway one more time before he decided to do just that.

As he picked up the phone he scolded himself for what he was doing. He was about to invade
Hermione's privacy...again! But Harry couldn't fight off the unmistakable curiosity that
swelled inside him at the sight of the mobile as it vibrated in his hand. Just who was calling
Hermione? Who needed to reach her? Here he was, Hermione's best friend, and he didn't even
have her phone number. Then again he didn't have a phone in his house either, but that
wasn't the issue here. Focus Potter, he told himself as his finger wavered over the little
button that read 'talk'. He wondered if he could go through with it, could he actually sink
this low? He then reminded himself that he had obliviated nearly a dozen people just the other day.
His morals had obviously decided to take a holiday. Harry figured that after working with Malfoy so
long some of his Slytherin-y ways were starting to rub off on him. Finding that excuse satisfactory
he prepared to answer the phone. Of course that was when it stopped vibrating.

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

Harry was so mad that he almost hurled the tiny gadget against the far wall but thought better
of it. In frustration he glanced down at the screen of the phone and just before the light dimmed
saw the name Collier on it.

Collier. Where have I heard the name Collier before, Harry painstakingly wondered. The answer
seemed destined to allude him until he drifted back to his conversation with Hermione the day
before as they were out driving. Hermione had mentioned a Collier, didn't she? As Harry's
mind began to recount the conversation he realized that Hermione had in fact mentioned some fellow
named Collier. She said he was her friend. Harry, being a jealous arse, asked her just what kind of
friend Collier was. And what did she say? She avoided the fucking answer is what she did, Harry
reminded himself. She was really good at that, wasn't she? Then again if this Collier was her
friend it would make sense for him to call her, right? See how she was doing. Ask her if she had a
safe trip. That was the friendly thing to do, wasn't it? What was one little call?

Harry's eyes looked outside again. Both women were now sitting in the grass, heads huddled
together. Glinda was eating an apple while Hermione was trying to tear the rind off of an orange
she had obviously picked from the tree. Good, Harry thought to himself as he tried to figure out
just how to look at the mobile's call log. Although Harry had rarely used a mobile phone, quite
frankly he had gotten used to using very little muggle technology, he wasn't that inept when it
came to operating them. His Aunt Petunia had given one to Dudley the summer that Hermione and Ron
had stayed at Privet Drive with him. The human blimp had used it to order pizzas from his bedroom.
Harry had politely asked him once to borrow it so Hermione could use it to call her mum and dad.
The fact that Harry did so while purposefully twirling his wand through his fingers was
arbitrary.

As soon as Harry accessed the menu he found what he was looking for. There were three options to
choose from. Calls Made, Calls Missed, and Calls Received. Harry decided to see who Hermione had
been calling first. The number of the last person she called was listed as Cynthia. If Harry
recalled correctly that was her cousin's name. Finding nothing wrong with that he then went to
the next name. Collier.

“Ok,” he said, speaking the word out loud. “So she called him once. No harm.”

Then he scrolled through the next seven names. Collier. Collier. Collier, and so on.

Harry didn't think he much cared for this Collier bloke.

He irritably decided to look at the other lists. He went to the Calls Missed. Once again there
was Collier's name, mocking him. Harry practically snarled at it. The next few calls were all
from a different person. Laurie.

Wonder who she is, Harry thought to himself. Shrugging it off, he was just about to look at the
last call list when Ron came tiptoeing into the room. In Harry's opinion he did, anyway.

“Do you think she still wants to kill me?”

The sound of Ron's voice spooked Harry to the point that he almost dropped Hermione's
mobile on the ground. As discreetly as he could he turned around as he held his arms behind his
back and gingerly placed the phone back onto the cushion. He prayed that Ron hadn't seen it in
his hands. Since his back had been to the kitchen entrance it looked like that was the case. Ron
didn't even seem to notice the phone sitting there. As Harry got a look at his friend's
worried face Harry tried to make his own face smooth with concern.

“Well,” the redhead anxiously asked again, “do you?”

Harry shrugged as he crossed the floor to Ron. “You know Hermione, she can't stay mad at you
for long. I'm sure you two will kiss and make-up,” he said, his own words causing him to wince
inwardly. It was almost like he enjoyed digging the knife in deeper.

Ron smiled broadly. “You're right Harry. That's our Hermione for you.”

A tiny smile formed on Harry's lips. “Yeah, it is.”

The two men then looked out the patio door where the sound of Glinda shrieking could be heard.
Lizzie was trying to eat the apple out of her hand as Hermione looked on, giggling. Harry smiled
goofily at them before turning around to find Ron looking just as interested. This did not help
Harry's already troubled mood. He decided then to get Ron's attention.

“So what do you think about her?” he asked him. “Her being back, I mean.”

Ron's smile grew. “It's great, isn't it? She looks good doesn't she?”

“She looks alright I guess,” Harry tried to say lightly, though he couldn't look Ron in the
face when he said it.

“Alright?!! She looks fanbloodytastic!” Ron exclaimed. Harry glared at him disapprovingly.

“Sorry mate, I'm engaged, not dead.” Ron then chuckled and Harry was hard pressed not to
join him. “Then again you never did see her like I did, huh,” he said as he clapped Harry about the
shoulders. Harry wasn't in the mood to tell Ron how wrong he was.

“She is a bit different though, don't you think?”

Harry looked questioningly at Ron.

“If it wasn't for the fact that she still seems to have a love for overly large house pets
and can still manage to make me want to piss my pants, I'd be asking her what her favorite jam
flavor was.”

“Orange marmalade,” Harry said offhandedly.

Ron's face screwed up. “Really? I always thought it was boysenberry.”

“That's your favorite Ron.”

“Oh yeah.”

Harry shook his head at his friend.

“By any account she's a bit more free spirited then she was. Texas must have done her some
good.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement of the assessment.

“She even has a tattoo.”

“What?!!”

Ron placed a finger low on the side of his back. Very low. “Right about there.”

“WHAT?!!”

“Calm down Harry, it's not like she lifted up her shirt and gave me a free show. Fred is the
one who told me.”

If Ron was trying to help matters he was doing a piss poor job of it.

“Relax Harry! Glinda was the one who noticed it. She saw it when Hermione got up to go to the
kitchen. That's when she told Fred and he just told us just now in there.” He pointed his thumb
back towards the living room.

“Then you missed it when she came back with the ice cream. Glinda asked her about some of the
places she's gone. When Hermione mentioned Negril George, the prat, asked her if she had ever
gone to one of those nudie beaches there and went starkers. She said 'when in Rome'.”

Harry's mouth fell open.

“My reaction exactly! Glinda and Fred thought it was just the funniest thing. 'When in
Rome'...just what the hell is that supposed to mean? You think she was having us on Harry?”

Actually at the moment Harry was having a bit of a hard time thinking at all.

“That's why I was talking about Umbridge when you got back. I figured that something was
needed to deflate the situation...if you understand me."

Harry did, but he couldn't say that a nude Umbridge was enough to do the trick, even for
him.

“I didn't like the way that George was eyeing her after that.”

Harry gave Ron a mystified look. “George? Eyeing her?”

“Yeah,” Ron said disparagingly. “I always had a feeling that the wanker was sweet on her.”

“George? Sweet on Hermione?” Harry was dumbfounded by all the things Ron was telling him.
Hermione with a tattoo? Walking around starkers where he couldn't see? George fancying her? And
then to top it off Ron's over protective tone. Harry felt like his brain was slowly leaking out
of his head.

“It doesn't matter one way or another,” he said shaking his head. “Not like Hermione would
give George the time of day.”

“Oy! What's wrong with my brother?”

Harry rolled his eyes irritably at Ron. The Weasley boys and their sister were famous for
ridiculing and abusing each other, but let anyone say an unkind word about one of their siblings in
their presence, even Percy, and they went into attack mode.

“Nothing, you git! I just don't see Hermione being interested in dating your brother after
she was with you for so long. Do you?” At least I hope not, Harry thought to himself.

Ron grinned sheepishly. “I suppose you're right, eh? I just hope she stays,” he continued.
“I just can't fight the feeling that one of these days she's going to be right back out of
that door.”

Ron's gloomy yet profound words sounded almost prophetic in Harry's ears. “Yeah,” he
said.

“Than again,” the redhead brightened, “something had to bring her back, right?”

Harry's eyes still looked to the ground. “Yeah,” he half whispered again.

“Can anyone join the conversation or are you lot lot talking about chucking me out of the
band?”

Without them hearing her, Hermione had come back into the kitchen. She stealthily crept up
between them while their backs were facing her and threaded her arms around both of their waists.
She radiantly smiled at them both. After getting over the initial surprise he and Ron wrapped an
arm around her bringing them all into some kind of three way hug.

Ron looked down at her. “I don't know,” he said skeptically. “How are you on the bass?”

She wrinkled her nose as she cheekily said, “Dreadful! But I play a mean triangle.”

Ron guffawed loudly as he dropped a wet kiss on her forehead. “Forgive me?” he asked.

“Always,” she answered. Her voice then cracked as she dropped her head on his shoulder and
sobbed, “Oh Ron, I've missed you so much!”

Although he was standing right next to her Harry felt as though he might as well have been miles
away. The way she was looking at Ron made him feel like he had a clenched fist in his chest. He
morosely wondered why she couldn't look at him that way? If he could have taken back all of his
past mistakes would she have ever looked at him that way? If things were different could she look
at him that way now? Then he reminded himself that regardless of the answer it still wouldn't
make a difference.

Ron, noticing his heartsick expression, jovially nodded his head towards him, “Don't be such
a berk Harry! You know that she's missed you too!”

At these words Hermione lifted her head off of Ron and looked Harry directly in the eyes.

“With all my heart,” was all she said as she smiled sweetly at him. It was as if that clenched
fist in his chest loosened and began to caper and skip about inside him. As Harry tenderly gazed at
her for all he knew they were the only two people in the world. But then he came crashing back to
reality.

“Ow Ron! You're pocket just burned me!” Hermione squealed loudly, jumping back from both he
and Ron.

“Oh shit!” Ron dove a hand into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a glowing blue compact. He
turned around so that Harry and Hermione were facing him and opened the compact.

“Hi L-Lav Lav,” he saccharinly said.

“Ron, where the hell have you been?!” came the voice from the tiny mirror. Harry roared with
laughter. Hermione giggled. Ron looked at them both pleadingly before looking back to the
two-way.

“I'm at Harry's love.”

“Funny that Ron, I'm at Harry's too!” the squeaky, tiny little voice replied. “Your
sister is here with me. She would like to know just where in the hell her husband is as well!”

Harry's smile dropped at that. He began to feverishly make hand signals to Ron, trying to
tell him not to say that he was in the room. He pretended not to see the odd look that Hermione was
giving him.

“Well...I, um...me and Harry stepped out for a bite. I was at his office, you see...”

Ron still couldn't lie for shit.

“And um...Harry had to step away. A case. Big case happened and I...uh...”

“Are you lying to me Ron?”

Ron spluttered a few times, trying to deny the accusation before just giving up completely.

“I'll meet you at the flat Ron,” was all the reply that came back. The mirror then ceased
its glowing and Ron closed it.

“Well it's been fun, gotta go,” he said hurriedly.

Hermione chuckled. “Oooh, someone is in trouble. Wonder if she'll spank you?”

“Oh shut up Hermione!” That made her giggle harder.

“Nice leash. Small too. You can even use it to put your lip gloss on. When did you get it?”
Harry asked him.

“Lavender gave it to me yesterday. Said that we needed to be able to reach each other now that
the wedding was so near.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“As though you can talk Harry! Ginny gave you one too!”

“And I finally got the bollocks to get rid of it years ago.”

Hermione looked at him quickly and asked, “You did?” When Harry replied that indeed he had she
gave him a smile of approval. “Good on you, Harry!” Harry's chest puffed out at the
compliment.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ron darkly muttered. “But Harry's already married, I'm trying to get
there. I need to be home before Lavender makes it or there will be hell to play.”

Ron walked up to Hermione and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. Harry told himself if was
brotherly, anyhow.

“I will see you later, yes?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Harry,” Ron said, acknowledging his best friend. Harry playfully turned his cheek to him
waiting for his kiss too. Ron walked out the patio door muttering a dozen or so dirty insults
concerning Harry under his breath. Once outside he disapparated away.

Harry and Hermione weren't in the kitchen by themselves for long. Soon Glinda came in saying
that she had an hour left before she had to pick up Felicity from school. Harry was shocked to
realize that it was the late afternoon and they had all frittered away the day. Glinda called out
her husband's name and Fred came gamboling into the room.

“Blondie, you have an anti-app on the house?” he asked her.

Hermione pointed to Harry. “Blame Super Auror here.”

“She needs some protection, doesn't she?” Harry defensively said.

“Whatever,” said Fred as he walked up to Glinda and scooped her up in his arms. Glinda squealed
like a school girl. “Come wench!” As they walked out of the door Glinda promised to floo Hermione
later. Fred called out that it would be much later over his shoulders. Harry and Hermione both
awkwardly blushed at the loaded statement.

Charlie and George then walked in the room.

“Where did Fred and Glinda go?” Charlie asked.

“Home,” Hermione answered.

“And if I were you I would wait at least half an hour before popping off there,” Harry advised.
Fred and Glinda were pretty notorious for shagging right on the living room carpet where just
anyone could floo or apparate in to see.

Charlie rolled his eyes skyward. “I've never met a randier married couple then those two.
I'm surprised that they only have Felicity the way they carry on.” Charlie shook his head.

“Come home with me then,” George offered.

“Ron and Lavender are there,” Harry told them.

“Yes. Poor Lavender feels neglected apparently,” Hermione said with all of the innocence of a
black widow spider.

Charlie sighed. “Well, I guess its off to mum and dad's for a bit,” he said to George. Harry
and Hermione laughed. “I hope you don't mind if I knick a few pomegranates from you Harry. I
hear that they are the best.”

Harry said that he didn't mind at all. Charlie had never been to the Hollow himself, but all
those who had always bragged on his tree and the plethora of delicious fruit it bore year
round.

“Funny how everyone seems to leave while the living room looks like a sty,” Hermione tartly
reproached them all

Charlie and George coyly averted their eyes from her causing her to shake her head.

“I'll take care of it for you,” Harry said helpfully.

Hermione grinned at him. “My hero.”

George whispered to Charlie, loud enough for the benefit of the room, “Ever seen such a brown
nose?” Charlie tried not to laugh, especially when Harry gave them both such a withering look, but
it was pointless.

Harry didn't care what they said. He couldn't leave the huge mess for Hermione to clean
alone. And it was all his fault that everyone converged on her anyways. Cleaning up the living room
was the least he could do. Besides one of the perks that came with being a wizard meant that it
would only take a minute or two.

When he was done he walked back into the kitchen where he found Hermione sitting on top of the
counter on the left of the double basin sink. George was leaning into her, whispering in her ear.
Something he said made her laugh girlishly and she gave him a playful smack on the arm. George
would have been ashes if the Potter Death Glare was strong enough.

“Hem, hem.” Harry was trying his best to remain cool and calm. The two of them look towards him.
George smiled brightly while Hermione, seeing his strained smile, gave him a puzzled look.

“Pretty good Umbridge there Harry. Next time just try it with a tad more sexual frustration,”
George advised as he stood up straight and leaned in to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek. If that
wasn't bad enough he had the gall to then give the other cheek a kiss as well.

“Make sure you come to the store sometime this week,” he said to her.

“As long as nothing gives me a black eye,” she quipped. George, in feigned solemnity, promised
on his honor to make sure of it. He then cordially waved at Harry before walking out on to the
patio. After that the sound of two separate disapperations was heard as well as the dog
barking.

For awhile silence filled the sunny cottage kitchen. Hermione still sat atop the counter, her
legs swinging back and forth while Harry stood across from her in the doorway. It was nothing short
of awkward and yet not unpleasant. They were alone together, his longing glances ultimately
betraying his carefully relaxed pose, and the rapid breathing he was trying to control. His eye was
captivated by Hermione's absently swinging leg and the naked feet that kept banging at the
cabinets below it. He silently wondered how she could be breathing so steadily and look so relaxed
when he was over here all but dying inside with the need to touch her.

“So,” she said as her eyes locked with his for a moment then skirted away.

“So,” he mumbled as his eyes did the same.

“I think...”

“Maybe we should..."

They both stopped and laughed as they realized that they were talking over each other. Harry
came further into the kitchen and stood in front of Hermione.

“So did you enjoy our little makeshift housewarming?” he asked as he rested a hand on the
counter next to her.

“It was alright I guess,” she nonchalantly said as she turned her eyes towards the ceiling
pretending to be bored.

“Just alright? You even looked like you were enjoying laying into Ron again.”

“Rather like riding a bike. I guess you never forget,” she kidded. “Although I think I would
have much preferred a nice kip then sitting around with you lot.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Harry joked.

“Doth not,” she practically purred in such a naughty manner that Harry felt himself harden in
his pants. How the fuck does she do that? he wondered. He leaned in closer to the cabinet in case
she chose to look down.

“So, did you clean up in there?”

He gave her a winning smile. “That I did,” he said, very proud of himself. “All the trash was
vanished.”

“And what did you do with all of your mum's dishes?” The cupboards and closets were still
filled with his parents' linens, dishes, flatware and the like and he gladly gave Hermione
permission to use whatever she needed until she bought more of her own.

“Sent them to their proper places.”

Hermione gave him an appraising look. “Very impressive Mr. Potter. I'm pretty surprised that
you know cleaning charms. I just assumed that Dobby spoiled you rotten. Dobby and Ginny that is,”
she said as her lips that were spread in a big smile twitched. She then hopped off of the counter
and began to open the cabinet doors and drawers looking for the bowls they had been eating out of
and the spoons and forks they used. After finding the cutlery and putting them in the sink she then
bent down and looked in one of the cabinets giving Harry a fascinating view of her round, pert
bum.

“I never liked using *scourgify* on dishes myself though. I always found that the cups or
plates were still a bit sticky. I always enjoyed cleaning the muggle way. Always helped me relieve
tension.” She straightened and looked at Harry. “Know what I mean?”

“Huh?”

Hermione shook her head and bent down again as she began to collect the bowls she found.
“Cleaning Harry,” she said. “Its a good way to get rid of your pent up frustrations, let loose some
of your tension. You should try it,” she said encouragingly as her lovely behind bobbed up and down
before him.

“Yes...frustrated...” he absentmindedly mumbled.

As her sweatshirt began to slowly ride up, inch by inch of her skin was revealed. It was enough
to turn him into a babbling Neanderthal. But then his eye caught sight of something that absolutely
floored him. As if it had a mind of its own his hand reached out to touch the piece of bare back
that was exposed. Although his touch could have only been feather light the infinitesimal moment of
contact discomposed Hermione so much that she cried out and dropped the bowls from her hand. As the
dishes fell to the floor and shattered in dozens of tiny pieces she wailed in dismay and dropped to
the tiled ground. Harry fell to his knees as well and motioned for her to stop picking up the
broken fragments with her hand. He reached into his robes and pulled his wand out of its holster
and waved it over the debris. Within seconds the bowls were mended as if they were brand new and
Harry quickly healed the tiny knicks and cuts Hermione had received on her hands, knees, and legs.
Without saying a word, without even looking him in the eye she gathered the bowls to her and
hurried them over to the sink. After turning on the water faucet she looked in a few drawers until
she found a wash cloth, a towel, and a bar of soap. She didn't realize that Harry had conjured
them for her. She just seemed terribly flustered and on edge and looked like she desperately needed
something to focus her attention on. As Harry watched her rigid back he could feel the uneasiness
rolling off of her. Hermione looked like she was ready to go back to ignoring him again and now
that he finally had her to himself he realized that he didn’t want that to happen.

“You have a tattoo,” he said simply.

She turned the water off and turned to face him. “What are you on about?”

“I hope you're not going to deny it,” he exasperatedly said. “Because Glinda saw it too and
I don't care what she and Fred are doing right now, I'll floo her and have her confirm
it.”

She made a sound that meant she was quite put out by him.

“I didn't deny it. I just asked what you were on about,” she snootily said. Hermione then
turned back around to the sink and sank her hands into the water. “So I have a tattoo. Big
deal.”

Harry had no idea where he found the balls to ask what he did next, but once the words were out
of his mouth he didn't regret them.

“Can I see it?”

Hermione spun around to face him. Her amber-brown eyes went extraordinarily large.

“I, uh...I don't think that's such a good idea Harry.”

Harry boldly stepped closer to and never took his eyes off of her own.

“Why not?” he confidently asked. “If its no big deal that you have it it should be no big deal
for me to look at it, right?” He winked slyly at her.

One of his hands rested on the counter beside her although he was mindful to give her space. He
searched her eyes looking for the response that he was hoping for. Harry saw a bit of sweat bead at
her hairline. If he knew his Hermione Granger well enough he was certain that no matter what the
woman would not stand down to a challenge. She was stubborn, obstinate, and willful at times and
Merlin how he loved those qualities about her! She was willing to stare down anyone for him, be it
the Dursleys or Riddle and she never hesitated to take him down when he deserved it too. So now he
had thrown down the gauntlet and he was waiting for her reaction. He got it in the form of her
stamping her foot down, turning around, and lifting her shirt up.

Although Harry wasn't sure of what he might have done he could only conclude that in another
life he had been a very good boy. Sure Hermione only lifted the shirt far enough so that Harry
could get a peek at her lower back, but what he did see was heavenly. He even got down on his knees
so he could 'inspect' the tattoo closer. When he placed his palm on her skin it seemed to
warm to his touch and tremble just so. Oh how he wanted to glide his tongue against the little area
where her back dimpled inward! But Harry retained an outward semblance of control and went about
the whole thing as though he were just satisfying a mild curiosity. Before the temptation to hoist
her up against the sink and take her right then and there on the counter top could play itself
fully as it did in his mind he yanked the shirt down and stood up.

“N-nice,” he said in a low, thick voice.

She turned around and folded her arms in front of her.

“Nice?!” she asked incredulously.

Harry dumbly nodded his head. “What is it? Looks like a cartoon?”

“It's Bambi.”

Harry's blank stare seemed to annoy her.

“Haven't you ever heard of the movie Bambi? Forest fire, dead mum, inappropriately named
character named Thumper? Everything thats needed to make a great children's classic?”

Harry only scratched his head.

“Harry really, you were raised by muggles...”

“Yes Hermione, we've been through this enough times before.”

She tutted at his remark.

“Well Bambi is a fawn. A baby deer.”

“Why would you want to put the picture of a baby deer on yourself?”

“Its not that I wanted it. Its just...I...” she paused trying to explain. “Let's see...how
can I explain this properly?”

Realization dawned on Harry quickly.

“You were ripped to the tits weren't you?”

“And how!” Hermione said in shame as she cupped her red cheeks. “One night my stupid roommates
and myself were so pissed that we decided to get tattoos. I was moving out and we wanted to have
something to always remember each other by.” She looked at him anxiously. “I don't know, I
think I might have been the one to suggest it.”

Harry placed his hands on his knees and bent himself over to laugh. She was just so darned cute
when she got that helpless look in her eyes.

“Laugh it up Potter!” she irritably snapped, only causing him to laugh harder. When his laughter
settled down she continued with her story.

“We ended up in this dodgy little place in Fort Worth. Amy picked out mine. She thought it would
be cute. Benny made her, the tiniest little blue eyed blonde haired Southern Belle you could ever
meet, get a skull and cross bones on her shoulder. I'm not even going to tell you where he has
'I HEART MUM' emblazoned for life,” she said.

Harry sniggered. “You really are a terrible drunk.”

“I know,” she said forlornly. “And I do almost everything else so well!” Harry chuckled harder.
“Every time I drink I just end up doing something I eventually regret! The last time I...”

Hermione's eyes bulged. It was obvious that she was about to say something that she
didn't want Harry to hear. That only meant that Harry would not rest until she told him.

“You what?”

She cracked an innocent smile.

“I think I hear Lizzie calling. Oh Lizzie,” she called as she tried to run out onto the patio.
Harry blocked her path. She gave him a vexed look before walking back to the sink and leaning into
the counter.

“You what?” Harry asked again as he walked up in front of her.

Hermione rolled her eyes before looking down at her feet and mumbling, “I kissed George.”

Harry laughed. “I'm sorry, you have to speak louder. It almost sounded like you said you
kissed George.”

Hermione turned her big brown, guilty eyes up towards him.

“You kissed George?!”

Hermione then decided to channel Ron.

“Just a little.”

Harry spit and sputtered in a daze. I'll be a boggart's uncle, Harry thought, Ron was
actually right about something!

“Oh relax dad,” she said in distaste. “It was no big deal! He kissed me too!”

“Not helping Hermione!”

“We were both drinking Harry! Three sheets to the wind. Banjanxed out of our gourds,” she said
simply. “And we both instantly regretted it.”

“But Ron thinks George fancies you!”

Hermione smiled amusedly. “George? Fancy me? Honestly! I assure you that George Weasley does not
fancy me. The look of utter horror on his face after our ill-fated smooch was enough to confirm
that fact. If I wasn't already so disgusted with myself my ego would have been severely
bruised!”

“Did you kiss Fred too?!” Harry knew he was being a jerk to say it he, but he couldn't
control his jealousy. It almost felt like everyone had gotten a chance to kiss Hermione. Everyone,
but him.

“As if Fred would have me! I'm nowhere near exotic enough.”

This was true. Harry still would have preferred it if she had simply said no.

“I once fancied Percy though, but that was ages before I realized what an arse he was.”

“Percy?!”

“Well he was Head Boy! Don't give me that look. The Weasleys are a good looking lot.”

Harry folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief. “What's a bloke got to do to get
noticed around here? Dye his hair red?”

“Oh, you're attractive too. Sort of. If I tilt my head like this. And squint.” And she did
just that.

“Cute. Does anyone know about this? The George thing.”

“I've never told anyone. Certainly not Ron. And I'm pretty sure George didn't say
anything to Fred because if he did Fred would have told his wife and if Glinda knew I would never
have heard the end of it. Actually the only person who might have known was...”

“If you say Malfoy...”

“Why would Draco know something like that? No, I was going to say your wife.”

Harry was in shock. “Ginny?!”

“It was after one of those little gatherings leading up to your wedding. George and I were out
in the backyard sharing a bottle of Absinthe. I don't know what he was drinking to forget but
I...”

Hermione's face took on a pained look as her voice faltered and her eyes flickered to his
and then darted away. She walked back over to the sink to avoid his eyes.

“It was as we were pulling away from each other that Ginny walked into the yard.”

This information absolutely astounded Harry. “What did she say?”

“Nothing. Like I was trying to say before, I was never really sure that Ginny even saw anything.
She didn't mention it. She just asked us if we knew where you were and walked back into the
house.”

Harry released his breath. That made far more sense to him. “She must not have seen. If she did
Ginny would have told me,” he confidently said. Hermione then mumbled something so unintelligible
that had Harry not been paying such close attention to her he might have missed it.

“Like your wife tells you everything.”

Harry bemusedly asked, “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She turned back to face him and smiled. “Unruffle the feathers Potter. All I mean is
that wives rarely ever tell their husbands every thing. If they did then all the mystery would go
out their marriage. Besides, I'm sure you don't tell your wife every thing. Do you?”

It was time now for Harry to avert his eyes.

“Exactly.”

Harry was not amused. In fact he was getting more agitated by the second. There was something
about this conversation that just wasn't sitting well with him, but he couldn't put his
finger on what it could be.

“So if George doesn't fancy you what was all that whispering about when I walked in on you
two?”

“Oh that?” She turned her back to him as she put her hands in the water and began to wash the
few dishes in it. “That was just George being a plonker. Asking me if I had come to town to stop
Ron's wedding. Honestly.”

Although Harry could hear the amusement in Hermione's voice he still flinched at her words.
George had actually put it out in the open. George had actually asked the question that Harry had
been too frightened to hear the answer to. Because in his mind it all added up. Why else would
Hermione come tearing home, after being gone for so long? It made perfect sense to Harry. She had
already proved time and time again that when it came to Ron she did things completely out of
character for herself. Why not interrupt his wedding ceremony, beg him to take her back, run off
with the groom and have a house full of red headed children? Ron had already dumped one bride at
the alter, why not go for a second? Because there was no way that he would choose Lavender over
Hermione. Harry knew this for certain. What man in his right mind would just throw away the
opportunity to be with her?

As all of these thoughts ran through Harry's mind his silence made Hermione turn from what
she was doing and look at his troubled, distracted face. Before he could erase the expression that
was on it she gasped as her eyes widened.

“Oh my God! You think I came back to stop the wedding! Don't you?”

“Well,” he began, unsure at first of how to continue...if he wanted to continue. “Have you?”

Hermione removed her hands from the water and shook them out before using them to cover her
mouth.

“Oh my God!” she said again.

“Did you come to England to win Ron back? Is that what you're doing here?” It absolutely
killed him to say these words, but he had to know. It wasn't as if he could stop her or change
her mind if such was the case. But he had to know!

“I don't know whether to laugh or to hit you.” She still sounded as though she thought he
were telling her a joke.

He growled at the back of his throat. “And once again you avoid the topic.”

“Oh, there's a topic?” she asked in an immensely superior tone that made the hairs on
Harry's neck bristle. “I thought you were just stringing along nonsense words hoping to make a
coherent sentence out of them.”

“You and Ron looked awfully chummy out there on the couch earlier.”

“So did Glinda and I. Think I'm trying to get in her pants too?”

Harry ignored the question.

“And you started a fight with him.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Trying to relieve some
of that old sexual tension?”

“Sexual tension? Are you mad?!” she exclaimed as she searched Harry's face trying to see if
he really were out of his mind. “Sure I wanted to knock Ron down, but to strangle him! Not to have
my wanton way with him.”

Hermione then began to giggle .

“What could possibly make you think that I have any intention of trying to stop Ron from
marrying that scatter brained half wit of his?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief at her.

“Well that for example,” he said as he pointed at her. “Why are you constantly harping on
Lavender? Jealous maybe?”

This accusation only made her giggle more. To the point of hiccups. And tears. Harry was
beginning to feel very silly all of a sudden.

“Jealous?!” She said the word as if it were the most improbable thing ever. “Jealous?!
Honestly,” she dismissively said as she rolled her eyes.

“Argh! I hate it when you take that tone with me,” he said in a very frustrated manner. “It
makes me very angry.”

And horny, a little voice said to him.

“And annoyed.”

And horny, it said again.

“And it makes me want to...to...”

Shag the living daylights out of you!!!

Harry tore at his hair as he yowled in aggravation. He turned his back to her and walked towards
the kitchen table. He seated himself on the cushioned bench, placed his elbows on the table, and
dropped his face into his hands. Now was not the fucking time for his trousers to want to get
involved in this!

“Ok,” he heard her say in bewilderment. When he looked up again she was standing right beside
him. She motioned for him to move over. He hesitated for only a moment before doing so. As she slid
over on the bench she looked at him warily, as if she were awaiting his next outburst
cautiously.

“I'm not jealous of Lavender,” Hermione reiterated as she placed her hands on the table and
clasped them together. “I just can't stand the sight of her smug face. And that simpering
little way she speaks. And if you ever had to endure her singing in the morning you would swear
that there was no God!”

Hermione was warming to her subject now.

“And the way she clings to Ron like a burr! And...”

“But you're not jealous, right?” he asked archly.

“I'm not!” she exasperatedly said. “Just protective. I want the best for Ron just like I
want...wanted it for you. But Lavender just isn't good enough for him!”

He asked in a tight, almost hurt voice, “And I suppose you are?”

She pulled back from him, amazed. “Me?” she asked. “I love Ron too much to ever wish myself on
him again!”

Harry looked at her in total confusion.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but closed abruptly. She then asked, “Have you ever
took the time to ponder on how utterly amazing Ron Weasley is?”

The question completely threw him.

“Ye...no.”

She laughed.

“You know you are absolutely adorable when you're mind thinks in two directions at once,”
she said, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Harry didn't quite know how to take the compliment. After all, infants were adorable. And
pixies. And baby jarvies before their mouths got too filthy. Harry wasn't so sure that he liked
being called adorable.

“Ron is the best friend to top all best friends,” she began. “A partner in crime, a confidant.
He's loyal almost to a fault and when he loves you he does it fiercely. Sure he has had his
moments, but when he finally grew up he was more then happy to stand behind you, be your support
system. Why? Because you needed him. And he needed you. I think that's why I was so upset when
you two were acting so cold to each other back during the Triwizard competition. I couldn't
stand the idea of anything coming between you two.”

Her eyes misted for a second before she shook her head bravely, straightened her shoulders and
pressed on.

“Ron didn't care if he didn't have the spotlight as long as you were alright. He stopped
caring that others only saw him as second best to you. It didn't matter to him.” She lovingly
placed a hand on his cheek. “Not like you mattered to him. But it mattered to me,” she sadly said
as she slowly removed her hand.

“Ron deserved the best kind of love. He used to tell me how he felt lost in the shuffle of his
family and he was so accepting of that. It hurt my heart that he could feel that way. So I was
determined to make it better for him. I just knew that I could be the one that loved him best. I
was certain that it was supposed to be me. And he wanted it to be me so bad. But eventually I
realized that we were both wrong."

Hermione sniffed loudly and leaned back on the bench. She wiped a hand across her right eye
before folding her arms over her stomach.

“You know how I hate to be wrong about anything,” she said as she cracked a smile. Harry
returned it as he leaned back as well.

“That's why I fought it for so long. I thought that I could make everything right by the
strength of my own will. I mean, I was still attracted to Ron and he still made me laugh. And we
never had any problems in the bed...”

At the sight of Harry stricken face Hermione paused.

“Sorry,” she sheepishly apologized. She cleared her throat as she sat back up to continue. “It
was for these reasons and...others...that I tried to make it work. I tried to force myself to make
it work. I kept going back to Ron because I would tell myself that this would be the time that it
would work. And there were even times that I almost fooled myself into believing it. But I could
never give Ron all of me.”

She turned her head and held his gaze intensely. “Does that make sense?”

Harry only nodded his head. He was bowled over by all that she was telling him.

“The truth is I didn't want to give him that part of myself that I held back. I felt like it
was wrong. It didn't belong to him! But the worse part is that Ron somehow knew all of this. He
could sense that I stayed with him out of some sense of obligation...fealty. And he was willing to
accept even that. That wasn't fair to him! And it wasn't fair to me. That's why Ron and
I had to end it finally. That last break-up? Hurt like hell, but it needed to be done because
eventually Ron and I would have ended up hating each other. And I couldn't live with that
happening. That's why out of all of my regrets that has never been one of them. Do you get me
now?”

Harry did. He could now see that the playfulness and easy going atmosphere that he witnessed
between Ron and Hermione had no other connotation other then two dear old friends who had finally
found peace with one another. If he thought about it they were almost like siblings, laughing,
teasing, making each other insanely annoyed. He felt almost foolish for letting his jealousy blind
him as it did. Just that easily all of his qualms and insecurities dissolved away into
nothingness.

“I do not want to stop Ron's wedding. I want to be there on the day that he marries the
woman that he loves. And I'm more then ok with that person not being me.”

“Ron told you that he loved Lavender?”

Hermione quirked a smile. “He didn't have to. I saw the way that he looked at her and just
knew.”

The smile dropped however when she said, “That doesn't mean that I have to like her
though.”

She got up from the breakfast nook and walked back to the sink.

A lighthearted smile formed its self on Harry's lips. She could be so damned stubborn, he
thought to himself.

“No, you don't have to like her,” he said as he crossed to her. “But could you cut her a
little slack for Ron's sake?” he asked. “Say what you like about Lavender, and believe me I
have, she loves our best mate. Religiously almost.”

Hermione tutted at the sentiment.

“She laughs at all of his jokes...unfortunately,” Harry said, grimacing a bit. “She fights tooth
and nail for him when the twins have a go. Did you know she's been to all of his games? Even
when he was warming the bench for Chudley.”

“Like I was just going to go to some silly match like some lobotomized Quidditch girlfriend and
watch a few blokes I don't even know fly into a goal post just to...”

“Hermione!”

“Sorry.”

Harry shook his head as he turned her around by her shoulders to face him. “Point is, if you
want the best for Ron you are going to have to accept that Lavender might be it!”

Although she was rolling her eyes again he could tell that he was getting through to her.

“Besides, who else will have the big lummox?”

Her lips twitched ever so slightly and Harry knew he had her beat. His grin widened.

“You just hate it when I'm right, don't you?”

“I don't hate it,” she said as her eyebrow arched upward, “it just happens so rarely that it
gives me pause is all. Hmph!”

“Whatever. So you will lay off of Lavender?

Hermione held her right hand up, palm facing forward. “Starting tomorrow I will never say
another disparaging word against that blonde, big breasted, bubble headed blabbermouth.”

Harry was impressed by the alliteration, but he still gave her a disappointed frown.

“What?! I said tomorrow!” She put her hand down.

He tried his best not to laugh although he found it a very difficult task. Hermione smirked and
went back to the sink.

“But when you're made the godfather of little Lilac Weasley just remember that I was the
only voice of reason through out all of this.”

At this Harry did laugh. Not just because he found it humorous, but because he could also see
Lavender picking out the name and Ron stupidly going along with it.

Hermione picked up the towel and held it out in his direction. Harry, understanding the gesture,
unzipped his work robes and laid them over the table. He also took off his holster. Harry then
rolled up his dress shirt sleeves, walked over, and took the towel. He noted the appraising look
she had been giving him as he took off his robe and almost fooled himself into thinking that she
was checking him out.

Hermione began to wash the assorted dishes as she handed them to Harry to dry. As he dried each
one he put them in their appropriate drawer or cabinet. In comfortable silence they went about this
little chore although every time Hermione handed him a bowl or a spoon and their hands brushed up
against each other Harry had to wonder if it the electrical charge he felt was all a part of his
psychosis, his wishful thinking. To take his mind off of this he tried to make pleasant
conversation.

“So,” he said glancing at her sweatshirt, “Longhorns do it better?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and a mischievous smile pulled at the corner of
her lips.

“Are you asking me or propositioning me?”

Harry nearly fumbled the last bowl in his hand. It was almost hard to believe he had once been a
world class Seeker. When the bowl was safely in its cabinet he took a peek at her smug, pleased
smile and, deciding to throw caution to the wind, figured that as long as Hermione was in this
happy-go-lucky little mood he would test the boundaries of it.

“You're flirting with me.”

It was more of a fishing experiment then a statement. Harry was beginning to notice an
interesting pattern. Whenever he and Hermione were in the company of others he could practically
touch the wall that she put up between him and herself. Ron was right, she did come off rather
distant. But to Harry she might has well have been on the other side of the Great Wall of China. It
was as if she would rather focus her attention on anyone but him. But when they were alone? When it
was just the two of them whatever barrier she tried to erect didn't stand a chance against
Harry and Hermione doing what they did best, just being Harry and Hermione. And truth be told she
had been a bit flirty with him. Then again he had been acting like she was a pot of honey and he
was a bumblebee sniffing about. He really had no room to talk.

Hermione's self-satisfied smirk quickly dropped and she looked at him as though he had
whispered that there were a cell of Death Eaters in the next room.

“What?!”

“It just seems like you're flirting with me, is all,” Harry said coolly although he could
feel his feet sweating in their boots.

She turned her head from him and said briskly, “Don't be silly Harry.” She continued to wash
the same spoon over and over again.

Harry was terribly put out. She completely dismissed the idea that she could possibly flirt with
him, find him attractive. What was so wrong with him?

“What's wrong with me?” he asked childishly.

“Oh Harry, you're still fanciable.” Although Harry should have been pleased with the
compliment the fact that she barely glanced at him when she said it spoke volumes to Harry. She
thought he was good looking, just not to her. Just not for her.

“You used to flirt with Malfoy,” he accusingly said.

Hermione scoffed. “I never flirted with Draco, he would flirt with me.”

“Malfoy would flirt with a bowl of cornflakes if he thought it would get him somewhere. But
you,” he peevishly said eying her up and down, “you used to encourage him.”

“I nev-”

Harry turned to face her fully and gave her a piercing look.

“Maybe I flirted a little,” she conceded. “But that was how Draco and I got along. That was our
thing,” Hermione said, trying to explain her position. Harry wanted to kick something. Preferably
Draco Malfoy's fat head. “That and witty banter. You and I,” she warily eyed Harry before
turning back to the sink, “we never had that.”

“Witty banter?”

“No. Flirting. That...that was never a part of our relationship. It wasn't our
'thing'.” She turned back to the dishes.

Harry looked at her wondrously. “We had a 'thing'?”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. “Of course we did.”

The answer pleased Harry and he smiled to himself. Of course they did.

Just not the thing he wanted, Harry wistfully sighed.

“So the shirt,” Harry said, trying to clear his mind of his unrequited feelings and referencing
her sweatshirt again.

“It's the University of Texas,” she said as she turned towards him and smoothed down the
front of it. “A friend of mine went there. I can't tell you how glad that I'll never have
to go to another Shootout as long as I live.”

Harry looked at her quizzically and she explained, “It's this football game. I went to it
almost every year. Not like our football, mind you. Then again all sports are the same to me.”

“So was it Amy or Benny?”

Hermione wrinkled her brow and said, “Excuse me?”

“The friend,” Harry said, trying to make himself clear as he leaned into the kitchen counter.
“You said a friend went there.”

Hermione blinked her eyes at him before turning away from him.

“Neither,” she said in an even, nonchalant tone that grated on Harry's nerve. She then
hopped up on the counter on the other side of her basin.

“I actually took some courses there myself,” said Hermione.

Whereas a moment ago he had been irritably wondering if this 'friend' of Hermione's
was this Collier person, who made her go to football games and had called her an obscenely amount
of times, this revelation piqued his interest.

“Really?”

She nodded. “I was considering actually becoming a full fledged teacher but I...I just
couldn't find the time. But I did enjoy a lot of my classes. American Literature, anthropology,
a simply divine art history class...the professor wasn't that bad either,” she said as she
smiled naughtily. Harry simply rolled his eyes.

“A psychology course or two,” she continued.

“I thought you hated psychology,” he asked curiously.

“No, I said I hated **a** psychologist,” she primly informed him. “I never saw a good reason
to hold that against the entire field, hmm?” She eyed him inquisitively. “Like you obviously,” she
said. “What happened to you, a therapist told you that you had an Oedipus complex or
something?”

Although Harry knew that she must have made one of her little jokes judging by her saucy grin,
he shook his head and ignored it.

“I saw a psycho-therapist,” Harry frowned, “Psycho is the operative word. I only saw the git
once.”

Hermione's smile fell as she looked at him worriedly. “Why? What for?”

Harry nearly beat his head into the counter top. Good going Potter, he practically shouted at
himself.

“Oh nothing,” he said casually and tried to smile innocently. “Just some dreams I was
having.”

“Oh?” Since Harry was smiling she smiled as well. “Sounds interesting. What were they
about?”

“Hmm?”

“The dreams,” she said, “what were they about?”

Harry's mind clouded over . Your lips. Your hair. The way you giggle when I kiss the pads of
your feet. The moan that escapes your throat when your back arches just so...

“I rather not talk about it,” he said as his eyes embarrassedly darted away from her own. He
missed the frown that settled on her face. “It doesn't matter anyhow.”

Harry hadn't actually had another one of those dreams since the night before Ron's
party. That made for three days now. Although they had driven him to the point of madness and
distraction Harry now found himself missing them terribly. But in a way it was a blessing in
disguise. Ginny had moved back into their bedroom, permanently it would seem.

“Alright,” she said, voice unsure, as she looked at him warily. “So this therapist was of no
help to you?”

Harry shook his head. “Not much.”

“That's a shame.” Hermione said. “I actually find a lot of merit in the field. I've read
quite a few books, especially on dream analysis.”

“I have too,” Harry said dismissively. “Dream books, oneiromancy...”

“Oneiromancy?! Oh Harry,” she said giving Harry a rueful look.

“It's a legitimate field!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I'm talking Jung, Alder, Perls, and Freud Harry, not Sybil
Trelawney doused in cooking sherry!”

Looking at the bewildered expression on Harry's face Hermione sighed.

“Have you never heard of Sigmund Freud?” When Harry answered “no” Hermione continued. “Some
people like to think of him as the father of modern psychology. He had a whole theory about
dreams,” she explained. “He believed that nothing we did occurred by chance, that our unconscious
selves motivates every action we make. When you repress all of your urges and impulses, generally
those of a sexual nature, they have to manifest themselves in some way, right?” she asked him.

“So they do it in dreams,” Harry said.

“That's right. But he was a bit of a pervert. To him everything was about sex, sex,
sex.”

Harry gulped anxiously.

“But then there is the Jung school of thought,” she continued. “Where as Freud saw everything as
sexual and animalistic, Jung saw dreams as being more spiritual. That our dreams provided us with
what could make us whole.”

“I...I like this Jung fellow,” Harry said in a slightly strained voice.

“I kind of like that Jung fellow too,” Hermione said with a small smile.

“You know a lot about dreams.”

Hermione's smile wavered, but held. “I've had a bit of a vested interest in them you
could say.”

“Well let's say this...I don't know...random bloke had been having these dreams,” Harry
said as he came closer to her. His face then paled. “These very detailed dreams. And lets say that
all of a sudden they just stopped.” He looked her in the eye. “What do you make of that?” he
asked.

“Are we talking hypothetically or are we talking you?”

“Just humor me Hermione,” Harry said huffily.

Stifling her giggles she said, “Well 'Hypothetical Man'...”

A giggle escaped.

“He must have achieved his goal. Yes?”

“No.”

“Alright then. It sounds like his unconscious mind is trying to motivate him into action. Kind
of like a rat in a hamster wheel chasing after a piece of cheese. He knows what he wants, it's
his job to go get it now.”

Harry pulled away from her as he pondered the meaning behind her words.

“So Harry, if you want to go and live out your dreams of being some Rock God, and borrow my
stilettos, call yourself something foppishly outrageous like Ziggy Glitter and nancy about in
nothing but a pair of assless chaps; Ron and I will support you a hundred percent. We'll be
right behind you all the way.”

Harry's mouth dropped open at the sight of her serious face and oddball words. He almost
asked her if she were feeling well, but when he saw the merry glint in her eyes he couldn't
help but smile.

“Well, maybe not Ron. But can you blame him? Assless chaps Harry? Honestly!”

“You know you've developed entirely too much cheek since you've been gone.”

She giggled and her nose wrinkled in the most precious fashion.

“I think,” he said giving her an ominous look that made her rear back on the counter, “something
needs to be done about it.” His fingers glided over the edge of the basin as he neared her. “In
fact,” Harry said as he dipped his hands in the luke warm water that filled the sink, “I think you
need to be taught a lesson. Don't you?”

“Harry,” she said as she raised her hands before her, “whatever you are planning, stop it. Or
I'll...I'll...” she warned. This only earned her an impish grin from Harry.

“Or you'll what?” he asked as he flicked water out of the sink at her causing her to
shout.

“Harry stop!”

“Can't,” he said as he sent more water at her, soaking her shirt and letting little drops
roll down her legs. She hollered again. “You were going to do something to me, remember? I wanted
to hear what it was.” Once again he flicked the dish water at her as he moved closer.

Hermione tried scooting herself as far on the counter as she could to get away from him. “Harry
Potter if you don't stop...” she said cried through a mix of indignation and mirth. He splashed
her again.

“I can do this all night,” he playfully responded to her idle threats as he suddenly lurched
forward and grabbed hold of her wrists, pulling her flush to him.

“Stop, stop,” she giggled madly as she tried to ward him off . “You're making me all wet
Harry!” she scolded him as her knees, in what seemed an unconscious move, came up about his hips
and pressed Harry even closer.

And thats when everything stopped. The foolery, the failing limbs, the ringing laughter.
Everything came to a grinding halt. Everything except both of their ragged breathing as the
realization of the position they were now in began to slowly seep in: Harry, between Hermione's
legs, as the throbbing, pulsing muscle in his pants pressed against her.

Hallelujah! For Harry, it was as if a choir of seraphim had peeled back the roof of the house to
sing down upon him. The sensation of being wrapped in Hermione was so powerful, so strong, so
utterly mind blowing that Harry gave into the dizzying feel of it and rocked himself against her.
The immediate result produced a shudder in Hermione that seemed to travel the length of her body.
As if exerted from the force of it her eyes closed and her head lolled back. A whimper escaped her
parted lips. That was when Harry suddenly realized that he was going to kiss her, right then, right
there. He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care about Ginny. He didn't
even care if Hermione was going to stop him. He just knew that if he let this opportunity go to
finally find out if she tasted like strawberries, like she did in his dreams, he would without
question go mad.

With his hands still wrapped about her wrists he gently eased her towards him as he began to
lower his head. As his lips began to hover over hers Hermione languidly opened her eyes of deep
dark golden amber, their eyes locked and Harry felt himself wanting to fall in them and loose
himself to the deluge.

It was at this time that Lizzie decided to interrupt.

The sudden impact of a weight being thrown against him startled Harry and threw his hazy mind
for such a loop that he instantly dropped Hermione's wrists and stepped back from her. This
movement gave Lizzie ample opportunity to rear herself up on her hind legs and rest her paws on
Harry's chest as she leaned against him. Her pink tongue hung out as she panted, in a warm
mannert, and her bobtail swished back and forth. Harry tried to gently push the dog off of him, but
Lizzie, thinking that they were playing a game only barked affectionately. She even tried to take a
few loving licks at his face.

“Lizzie down!” Hermione called to the dog in an authoritative, as well as slightly disgruntled
tone. At the sound of her master's voice the dog dropped down to all fours and obediently
padded towards her, her tail wagging low. Hermione hopped off of the counter and dropped to her
knees as she put her arms around Lizzie's neck. Subsequently she also hid her face from
Harry's view in the thick of Lizzie's fur.

“She saw that we were playing a game and she wanted to play too,” Hermione crooned to the dog in
a babyish voice. “Didn't you girl?”

As if on cue the dog barked making Hermione giggle. Her eyes then looked up at him.

“Sorry Harry, as soon as she sees a little rough housing she wants to jump in.”

Rough housing? Is that what they were calling it these days?

“She must have come in and saw you and I playing. She just tends to get carried away. Don't
you girl?”

Harry distractedly ran his fingers through his hair and tried to get himself, all of himself,
under control. As his breathing returned to normal he cast his eyes about him to see if he was
actually standing inside the kitchen or if his physical body was some place else. For a moment he
had to honestly question himself if the 'not quite kiss' had actually just happened or if
it was just another fantasy running away from him. Did he just loose himself again? Had his
stressed out mind turned simple horseplay into some longed for heated encounter? The citrus smell
of her perfume that lingered on his fingers, was he imagining it? Harry actually contemplated
pinching himself. Maybe he was still hallucinating. He looked at Hermione, who seemed intent on
ignoring him in favor of the dog, to see if anything was amiss. Her eyes flickered to his nervously
and just as quickly skirted away. And Harry knew.

She's going to pretend that nothing happened, his frantic mind shouted. She's going to
pretend that I wasn't about to kiss her just now. She's going to pretend that she
wasn't going to let me. Because without a single doubt, as soon as Harry looked into her eyes
right before the goddamned dog came between them he knew that she was going to allow him to kiss
her. Maybe she got caught up in the moment. Maybe she replaced his lips with a pair of her own
imagining and forgot that it was him, Harry, wedged between her thighs. Harry didn't know which
it was. But what he was terrifyingly certain of was the fact that Hermione, for whatever reason was
going to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened between them. Harry was so
distraught that he almost hauled her up by the shoulders and begged her not to do that to him.

“She's probably hungry, poor thing. It's a wonder there isn't dog puke everywhere
seeing as how George seems to think that they can eat just any old thing.”

Although she was technically talking to him Hermione's was speaking towards the dog.

“I should go change and take her for a walk. Stop off at the grocers and pick up a few things
for us to eat tonight and tomorrow morning. Would you like that girl?”

“Let me go with you,” Harry said eagerly as he took a step towards her. Hermione stood up and
Lizzie, looking back and forth between them and somehow sensing the unease in the room, trotted out
of the kitchen and into the living room.

“I don't think that's such a good idea Harry,” she said as she followed the dog into the
other room. Harry ran back to the table to scoop up his things before following her.

“It's late and you should go home,” she continued as he entered the living room. “I'm
sure Ginny will be worried,” she said as she stood in front of the stairs. Lizzie had laid herself
out on the love seat.

Harry wearily sighed. Ginny. It really all came back to Ginny, didn't it?.

“Was she terribly upset about me keeping you?” Hermione asked him as he walked up to her.

“Not really,” he replied. Although Ginny had been half asleep when he slipped into bed in the
early hours of the morning she had been awake enough to ask him if he had been out with Hermione.
After hearing his answer and telling him to say hello for her the next time, she promptly rolled
over and went back to sleep.

“She asked after you though.” Harry noticed the very briefest flicker of disbelief light her
eyes but made no mention of it.

“I'll have to floo her or...something,” she said, her face inscrutable.

“Yes,” Harry uneasily said, “you do that.” Of course inside his head he really hoped that she
didn't. He had yet to tell Ginny where Hermione was going to be living now. That was a
conversation that Harry was really looking forward to. Wanting to avoid all thought of Hermione and
his wife being anywhere near each other he tried to dispel the awkwardness of the mood that was
settling about the them.

“So,” he said in a jovial voice that belied the truth of things, “what are we doing
tomorrow?”

Following his lead she said in a lighthearted tone, “We, as in you, are going to work.” This
made Harry scowl at her.

“I will not be blamed for you slacking off your duties,” she said prissily. “Meanwhile we, as in
I, will drop by the Ministry later.”

The thought of Hermione coming by his job almost made him smile until she added, “I'm coming
to see Draco.”

“What do you want to see that git for?” he fairly snarled. She showed him just how intimidated
she was by his outburst by rolling her eyes.

“Well the git was a good friend of mine once. I hope he still is seeing as how I've been in
England for nearly three days and have yet to call on him. I'll never hear the end of it!”

“Well you won't find him at the office,” Harry said petulantly. “The bastard requested a few
days of leave in the middle of a big case! Said he had some important matters to take care of, but
if you ask me he's holed up there at Lovegood House. I stopped by early this morning as well as
yesterday to discuss matters with him, but that demented old house-elf of Luna's wouldn't
let me in the door.”

“Is this the same case you were discussing with Charlie,” she asked curiously, an inquisitive
light coming to her eyes that made Harry want to hex himself.

“Hermione,” he said warningly.

Her eyes nearly popped at him in surprise at his tone. “What?”

“It doesn't concern you, do you hear me?” he asked. Although he was being harsh about it he
wanted her to understand fully that he didn't want her sticking her nose into this case. He
didn't even want her to know Cadmus' name. “I want you to drop it about the case. It's
none of your business. Are we clear?”

“Alright, alright,” she said, aggrieved. “No need to get tetchy.”

“I can't help it when it comes to you,” he said as a reluctant smile formed on his lips.
“Which reminds me,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his robes, “I have something for
you.”

“Ooh, a present?!”

“In a manner of speaking,” he remarked as he withdrew the long, maroon satin box from out of the
pocket it was in. Tiny little moonstones were stitched into the top and it had a clasp made of pure
gold. He proudly held it before Hermione. The reaction he got was less then stellar.

“A wand box,” she said dully. “Some girls get diamonds and I get a wand box,” she sassily
quipped.

“It's a lot more then just a wand box,” said Harry.

“Well as sweet as the sentiment is Harry, if you recall I...”

“...threw your wand away,” he finished for her. “I remember everything you've ever said to
me,” he offhandedly said. The effect of his words however caused her cheeks to bloom pink and he
wondered just what could have produced such a rosy flush. Whatever it was he would give anything to
see it happen again and again and again. Instead he said, “Open it.”

She took the box out of his hand, opened the clasp, and pulled back the lid.

“A wand,” she said. She removed the wand from its maroon velvet lining and held it up in her
free hand. “You bought me a wand?” she asked bemusedly.

“I bought the box. I've had the wand for quite awhile,” he cryptically said.

Although his words obviously stumped her she wasn't immune to her own inquisitive nature.
Her brow wrinkled as she curiously examined the magical rod in her hand.

“Well, it's a good quality wand as far as I can see. Hardly a knick or a scratch. I would
say that this wand was well loved.”

Those words made his heart swell happily.

“Looks about 9...10 inches maybe. My wand...my old wand was a little more then 8.”

“It's a willow.”

“Oh, those were supposed to be excellent for charm work.”

“I know, Mr. Ollivander told me so once,” Harry said. “The wand belonged to my mum.”

The admission made Hermione's eyes swiftly look to his and her jaw drop down.

“How? When? What? Harry!”

Harry chuckled at the flabbergasted look on her face.

“I found it, years ago, at Grimauld. My dad's wand too.”

She still looked at him as though she expected him to tell her any moment that it was all some
elaborate hoax, but when those words didn't follow she slowly closed her mouth and closed the
wand back in its box.

“I can't take this Harry,” she said as she tried to hand it back to him. Harry's hands
did not budge from his side.

“Yes you can and you will,” is all he said.

“Harry I haven't used a wand in four years. I...I'm not sure I would even remember how
to,” she protested.

“Of course you would. Because you were born to this,” he said, motioning to the wand box.
“It's who you are. No matter how much you try to deny it you will always be the greatest witch
of your age.”

Harry watched her as his words sunk in. He saw the the trepidation in her eyes, but he also saw
the way both of her hands tightly crushed the box to her chest.

“Now I'm not telling you that you have to use it. Just...if you step out the house keep it
your handbag or something. Put it up on your bookcase when your home. I just...I just would sleep
better if I knew that you had it.”

Harry wouldn't actually be able to rest really unless Hermione was somewhere he could see
her from dusk 'til dawn, but the wand was a nice compromise. He had kept it, as well as several
other mementos locked in a safe in the basement of his and Ginny's house since the day they
moved into it. Ginny didn't even know the contents of the safe. Although he knew that Hermione
seemed adamant about living this muggle-like life of hers he felt compelled to give her his
mother's wand just in case she needed it to protect herself. Because no matter how hard he
tried to push the fears from his mind the fact that Hermione looked so much like Harmonia Cadmus
absolutely terrified him. There were the obvious differences between the two women of course.
Harmonia was a pureblood, Hermione a muggleborn. Harmonia had been a Ravenclaw, Hermione a
Gryffindor. Harmonia had sleek, long, rippling brown hair. At the moment Hermione's barely
reached her shoulder and was a rich blonde tone. And then there was the most glaring difference of
them all, Harmonia had been dead for 75 years. But to a psychopath like Ptolemy Cadmus, who had
obviously lost touch with reality long ago, what would a little thing like death mean? He doled it
out so casually anyways. Just what would happen if he caught sight of a pretty young woman whose
face resembled that of the child whose murder set him on his destructive path? What would he do?
What actions would he take? It could be argued that there wasn't a witch or a wizard in Great
Britain who didn't know Hermione's face and that had Cadmus any intention of doing anything
to her he would have done it already. But from the case file they had, the case file that Harry had
combed over and over again for the last few days, Harry wasn't so sure if Cadmus had even
stayed in England after he murdered Harmonia's muggle husband. It would have happened right
around the end of the war, before all of the publicity, before all of the scandals. Maybe he had
never seen Hermione's face before. Maybe he didn't even know that she existed. What happens
when he does?

I'll kill the son of a bitch if even harms one hair on her head.

“Just take the wand Hermione. Humor me, please.”

She searched his eyes, looking for what Harry didn't know, but after the smallest of pauses
she said, “Alright, I'll take it.”

Harry exhaled gladly. “Good.”

“Good,” she said in return.

“Well then...”

“Um...yes...”

“I guess I should leave you and Lizzie to your walk.”

“I guess,” she said as her eyes lowered and she studied the floor.

“Um...do you think,” Harry began uncertainly, “I could visit you tomorrow.”

Her eyes looked up and met his.

“Evening, that is. After work.” Harry held his breath, praying that she didn't turn him
down. He could see the look of apprehension in her eyes.

“I don't...”

“Ron can join us,” he quickly said to stall her from telling him no. “Or we could go see Remus.
I'm sure he would love to see you. And you could see the baby.”

Hermione's eyes brightened at the prospect.

“That sounds like fun. Of course you can stop by. This is your house after all.”

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Harry said, put off. “I want you to think of the cottage as
your own.”

“Well I would like to,” said Hermione matter-of-factly as she placed her free hand on her hip,
“but someone refuses to tell me how much the monthly is going to be.”

Harry pulled a face. “I am not charging you rent Hermione.”

“I can't just live inside you house like some...some...squatter Harry. Like some vagabond.
It just won't feel right unless I pay you something.”

“Pay me? What could you...”

Harry stopped himself from continuing. A brilliant idea had just come to him.

“Do you still knit?” he asked.

She looked at him skeptically. “I...Yes. I actually got quite good at it.”

“Remember those hats you used to make for the kitchen elves?

“Yes,” she said unsurely. “Harry where are you going with th...”

“Dobby used to love those things.”

She gave him a disbelieving look.

“He did!” he insisted. So here's the deal. You make Dobby a new cap a month and we'll be
squared.”

“Harry!”

“And while I'm feeling power hungry, throw in a matching scarf as well.”

Hermione threw her hand over her mouth to hold her chuckle in.

“My aren't we playing hardball Mr. Landlord,” she teased.

With a serious look about him he said seriously, “A bloke's got to do what a bloke's got
to do.” She smacked him on the shoulder.

“Now you are just being silly.”

“So are we agreed?” he asked as he held his hand out towards her. “Ever since I told him that
his Hermy Miss was here to stay he's been bouncing off the ceiling.”

She regarded his hand for a moment before placing her own in his and shaking it. When her gaze
demurely veered from his own he wondered if it was because she experienced the mild charge that
sparked in him every time something in his blood called to something in hers. Could Hermione
possibly feel it too?

“Agreed,” she said as she slipped her hand from his hold.

“So no more **your** house,” he asked.

“But it is your house,” she stated.

“But I want it to be your home too. So think of it as...our house,” he said brazenly as his eyes
locked with hers.

“Our house,” she said with uncertainty before shaking her head as though to clear it. A tiny
smile appeared on her lips. “Alright then, our house.” The grins that they were both wearing could
have lit up the whole of Hogwarts.

“I uh...I should get going now,” said Hermione as she took a step backward and went up on the
bottom stair. “You know the way out,” she said and she turned her back on him and slowly began to
climb the stairs.

As Harry watched her ascent his mind was going a hundred miles a minute. Our house. The beauty
and simplicity in those two words awakened something in Harry so strong that all of his fears and
doubts and insecurities seemed to slowly seep away. Our house. Harry had finally found his purpose.
He was going to make his dreams come true.

He was going to head out to work early again tomorrow. He wanted to go to the Ministry's
Hall of Letters, find anything and everything he could find out about the Olde Rites. Even if he
found a loophole the size of a needle's eye he was going to push through it with all of his
might. And as soon as he found what he needed he was going to sit down with Ginny and discuss with
her just how they were going to make their lives right. Because if he knew that he was unhappy he
was sure that she was too. Maybe they could help each other out in this. Maybe they could undo what
should have never been done in the first place. The person that Ginny truly belonged with was out
there somewhere probably still waiting for her. Harry already knew just where his heart lay. It was
time for them to set each other free so that they could be happy. Surely Ginny wanted that, right?
And if she didn't? Well, Harry would cross that bridge when he got there. As for now Harry was
ready to reach out for his happiness with both hands. For years he had believed that if he waited
patiently eventually it would come to him. He told himself this after he left the Dursleys, after
the war, after he married Ginny but he waited in vain. Now he was ready to take action! Now he was
ready to do whatever it took to make himself whole, whatever it took to have Hermione.

And when the time was right he prayed that Hermione might feel something for him. Not like what
he felt for her. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that could actually happen. But maybe,
just maybe, he could convince her that he could be so much more then just her friend. That their
'thing' could go deeper then friendship. The 'not quite kiss' had been enough to
give Harry some hope and for now that seemed the most powerful form of magic there was.

Hermione was at the top of the stairs when Harry called her name. She looked over her shoulder
at him apprehensively and turned around fully as he took the steps two at a time. When he reached
the step just below the one she was standing on he all of a sudden paused, unsure of what he meant
to do. It almost put them at about the same height level and with this vantage point Harry looked
her levelly in the eye. He raised his hand to her cheek and tenderly stroked it. He leaned in and
left a gentle, wisp of a kiss on her other cheek.

“See you tomorrow Hermione,” he said as he pulled back from her and disaperated away feeling a
tingling sense of euphoria surge through every molecule in his body. He felt as though he had been
asleep for years and suddenly someone woke him up with a stab of adrenaline to the heart. Harry had
never felt so alive! In fact his head was so high above the clouds that he never stopped to notice
the few teardrops that had melted into his fingertips.

*Poor Harry, like it's really going to be that easy. :)*


*Next chapter features a very Draco/Hermione reunion. Things to look forward to;
insults/innuendos, Luna, and a long overdue reveal. Mwahahahaha!*


*I know I promised the Boadicea resolution, but I decided to ditch it, save it for another
time, and let this chapter stand alone (as the peanut gallery releases a sigh of relief...lol).I
think it came out better for it. Not great, but what can you do?*


E*quus asinus is the latin species term for a donkey. Equus caballus is the term for a horse.
Augeo is latin for grow. Ron is an idiot, but we love him any way.*


*The "club" that Glinda belonged to was a Dungeons and Dragons group, just in case
anyone cared or didn't get it.*


*My explanation of Freudian and Jungian dream theory is very rudimentary, but it is the basic
premise.* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream_analysis
*and* http://www.dreameducator.com/generic17.html
*give you a little information.*


*Since I don't think I ever fully explained the inspiration for Ptolemy And Harmonia
Cadmus here is this as well;* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadmus


*If you have other questions ya know what to do.*


*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*




17. Chapter 14.A
----------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr,
but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N:** Trust me when I say I wish I could update like other people do. And I honestly
try to, but something (like a non-functionoing video card) always gets in the way. I also had
thoughts of writing a oneshot, but once it looked like it wasn't going to be just a oneshot I
decided to just focus on this story. If someone wants a story idea though hit me up. LOL!*

*Mucho thanks to **Padfoot**! He express beta'd this so I could get it out as fast as
possible. *

*As always, thank you for all of the encouraging, thoughtful, funny, and even critical
reviews. I really do take them all to heart.*

***Warning**:**:** This chapter features past one-sided D/H ('yall know the drill, I
shouldn't even have to go through it again) and present D/Lu. If any of these things bother you
I advise you get out while the getting is good. If a great lack of H/Hr in a chapter makes you
angsty...guess what? You are going to be angsty. You have been warned. Oh, and y'all might want
to hurt me once you get to the end. Cheers!*

***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*



*Wednesday, 06/01/05*







“I took my love and I took it down
I c limbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'cause I built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I'm getting older too
Well...”****(Landslide-Dixie Chicks)













“Goddamned depressing song!”











Hermione Granger was having a terrible day. On her daily morning jog she fell. Twice! The first
time this happened she tripped over a pebble she just didn't see coming. She had no clue what
caused the second fall however she was rewarded for her fleet-footedness by gracefully landing
herself in an anthill. After that she got the message and decided to hobble herself back to the
cottage. Once she was settled in the slipper shaped, claw footed bathtub in the master bathroom she
decided to pass the time by counting how many red, angry ant bites she could find on her body. She
even entertained the thought of finding a permanent red ink pen and connecting the dots just to see
what shape the thirteen painful welts would take. But since there was no chance of them forming
themselves into a big fat **a**, she decided to forgo the idea.





Thirteen bites! Even Hermione had to acknowledge that it just was not a good sign. Somewhere out
there Sibyll Trelawney was tipping back a bottle of Killerman's with glee.





Then again Hermione's night hadn't been any great shakes either. Going to the market
after Harry left the house had been nothing short of disastrous. She ran into the town's
librarian, Hyacinth Ludley there. Hermione still remembered the woman from the countless days she
stayed in the small library for hours looking up any information she could come across about
Harry's family. After getting over the initial shock that Hermione was one of the three
strangers that were residing in the haunted cottage, Hyacinth had been a great help to
Hermione's little side project back then. She was such a great help that Hermione easily
recognized her now even though the woman had put on a good deal of weight since that long ago
summer. When Hermione spotted her by the fresh produce and called out her name it only took
Hyacinth a few minutes to place the face of the seventeen year old girl that now sat under the
shiny blonde hair. The two of them had a lovely chat as they both examined the cucumbers and
admired the celery. Hyacinth told Hermione that she had gotten married nearly a year ago and that
she and her husband were looking forward to having a baby soon. Hermione mentioned that she was
once again staying in the Potter cottage. Everything had been going smoothly and both women had
even traded dinner invitations. Then Hermione courteously asked the rather roly-poly librarian when
she was due and reached out to caress her slightly protruding belly. Hyacinth let her know that she
wasn't and very stiffly excused herself from the conversation. Hermione's cheeks were red
then, but nowhere near the heated hue they turned when she picked up a 2 gallon bottle of milk and
watched it bubble in her hand before exploding all over the place. That was her cue to exit the
market. She just wished she could have done it before Lizzie over turned the egg cart or before she
put her foot further in her mouth and asked one of the store clerks where she could find the fresh
sex. She ran before the very excited teen aged boy could tell her.





Now she was driving through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. First she planned to stop at the
Weasleys, and then swing by Lovegood House in hopes of catching Draco there. Normally she would
have floo'ed first, but she decided to make her visit a surprise after accidentally inhaling a
bit of dusty floo powder she found in the downstairs basement. After two hours the little puffs of
green smoke finally stopped shooting out of her nostrils. Once that subsided she grabbed a purse,
found her keys, and decided to get the hell out of the house before she somehow managed to set the
place ablaze.





To put it kindly Hermione was in a state! Her socks didn't match, she was wearing a blouse
that really needed to make the acquaintance of an iron, and every few minutes she had to fight off
the compulsion to pull back the collar of the shirt just to verify whether or not she had a bra on.
It was a wonder that she was even capable of driving her truck without wrapping it around a tree,
her hands did tremble slightly as they clutched the wheel, but she figured that there was no reason
to question God for small favors and kept her eyes on the road as best she could. The current
choice of music however was setting her teeth on edge. When she first jumped in the vehicle she
reached into the glove compartment where she kept her cds and rooted around for anything that would
keep her crazed mind occupied. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to her thoughts. She
didn't even look to see what she popped into the stereo sound system, just pushed the random
button and released a pleased sigh as the blaring sounds of battling banjos and twangy voices came
out of it. She even sang along to the little country ditty and bopped around her seat to the tune.
Hermione really could not stand country music, but as far as the genre went she could tolerate
this. It was fun and frothy and the words were mindless and inane. It was perfect! That is until
the music began to annoy her and another one of Collier's disks went hurtling out the window.
She probably didn't mean to nearly take off the head of the balding little wizard that was out
walking his pet krup down the lane. It was a good thing then that the cd embedded its self in the
trunk of the tree the man was standing next too.





As the gnomish old man bellowed and hollered at her, his blue polka dotted robes billowing out
in the breeze; Hermione stuck her head out the window and stammered out a very flustered and
apologetic “Sorry”. She then rolled her window up, slunk down in her seat, and hit the gas when she
saw him pull out his wand.





Hermione was desperate for some form of distraction. She needed something, anything that would
keep the tortured musings...and pictures in her head at bay. Anything to stop from thinking about
seeing Harry later on today and what could possibly happen if she did. So her thoughts turned to
Draco Malfoy, her friend, instead.







Draco Malfoy. Her friend.





Hermione had to stifle her giggle. Even after all of these years, after everything all of them
had gone through, the fact that she could say that sentence and not have it be the world's
biggest April Fool's joke still was almost too inexplicable for words. But the truth of the
matter was that Draco was indeed her friend. No matter what circumstances their uneasy and wholly
unexpected camaraderie started under it was a simple fact that over time it bloomed into a real and
true friendship. Draco Malfoy was actually one of the few people in this world that Hermione
actually trusted. He had saved Harry's life once after all. Even though Harry didn't want
to acknowledge the wizarding bond that the action created between the two of them, Hermione more
then willingly took up the debt.





She still remembered how unhappy the boys were when they started to realize that Hermione's
views and opinions on the Death Eater's son weren't the same as theirs anymore. Not so much
during the war. During the war Harry and Ron accepted that they would have to put up with
Draco's presence. He was an Order member like they were and he was marked for death just the
same as them. It also didn't hurt that Draco actually began to pull his weight in the Order;
going on covert missions, sharing what information he knew about Voldemort and his associates,
helping with training and such. But Harry and Ron never let Draco forget that they saw their
association with him as a necessary evil that had to be endured if they wanted to win the war.
Draco Malfoy however would never be counted as a trusted friend and colleague. But Hermione
didn't seem to agree with this line of reasoning which often caused much tension amongst the
three best friends.





With Ron it was to be expected. The Weasleys and the Malfoys had been bitter enemies since the
1700's when during the Warlock's Convention of '09 Hammish Weasley was the deciding
vote that helped to ban personal dragon breeding in the British Isles. It wasn't that Hammish
really had anything against the beasts, he just hated the fact that the gent who owned the Welsh
Green farm near him allowed his dragons to use Hammish's pond as a cesspool and dine daily on
the poor farmer’s short supply of sheep. Aubert Malfoy however did not appreciate his “babies”
being taken away from him. Sure he was raising the beasts to help in his planned take-over of the
Ministry, that however did not mean that he did not love his little darlings. He held Hammish
solely responsible for the ban and from that day on there was always bad blood between the
families. It was a silly matter to hold a nearly three century grudge over, but through out the
years so much enmity had been piled on to the list of slights and infractions that the two clans
held against each other that after awhile no one could really remember what started the original
fracas in the first place. It was as if it was programmed into their DNA for Ron and Draco to hate
each other. In Ron's eye Draco was never to be trusted, especially where Hermione was
concerned. To him, once you were a servant of the Dark Lord, you were always a servant of the Dark
Lord. Ron never let go of the belief that as soon as he turned his back Draco would toss Hermione
off the nearest high peak. Hermione tried to tell Ron repeatedly that such thinking was moronic,
but he wouldn't listen. After awhile Hermione realized that maybe that was the safest thing for
Ron to think because if he knew otherwise...





With Harry it was a bit different. It was as if some moral code in Harry wouldn't allow him
to hate Draco the same way he did before the battle at Boussac. That didn't stop Harry from
disliking him though. Harry despised everything about Draco; his voice, his hair, his haughty
sneer. Just Draco's mere presence in a room was enough to make the hairs on Harry's head
bristle. And considering the head of hair that he had at the time it did not help but give Harry
the slight appearance of a bespeckled hedgehog. More then anything though Hermione often felt that
Harry begrudged any attention that she doled on Draco. As if he wasn't deserving of it. At
times it almost felt as if Harry was even jealous of the burgeoning amity between the Gryffindor
girl and the Slytherin boy. But Hermione wasn't foolish enough to read anything else into it.
Given the fact that Harry tended to lose the people closest to him it wasn't too hard to see
why he might get a little territorial with her. In Harry's mind she belonged to him and Ron,
woe to any fool who dared to disprove that simple truth. Harry never voiced these thoughts to
Hermione, he valued his life after all, but she could tell by his words and actions that he thought
them just the same. However he was resigned to the fact that until Voldemort was defeated he would
have to put up with his childhood enemy. Harry even began to use it as a motivator to winning the
cause. She would often hear him whisper to Ron that once Riddle was gone Draco would be too. Harry
naively assumed that after the war Draco would crawl back into some pit somewhere far, far away and
none of them would ever have to deal with him again.





How wrong he was.





After the war, Hermione continued to have a relationship of sorts with Draco. No one seemed more
surprised at this fact then Draco himself. He told her plainly that he figured that once the war
was over her use for him would be over as well. It almost hurt her that he could think her capable
of such casual cruelty. Then she reminded herself what kind of family Draco came from. Taking
advantage of one another for personal gain was almost like familial bonding with the Malfoys. Of
course Draco would think that Hermione could easily stab him in the back, members of his own family
had done it after all. But Hermione honestly saw something in Draco striving to be different then
what most people assumed he was...hell...what he assumed he was as well. It often made Hermione
wonder whether people were ever born inherently evil or if they only chose that path for
themselves. After the war Draco seemed to be looking for a direction other then the one his father
and so many Malfoys before him went. Hermione, being the patroness of so many other causes, decided
to take his hand and help him along his way. Since most of his Slytherin house mates abandoned him
after the war she decided that above all things what Draco really needed was a friend. And that is
what Hermione tried to be. Even though he never said as much, Hermione knew that he was grateful
for it.





Of course he was still an arse. But in a way Hermione almost found that quality dear. It was
like a baby that whines and cries for a toy because the child discovered that such behavior would
eventually get him the desired effect. Draco knew that his caustic sense of humor pissed people
off, but since he took such enjoyment out of it he never saw a reason to stop. And sometimes,
despite the fact that she didn't want to, Hermione would even find herself laughing at
something outrageously knavish and annoying that he said. Like a lot of stuffy and serious minded
people Hermione often found herself drawn to those who could pull the laughter out of her,
especially when the girl who wanted to smile and joke lay not too far under her surface. That was
what helped flame the spark that she once held for Ron, what pulled her towards Harry, and what
ultimately inspired her affinity towards Draco. She also eventually saw that Draco could be caring
(as long as it could not be misconstrued as weakness) and loyal (as long as it was a cause that he
truly believed in).





But the thing that Hermione really liked about Draco was the fact that he didn't put her on
the same pedestal that her boys delegated to her. She often got the impression that Harry and Ron
almost believed her capable of doing no wrong, that she was perfect. Of course Hermione knew better
and it was flattering to know that the two most important people in her life thought so highly of
her, still it did rankle her nerves that she often felt compelled to have to live up to that
notion. She hated to let them down, especially Harry. But Draco was different. He often saw her at
her meanest and in her most ill-tempered moments. Usually it was because that side of her nature
was being directed at him. But he actually seemed to like those qualities in her. It amused him
that the little Miss Goody Two Shoes he imagined her all through school had a bit of an inner bad
girl and Draco lived for bringing that side of her personality out to the forefront as much as he
could. He would tell her dirty jokes and fully expected her to get the ribald punch lines. He
enjoyed regaling her with some of the antics he got into. At first, Hermione found the way that he
would bait and irritate her to be quite a nuisance. But eventually she began to see that in some
round about way it was his method of showing her affection. After awhile she returned his affection
in kind.





A few things did bother her about Draco though. First on the list was the fact that he told her
repeatedly that he would never befriend Harry and Ron as long as he lived. Once when she suggested
the absurd notion that the three young men might one day get along Draco told her in no uncertain
terms that it wasn't possible. Weasleys and Malfoys just did not mix and as far as Harry was
concerned there was just too much animosity between them to ever make any kind of alliance work.
Besides, Draco haughtily told her, he had nothing in common with the two Gryffindors. Hermione
mused aloud that she thought that they all had her in common, but she guessed she was wrong. It was
because of this that Draco promised her that he would try not to insult her two best friends in her
presence. He often failed, but she didn't discount the fact that he at least tried to make the
effort.





Draco's superiority complex was also a cause of concern between them. He simply thought
himself better then most in the wizarding world. He had breeding and he had money and his mind that
put him above the fray. He deemed her worthy of his time and attention, but Hermione wasted no time
telling him to get over himself. She hated the amount of house-elves his family owned, she
didn't give a damn that his great-great-great-great grandfather Ettiene de Malfoi had once been
in line to be the French Minister of Magic (that is until those pesky sketches of him, a twelve
year old muggle girl, and a bay gelding appeared on the front page of Le Observateur de Magie), and
she simply could care less that he was of pure blood. She made sure he knew this every chance she
got. She also tried to impress upon him the need to get rid of his silly prejudices about muggles.
Although Draco denied that he hated muggles and wished them all dead, he always insisted that he
only followed along with the Death Eater party line for show, it was quite plain to see that some
of his family's beliefs on blood status rang true for Draco. He thought muggles were lazy,
stupid, and of low class. In Hermione's mind she often saw herself as much a muggle as her
parents were, so what did that say about her? Draco tried to argue the point that she was
different, that she was a magical person and that fact alone made her better. It was very hard for
him to see the wrongness in that line of reasoning.









“*I don't mind that your mum and dad were muggles,” he would often say to her as if to
prove how far along his way of thinking had come. She would only shake her head solemnly at him at
those moments.*





“*That's just the point Draco. You don't mind,” she would answer him. “You
shouldn't care.”*









He would argue that it was all just semantics, but to her it wasn't. Still, once Hermione
Granger took on a project she put all her heart into it. She wanted to help open Draco's mind
to a world that he had been taught to despise. Hermione figured that the best way to do it was full
throttle immersion. She made Draco meet her for lunch and dinner in parts of muggle London. When
she discovered how well cultured he was, at least magically speaking, she tried to interest that
side of his nature. They saw Shakespeare plays at The Globe, they admired Titian, Rembrandt, Monet,
and Van Gogh at The National, and she forced him to accompany her to the opera and the ballet. She
even made the grand sacrifice and took him to a few Manchester United games, although Hermione was
damned if she knew what was happening on the field. Surprisingly it was when she took him on his
first trip to the cinema that Draco's appreciation for all things muggle started to improve.
They originally went to the theater to see a costume period piece. For some mad reason she thought
he might actually enjoy it. Instead they somehow ended up seeing some wild science fiction movie
with girls in tight black leather, martial arts, and lot of big guns. Draco even made her call him
'Neo' for the rest of the night. Because she could almost see the sweet, innocent little
boy he might have been before his father began to warp his mind when he asked her to, Hermione
obliged. She discovered that if the film had large amounts of violence, excessive nudity, and a
generous supply of potty mouth; Draco would excitedly watch. Hermione found this fact
disconcerting, but counted it as a success anyways. When she finally lived on her own he would come
over every now and then and they would watch a movie together. He even had a DVD player when he
lived in Highgate. It was because of this simple invention that Draco Malfoy finally admitted to
her that muggles weren't half bad after all.









There was one more thing wrong with Draco Malfoy. He cared too much. He cared about her too much
and by time Hermione stumbled onto that realization it was far too late to do anything to remedy
the situation. Then again it wasn't like she had actually done anything to instill his feeling
in her in the first place. She'd just been kind to him. She also had tried to find some common
ground with the boy who had insulted her and berated her for so many years. In lighter moments she
often felt like she was taking part in some grand social experiment. If you treated someone like a
human being they actually tended to act like a human being. This led Hermione to wonder if Draco
had ever known much kindness in his short life. He had a family who he had been willing to
sacrifice his life for and he had a horde of sycophantic hangers-on, but she wondered if anyone had
ever been truly nice to him for reasons other then feeling obligated to do it. In truth she had her
own selfish reasons for reaching out to him, but she became his friend because she wanted to. Draco
eventually came to accept her genuine goodwill. With that acceptance unfortunately came his
unrequited feelings. If all he wanted was nothing but a quick screw, like back when he would make
lurid innuendos and leer at her during Order meetings, Hermione would have cut him down to size.
Verbally of course, literally if he ever chose to get handsy. But she knew that wasn't the
case. Draco didn't want to shag her...ok; he didn't want to **just** shag her. He
actually wanted her to fall for him too. She found it ironic in a way that they both couldn't
be with the person that they wanted. It actually made her feel some sort of kinship with Draco. But
it didn't make her love him. It could never make her love him. And although Draco told her that
he accepted that fact it did create some awkward moments from time to time.













“*What the hell are those,” Draco said as he suspiciously eyed the books that bopped up and
down as they hovered into the sitting room behind her.*





*Hermione pointed her wand at them and they neatly stacked themselves on the nearest table to
the door.*





“*These are called books,” she answered him matter-of-factly. “They are simply wonderful
inventions you see. When you open them there are words on almost every page and if you are smart
enough you can actually read them.”*





“*Smart arse,” he quipped.*







*Hermione smiled to herself as she took off her black cloak and draped it over a nearby chaise
lounge. September was barely underway and yet there was already a noticeable chill in the night
air. When Draco floo'ed her flat it was just starting to get dark and she had already bundled
herself up on her couch with a bowl of popcorn on her lap and a copy of The English Patient playing
on the telly. Most observers probably would have seen this as the picture of a sad and broken
woman. She was single once again after all. Ron, still stinging from the pain from the first
proposal of his that went rejected was exploding glassware soon after Hermione's second
refusal. What made the situation worse was that he had the bad habit of staging these grand
gestures in front of large crowds. The scene of his personal Waterloo took place during Fred and
Glinda's wedding reception, a little more then a year from the last great defeat. He was so
affronted at the idea that Hermione, while having no problem simply dating him, absolutely refused
to be his wife that he dumped her in front of all of the wedding guests in order to humiliate her.
He wanted to hurt Hermione as much as she hurt him. A month after all of the drama Hermione
couldn't have been in a better mood. Being on her own for awhile had provided some form of
peace in her mind. It felt good not having to pretend so hard. She almost felt free.*





*Almost.*





*She had been dressed for the night in her comfy Chinese silk lounging pajamas (one of the
last gifts she received from her parents) and had been prepared for a night of lazing about her
living room. What she hadn't been ready for was Draco's head spinning in her floo grate.
After listening to him beg her to come over to the Manor declaring that he needed her help
desperately she decided that she might as well kill two birds with one stone and take along with
her some books she'd been meaning to lend him. Since she didn't intend on staying long she
didn't bother changing out of her casual looking night wear, just slipped into a pair of
slippers, tossed on her cloak and shrunk the books down so they would fit in her pocket.*





*When she apparated in front of Malfoy Manor, Hermione rang the bell expecting one of the
house-elves to let her in. Imagine her surprise then when Narcissa Malfoy, the Mistress of the
Manor herself, opened the door. The icy blonde's face even bore a smile before it withered into
a grim, straight line at the sight of 'The Mudblood'. Although she was satisfied that not
much of her lifestyle had to change after the war Narcissa still hated that the constant presence
of the young woman before her was one of the prices that she had to pay in order to adjust to the
new world she was living in. Hermione could almost feel the heat of the hatred the woman directed
towards her. Instead of being intimidated by it though she actually reveled in it. When Mrs. Malfoy
asked her why she was at her door at such a late hour Hermione told her that Draco asked her to
come and that she had a few things to she wanted to **give** him. Judging by the scandalized
gasp and the nasty glare that Narcissa bestowed upon her Hermione figured that the woman must have
caught exactly the intended suggestive tone she threw at her. Hermione then smirked as she removed
the books from her pocket, enlarged them, and then floated them in the air. Narcissa took one look
at the cover of a few of them and muttered disgustedly under her breath the words “filthy
propaganda”. For a moment it looked like she wasn't going to let Hermione inside the house. The
two women looked like they were fully prepared to have a stand-off in full sight of the whole
neighborhood, but before either of them could say something that neither of them would regret
Draco, having heard Hermione's voice, called out her name from somewhere behind his mother. Not
wanting to get a dressing down from her beloved little prince, Narcissa allowed Hermione to pass by
her. The older woman then promptly walked out on to the front gallery of the house and instead of
meeting the lover she had stashed in Diagon Alley as she had planed, she apparated herself over to
the Pringle mansion to find out just why Pristine wasn't her daughter-in-law yet.*











“*I know they are books,” Draco said as he moved from the fireplace and crossed the room
towards the table that held the books. “Why are they here?” he asked.*





*Hermione skipped towards him lightly and smiled.*





“*I figured that you might like some light reading.”*





*Draco picked up her father's leather bound copy of War and Peace and raised an eyebrow at
her. “Light?”*





“*Relatively speaking,” she said with a devilish grin as she ventured near the hearth to warm
her hands. “I just thought you might like to read something different then the half dozen or so
autobiographies that Slytherin wrote,” she continued as she walked back to him. “I mean really, how
narcissistic could one wizard be?”*





*If Hermione had been expecting an intelligent reply from Draco she was sadly mistaken. He was
too busy admiring his face and the ghastly goatee on it in the decorative mirror on the table. He
had decided to grow the horrid thing after convincing himself that he needed something to make his
peers in his training class take him seriously and not see him as just some pretty face. Hermione
suggested putting a bag over his head, but he wouldn't listen.*





“*What?” he asked after realizing that she might have been waiting on some form of response
from him. He tore his eyes from his own reflection; a reflection that Hermione if under duress
would have admitted wasn't half bad, and looked towards her.*





“*Nothing,” she said as she shook her head. “What I have here you lucky, lucky boy are some of
my favorite books.”*





“*Muggle books, you mean,” he said in a bored voice. He sifted through the pile looking at the
various titles though nothing seemed to catch his eyes.*





*She looked him in the eye and nodded her head, daring him to say anything negative. “Yes
muggle. Dickens, Wilde, Barrie, Carroll, Austen...”*





“*Hollywood Wives,” he said with a disgusted sneer. He was holding in his hand one of her
mum's “beach books”.*





“*In case the words in the other ones were too big for you,” she said with a saucy
grin.*





“*Hmm...Dracula,” he said as he apprised the cover of the paperback he was now holding with
interest. “Autobiography?” he asked.*





*Hermione eyed him warily before answering, “Something like that.”*





*At least it was progress of some sort.*





“*I'm surprised that you even read for pleasure.”*





“*I do a lot of things for pleasure that you know nothing about.”*





*Draco sent her a wolfish look as he propped one arm on the table and leaned in towards her.
“Tell me every little thing and don't leave a single detail out.”*





“*Perv!” she said and she smacked his arm. She really didn't think she hit him hard enough
to cause the pained expression on his face. He even rubbed at the spot. Big baby!*





“*So did mother give you a hard time out there?” Draco asked with a naughty smile as he
watched her walk towards the sofa and daintily cross her leg as she sat down.*





“*No,” she said with a straight face. “We had a lovely chat. She even asked me to one of her
luncheons.”*





“*Oh really?” he disbelievingly asked. He came and sat on the coffee table in front of
her.*





“*Oh yes. And if you believe that I have a luxury time-share in Spinner's End you might be
interested in.”*





*Draco and Hermione both grinned at the statement.*





“*So tell me, what was so bloody important that I had to tear myself away from more pressing
matters?”*





“*Were you watching the one with the sinking boat or the one with the bloke who leaves the
dumb bint in the cave, again?” he asked smugly as he leaned in closer to her. The action caused
Hermione's legs to nervously twitch. Although Draco hadn't made any more advances towards
her in nearly a year, Hermione knew without question that his feelings for her hadn't changed.
She often caught him unawares staring at her as if he was waiting for just one sign...any sign from
her that her position on the subject had changed. She often felt sorry for Draco in those moments.
She knew that for both of their sanities she could never give him what he wanted.*





“*Never you mind,” she told him as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back on the sofa. “Now
what was the bleeding emergency?” she asked again, folding her arms in front of her.*





*Draco regarded her sudden closed off posture for a moment before squaring his shoulders and
placing his hand on his knees.*





“*I've come to a monumental decision.”*





*Hermione gave him an annoyed roll of the eyes as she waited impatiently for his grand
announcement.*





“*I've decided to shave it off,” he simply said.*





*For a moment neither of them moved or said anything, Hermione only stared at Draco as though
she couldn't believe the words that he uttered. Finally with a deep and exaggerated sigh
Hermione sat up straight and exclaimed, “Thank Merlin!”*





“*Oh it isn't that bad,” he argued.*





“*It was getting to the point that I couldn't look at you straight on. Sort of like a
lunar eclipse. You know in some cultures they believe you'll go mad if you look directly into
one.”*





“*I'm glad that you find me amusing. However I've grown tired of looking like some
scruffy vagabond like those two witless wonders you pal around with.”*





“*Be nice,” she said, her voice tinged with reproach although her face still held its
smile.*





“*I bet you don't defend me to them,” he sulkily mumbled.*





“*Oh really? I'll have you know that I was forced to endure the most torturous lunch at
The Cauldron with Harry and Ron and both of them are currently not talking to me. And it's all
because of you!” she angrily fumed.*





“*You're welcome,” he said smoothly. “Now what did I do?”*





*Hermione leaned her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling while her head lay on
the back of the sofa. “Both boys accused you of bribing your way into the Department,” she said in
a sad voice. “Well actually Ron accused you, but Harry readily agreed.”*





“*Jealous gits!”*





*Hermione neglected to mention that the two jealous gits were easily two of the most
recognized wizards in the world and professional Quidditch athletes on top of that.*





“*Well I explained to both of them that not only did you score exceptionally well on your
entrance exams, but that you also had the elite recommendation of Mr. Shacklebolt, Tonks, and one
Arthur Weasley to help you along.”*





“*How did they take that news?”*





“*Like an Avada to the head,” she said as she sat up and dismally placed her hands in her lap,
plucking at her satiny pants. “Harry says that I'm neglecting him and Ron in favor of you.”
Hermione ducked her head down so Draco couldn't see the hurt in her eyes that Harry's words
had caused. He had been so cross!*





*Draco was not moved. “As though Scarhead could talk,” he scoffed. He almost sounded jealous.
Hermione however was through being a human tug of war rope with the lot of them.*





“*Listen,” she snapped harshly, “I'm tired of you three prats putting me in the middle,
making me take sides!”*





“*What does it matter,” Draco said sullenly, “you always take Potter's side
anyways.”*





*Well that got Hermione's dander up!*





“*That's not true!” she hotly countered.*





*Even though it was true a little bit. It was just that when she didn't agree with him
Harry had the habit of giving her the saddest puppy dog face that Hermione almost felt compelled to
do anything that would make his pout disappear. Anything. It was safer to just let him have his
bloody way.*





“*Point is,” Hermione began, trying to reign in her thoughts from going down a road she
didn't want to be bothered with at the moment, “you lot are going to have to make an effort to
try and get along.”*





“*I have,” Draco declared. “I've gone to a few of their games.”*





“*You sit on the opposing team's side and cheer against them.”*





“*And let me just tell you it's a devil of a hassle when Puddlemere plays
Chudley.”*





“*I don't understand why it's so hard. I mean, you and Harry have that bond after
all.”*





*Draco rolled his eyes in disdain.*





“*Come now, you know that a wizarding debt is no puny thing,” she told him. “'Till
it's repaid that connection will always remain between the two of you. And if you and Ron would
stop acting like a couple of adolescent boys you both would see that you two are a similar in a lot
of ways.”*





*Draco looked as though she accused him of not being a natural blond.*





“*You take that back!”*







“*You both have pretty scary jealous streaks, but even so you both are loyal,” Hermione
explained, ignoring Draco's indignant retort. “And even though you try hard to hide it Draco,
you and Ron both wear your hearts on your sleeves.”*





*Draco obviously didn't like what she had to say because he stood up irately and bounded
away from her to the other side of the room. He even turned his back. If Hermione was brave enough
she would have added one more item to the list. She seemed to hurt his feelings just as easily as
she hurt Ron's.*





*Hermione stood up from the sofa and went around Draco so she could look him in the face. She
smiled brightly to alleviate the somber mood that had shifted into the room and was relieved when
he offered her a small smile of his own.*





“*I thought we were supposed to be celebrating,” she said jestingly.*





“*We're we?” he drawled.*





*She nodded her head. “You finally are going to get rid of that abomination that ate your
chin,” Hermione snarkily said as she eyed the villainous facial hair. Draco laughed at her
audaciousness. As usual when hearing the sounds of real mirth escape his lips Hermione thought to
herself that it was a shame that Draco Malfoy didn't laugh more. He really had a nice
laugh.*





“*Can I just ask one favor though?” she asked him as she took his hand and began to walk with
him out of the room.*





“*And what would that be?”*





“*May I watch while you kill it? You see, I won't ever really believe its dead unless,”
she smirked.*







“*Why do you think I invited you over,” Draco slyly said as he winked down at her.*











***~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~** *









*The two of them ended up in Draco's enormous bathroom with its cathedral ceilings.
Hermione always thought that the Prefects bathroom at Hogwarts was sinfully decadent, what with its
swimming pool sized bathtub, its many mystery taps, as well as the candle lit chandelier, but it
simply paled in comparison to the grandeur that was Draco's private bath. The walls were
covered in stone tile while the floor was a rich looking antique limestone. His shower looked like
it was big enough to service a complete Quidditch team and covered the whole side of one wall.
Spouts and taps were arranged through out the shower and were visible through its sliding glass
door. Although Draco didn't mention it she suspected that the fixtures in it and the ones to
the sink were made from gold. But that wasn't what held her attention.*





*Instead it was the bare chested wizard who stood in front of his porcelain basin patting his
newly naked chin dry as he looked approvingly at his own image in the three sided mirror before
him. Although it was the first time Hermione had been in his sanctuary (she hadn't even been in
his room before) Draco had already told her about his bathroom mirrors. Each one gave the viewer
three different reflections of themselves. One side always showed you all the faults you believed
you had while the other made you believe that you were perfect, always beautiful, and with no flaws
at all. It was only the center mirror that reflected the truth of things. That mirror never lied.
That was the mirror that Draco was currently admiring himself in. Hermione didn't blame him.
His facial features were sharp and angled yet they gave him character. His white blond hair which
was shortly buzzed near his scalp instead of gelled back in its Junior Death Eater style of old
helped to soften the face that Hermione remembered being so rodent like during her childhood. When
added with the arresting color of his cold gray eyes his face came together in the harmony that
Hermione's Nan often called rakishly good looking. Though his physique wasn't what one
would call masterfully built and muscular it was slim and well toned. He was one of those people
that could eat anything and not gain an ounce of fat, unlike herself. As Hermione sat on the
counter next to Draco and watched him all but kiss his own image she had to admit that now she
could see what all the other girls at Hogwarts might have saw in him back when all she wanted to do
was push his face into the nearest cauldron of scalding hot water. Apparently even Moaning Myrtle
hadn't been immune to Draco's charms. According to Harry she had easily traded her
affection from him to the Slytherin at one point, though Hermione had to admit that Harry could
have just been exaggerating. But it wasn't that hard to believe. Hermione figured it was just a
good thing that she didn't find him attractive in the least.*





“*So,” Draco said as he gave her a dashing smile that Hermione was sure had the ability to
turn most women’s insides into molten lava, “what do you think?”*





*Ok, maybe she found him a little attractive.*





*But just barely!*





“*Nice,” Hermione said in answer causing Draco to raise an eyebrow at her.*





“*Nice?” he asked derisively.*





*Hermione shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Very nice?”*





*Draco rolled his eyes and went back to looking at himself in the mirror and examining his
chin.*





“*I was hoping for breathtakingly gorgeous, but I suppose that 'nice' will do,” he
responded.*





“*Well why should I heap any praise on you when you are quite capable of doing it yourself?”
she tartly asked. She felt comfortable with the conversation now. She hoped it remained in this
vein.*





“*And I'm sure you receive more then enough compliments from Pristine,” said Hermione,
emphasizing the woman's name in the same annoying high pitched tone that she talked in. “Where
has Pringle been by the way? I haven't seen her crawling after you as of late.”*





*Draco turned around and faced Hermione. “We had tickets to the theater this evening,” he
answered her dully. “The Cadabra House is putting on a one night only benefit performance of
Melecrit's Hélas, j'ai Transfiguré mes Pieds. *





“*Ah yes,” Hermione said smirking, “Alas I Have Transfigured My Feet, the thrilling one man
show where after four grueling hours and twelve painful acts our dear protagonist discovers that he
has not in fact transfigured his feet, but has been wearing boots all the while.”*





*She and Draco often debated the merits of the magical world versus the muggle one. Of course
Draco felt that the world he had been born into was far superior then that of Hermione's
upbringing. He would argue that magic made life easier thus better. Hermione believed that since
muggles could not rely on wands to create magic they instead produced it in their art, in their
music, in their literature. In Hermione's mind, when it came to the arts, the magical world
left a lot to be desired. Once she even wheedled an agreement to this out of Draco.*





“*Yes it's stupid, but before you get up on your high horse just remember that it was a
muggle who wrote that Pretty Woman garbage. As though a prostitute could really look like that. Why
if they did...”*





“*You would have more dates.”*





*Draco didn't find the joke as funny as Hermione seemed to. He turned around and leaned
back against the counter. He lowered his head as his hands burrowed into the pocket of the plain
black slacks he was wearing.*





“*I would have rather taken you to The Cadabra,” he said moodily. “But when I got the tickets
you were still with King Wea-”*





*Hermione frowned reproachfully at him.*





“*Weasley,” Draco finished. He then looked up at her cautiously. “Would you have gone with me
otherwise?”*





*Hermione answered him as honestly as she could.*





“*Of course I would have. You're my friend, aren't you?”*





*Draco smiled, although it barely reached his eyes.*





“*Good to know.”*





“*But since you were supposed to take Pringle tonight I can't imagine that she was too
happy with you canceling on her at the last minute. How did she take it?”*





*Draco chuckled wryly. “You could say that Pristy will hardly notice.”*





*Hermione frowned to herself. “That's shocking to hear. She...wait a minute,” Hermione
said as she studied Draco's face carefully. There was something about his tone...*





“*Didn't you stand Pristine up last weekend?”*





“*You asked me to go to that poetry reading in Whitechapel with you.”*





“*And you canceled on her the weekend before that as well,” she said, slowly adding up the
facts.*





“*We went looking for my new flat, remember?”*





*Hermione folded her arms in before her. “Pristine doesn't mind that you keep throwing her
off?”*





“*Well Pristy doesn't quite...recall that we had plans when I do it,” he said
simply.*





*It just didn't make sense to Hermione. She knew that Pringle had her heart set on
snagging Draco completely so it seemed odd that the witch would be so casual about Draco spending
so much time with her. Then again Pristine Pringle was a ravishing redheaded beauty who most
wizards went mad for. She probably would laugh at the idea of Hermione being a rival of hers.
Still, Hermione would have figured on Pristine causing a huge scene over Draco's shoddy
treatment. Something definitely was off.*





“*She doesn't quite reca-,” Hermione began to say until a realization almost knocked her
off of the counter.*





“*Draco! Did you Obliviate that woman?!”*





“*No,” he answered her. “I just confounded her,” he plainly said.*





*Hermione's mouth dropped open. “Draco!”*





“*What?”*





“*I don't believe you...”*





“*Come now Hermione, do you really think I'm above something like that?” he asked, shaking
his head at her apparent naiveté. “Besides it does her no real harm. Sure her coordination is off
for a few days, but the Pringles are known for being lousy drunks. I'm sure no one has paid it
much mind.”*





*Hermione was beyond peeved at Draco. She might not like Pristine, but she could not condone
his behavior.*





“*Of all the King Prat things to do!” she scolded him harshly. “Spells that mess with ones
mind are nothing to play with Draco. Do you have any idea...”*





*Just then the image of Cormac McClaggen trying repeatedly to maneuver himself through the
door of the Great Hall suddenly popped into her head. Hermione winced.*







“*Look, if I didn't do that I would have to deal with the yelling, and the crying, and the
wailing. And that's just mum. My way is much easier,” Draco said, turning to face her as he
noticed how quiet she had gotten all of a sudden. “Sorry if some of us aren't too noble to
confound a person for nefarious reasons.” Then he paused as he studied her face. Hermione tried to
smooth the guilty expression on it quickly, but it was too late.*





“*Wait a tic, I know that look!” The most devilish grin then curled its self on Draco's
lips. “You have confounded someone for nefarious reasons!” he proclaimed. Hermione scoffed at the
accusation and turned her head from his gaze, but she knew she was caught. “Oh you might as well
tell me. You know I'll never leave you alone 'til you do.”*





*She swung her head back to him and narrowed her eyes. “You can be such a bastard at
times.”*





“*Turns you on doesn't it?” he teased.*





“*Ugh!” was all she had to say to that claim. “Ok, I'll tell you, but if you ever try to
use this against Ron...”*





“*Yes, yes, I'll be singing with the Castrati.” he said heeding her warning. He then
smiled expectantly. “Now go on.”*





“*Well,” she began with some difficulty, “I'm not proud of this fact but...back in
6th year I confounded Cormac McClaggen during Quidditch try-outs so Ron would make the
House team instead of him.” She then exhaled dramatically as though she had just unloaded a heavy
burden.*







*Draco stared at her, mouth gapping, as though he were seeing her for the first time.*





“*Hermione!”*





*She dropped her head in her hands.*





“*I know!” her muffled voice shamefully cried.*





“*That was damned near devious,” he continued, voice filled with awe.*





“*I know!”*





“*Merlin, I think I have a stiffy,” he randily quipped looking down at his fly.*





“*Draco!” she reprimanded as her head shot up and she gave him a warning glance.*





“*Want to see?” he offered coming closer, grinning at her like a Cheshire cat.*





“*Good God no!”*





*He merely laughed at her indignant, prissy denials.*





“*I don't know pet, I think you may have a little Slytherin in you.”*





*She gave him a haughty look as she said, “I'm a Gryff through and through.”*





*Draco then leaned down so his elbows were on the counter by her right thigh and rested his
chin on the palm of his hands.*





“*Would you like a little Slytherin in you,” he flirted as he waggled his eyebrows at her
suggestively.*







“*You know, one of these days I'm going to stop pretending that I don't know what you
mean when you say those kinds of things to me,” she said in a pert tone he seemed to find
amusing.*





“*Can't wait!”*





*Draco stood straight and reached for his white singlet that was draped over the towel rack.
He pulled the t-shirt over his head and Hermione was thankful that he finally decided to put his
clothes back on.*





“*So you confounded McClaggen so you could procure your boyfriend a spot on the team, eh?”
Draco chuckled, continuing the conversation she had hoped was finished. He tucked the bottom of the
shirt into the waist of his pants.*





“*Ron wasn't my boyfriend at the time,” she reminded him, “but I guess you could say that.
It's just that if I hadn't Harry would have had to choose that muscle headed hulk to be the
team Keeper over his best mate. Harry would have been torn between doing what was best for the team
and hurting his dearest friend. So I just made the choice easier for him. Besides, Harry already
had enough on his plate to deal with that year then to have to deal with McClaggen always in his
face. The way I see it my interference was a win/win.”*





*She noticed that Draco was staring at her strangely.*





“*What?”*





*He took one more moment to look at her before shaking his head and continuing to re-dress
himself. As he slipped the imported Australian Opaleye belt through the loops of his slacks he
carefully said, “It just sounds like you did it more for Potter then for Weasleby.”*





*Hermione was so stunned by Draco's observation that she didn't know how to object to
that statement. So she said nothing at all. Instead she peered around his head at the right side
mirror and looked at her reflection. The image gazing back at her looked somewhat like how she felt
just then. Her wild, bushy curls were all tangled and matted down and fully looked like a mass of
hair that had broken quite a few brushes in its day. Her eyes had fleshy loose skin underneath them
and were both rimmed in red. Her nose seemed to be anything but dead center and her skin was so
pale and translucent that Hermione imagined she could see her veins straight through it. There
looked like a double chin was beginning to form at the base of her throat as well. She was almost
afraid to open her mouth for fear that her two front teeth had outgrown the rest of them overnight.
She almost imagined she heard a poisonous voice whisper in her ears, why would he want you?*





“*Goodness I'm a fright. Do I really look that bad?” she asked.*





*Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course not, don't listen to it. Looking into that mirror is
never going to help anyone, that's why I never do. Here,” he said as he placed his hands on her
shoulders so she could turn her body half way around and look in the mirror behind her.*





“*Isn't that better?” he asked as both of their reflections peered out towards
them.*





*It was better, but Hermione still wasn't happy with her mousy brown hair. At least it was
pulled back in a French braid instead of falling into her face as usual. Hermione had been
considering doing something different to it for a while. Maybe cutting it. Maybe changing the color
of it a bit, some red high lights perhaps. Maybe straightening it again, like she did so many years
ago. Everyone seemed to like that. Even Harry.*





“*I'm thinking of doing something different to my hair,” she said as she still scrutinized
her own image.*





“*Why? I like your hair.”*





*Hermione watched as her lips twitched into a rueful smile. “You used to say that my hair
looked like a bramble.”*





“*Well, I like your bramble then,” Draco confessed. Hermione's eyes drifted up to look at
the smirk she assumed she would find on his face, but instead found such naked, honest emotion in
its place that she almost imagined she felt her heart thump loudly at her breast cage. Her smile
slowly faded away. Why do things always have to be so fucking hard, she wondered to
herself.*





“*I think it's time I should be leaving,” she said as she turned back around and hopped
off the counter. She then hastily walked out the bathroom before looking at Draco's face again
or waiting to hear what he said. He eventually caught up with her as she was making her way down
the grand staircase that ended in the large open foyer. He had rushed to put on the rest of his
clothes and looked less put together then he normally did.*





“*Do you have to go home,” he asked as he walked along side her down the steps.*





*She sadly shook her head forcing herself not to look at him or make eye contact. “It's
late.”*





“*Why don't you come to The Bloody Badger with me?” he asked as they reached the bottom of
the stairs. “Its where are all the Aurors, the trainers, and the recruits go on Saturday nights. I
get to show off my new look, enjoy all the envious stares.”*





“*You want me to go dressed like this?” she asked as she faced him and looked down at her
pajamas. Although The Badger probably had customers fall asleep in their drinks at the table often
Hermione thought it hardly appropriate to go there dressed as though she were prepared for
it.*





“*You can wear your cloak,” he suggested as he pointed his wand towards the sitting room and
her cloak came zooming into his hand. He gestured to her to turn around and he slipped it on over
her shoulders. Although Draco was playing it cool and calm Hermione could tell that he was anxious
for her to say yes.*





*Hermione shook her head. “I'll take a pass for tonight,” she said though she was ready to
change her mind when she saw his disappointed, downcast face. Wanting to dispel his mood she tried
to lighten up the situation.*





“*I'm shocked that you would actually go to The Badger. I would think you saw yourself
above that kind of fraternization,” Hermione said as she leaned back against the gilded banister of
the staircase.*





“*Oh I do,” he said as he quirked a sardonic smile. “But I'm never above networking. I
have plans to go very far in the Department and I still have the unmovable obstacle that is known
as the Malfoy name to get over.”*





“*I told you when you were contemplating becoming an Auror that you didn't have anything
to prove to anyone. You are not Lucius, Draco,” she reminded him in her bossy voice. She even put
her hand on her hip to let him know that she meant business.*





“*I know.”*





“*No you don't, but if I keep telling you that maybe one day you will. Do you know you
could get yourself killed trying to prove a point? Do you think it would be worth it? Is that why
you became an Auror?”*





“*No. I did it for truth, honor, and puppies,” Draco cracked.*





*Hermione, against her better judgment, giggled. “And here I thought all this time you were
doing it just for the women.”*





“*Oh I did it for that too,” he drawled.*





“*Must you always think with your crotch?”*





*Draco screwed up his face as though she asked him the stupidest question in the world.
“I'm a wizard. About 85% of the decisions we make come from our crotch. It's what we
do.”*





“*Not Harry,” she said as she shook her head at the notion. She then hit him on his bicep when
she caught him mimicking her.*





“*Ow! Goddammit woman! That shit hurts!”*





“*Harry isn't like that,” she said ignoring his outrage at her ill abuse of him.*





“*Still a virgin then?” he sneered.*





*A girl can hope.*





“*I...why am I even discussing this with you?!” Hermione felt quite cranky all of a
sudden.*





“*Well the Weaselette often looks like she's selling it on the side of the road so I
suppose not,” Draco offered helpfully. For a moment Hermione considered asking Draco if he would
like to just drive a stake through her chest instead. It would be messy, but far less
painful.*





“*Don't say that about Ginny,” she admonished him, but only half heartedly.*





“*All I'm saying is that if Potter has a little Potter he thinks about sex all the time as
well.”*





“*You just don't know Harry like I do. He is quite innocent actually. With the life that
he has led it shouldn't be that surprising. Sometimes I think he's the most pure person I
know.”*





“*Ugh! You almost make him sound like he's some saintly being,” Draco sniffed
disdainfully. “And like he doesn't have a dick,” he added. For his crudeness he received a
disgusted eye roll from her, but that wasn't enough to shut him up.*





“*When I was a tyke I had a Marvin the Mad Muggle toy. He had no genitalia either. I know, I
checked.”*





*Hermione grumbled tersely, “Is there a point to all of this?”*





“*Actually there is. Potter is flesh and blood just like you and I. That means he's human.
There is no such thing as a pure person. I thought you smarter then that kind of hogwash. Sometimes
I think where Pothead is concerned you're under some kind of spell or something.”*





*Hermione inhaled sharply. Suddenly all the walls in the room looked like they were rushing at
her and her legs felt as though they were turning into rubber. She feared that she was about to
experience a full grade panic attack right in Malfoy Manor and there was nothing she could do to
stop it from happening. Draco had not only hit a nerve he had damn near severed an artery. And
worse yet, by the curious way he was peering at her she was almost sure that Draco knew that
something he'd said had discomposed her terribly. The Slytherin in him recognized the smell of
blood in the air, the tell-tale signs of weakness and it looked like he was ready to strike and go
in for the kill. All it would take was just the right question for Draco to piece together just
what had Hermione reacting so violently. He looked like he was just about to ask that question too,
so Hermione did the best thing she could think of to distract him.*





“*What were you doing pulling down your doll's pants?”*





*Draco's usual pale face colored immensely. His gray eyes narrowed and he began huffing
and puffing before finally spitting out, “It was an action figure!”*









*It was about this time that Narcissa arrived back home. Hermione was so relieved to see the
woman that she nearly kissed her. She didn't of course, but she might have if not for the vexed
expression on the older woman's face when she saw that Hermione was still befouling her abode.
Draco greeted his mother and then hustled Hermione out the door to say his goodbyes. Before the
door could close fully Hermione, noting that Narcissa was watching the two of them like a hawk,
reached up on the tips of her toes and placed an exaggerated kiss on Draco's cheek in full view
of his mother. She then told him in a cloyingly sweet voice that she would see him later and
winked. Hermione didn't know why she put on such an act, but she just enjoyed toying with the
woman too much to pass up the opportunity to send her around the bend. Hermione then disapperated,
but not before seeing the shrewd grin on Draco's face that let her know that she would pay for
her antics later.*





*Later turned out to be thirty minutes. That's how long it took for Draco to knock on her
door. He informed her that since he had to put up with the almost endless tongue lashing his mother
doled out to him after she left she now owed him a round of drinks at The Badger to make up for it.
Since Hermione wasn't in much mood to watch her movie any more and Draco appeared to forget
what they had been discussing before his mother's arrival, Hermione agreed. After changing into
something more presentable the two of them headed out to the pub. She actually ended up enjoying
herself. Tonks and Moody were there and she knew quite a few of the other Aurors who were in
attendance. She also amused herself by watching Draco get pissed trying to keep up with the rest of
his colleagues and chat up witches that she knew he wouldn't have spared a passing glance at if
he had been sober. Having lost sight of him at one point she and Tonks nearly laughed themselves
silly when they saw him emerge out of a bathroom (fly unzipped for all to see) followed closely by
a very pink cheeked Eloise Midgen who was hastily re-fastening her robes. Hermione knew that he was
going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning and wouldn't remember half of what...and
who he had gotten into that night. Hermione couldn't wait to tell him! Unlike most of the pubs
other patrons she only indulged in butterbeer herself. When out with Draco she made it a point
never to drink! Hermione wasn't an idiot after all.*







*But there were times when she did wonder why she couldn't try and make herself feel
something close to what Draco so obviously felt for her. Especially when he genuinely smiled at
her. Hermione knew the answer of course, but she still wished that it were possible. Sure she might
have met up with some difficulty and resistance from Harry and Ron, but if they thought that she
was happy they would have eventually come to accept what ever choice she made for her life, no
matter how much they hated it. She was almost certain of that fact. And it would have been all too
easy to fall into Draco's arms so that he could at least have what he wanted. But Hermione knew
that the problem with that scenario was that eventually it would all be for nothing. As she had
learned time and time again her heart was just too greedy. It still remembered true bliss, her
heart would never put up with just some pale imitation of happiness. Draco wasn't what it
wanted.*





*So when her mind asked why not Draco...*





*Why not Ron...*





*Why not Rodger...*





*Why not Oliver...*





*Why not...*





*The answer always remained the same.*







*Because it would always be Harry. Always.*

















When Hermione reached the Burrow Charlie was the one who opened the door for her and Lizzie.
Hermione was a bit put off by the fact that he seemed to be openly staring down at her chest, but
when she looked to see what exactly held his fascination she was dismayed to discover that she was
wearing a very thin white blouse with a very dark demi bra. Well, at least she was certain now that
she didn't forget to put one on.







After finding a double breasted sports coat bawled up in the back of her truck and putting it on
over her shirt Hermione entered the Burrow and greeted everyone in the house. Apparently
Hermione's appearance had interrupted a mesmerizing story about a world famous broom race and
an escaped Swedish Short-Snout named Gottilda (Tilly for short) who decided to join in. When
Hermione walked into the living room she found the five children sitting patiently awaiting their
uncle's return so they could get to the good part of the story. The good part happened to be
when Tilly got distracted from the race and the dozen or so dragon keepers that were trying to
recapture her and tried to mate with a muggle air balloon that was passing by. The poor old maid
was near sighted. But after Molly reproachfully called from the kitchen that the tale was getting
too inappropriate for young ears Charlie tactfully skipped to the point when he and the rest of his
team caught the dragon which led to excited cheers and clapping from the kids. Hermione even joined
along and giggled when Charlie wiped a thin layer of sweat from his brow. The kids then all turned
their attention to the dog and Lizzie was happy to play with them.







When Hermione entered the kitchen she found Molly and Fleur preparing dinner. Crookshanks looked
to be supervising the operation from his stool. Hermione greeted her old friend with a scratch
behind the ears and received a hug from Molly and a kiss on the cheek from Fleur. Arthur and Bill
were still at work. By the delicious smell that filled the room she could tell that the family
would be dining on roasted lamb that evening. She could feel her stomach contract as it reminded
her that she hadn't eaten since the day before. It felt like it was going to stage a revolt
when she declined Molly's offer to stay and have dinner with them. Truth was, though Hermione
had been searching for any kind of excuse to beg off being anywhere near Harry this evening, she
knew that the Burrow was not the answer. If she stayed to eat at the Burrow Harry was certain to
have dinner there as well. And worse yet he would probably bring Ginny with him. The thought of
sitting across from the Potters while swallowing down her carrots and pretending that just
yesterday she hadn't...No, Hermione scolded herself, she would rather not do that.





She told Molly that she just stopped by to say hello and possibly find someone to watch her dog
for her. Molly let her know that it was no problem and once again tried to get her to stay and eat.
Hermione lied and said she would think about it. She then passed through the living room again to
bid Lizzie and the kids goodbye. Since it was such a nice day out she decided to walk to
Luna's. It wasn't until she was at the door that it dawned on her that she had never been
to her old school mate's house and actually didn't know the way there. She asked Charlie if
he knew how to get to Lovegood House and he gave her the directions. He even offered to walk with
her and give her some company, but she politely declined his sweet offer. Poor thing, he's
probably desperate for any excuse to flee from a house filled with nothing but women and children,
she amusedly thought.

















**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~ ** 

















When Draco answered the door Hermione wasted no time throwing herself into his arms and giving
him a huge hug. On the short walk over she had imagined just how surprised and happy Draco would be
to see her and just what wiseacre comments he would make at her expense. What she hadn't
expected was the cold, indifferent wizard she held in her arms. When Hermione realized that Draco
hadn't even put his arms around her she pulled back warily to see his face. The expression
stamped on it wasn't unfriendly; however it was neither warm nor cordial. Instead Draco wore a
rather studious look, as though she were some curiosity that had momentarily caught his attention
but could easily be dismissed if it turned out to be useless to him. Hermione arms unhooked
themselves from around his neck and slowly came to her side.





“What form does your Patronus take?”





Hermione looked at him, disbelievingly at first, until a white hot annoyance coursed through her
and she placed her hand on her hip and stared him down.





“Oh please! We didn't even bother with that when there was a sociopath with a wand mucking
about the countryside,” she snapped. “But for the record mine is an otter. And though you led us
all to believe that yours was a scorpion it wasn't until the night that you, Tonks, Fred and
myself were perused by a phalanx of soul starved dementors while crossing the pitch trying to get
back to the castle with the rest of the ingredients needed for Remus' Wolsbane that we all
discovered that it was in fact a harveyplutus. A creature that bares a rather strong resemblance
with a fuzzy, wuzzy, bunny rabbit.” Hermione then smiled poisonously.





Draco, feeling as though he need to defend his honor bellowed out, “It looks like a jack
rabbit!”





Hermione only smirked superiorly at his blustering.





“And one that happens to have claws that can turn your insides into sashimi and ten inch
poisonous fangs, I might add!”





Tired of standing outside Hermione brushed pass Draco into the front parlor of the house and
said lightly, “Looked like a bunny to me.” She then turned around to face him and was stunned to
see that he was still staring at her suspiciously as he closed the door behind him. He could be
such a prat sometimes!





“Why are you looking at me like that? Like you don't know who I am?”





“Your accent has changed,” he cautiously said. “And you smell different. Especially your hair.
Did you change your shampoo?”





Her eyes widened. “The place I used to get it discontinued it,” she told him. “I find it amazing
you would notice that. And a wee bit disturbing.”





“I'm an Auror. I'm supposed to notice every thing,” he said as he leaned back against
the door and folded his arms in front of him. “Like your hair.” His eyes drifted up from her face
to her locks.





“What about my hair?”





“What happened to it?” he asked frowning.





Hermione self-consciously smoothed down the crown of her head and shyly asked, “Don't you
like it?”





“No, it's god-awful!”





Hermione rolled her eyes irritably. “But tell us what you really think Draco,” she snitted
sarcastically.





Taking her words to heart he pulled out his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. Hermione
automatically stepped back but not before narrowing her eyes at him.





“Just what the hell do you think you're doing pointing that thing at me?”





“I was going to fix it,” he answered.





“You fix it,” she snarled, “and I fix you!”





Draco studied her belligerent face for one more beat before beaming down at her.





“Emasculation coupled with the subtle threat of physical violence? Pet,” he said as he grabbed
her by the shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, “it is you!” He then spun her around a few
times which made her very dizzy. Once her feet touched the ground he still held on to her.





“Now where the bloody fuck have you been?!”





Hermione waited for the room to stop tilting and wavering before the corners of her lips turned
up in a shaky smile.





“It's a long story. One that would go down better with a few pastries, some jam, and
something hot to wash it down with,” she said sweetly. “Mmm,” she raised her nose in the air, “is
that coffee that I smell?”





He gave her a puzzled look before answering, “No, I was about to have a cup of Ceylon.”





Hermione pouted prettily. “Then what do we have to do to make it coffee that I smell?”













**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~ **









Hermione and Draco had their Afternoon Tea in Linus Lovegood's library that doors opened up
into the entrance hall of the house. To Hermione's surprise it was a rather plain and ordinary
study, quite like the one her father once read his evening paper in and smoked his pipe after
meals. The staid fireplace, oak book cases and matching scroll top desk with its leather chair
behind it were almost a let down. She expected something a bit zanier from a Lovegood. The only
thing that came close to off beat was that the wallpaper used to cover the room, Quibbler front
pages. She was seated on a surprisingly comfortable wicker footstool (she suspected there was a
cushioning charm on it) while Draco draped himself over a very expensive looking Edwardian settee
next to her. A large three tiered cake stand stood where both of them could help themselves and was
stacked with an assortment of pastries and fish paste sandwiches. On the floor near Hermione's
feet was a tray with a sterling tea service and a matching coffee pot. A doddering little house-elf
who would have made Kreacher look like a spring chicken was handing her another cup of coffee fixed
just how she liked it, sweet and creamy. Draco was lazily sipping his cup of tea. Hermione had been
telling Draco about her years in the States as well as her last few days back home. As Toodles
shuffled out the door she plucked up a croissant off the stand and hummed as the flaky pastry
melted in her mouth. She then took another huge gulp of the light almond colored drink.







“Would you like some more coffee with your milk and sugar?” Draco jested watching the enraptured
look that crossed her face as she drank the cup dry.





“Funny,” she said as she stuffed a bit more pastry in her mouth. “You sound like Harry. He
thinks that anything short of ink black coffee is a crime against nature or something,” she managed
to say between bites.





“One of the few issues that Potter and I actually see eye to eye on. But I tend to prefer my
tea. Although I could have done with another scone, but someone practically snatched the last one
from my fingers.”





Hermione's busy jaw paused as she looked apologetically at Draco. But the blueberry scones
had been just too delicious. Luna's grandmother's secret recipe, he had told her. Hermione
had practically finished them all off by herself.





“Sor-wy,” she mumbled as she stuffed the rest of the croissant in her mouth. Draco chortled at
her nerve. He knew that she wasn't sorry in the least.





“It's just that there's no food at the cottage. Unless you count the tree. But woman can
not live by fruit salad alone,” she told him once she swallowed. “I tried to go to the market last
night but...”





Hermione bit down on the corner of her bottom lip and averted her eyes from Draco.





“It didn't go so well.”





Draco didn't notice her anxiousness.





“No matter. TOODLES!” he shouted loudly. “MORE SCONES...please!”





Well, at least he said please.





“TOODLES!” He sat up and looked towards the library door. When it looked like Toodles
wouldn't be coming any time soon Draco swore irately under his breath. “Goddamned house-elf
keeps forgetting that he can pop in between rooms instead of traipsing from whatever closet
he's managed to lock himself in.”





“I'm surprised that Luna and Mr. Lovegood even own a house-elf. I thought them far more
progressive then that. At least Harry pays Dobby a wage.”





“Yes, yes Prince Potter the fair and just,” jested Draco mockingly. “Probably was terrified that
if he hadn't you would have somehow found out and come back just to put his balls in a vice
grip.”





“Lovely image that,” she drolled.





“It's a gift,” said Draco. “Listen, Toodles has been in the family since...how was it my
Loony love put it...Since Great-great-great aunt Bina ran away to marry that shifty vampire bloke.
Although what vampire isn't shifty, I'd like to know. No, Toodles is as much a Lovegood as
she is. If you were to give him clothes he'd be hanged.”





Hermione shook her head negatively. “All house-elves are leery of their freedom at first, but
they might eventually find that they like it if they gave it a chance.”





“You misunderstand me,” he said. “Toodles would hang himself with them.” He took a sip of his
tea and casually added, “Or he'd strangle himself with the tie at least.”





“You're impossible,” Hermione sighed. She then placed her cup back on its tray and took a
good look at Draco. The years had been good to him. He looked much the same as the last time she
laid eyes on him, just a little bit heftier. Someone had been taking care of him very well it
seemed. There were far more subtle changes in him though. He was more at ease and though still
surly, there was a decided lightness to him. And there was another difference in this Draco before
her. Hermione just hadn't put her finger on it yet.





“So where is Luna? I was hoping to see her too. You can't imagine my surprise when I heard
that you not only wooed Miss Lovegood, but actually moved in with her as well,” she smilingly
said.





“I think she might have wooed me actually. However it went though I can't complain.” He
leaned back on the settee. “Guess your friends couldn't wait to spread that around,” Draco said
coolly.





“It's not every day that the Prat of Slytherin House takes up with Luna Lovegood.”





“It should be.”





“Aww...”





“Aww...shut up!” he grumped causing Hermione to laugh. For all of his grandstanding she
didn't miss the twinkle in his eye.





“She's on one of her cloak and dagger missions for the paper.”





“So she did end up at the Quibbler?” Draco answered yes and Hermione said, “Good for her! When
we are at the Ministry she often mentioned that she wanted to write for the paper, but didn't
want people to accuse her of getting the job simply because of who her father was.”





“Well they would be bleeding fools if they said that now!” he aggressively said. “My Loony is
brilliant at what she does! She's going to rock the Ministry to the core.”





Hermione looked at Draco perplexed. He was speaking gibberish as far as she was concerned.





“You haven't seen the front page of The Seer?” Hermione shook her head. “The International
Seer re-ran The Quibbler's headline from Monday; Broom Boon Goes Boom for Ministry. Scrimgeour
is probably quaking in his office as we speak.”





“Well it sounds very exciting, but I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about,”
Hermione said taking the air out of his sails somewhat. “I haven't seen a paper since I've
been back. I don't really care to see what they have to say about me.”





She then saw the curious look on his face.





“What?”





“They haven't said anything about you. Not The Prophet, The Seer...I know it hasn't been
in The Quibbler,” he continued. “How very odd.”





Hermione quirked a smile. “I think it's very fortuitous! I guess I finally became old
news.”





Draco pondered on his thoughts for a moment longer before shaking off whatever was troubling
him.





“Luna did this exposé on the Ministry,” he explained as he scooted closer to the edge of his
seat. “It went over so well that she's now working on another one. She's meeting her inside
source right now.”





“How thrilling! And you say this person works for the Ministry?”





“Just some disgruntled div that has nothing better to do,” he said dismissively. “Luna calls him
Deep Wand. Got it from this film we watched.”





Hermione tutted.





“Not that one!” Draco protested. “It was this Yank film with these poof reporters running around
in the dark. I thought it was dull as pea soup, but Luna loved it.”





“Deep Wand, oh my!”





“And if the bastard knows what's good for him my Loony love better never find out just how
deep his wand goes,” he muttered darkly. “I'd kill him!”





“How gallant,” Hermione dryly cracked.





Draco grinned wickedly. “I have my moments.”





Hermione returned his grin. It was infectious. She just couldn't get over that this was the
same Draco Malfoy she once knew. He just seemed so...so...happy. But then it all made sense really.
This Draco was in love. Better yet, this Draco had someone who loved him back. He was beaming with
it.





“Wow! Just look at your eyes.”





Draco furrowed his brow and said, “What?”





“They practically glow when you talk about Luna,” she said. “Your eyes, that is. They
practically sparkle.”





“Ugh!” was what he said in answer to her claim which only made Hermione giggle at his
embarrassment.





“If we're going to have some hen-fest I demand equal time,” he stated. “So who've you
been boffing lately?”





“Boffing?” she asked in bafflement. “I suppose myself....wait...that doesn't sound too good.
I'm not boffing anyone,” Hermione said.





He scoffed. “That's surprising.”





“By the way you people make me out to sound one would think I was some Lavender-esque, Pristine
Pringle clone. I was never some clinging vine woman dependent on a man to survive.”





“Oh, I think that it was quite clear that you didn't need them,” Draco began, “but there was
always some sad sackless bastard sniffing around you. I should know I was once one of them.”





Hermione was taken aback by what Draco said. Not because of the words, but rather the lack of
bitterness behind them.





“We don't mince words, do we?”





“Have I ever?”





She still felt like something needed to be said; why she just left his apartment the way she did
that morning, why she didn't say goodbye. He didn't seem too interested in a heart to heart
over their past relationship though.





“Draco I...”





“Let's not and say that we did,” he said. “It's all water under the bridge anyways.”





“If that's what you want?”





He nodded. “Besides it all worked out for us right?”





“I...yes.”





“So who is the lucky bloke,” Draco asked again inquisitively. “That is a man's jacket you
appear to be wearing,” he said eyeing the navy blazer that sleeves went well past her wrists.
“Despite your denials I'm sure you have one stashed somewhere.”





“Shows you how much you know,” she said prissily. “There is no lucky bloke...although there is a
girl.”





Her teasing words had the effect she knew they would. Draco's naughty smile nearly took up
his whole face.





“Must say that I didn't see that one coming. And yet I'm intrigued. Tell me,” he said
leaning down towards her, “are there pictures? A video disk perhaps?”





“She's a dog Draco.”





“But I'm sure she has a lovely personality.”





“What you are suggesting would be considered bestiality.”





“And yet still intrigued,” he said smarmily. “Ow!”





She smacked his arm.





“Perv! I have a dog!”





Well that shot to hell the lovely images in his head. Draco sat up straight and gave her a
mystified look.





“You have a dog? Oh please tell me you didn't become one of these annoying muggle women that
carry little yipping balls of fur under their pits? I can't be associated with you if
that's the case. Especially if you and the dog wear matching cardies.”





“Good lord no!” she exclaimed in an insulted voice. “And I daresay Lizzie isn't the kind of
dog that lends to being carried around like a designer handbag.”





“Lizzie?!”





“What's wrong with Lizzie?” she asked. “It's a nice name! It's short for Queen
Elizabeth I.”





Draco gaped at her, mortified.





“I was homesick,” Hermione said bashfully.





He snorted at that. “I can see right now that you made a perfectly awful muggle. Muggles do not
name their dogs ...ugh...Lizzie,” he said in disgust. “Or Queen Bess or what have you. They name
their dogs...Champ. Or...or...King. Rover, Spot...T-Bone.”





A shriek of laughter burst from Hermione. She almost fell off the footstool from laughing so
hard.





“T-Bone?” She wiped away an errant tear from her eye. “I can't say that I've ever had
the pleasure of meeting a dog named T-Bone.”





Draco fell back on the settee and crossed his arms again. “I have,” he grumbled. “Bloody German
Shepherd nearly tore the seat out of my pants.”





Now how was she not supposed to die laughing at that? She actually slid off the footstool and
onto the hard polished floor, all the while still laughing at Draco's expense.





“Yuck it up!” he snarled.





She did. When her laughter finally started die down she was able to resume the conversation.





“And just what did you do to incur dear T-Bone's wrath?”





“My partner and I were working a case in Danbury,” he began as she lifted a finger sandwich off
the stand and nibbled on it. “A muggle by the name of Abner Boothe got a hold of a copy of a
Grimoire of Agrippa.”





Hermione was almost too shocked to speak. “My God! Agrippa's spell book? But those are even
rarer to find then his Chocolate Frog Card! Where did he get it from? How did he know how to use
it?”





“Girlfriend was a witch, a Stonefeather to be exact. The book had been in her family for years.
She told him what she was, showed him now to make an amulet of Ammit, and the bloody wanker turned
and used it on her.”





Hermione's hand went to her mouth; a gasp tore from her throat. When searching for
information on horcruxes she had come across mentions of the amulet, the Soul Eater, from time to
time. They were almost as taboo a subject as the horcrux. It was a talisman that could capture a
soul and imprison it while leaving the human body an empty vessel that one could do with whatever
they pleased. Some said that the infamous warlock Heinrich Agrippa had been told how to make the
very first one by the Egyptian daemon Ammit himself. His grimoire contained the only known
instructions on how to create an amulet. It also had some of the most potent love spells,
ceremonies for raising the dead, incantations for calling forth demons, and strangely enough a
recipe for braised tortoise soup.











“By time her family found the girl she had been locked up in a muggle asylum for a month. As a
favor to the father Scrimgeour demanded that my Division be put on the case.”





“An asylum,” Hermione whispered weakly as her hand crept to her chest. “That poor girl.”





“For awhile there we thought we were dealing with a dark wizard or an undocumented dementor.
It's a shame that we really couldn't do anything for her. If the amulet isn't destroyed
after 72 hours...”





“The soul can't go back in again,” she answered for him.





“Correct,” Draco said grimly. “Threw us all for a loop when we realized that the barmcake was a
muggle. He got drunk off the power. Ended up doing the same thing to 6 more girls.”





Not wanting to hear anymore atrocities this person Draco was describing may have committed
Hermione asked, “How did you find him?”





Draco smirkingly said, “The idiot made the grand mistake of calling on the wrong demon to do his
bidding. The beast was so offended at Boothe's gall that he dropped a dime on him with an
Unspeakable he had been trying to seduce. The bird then told us. We ended up trapping Boothe in
this rundown shack out in the middle of nowhere.”





Draco then grimaced painfully.





“Didn't count on the fucking attack dogs though.”





Draco's sullen face actually broke the somber mood of the room.





“And where was your partner in all of this?” she asked as she smiled.





He rolled his eyes. “Going at it hand to hand with the perp. Can't use magic against muggles
and all that,” he said. “Eventually he did spare me a glance and sent the hound flying. But not
before my very expensive designer trousers were ruined!” He fumed crossly.





Hermione took pains not to laugh out loud again at his ruffled demeanor.





“Then again he was always jealous of my sartorial style, but he denies it to this very day.”





“I'm sure your partner wouldn't want to hurt a hair on your pretty head,” she jokingly
said, cheeks sore from the smile she suppressed.





“Yes,” he said as he slid down to the floor next to her and rested her elbows on her knees, “but
apparently my arse is open season.” He then eyed her curiously.





“By that smug look on your face I take it that you know who my partner is.”





“Perhaps,” Hermione's lilting voice said.





“Potter tell you?”





“Actually he did,” she said as a mischievous smile as well an equally naughty idea popped into
her head. “He mentioned it when he was telling me about the case you two have been working on.”





Draco cocked his head at her, surprise etched all over his features and asked, “He did?!”





“Of course he did,” she innocently said continuing the lie. She didn't know why, but it
bugged a bit that Harry was being so tight lipped about his job. His heated reminders to her that
his cases were none of her business only succeeded in furthering her curiosity. So Hermione decided
to do the next best thing, she would get it out of Draco. Besides, he loved hearing the sound of
his own voice anyway.





“Why wouldn't he tell me? I was standing right there while he asked Charlie about the
dragon.”





Hermione knew that she had to play this carefully. Draco was a Slytherin after all.





“You were?!” he asked incredulously. “Strange. I figured that infernal Savior Complex of his
would have turned him into an over protective maniac the moment he saw your face.”





Hermione's brow furrowed. “Why would he do that?”





Now Draco looked just as baffled as she did. “Why would he...” he started to say before he
stopped, eyes narrowing. “Hang on.”





Dammit!





“What exactly did Potter tell you?”





Hermione quickly cycled through all of the conversations she had taken part in and overheard
these last few days and tried in vain to find something to go along with her story. Think Hermione!
Think!





“Err...”





There was something about Peru wasn't there?





“Um...”





And some woman that Molly called...what was that name again...Girdle? Oh that can't be
right.







“Uh...”





“Oh really,” Draco smirked, crossing his arms. “He said all that?”







Hermione muttered directions where Draco could stick his head. Although he probably didn't
find them helpful he did get a kick out of them.





“I think all that hair dye has seeped into your brain,” he teased her. “You used to be smarter
then me.”





“Used to?!”





He laughed.





“So tell me about Cyprus, I've never been.”





Hermione took another finger sandwich off the cake stand and chewed. She noticed how stale the
bread was and wondered if anymore of those tasty scones were going to ever come.





“What's there to tell,” she said in a slightly bored tone. “I ate, shopped. Ate, went sight
seeing. Ate, got in a bit of sunbathing...”





“But did you eat?” he sarcastically cracked.





“Like a bloody pig! The restaurants were like a religion there,” she laughed.





“Sounds interesting. I was actually going to spirit my Loony off to Cagliari to celebrate her
first big front page,” he told her.





“Harry mentioned that you took a few days off.”





“I found this charming bed and breakfast. We never made it though,” Draco said. “I got tied
up.”





Hermione's eyes filled with concern as she asked, “What happened?”





“I told you, Luna tied me up...”





“Dear Lord!”





“...to the bedstead...”





Hermione clasped her hands over her eyes.





“The pictures in my head!”





She missed Draco's salacious grin. “The things that woman can do with a pack of licorice
wands and a jar of cocktail olives.”





“Make the bad man stop!” she begged in mock horror.





“We only left the bedroom for snacks.”





Hermione dropped her hands into her lap. “Sounds more like you went for more props.” He
snickered. “You enjoy making me squirm don't you?”





Draco only smiled brightly in answer.





“And you still won't tell me anything about your case, hmm?”





“And have Potter breathing down my neck?” he asked. “I'll take a pass.”





Hermione's face arranged itself into a pout. She was digging out every weapon in her
arsenal. “I can't believe you're going to take Harry's side over mine,” she dismally
chided him.





“Hermione, I'm always going to be on your side,” he said simply as though she were foolish
to think otherwise. “However Potter is my partner. Plus I hate that sinister staring thing he does
when he gets his knickers in a twist. Cree-pee. Feels like he's trying to make my head
explode,” he sniffed. “Or peeking under my robes.”





“I'm sure your modesty is intact,” she quipped. “I don't think you're Harry's
type.”





“I'm everyone’s type,” he said haughtily.





“Luna hasn't done anything about that ego I see.”





“She loves it!”





“She loves you,” Hermione said, winking at him.





“That too,” he said though he tried to hide his smile.





Hermione shook her head in awe. “I just can't get over it. Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood.
Simply amazing!” Hermione turned to the cake stand again and looked for something that hadn't
turned into a rock yet.





“I wonder if Luna saw that coming,' she said off-handedly as she finally located a tea cake
that looked appetizing. When she turned back to Draco he was looking at her with a perplexed
expression on his face.





“Saw what coming?”





“The two of you getting together.”





Draco cracked an uneasy smile. “Now how would she have been able to do that?”





Hermione let out an annoyed huff thinking that he was being difficult.





“That little talent she has of course.”





“Pet, you are going to have to enlighten me. You see, I think my Loony love has many,” he paused
and Hermione saw a wicked grin stretch his lip, “many talents. But somehow I don't think we are
talking about the same thing.”





Hermione took a moment to really look at Draco's bemused face before realizing that he
really had no clue what she was saying.





“Never mind,” she said and quickly tried to stuff the tea cake in her mouth. Draco however
reached over and took the sweet out of her hand.





“Hey!”





“I'm cutting you off until you say what you know.”





A nasty retort bubbled up behind Hermione's lips, but she pushed it down at the sight of
Draco's worried face.





“Please,” he said.





And Hermione relented.





“You've never noticed Luna's knack for just...knowing things?” She emphasized the word
knowing. “Like if a caller you haven't seen in ages is going to suddenly drop in. Or what
you've gotten her for her birthday before she even opens the box. Have you never noticed that
when she insists you wear an anorak and your wellies it never fails to rain?”





“T-they're just g-good g-guesses,” Draco disbelievingly stammered. But his face said
otherwise.





“That too could be a possibility.” Hermione knew that it wasn't though.





“Fuck all!” Draco shouted as both of his hands went to his head and tore at the bit of hair
there. “On our first date we went to this Indian restaurant. I ordered the same thing she had but I
ended up getting so sick it was coming out of both ends.”





Hermione wrinkled her nose.





“Well it did,” he simply stated. “But that's not the point of the story. Luna told me that
it was going to lay me up for a week. Of course I didn't listen to her. I thought she was just
being a Know-It-All...like you,” he said as he said flippantly.





She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. “Ever notice that when I'm being
accused of being a Know-It-All it's usually because I'm right?”





“Are you telling me that Luna can fucking see the future?!”





“Not quite. Has Luna never talked to you about her mum?” she asked.





“I know that Luna watched her die. And I know that she was supposed to be some powerful witch.
An inventor of sorts.”





“A former Head Girl too,” Hermione added. “Delphia Lovegood also happened to be a natural
precog.”





Draco was stunned.





“What?!”





She sighed. “A precog is a person...





“I know what a precog is,” Draco roughly replied. “I didn't know that Luna's mum was
one. And I thought that you didn't believe in that kind of thing.”





“I don't believe in charlatans. And I just didn't like Trelawney,” she said as well.
“But I readily accept that there are people who are true clairvoyants. Delphia was one. And she
didn't bother about broadcasting that fact all over the place like some people,” Hermione said
with a sneer. “I guess Luna takes after her in that respect. Then again she only has a vague
genetic echo of her mum's power. More of a presentiment really. She senses things rather then
outright sees it. It used to come in dead handy when Cormac MccLaggen would drop by the office
though.”





Draco shook his head. “But it doesn't make sense! If Delphia could see the future why is she
dead? Why didn't she save herself? Why would she just abandon her daughter like that!” he
yelled viciously causing Hermione to look at him with wide and worried eyes.





“Well,” Hermione began, “provided that she did see her own...messy end, a true precog knows not
to interfere with a vision. And more importantly they can not give warnings! To do so would
probably have the opposite desired effect and make things worse then what they were. I'm sure
that Delphia understood this.”





She then placed a tender hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.





“I'm sure that Luna knows that too.” Somewhere in the distance Hermione heard a doorbell
chime.





As her hand left his shoulder the fierce hostility that burst from Draco died down and he seemed
to come back to himself. His usual pompous swagger returned.





“Just how do you know all of this?” he asked her.





“Luna told me,” she said and also snatched the tea cake out of his hand. When Draco rolled his
eyes she snottily added, “Draco, you would be made speechless at the amount of things that I
know.”





“Now who has the big head?”





“Mister Draco! Mister Draco!” a shrill, disembodied voice called.





Before Hermione knew what was happening she felt a small weight land in her lap.





“AGH!!!” she screamed. Draco fell back on the settee, laughing uproariously.





“Oh sorry miss!”





Toodles, with more agility then he looked capable of, skipped down off of her. He was carrying a
bread basket filled to the brim with blueberry scones that he promptly handed towards her, bowing
stiffly after, and then turned towards Draco.





“Mister Draco, the new Dark Lord is here.”





Hermione, who already had a scone in her hand nearly, dropped the bread basket.





“What?!”





“He just means Potter,” Draco clarified in the most annoying blasé manner.





“WHAT?!” Hermione's eyes were ready to pop out of her head.





He reached over and took a scone from her and bit into it. “Toodles is what one would call
'Old School', I guess you can say. Kill one dark lord, become the new dark lord,” he
explained. “Wax on, wax off. Let him in,” Draco told the old house-elf who ambled slowly out of the
room. Draco then turned back towards Hermione. His mouth had opened, probably to make some off
colored comment or get in a dig about Harry before he walked through the door, but his words died
when he noticed Hermione's agitated state.





“Don't let Harry in Draco,” she asked, nervously brushing a strand of hair away from her
face and worrying her lip between her teeth.





“No?”





“No!”





“What's wrong?” he asked her.





“It's just...I have a headache.” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you know how you and Harry
get when you're in a room together. Chest thumping, an engaging round of “Whose Is
Bigger”...I'm surprised that there isn't a mating dance involved. I just...I'm not in
the mood for it right now. Just send him away.”





For the last few hours Hermione's mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts that didn't
revolve around Harry for once that she had completely forgotten that they were supposed to meet up
later. He was acting like it was old times, like the two of them could just go to a pub or
something and pal around. He even suggested meeting up with Ron. That in its self wasn't such a
bad idea. What worried Hermione though were those few moments that she found herself alone with
Harry. Those were not like old times. Something was different. And it scared the hell out of her.
She needed time to try to think about it some more before she did something she would regret.





And she had to find some way to get out of seeing Harry today until then as well.





Seeing the near desperation in her face Draco gave a curt nod of his head, stood up from the
floor, and exited the room, closing the double doors behind him. Hermione only paused to grab
another scone before quietly creeping towards the doors. She opened one and peeked around the
corner. She could see Draco's turned back and see Harry's harried face just over his
shoulder standing outside the door. Hermione tried to ignore the speed her heart rate took on at
the sight of it.





“Fearless leader,” Draco saluted Harry, his tone of voice mocking, yet not hostile. Hermione was
sure she could hear Harry's eyes roll back in his head.





“I see that you finally deigned to come to the door,” she heard Harry's frustrated voice
say.





“You know me Potter, I like to play hard to get. I'm a tease that way.”





“I had Department business to go over with you.”





“I'm sure you did,” Draco's smirking voice replied then turned serious as Harry tried to
make his way through the door. “And what, may I ask, are you doing?”





Harry paused, eyeing Draco up and down making Hermione wonder if he was contemplating forcing
his way into the house. It took only a second for Harry to make his decision.





“May I come in?” he asked feigning civility.





“'Fraid not. I just washed my hair, you see.” Hermione could tell that he was having way too
much fun antagonizing Harry. Harry obviously felt that way too.





“**Must** you be an insufferable jackass?” he asked in a bored, stiff tone as he rubbed at
the area that his glasses met his nose and momentarily closed his eyes.





The question seemed to offend Draco somehow. “Are you new?! Have you never met me?!”





Hermione almost laughed aloud. Instead she stuffed the scone in her mouth to stifle it.





“I don't have time for this Malfoy,” Harry said impatiently. “Is Hermione over here?”





“And Hermione would be over here because...”





Harry let out an aggravated huff. “Because she said she planned to visit you.” He then muttered,
more to himself, “Though Merlin only knows why.” Draco however heard the insensitive comment. The
joking tone his voice held earlier completely disappeared.





“She's not here, what do you want?” he defiantly barked.





“But she has to be here,” Harry said his face tensing with so much fear and worry that Hermione
longed to smooth the look from his face. Only her pride held her back.





“She left the Weasleys' hours ago. Her vehicle is still parked in their yard. Charlie said
that she was going to walk here.” Harry had tilted his head down and was running his hand nervously
through his hair. He then looked up at Draco. “She has to be here.”





“Maybe she took the scenic route,” Draco offered.





Harry's face screwed up and he cast Draco a befuddled look.





“This is 'Catchpole,” he said incredulously. “There is no scenic route!”





Draco then coughed. However Hermione, though she couldn't be sure, almost imagined that it
was a laugh that Draco bit back.





“Listen Malfoy,” Harry said stepping closer to Draco and lowering his voice. Hermione had to
concentrate to hear what he was saying. “You and I have to be of one mind on this. For some reason
that I can't understand Hermione seems to be obsessed with the case that we are working
on.”





Hermione tore into the scone aggressively. She was not obsessed! Harry could exaggerate so
sometimes, she thought as she finished the pastry.





“Knowing Hermione like I do she would offer to help; look up spells, do research. Like we were
back at Hogwarts or something. We can not let that happen!” Harry said emphatically. “We have to
protect her...”





“Hermione,” Draco said loudly, his over dramatic voice cutting off whatever else Harry was about
to say, “is not here Potter. How many times do I have to tell you that?”





“Well...Just the one really. I heard you the first time.”





Why is Draco talking so loudly, Hermione wondered. And why does he sound so odd? And just what
the hell do I need to be protected from?! Before any of these questions could be answered though a
dreamy voice whispered near Hermione's ear, “Is it a game? Which one are we hiding from, Harry
or Draco?”





Hermione had been so wrapped up in the conversation in the hall that she hadn't heard Luna
floo into the room and creep up behind her, robes damp and covered in floo powder. Startled by the
young woman's sudden appearance near her Hermione spun around shouting her name out loud and
pulled the library doors closed.





“Luna!”





“What was that?” Hermione heard Harry's muffled voice say suspiciously.





“Her-umph!” went Luna. The blonde meant to say Hermione's name, but instead it came out as
Her-umph. Of course the hand that Hermione clasped over her mouth might have had something to do
with it. Hermione snaked her other arm around Luna and looked over her shoulder at the door warily,
awaiting Harry's assured entrance through the doors.





“Is Luna here?” she could hear Harry ask Draco. “What's going on in there?” She then heard
what sounded like foot steps on the parquet floor of the hall.





Hermione somehow maneuvered Luna awkwardly backwards and towards the far wall. She pressed her
old school mate into the wall using her own body as a barrier all the while her eyes remained on
the door. She wasn't exactly sure why she still had her hand over Luna's mouth, but since
Hermione's mind had gone into panic mode she decided it best not to question things. She then
turned to look at Luna whose blue gray eyes looked back at her unsurprisingly with only mild
interest.





“Hi Luna,” she said in a falsely bright tone. “How are things?”





Luna's thin shoulders shrugged slightly and her eyes drifted up and then down in a motion
that Hermione read as “so, so”.





“It's just that I prefer that Harry not know I'm here, is all.”







Hermione felt the need to explain herself. She was accosting the poor woman in her own home, it
was the least that Hermione could do. Luna's eyes appeared to soften at Hermione's words
and she half suspected that Luna understood the way of things completely without having to be told
at all.





“I thought the prat would never leave,” said Draco irritably from out in the hall. “Wanker just
can't take no for an an...,” he started as he opened the library doors and stopped short at the
sight of Hermione and his girlfriend; bodies pressed tightly together on the wall, Hermione's
hands still dominantly covering Luna's mouth. A devilish, lusty grin spread from one side of
his face to the other. He came further into the room.





“Dear Playwizard...”





“Ugh! In your dreams,” Hermione said, perturbed, as she threw him a disgusted look over her
shoulder. She then felt something wet flick at the palm that covered Luna's mouth.





“Ack!” she cried as she quickly stepped back and withdrew herself from the other woman.





“Mmm...” Luna dreamily said, licking her lips, “blueberry.”





Hermione openly gaped at the woman.





“You licked my hand!” Hermione bewilderedly accused her as she wiped the bit of spittle on her
jeans.





Luna looked at her as though she were the mental one. Hermione almost wondered if she were.





“Well how else was I going to get you to remove it from my mouth?”





Hermione was starting to feel very cross.





“Next time try 'get your sodding hands off of me'.”





Luna smiled that slightly vacant smile of hers and said, “I'll make a note.”





During all of this Draco had watched the scene with a delighted grin on his face. His expression
however softened when he and Luna locked eyes. Hermione was forgotten in the haste that Luna and
Draco drifted towards each other. He placed a hand lovingly in her blonde hair and bent his head
down to bring his lips to hers. Luna's arms slowly went up and wound themselves around his neck
as her head fell back with the power of the kiss. Hermione felt like she was intruding on a
terribly private scene, yet she was captivated by it. She just pretended not to notice the slight
pang of envy that shot through her heart. Not that she wanted to be in Luna's place. Or
Draco's for that matter. She just fervently wished that she too could know the peace that the
two before her had obviously found in each other. And not for the first time she also felt the
cold, comfortless fingers of loneliness brush against her. Everyone had moved on. Everyone was
happy. Everyone had a person to love and love them. Draco had Luna. Ron had Lavender. Harry had
Ginny. And Hermione...Hermione had no one. If she thought about it too much she knew that she would
fall, bawling into the carpet so she bravely fixed a smile on her face instead. She wouldn't
allow any jealousy to interfere with her gladness for her two friends.





Although if they took a break to catch a bit of breath she wouldn't hold it against
them.





“Prudish English woman still in the room here!” she announced loudly trying to remind them that
they were not alone. Luna had started to make a disturbing moaning sound deep in her throat and one
of Draco's hands had placed its self possessively on her rear end.





At the sound of Hermione's voice Luna pulled away from Draco's lips although she
didn't take her eyes off of him. He looked down at her just as adoringly.





“You taste like blueberries too,” she said in her low, throaty tone. “Yummy.”





“And you're all wet,” said Draco as he wrapped her in his arms. “Seeing as how there
isn't a cloud in the sky I have to wonder why.”





“Where I went was quite damp,” she admitted, never blinking her silver eyes.





Draco frowned slightly. “You know I don't like all of this.”





“I know.” She then turned to look at Hermione over her shoulder. “Will you be staying for
dinner?” she asked her.





Without any hesitation Hermione gratefully told Luna that she would love to stay for dinner.
Luna had effortlessly solved Hermione's problem about what to do about Harry. She could floo
the Burrow and tell them that she decided to stay and eat at Lovegood House and ask the Weasleys to
pass on the message to Harry. If she knew Harry like she thought she did she knew that he was too
polite to interrupt the Lovegoods at dinner time just to check up on her. And even if he did drop
in again she knew that she didn't have to worry if Luna or her father asked him to stay and eat
with them. Harry wouldn't possibly sit across a table with Draco civilly and break bread. There
was a better chance of Hermione joining the Canons and leading them to a title. Hermione suddenly
wondered if her day had finally started to take an upswing.





“Good then,” Luna said as she stepped out of Draco's embrace. “You and lover probably have
more catching up to do.”





Lover?! What had the world come to, Hermione thought with a grin.





“Since I'm puddling here on the carpet I'll go change and leave you two to it. Although
Hermione you may want to send Harry a note and let him know that you won't be able to meet with
him tonight.”





The smile on Hermione's face held although she really wished that Luna would shut the hell
up. And Hermione didn't like the way that Draco was looking back and forth between the two of
them.





“You and I have some things to discuss as well young lady,” he said half seriously as he turned
his attention fully to Luna.





Luna sighed resignedly. “I suppose we do.” She then added in a low and sultry voice as her eyes
locked with Draco's, “Later.”





Hermione did not miss the double meaning. Neither did Draco if the hungry look he gave his
girlfriend as she exited the room were any indication.





“Don't be too hard on her,” Hermione told him as she came up by his side. “And by that I do
mean figuratively.”





Draco was still staring out the door,





“She should have told me,” he said furtively.





“And she probably would have if I hadn't opened my big mouth.”





He turned to look at her.





“But you have to understand Draco; I always got the impression that most times Luna wasn't
aware when she would use her little gift. Sort of like a phantom limb that jerks its self every now
and then. She would say something, totally nonsensical sounding at the time, and not bat an eye. It
wouldn't be until days, sometimes weeks later that I would realize exactly what she meant by
it. Maybe Luna just didn't think it was important enough to mention to you.”





“Well I wish she had,” he protested. “A man likes to know everything about the woman in his
life.”





Hermione said dismissively, “But that is impossible. You can never know everything about a
person. There is always a secret, behind a secret, behind a secret.” Hermione then paused as she
studied Draco's face seriously.





“Does Luna know everything about you?”





“Close enough,” he answered. “And if I've missed anything then I'll tell her that
too.”





“Good. But don't hold this against Luna. I would hate that anything I said came between you
two.”





“It won't,” he assured her. “I just think that telling the truth causes fewer problems.”





“Draco, you just lied to Harry,” Hermione said in incredulity.





“I lied to Potter for you,” he told her. “But generally I believe that honesty is the best
policy.”





“A Slytherin with a code of ethics?” she joked. “I think I just felt the earth shift.”





“Just because you Gryffindors cornered the market on nobility and self-sacrifice that
doesn't mean you have all the finer qualities. I always saw the merit in brutal honesty
myself.”





Hermione strolled back to the footstool and eased herself down. “The truth as long as it cuts
and maims and bleeds,” Hermione said teasingly.





“But that was the old me,” said Draco as he came and seated himself on the settee once again.
“Luna has made me want to be a better person.”





Hermione reached out a hand and latched onto one of Draco's.





“The Draco Malfoy I last knew was already a better person,” she said honestly.





Draco smiled graciously. “Well thank you pet.”





Hermione smiled as well and gave his hand a squeeze. “You're quite welcome.”





Draco then loosened his hand from hers and leaned himself back.





“So,” he said congenially, still grinning, “are you going to share with me why you were playing
Hide and Seek with Potter?”





Hermione scowled at him before saying, “It's not like that.” She would have left it there
but knowing Draco he would keep digging and digging.





“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.





“I hope so.”





She rolled her eyes.





“Harry's been...clingy since I've been back. It's like he always underfoot.
It's...it's starting to get to me is all. I know he's worried about me, but it's
starting to irk me a bit.”





And making me turn into a raving lunatic who can't think straight. But she didn't share
that part with Draco.







“Well you did seem to disappear off the face of the planet there for a while. It's not that
hard to understand why Potter might have some separation anxiety at the moment. Although I always
thought that he was too dependent on you. I often wondered if you held his hand while he
wiped.”





“That's so crass,” she said admonishingly.





“Yet closer to the truth.”





“Well we were best friends! And once he relied on me as if...as if I were all he had in this
world. And I was more than fine with that because...because he needed me. And as long as he needed
me I would always be there for him.”





Draco was staring at her so hard with his glacial like gaze that Hermione had to avert her eyes
as she continued.





“But when he married Ginny that had to stop! And it should have stopped! But I've barely
gotten back and it's like we are ready to fall back into our old roles. Well I won't play
that part anymore!” she said hotly meeting Draco's eyes steadily.





“It's not fair! Not to Harry, not Ginny...not to me,” she said sadly as her eyes fell to her
lap. “But Harry's acting like nothing has changed. That I'm still his best gal pal, always
by his side. I have to make Harry understand that it can't be that way anymore, but he
won't give me a moment to catch my breath. I just need some time to decompress I guess.”





“Does that make sense?” she asked him as she looked towards him again.





“Perfect,” Draco said. Hermione smiled and closed her eyes in relief.





“Good.”





“Though I wonder pet,” Draco began, his kindly voice cutting through her mind's warring
thoughts, “just how long have you been in love with Harry Potter?”





















*To Be Continued...*







A/N: Another dreaded cliffie, I know. Sowwy. :) I just really felt that the break needed to
happen there. I know I hinted at something that was supposed to happen in this one, but without a
doubt you will get it in the next chapter. If the chapter had a name it would be called The One
Where Hermione Gets A Lot of Shit Off Her Chest. If it makes any one happier with me I have high
hopes to have two more chapters out in this month. They should be decidedly shorter then what the
last few ones have been. I hoped you guys liked this one cause I loved writing it!





Can't think of anything to link, but if you got questions hit me with them. And yes I know
that the Chicks version of the song is a remake. I'm not that young. ; )













*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*







































18. Chapter 14.B
----------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr,
but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N:** The beginning of this chapter you will find jarring, but by the end of it all
should come together (Don't worry, the flash isn't a kajillion pages long this time :p). In
it you get quite a few answers that you've been waiting on (although as always I'm sure you
will be left with a new set of questions afterward). I know not everyone re-reads the past chapters
**waves at **solie**l** I am hoping that you guys will recall a lot that has come before to get
a fuller picture of what's been going on in Hermione's head. A lot of things should start
to make sense now. I do realize though that because the chapters and the length between updates are
so long some things fall between the cracks. Thanks to a awesome suggestion from a reviewer soon I
hope to add short summaries at the beginning of each new chapter just to catch you up on things.
But be patient, it took me DAYS to come up with just the story synopsis for this fic. I DON'T
WRITE SHORT! If you haven't noticed. LOL!*

*Thanks goes to **murphsmine**, especially for telling me that this chapter didn't suck
as I initially thought it did.*

*Thank you all so much for your reviews. They mean so much to me!*

***Warning**: This chapter really needs no warning. If you don't like the angst you
might not like this one , but I like to think that I added my own special brand of weird humor to
it to even everything out. To be honest I'm not that fond of this one. I **LOVE** the first
half,**LIKE** the middle lots, and am disappointed a bit in the end. More then likely it will
get a major re-write later on, but since I promised another update for April I wanted to get this
one out. I hope you can find something in it to ENJOY!*

***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*





*Ron had finally drifted off to sleep, that is if the earth shattering snores emanating from
him were any indication. At rest his pale freckled face looked free of the pain that Hermione was
certain still coursed through every cell of his body though he was too medicated to notice it.
Almost three months had passed since his bruised and battered body had been dumped in front of the
gates of Hogwarts, but he had suffered through so many curses and beatings that the healing process
had been arduously slow. Back in January when Hermione first laid eyes on his unconscious form she
had believed Ron dead, because how could someone who looked like that possibly be alive. It was
just too cruel! But it turned out that Ron did survive the torture he endured at Voldemort's
hands. He just remained unresponsive in the shell of his body all these months. All of them had
been praying for a miracle, that he would wake up, and finally he had.*



*Until the moment that he actually opened his eyes they hadn't known when Ron would get
better or even **if** he would get better. Unbeknownst to his two best friends Madame Pomfrey
had suggested to the Weasley's that they begin preparing for the worse. With heavy hearts they
had actually left their son's side for once so they could prepare his bedroom at the Burrow for
him. If these were Ron's last days they wanted to share in them with the rest of their children
together as a family. Although Harry and Hermione knew nothing of this they had reached the point
at last where they were almost out of hope that they would ever have their friend back with them as
well. So of course this was when Ron decided to surprise them all.*



*Before the miraculous and disturbing occurrence took place Hermione and Harry had been
following their typical daily routine as of late; wake-up, breakfast, sit with Ron, Order Meeting,
research in library, lunch, sit with Ron, dueling practice with Draco, dinner, sit with Ron, sleep.
They had just come from eating lunch in the Great Hall. Harry was seated in a chair next to
Ron's bed and was reading to him from a letter that Ginny had sent with Bill that day. Hermione
had placed herself on the bed, holding one of Ron's hands as she inwardly reprimanded herself
for being a jealous shrew and begrudging Ginny the contact that she had tried to maintain with
Harry through out the war. Even though the two of them had been broken up for months that did not
keep the youngest Weasley from trying to retain her place in Harry's thoughts. She would send
Harry a letter at least once a week by way of one of her brothers or either of her parents anytime
one of them would come by the castle. The letters were always light-hearted and cheery and detailed
anything from the latest creature no one but Luna was certain existed to the most recent experiment
poor Neville had been subjected to at the hands of Fred and George. Harry would read these letters
to Ron, no matter how personal they might get, in hopes that Ron would hear his sister's zany
ramblings and perhaps smile, let them know that he was still with them. It was at these times that
Hermione would be painfully reminded just why Ginny was the kind of girl that Harry needed, the
kind of girl that Harry would want. She brought light to his gloom. She was fun and full of life
when all Harry had surrounding him was death at every corner. And more importantly, when her
letters ended 'With All My Love, Ginny' it was a heartfelt declaration that Harry could
hold on to. It wasn't messy and complicated. That last thing Harry needed right now was messy
and complicated.*



*The big dramatic awakening happened right when Harry had stammered onto the part in
Ginny's letter where she was confiding a dream she had about him just the night before.
Although Hermione found it childish and tame by most standards, consisting of a stroll along the
lake, a blanket of rose petals, and Celestina Warbeck warbling off in the distance something about
'....a cauldron built for two', that did not stop Harry from blushing to his roots as his
eyes nervously skirted from Hermione's. Nor did it hinder Ron from sitting straight up off the
bed and wailing his mother's name over and over again. The timing of the whole thing would have
been hilarious if Ron hadn't sounded like he was being flayed alive. It only took a moment for
Harry and Hermione to spring into action. She ran for the school nurse's office while Harry
cast on Ron any charm he could think of that might provided his best friend some relief. Hearing
Ron's screams Madame Pomfrey, as well as a dozen or so of the castle's living denizens (and
some of the not so living ones too) came streaming through the door to see what the commotion was
all about. Once assessing the situation Madame Pomfrey tried to calm Ron down but ended up ordering
Hermione to her cabinet to get a vial of Calming Draught as well as something to ease Ron's
pain. The nurse, Harry, and Tonks meanwhile tried to hold Ron down so he wouldn't hurt himself.
Hermione got the potions, managed to climb her way back onto the bed, straddled Ron, and somehow
forced the contents of both glass tubes passed Ron's clenched teeth. In all of the fuss not one
person had noticed Hermione slipping a vial of Dreamless Sleep into her jean pocket.*



*After awhile Ron started to calm down, but not before yelling out atrocity after atrocity he
had seen and been put through. The images were so fresh inside his head that for all he knew they
happened just the day before. When Tonks asked him if he knew anything about Remus Ron's
handsome, tear streaked face seemed to crumple from the weight of the question. He told her that he
heard Remus' voice begging for his potion one night, not too long after their capture, but
after that single instance he never heard it again. That revelation was enough to send Tonks out of
the room quickly as her day-glo yellow hair slowly transformed to a mousy brown. When Mr.
Shacklebolt questioned him, much to Madame Pomfrey's consternation, as to what Voldemort's
minions had done to him and just what he might have said to the enemy Ron openly wept and begged
Harry for his forgiveness. Voldemort had taken part in his torture personally and Ron, wanting his
misery to end by any means, told him everything about the horcruxes; which ones had been destroyed,
which ones hadn't. Harry only took Ron in his arms and told him that there was nothing to
forgive. Judging by the look of Ron when he had been returned to them it was plainly obvious that
he had endured a great deal of pain before they had finally broken him. Harry only asked if Ron had
any idea where he might have been held captive. At this question a few of the older Order members
in the room went deathly quiet. Mr. Shacklebolt and Bill traded loaded glances, Headmistress
McGonagall quickly left the Infirmary, and Hagrid began fretfully wringing his hands. Hermione
found the whole thing peculiar. For months they all had been wondering where Voldemort's base
of operation was. At least Hermione thought they all had been wondering about it, but as Ron leaned
in and whispered to Harry what he knew and Mr. Shacklebolt motioned to the old school nurse to get
Harry away from the patient a stunning realization settled in. They already knew! They had probably
known all along where Voldemort's lair was.*



*When Harry turned around and searched the faces of those closest to him it was clear that he
had reached the same conclusion. In a toneless voice he asked no one in particular just how long it
had been known that Deatheaters had taken up residence in the previously believed empty Azkaban.
Mr. Shacklebolt informed him that Viktor Krum had gotten word to them about it right before the
Battle of Hogsmeade. Viktor had been working for the Order as a double agent in a Deatheater cell
in Dublin. Headmistress McGonagall came striding into the Infirmary at this point. With an air of
authority she explained to Harry in a no nonsense tone that a decision had been made to keep that
information amongst a select group of Order members. When Ron and Remus went missing it wasn't
known for sure if they had been taken to Azkaban. Once Ron had been exchanged for the last horcrux
in their possesion they still decided to keep their silence. Harry asked why, but it was clear to
Hermione what the answer was. They were afraid that their Chosen One would have marched off,
half-cocked, to seek vengeance on the Dark Lord all by himself. The Headmistress said as much to
him, just in a more diplomatic and wordy manner. After hearing the answer Harry gave Ron's
shoulder a squeeze and made his way to the door. As he passed by her the Headmistress informed him
that she had been to his room and had collected his broom, his invisibility cloak, and
Gryffindor's sword from his trunk. He just wasn't ready to face off with the Dark Lord, she
told him. Harry only shook his head forlornly as he tore his saddened, disillusioned eyes from her
and exited the room.*



*Hermione made a move to go after him when she felt Ron's roughened hand latch onto her
arm. She looked down at his face, made drowsy by the potions, and saw the entreaty written across
it though he was too tired to give it voice; stay. Hermione briefly wondered if this would be her
fate for the rest of her life; wanting desperately to follow Harry out of a door, any door, while
trying to convince herself that her place should be beside Ron. Not wanting to think too hard on
the matter she decided to stay. She gently took Ron's hand in hers and sat back on the bed. She
placed a small kiss on his forehead and tenderly brushed back his ruff of red hair. It was only
after sleep claimed him that Hermione left to find Harry.*



*She found him in the boys' room in the South Tower. He was busy tossing objects here and
there from out of his trunk while muttering curses and oaths under his breath. Every now and then
he would stuff an item into a rucksack that was on his bed. He didn't even pay her entrance
into the room notice. Draco had been sitting on his bed watching Harry's frenzy with a studied
measure of interest and disdain.*



“*Draco,” she said to him, “could you please give Harry and I a few minutes alone?”*



*Draco looked completely displeased with this request, but before he could open his mouth and
toss off one of his typical smart arsed remarks, Hermione looked him directly in the eye.*



“*Please?” she asked again.*



*Draco took one look at her pleading face and briefly nodded his head before walking out the
door.*



“*Neat trick,” Harry said barely glancing at her as he continued to rummage through his trunk
in search of something. “Did you also teach him how to roll over and play dead?”*



*Hermione ignored the remark.*



“*Where are you going?”*



*Harry continued his search for whatever item was alluding him by moving things to the floor.
He was now on his hands and knees rooting his hands under the bed.*



“*Harry?” she tried again closing the distance between them though her heart felt as though it
were full of lead. “Aren't you even going to answer me?” She tried to keep the hurt, petulant
tone out of her voice but it still seemed to come out if the annoyed and exasperated look that
Harry gave her was any indication.*



*He stopped what he was doing and stared her down with his green, steel eyed gaze. He rose up
from the floor, a silver and red feather quill in his hand, and asked, “Why Hermione? I tell you a
lie, you know it's a lie. I tell you the truth, you already knew the answer.” He snorted a
bitter, ironic laugh. “Why bother?”*



“*Harry, Ron...” she turned her head for a moment to think of something to say, “Ron will be
ok. Ron will get better,” she said as she tried to smile at him reassuringly. The smile however
died due to the contempt she felt surging from him. “Listen, I know you're upset...”*



*He threw the quill down on the bed and looked at her disbelievingly. “UPSET?!” he bellowed.
“UPSET?! My best mate...the bloke who is the closest thing in the world I'll ever have to a
brother is hanging to life by a thread and you think that I'm just upset?!” He shook his head
as he turned his back to her dismissively.*



“*Good to know how much you care about your own boyfriend there Hermione.”*



*If he had been looking for some way to hurt her, some way to pick at the scabs she had
covering her own self loathing and doubt he had found the perfect weapon in his words. But instead
of shrinking back from them the fighter in her struck back. She grabbed him by the arm and wrenched
him back around so he could see just how seriously she took his jibe.*



“*Don't you talk to me like that! Don't you dare talk to me like that!” she shouted up
at him as she wiped furiously at the tears that had begun to slowly trail down her cheek. “Do you
think you are the only person hurting here Harry?! Do you really think that I'll ever get the
sound of Ron screaming for his mother out of my head?! Do you really think that lowly of
me?!”*



*At the sight of Hermione's teary face something in Harry just seemed to deflate. He sunk
down onto the bed wearily and hung his head down.*



“*No,” he simply said.*



*Hermione kneeled down on the floor before him and gathered both of his hands in hers.*



“*Good,” she said as a tiny smile pulled at her lips. “Because I think it would break my heart
to discover that the person I believe in more than anyone in this world thought so little of
me.”*



“*It's just...” Harry paused, frustratedly trying to find the proper words to continue.
“It's just that they are doing it again Hermione! I have people telling me what they think I
should know. If Dumbledore hadn't done that to me maybe Sirius would still be here. Now the
same thing has possibly cost me Remus...almost Ron.”*



*Hermione felt guilt slice through her belly. Wasn't she just as guilty of doing the same
thing to him? Wasn't she culpable of the same crime? Keeping things from Harry, for his own
good, she would tell herself. Not telling him things for fear of what his reaction would be, for
fear of what the truth would do to them all. No, she told herself. There was a good reason to keep
it from him! She just had to keep reminding herself that every waking minute.*



*Harry's grip on her tightened, painfully almost, as she brought her attention back to
him.“I won't let them take you away from me! I won't! I won't!” he cried. Whether he
was trying to force her to believe it or himself, she wasn't sure, but she somehow managed to
release Harry's hold on one of her hands so she could bring it up to his face and lovingly
caress his cheek. “This ends now Hermione! I'm taking the fight to him now!”*



“*But we haven't destroyed all of the horcruxes Harry...”*



“*Then I'll kill him again!” he exclaimed. “And again...and again! And I'll keep
killing him until Riddle gets the fucking message and stays dead this time! I can't sit around
waiting any longer.”*



*He wrapped damp fingers around the hand that still stroked at his face.*



“*I can't wait anymore Hermione, too much is at stake now.”*



“*But what about the sword Harry?” she asked. “The Headmistress is not going to just allow you
to waltz in her office and...”*



*Before Hermione could finish her sentence Harry pulled his wand out of the pocket of his
baggy khaki pants. He then picked up the feather that laid on the bed next to where he sat. He
pointed his wand at it and said, “reverto”. Before her very eyes Hermione watched the ordinary
quill transform its self into Gryffindor's ruby encrusted blade.*



“*Harry!” Hermione gasped, voice registering clear amazement at his ingenuity. She even smiled
as she saw Harry duck his head for a moment to hide the scarlet blush on his cheeks.*



“*McGonagall has the actual quill,” he told her. “I figured something like this would happen.
I've been changing them back and forth for the last few weeks.”*



*Hermione grinned at him, her eyes brimming with pride. “Well despite your blatant paranoia it
was a brilliant move!”*



*Harry's bashful smile slowly wilted as he carefully laid the sword down next to him and
pulled Hermione into a forceful embrace. Not knowing what else to do she wrapped her own arms
around his waist and pressed her face into the the cotton of his shirt. She was too scared to
speak, too scared of what words would come tumbling out of her mouth so instead she said nothing at
all. Just breathed in his clean crisp scent of sandalwood and spice that she often imagined clung
to the air when she awakened most mornings. As tears sprang to her eyes she closed them tightly and
silently prayed that she wouldn't sob into his shirt.*



“*We can't fight Riddle by committee any longer. We've been doing this wrong all
along, don't you see,” Harry pleaded as he bowed his head into her unruly curls. She could
almost picture his lips lightly pressed into the veil of her dark hair.*



“*Don't fight me on this,” he murmured faintly. “It all falls on me now. That's the
way it has to be and this is what I have to do. Tell me you understand that Hermione,
please.”*



*It was in that moment that Hermione realized that she didn't want to tell him she
understood, she wanted to show him. She wanted to show him what it felt like to do something your
heart begged of you. She wanted to let him know that she understood what it meant to want to give
yourself over to that urge deep inside that demanded to be fulfilled. She could so easily see
herself surrendering to that calling even now. Even at this moment when it felt like their world
was falling to pieces around them. How very easy would it be to just give in? Just a lift of her
head would bring Harry's lips in contact with her own. Sure he would be confused, especially
when she snaked her arms around his neck in an effort to fuse their two bodies together, but once
she made the move to push him back onto the bed she was sure she could find some way to dispel his
uncertainty. Maybe she could sway his doubts by unfastening the buttons of his blue shirt one by
one until she pulled back the material to reveal the smooth, hairless flesh she knew lay beneath.
Maybe she could allay his fears by tracing a single fingernail in a swirling, looping pattern up
the length of his chest and then follow the trail back down using only her tongue. Or she could
just cut to the chase, straddle him, and methodically grind him into erection until her name was
the only coherent word he could manage. What male teenager would turn that down? What randy,
quivering ball of seventeen year old boy would not take from a girl in his lap what she so
obviously wished to give, regardless of who it was? At least that's what the soothing,
persuasive, oh so compelling voice crooned in her ears. Do it Hermione, it seemed to say. Take it
Hermione. He wants it too, can't you see, it hissed. Ginny may have the rest, but this you can
claim. You would be the first Hermione. No one else, it would always be you...always you. It will
be his and your secret. And you'll always have the memory if Harry should die...*



“*NO!” she cried out as she forcefully threw herself backwards from out of Harry's arms,
successfully landing herself on her bottom. Her eyes screwed shut as she clamped her hands over her
ears to block out that voice. To quiet that voice! Dear Merlin, when would she ever stop hearing
it?!*



“*No!” she shouted again. “No!”*



*When Hermione finally opened her eyes again the sight that greeted her was Harry's
completely flummoxed face looking at her worriedly. He looked completely taken aback by her
powerful outburst. He tried to ask her what had brought about such a reaction but Hermione merely
shook her head and cut him off as she scuttled back over to him on her hands and knees.*



“*I won't let you go!” she told him firmly, kneeling directly in front of him again. “I
won't let you go without me!”*



*Judging by Harry's frowning face this bit of news did not please him.*



“*Not going to happen,” he said as he firmly shook his head. “It was sweet and touching the
way that you and Ron sacrificed so much to come with me this far, but this is where it ends! You
are not coming with me!”*



“*The hell I'm not!” Hermione retorted as she rose from the floor and folded her arms
across her chest. “I'm not the girl who sits in the window and waits for the great conquering
hero to return. I'll never be that girl! I'm the girl who is going to be right by your side
making sure that you stay alive. And if you think otherwise then you really are mad!”*



*During all of this Harry had gotten up from the bed, re-transfigured the sword into a quill,
and began packing his bag again. He pretended as though he couldn't hear Hermione nattering on,
but it was obvious by the surly look on his face that he was hearing every word. Hermione was
shocked that there weren't little puffs of steam shooting out of his ears.*



“*I'm going with you Harry,” she said again calmly.*



“*You listen to me,” he said, having heard enough of her foolishness, jabbing his finger in
the air at her. “You are going to stay right here with Ron and...”*



“*And what Harry?” Hermione asked as she came closer to him. This action only caused him to
take a step back. “And what?! When Ron wakes up again and asks me why the hell I'm not with
you, helping you, protecting you like he and I both agreed just what am I supposed to tell him? How
am I supposed to look him in the eye? If our roles were reversed and I was the one in the Infirmary
Ron would follow after you just the same! And you know this!”*



*Before Hermione could even register it Harry had bounded up to her and grabbed her roughly by
the forearms. He shook her roughly as he frantically searched her eyes.*



“*Don't you get it?!” he roared as he gave her another shake. “That very well could be
you! Do you know what that would do to me?! Do you have any idea?!”*



*Hermione pulled herself from his grasp, but didn't step back from him. “Do you know what
it will do to me knowing that you are out there, somewhere needing me and I can't get to
you?”*



*The question seemed to strike some chord in Harry. He despondently sighed as he turned away
from her and began to walk to the other side of the room to get away from her. His hand tugged
roughly at his hair. Hermione however wasn't going to let him get away that easily.*



“*Now the way I see it,” she said as she slowly trailed after him, “we could do this two ways.
You could either wait right here while I run and get the bag I've had packed for weeks in case
something like this were to happen. Or you could slip out of the castle and just take off. But know
this, I will come after you. No matter how hard you work to cover your tracks, no matter where you
decide to hide, I will try to find you. And maybe I will. Or maybe I'll get lost in the
Forbidden Forest and an acromantula will happen on me and tear me limb from limb. But make no
mistake Harry, I will not just stay put. Now you decide which.”*



*She stopped right behind him. As he turned his agonized, tormented eyes towards her she felt
her heart hitch. Harry's green eyes seemed to beg her not to make this so hard, but Hermione
knew that she fully meant every word she said and had no intention of taking any of it
back.*



“*You're not being fair,” he half pleaded, half protested.*



“*I don't care,” she whole heartedly stated.*



“*You could die!”*



“*I don't care!” She said this just as earnestly as the first time.*



*Hermione could see the inner debate that raged inside of Harry play out on his face. She knew
that Harry would risk his own life to keep her safe and from harm, but she also knew that there was
no way that Harry was leaving this castle unless she was attached to his hip somehow. Long ago she
and Ron had made a decision to see this thing with Harry through to the very end. Although Ron
wouldn't be able to make this final step with them in body Hermione knew that he would be right
along with them in spirit. But no matter what, no matter how this all finished, Harry was not going
to face it alone. If she had to beat this realization into Harry she would! Luckily he looked like
he had come to the same conclusion.*



“*Change into some dark clothing and get your bag,” he told her resolutely, his eyes alight
with acceptance as he eked out a tiny smile for her benefit. Hermione only stared at him for a
moment before she grabbed him in a quick bear hug that seemed to take the wind out of him and
turned for the door. She was about to cross the threshold when a small stab of fear entered her
heart. What if was just placating her? What if Harry was just saying what he knew would get her out
of the way for a moment so he could escape the castle with her being none the wiser. Hermione
turned back to see Harry still packing his bag. She opened her mouth to accuse him of this very
thing, but couldn't bring herself to say it. Thankfully Harry happened to look her way at that
very moment.*



“*I'll still be here,” was what he said effectively dissolving her fears into nothingness.
She shyly smiled as she began to turn and walk out the door again when suddenly another issue
occurred to her.*



“*Harry,” she started as she turned towards him again, “how are we going to get to Azkaban?”
she asked. “Did you transfigure your broom too?”*



*Harry sighed as he pushed his glasses, which had slid down his nose, up again. “'Fraid
not,” he said gloomily. “I didn't expect McGonagall to confiscate the Firebolt. But don't
worry, it's alright.”*



“*Sure it is,” she said brightly. “We could use Ron's broom or...or...one of the school
brooms.”*



*Hermione didn't bother by suggesting Buckbeak. After Harry's dramatic exit from
earlier Hermione had overheard the Headmistress telling Hagrid to lock up all the flying beasts.
Hagrid didn't look like he was too fond of filling the request, but Hermione was sure he did it
never the less.*



“*Seriously Hermione, I've got it covered. We won't be needing a broom. I have a
plan.”*



*Though that last word should have given her pause, Hermione looked at Harry bewilderedly and
asked, “Then how are we going to get there?”*



*At her question a mischievous grin formed on Harry's innocent seeming face. If ever a
look told Hermione that she was not going to like the answer, this look said it. She actually found
herself wanting to swallow a huge lump in her throat, but found her mouth dry as sand and unable to
accomplish it.*



“*Let's just say I have an alternate means of transportation,” Harry said. And then he
winked.*



*Hermione finally found what she needed to swallow that lump.*







*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







*If she knew the circumstances in which she would be flying through the near dusk sky Hermione
wouldn't have changed her decision to go with Harry to Azkaban. That being said, Hermione
didn't think she much cared for riding around on motorcycles! Especially ones that so blatantly
defied the laws of gravity. When she became aware of what the 'plan' entailed she had to
fight off the compulsion to scream her head off and sprint in the opposite direction. Harry
actually had the nerve to smirk at the sight of her stricken face. It was that alone that forced
Hermione to straighten her shoulders, lift her chin superiorly, and gracefully climb onto the
machine behind him. She couldn't help herself if she yelped out loud and clutched his
mid-section tightly when he playfully revved the engine. Hermione might have enjoyed his mirth,
even though it was at her own expense, that he could still find some lightness in such a dark
moment, but she was too busy trying not to lose her lunch (no pun intended) on the back of
Harry's dark cloak. For such a frequent flier Hermione was deathly afraid of flying. Her years
spent at Hogwarts hadn't cured her of this either. She was a witch with simply no head for
brooms. And though she had gotten over her initial wariness of the creatures, hippogriffs and
thestrals gave her no comfort either. She would have still preferred any of these options rather
then sneaking off to Azkaban on a bloody flying motorcycle! She assumed Harry inherited it along
with the rest of Sirius' estate, but she hadn't the foggiest idea when he might have
learned to ride the blasted thing. Instead of asking though she decided to focus on not swallowing
her tongue. Still, despite her terror that any moment she would go splat, Hermione had to admire
the confidence and ease in which Harry guided the motorcycle through the sky. He was just so
naturally good at almost anything he put his mind to**.** In her minds eye she could almost see
the look of pure rapture in his eyes, triumph on his face that was ever present when he mastered
something. It would be the same expression he wore when he knocked Draco's blade from his hands
after executing a difficult move or held the snitch up high for everyone in the stands to see. It
was that look that often sent shivers down her spine, like it did now just imagining it. She felt
some of her jittery nerves settle as she tightened her hold on Harry and rested her cheek against
his strong and surprisingly wide back. Although Ron was probably the more physically impressive of
the two boys, that is if you liked your men roughly the size of an Alaskan arctic polar bear, in
Hermione's opinion though something had to be said about broad shoulders that tapered down to
slim waists, nicely defined arms, compact wiry frames, and a bum that would make any witch
go...Argh! Goddamned these ruddy hormones!!!*



*Azkaban prison was located on an island called Out Stack in the North Sea. It was part of the
Shetland Islands, but was considered uninhabitable by muggles. To those without magical eyes it was
little more then an outcrop in the middle of nowhere and of no use to anyone. However for hundreds
of years Azkaban, as the island eventually came to be known as well, was the place thousands upon
thousands of criminals who ran afoul of the British Ministry of Magic called home. When
transporting a prisoner to the island the guilty wizard or witch would be brought to the tiny inlet
of Moray Firth where a portkey station was located. The prisoner, chained between two First
Division Aurors, would be handed a scroll detailing the crimes they were guilty of which would then
portkey all three of them to Unst, Shetland. From there the Aurors and their charge would go by
boat to the small landing dock on Azkaban. During the calm before the dementors sided with
Voldemort they would be the ones waiting to take the prisoner from the Aurors and lead him to the
end of his sad journey; his cell. After the dementors left this job fell to retired Hit Wizards.
Once their time had been served, provided that they hadn't received a life term, the prisoner
would go through the entire process in reverse receiving a portkey (in the form of his freedom
papers) after landing in Unst again. After arriving in Moray Firth he was allowed to pursue what
little was left of his life.*



*Sirius had shared all of this with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins once on a long
ago afternoon at Grimmauld Place during their holiday break when Fred asked him to tell them all
about being taken to Azkaban and his miraculous escape. It was a day when Sirius was feeling
particularly low-spirited and woebegone and he thought nothing of telling the kids such things.
That is until Mrs. Weasley came into the room, gave him the evil eye, and shepherded all of the
youngsters out of the room. Of course they all knew that Sirius followed an alternate route off of
the island, but because of the interruption he never got to tell them what it was. It might have
been helpful for Harry and Hermione now, but once the dawn began to break and they had been flying
around for hours they decided to rest for a few hours, wait for nightfall, and continue on with
their journey from there.*



*They came to a stop in the small northern village of John o' Groats in Caithness that was
at the very tip of Scotland. Needing a place to stay they happened on an out of the way farmhouse
that had been converted into a bed and breakfast by its enterprising owner. Upon discussing with
the proprietor, a Mrs. Kerr, the possibility of renting two rooms they learned to their dismay that
the inn only had two rooms, one of which was already taken. Hermione wished that the bony faced old
woman hadn't mentioned the fact that it had been a room with twin beds, but she seemed rather
proud that two scientists from Glasgow had decided to stay at her little B&B to study the
colony of puffins that called the coastal town home. Having bragged on this at length she then
informed Harry and Hermione that the only other room she had was the “Honeymoon Suite”, but being a
decent Christian woman she only allowed married couples to stay in it. She then distrustfully eyed
the pair up and down. The two teenagers were clothed in their cloaks and each carried only
knapsacks with them. With their young faces and wind blown hair they probably looked like a couple
of trouble making hooligans to her. The huge motorcycle parked in the barn probably did little to
dispel that assumption. Before Mrs. Kerr could say anything else though Harry grabbed Hermione by
the waist, pulled her to his side, and smilingly told the woman that it was lucky for all of them
then that he had just married the pretty girl in his arms the day before. When Hermione let out a
squeak of shock Harry, in a confidential like tone, told the inn keeper that his new bride was just
a bit out of sorts. She had been set to marry another bloke when he stopped the ceremony, stole the
bride, and ran for Gretna Green to elope with her. Now he and his new wife were on the run from her
parents and the disgruntled ex-groom. At this romantic, and ridiculously convoluted story Mrs.
Kerr's reticence towards them seemed to just melt. She told them that she just couldn't
stand in the way of young love. Hermione had her own suspicions that Harry's green eyed gaze
and charming smile that was just as good as any weapon also had something to do with her change of
heart. When Mrs. Kerr asked them to follow her back to her guest book so she could sign them in she
asked what name to put the blushing newlyweds down as. With an infuriatingly straight face Harry
told her Mr. And Mrs. Norris. As they were shown to their room Hermione lowly grumbled under her
breath so only Harry could hear her displeasure at being named after the damned cat!*



*Once in the grand 'Honeymoon Suite', that consisted of a full sized bed, a night
stand on both sides of it, and a small wardrobe, Hermione entered the connecting bathroom to wash
her face. At least that was the excuse she gave Harry after he took off his cloak and slumped onto
the bed without even taking off his trainers. At the sight of his form draped across the mattress
Hermione needed to leave the room fast so she could calm down her fluttering heart. She knew that
somehow she would end up in the bed with Harry. It wasn't like she could force him to the
floor, the poor boy was exhausted from their long flight and he needed a restful sleep. And if
Hermione even made the pretense of bedding down on the carpet Harry would forbid it. The eventual
stalemate would eventually lead them to sleeping side by side. Although sleeping next to him
wouldn't be a new experience for her, doing so without Ron on the other side of Harry would be.
Hermione was terrified of the prospect! She could almost hear that voice again, urging her on to do
what she knew she wanted to do. But Hermione was determined to drown that voice out. On the counter
top of the sink sat a stack of small paper cups. She took one, filled it with some water from the
tap, and after taking off her heavy cloak pulled a glass vial from out of the pocket of her jeans.
She mixed the contents in the vial with the water, knowing that it would only dilute the taste of
it. She lifted the cup to her lips and was about to drink from it when she heard Harry cry out from
the adjoining room. She put the cup down and was out the door in a flash. She found Harry on the
bed, writhing and wailing in the grips of one of his nightmares. Hermione was used to this scene by
now and knew the signs well. She crept to the side of the bed, shook him awake, and found herself
in his arms again after his eyes took in her concerned face. She didn't bother asking what it
was he dreamt of. Death. It was always death. Hers, Ron's, Ginny's, all of the other
Weasleys. It was always death. Once she felt his breathing return to normal she pulled out of his
embrace, closed the blinds so the room would be dark, and returned to the bathroom. She filled
another paper cup with water, picked up the one she hadn't drank yet, and walked back into the
room. By this point Harry was sitting up in the bed, back against the headboard, long legs out
before him. He had only his socks on his feet though Hermione wasn't sure if he had taken off
his shoes or if they had gotten kicked off during his tossing and turning from before. Whichever
the case she walked up to him and waited patiently for him to take the cup of water from her that
she offered him. Harry however chose to stare straight ahead, unblinking, as he studied the barren
white wall in front of him. Hermione started to worry after he didn't speak for a moment, his
face looked just as blank as the wall, but when he finally began to talk his words held no comfort
for her.*



“*Hermione, if I die I want you and Ron to go on and try and live a happy life. I don't
want you two to mourn for me.”*



*Hermione gasped and her hands began to shake a little as water from both cups sloshed a bit
over their rims. She had to force herself to breathe in and out slowly. She also counted to ten so
she didn't just loose it right there in front of him. It wasn't so much what he said that
made it feel like someone was slowly suffocating her, robbing her of oxygen to her heart, it was
the stark resignation with which he said it. He might have said “if”, but he fully meant “when”.
Harry was preparing himself for his believed inevitable death and because he cared for her he
wanted her to be ready for it too. When he would plan Quidditch plays he would often try to
visualize the game to its end. Was that what he was doing now? On the verge of entering the biggest
match of his life was he was preparing for defeat in case he fumbled the snitch? As the realization
of all of this sunk in Hermione suddenly felt filled with fury. She didn't know who she was
madder at; herself for actually using a dumb Quidditch analogy or him for giving up so easily.
Seeing as how she was a bit worn out from beating up on herself for once she decided to turn the
full force of her ire on him. How dare he, she inwardly seethed. How dare he think she would even
allow him to leave Ron and her! He didn't want them to mourn him did he? Her eyes narrowed as
she answered his request.*



“*Good, because we won't.”*



*Harry's head swiveled towards her and the shock was blatantly apparent on his face.
Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that wasn't it. He tried to splutter out a response,
but Hermione wouldn't allow him to. She shoved the paper cup into his hands instead and downed
her own cup of the water in a single swallow. She then crumpled the cup in her hands and threw it
on the night stand next to her.*



“*You don't have to worry about us mourning after you Harry,” she told him as she folded
her arms bossily. “Because you are not going to die!”*



*At her words Harry sighed sadly and drank his water. After placing it on the stand he looked
at her angry face again.*



“*The thing is I might die,” he said. “Even if I somehow manage to kill Riddle I might die as
well.”*



*He moved himself down further on the bed so that he could rest his arms under his head like a
pillow. He turned his glassy eyes up towards the ceiling.*



“*I just think that you should be ready for it.”*



“*Harry...”*



“*I'm ok with it,” he said in a resolute tone. “I've accepted it. Ever since I was
born all I've ever known was death.”*



*Harry glanced at her briefly before saying, “I'm ok with it. I've made my peace with
it.”*



*If he had been hoping to comfort her by telling her all this he couldn't have found a
worse way to go about it. What ever reticence Hermione had originally held when they walked through
the door of the room instantly vanished as she purposefully got on the bed and kneeled beside
him.*



“*Now I'm willing to take a lot of stuff from you Harry James, but I will not just stand
by and allow you to feel sorry for yourself!”*



*Harry's eyes slowly closed yet Hermione knew by the pinched, argumentative look on his
face that he still heard every word of her upbraid of him.*



“*All you've ever known was death?” she asked him disbelievingly. “Well what about love
Harry? Haven't you known love? You know your parents loved you. What about Ginny? What about
Dumbledore...Sirius...Ron?”*



*She lay down on her side and positioned herself so she could look at Harry's tranquil,
upturned face. In a voice, barely audible she asked, “What about me?”*



*Harry's calm face scrunched up momentarily as he mumbled in a groggy, confused voice a
single name.*



“*Ginny?”*



*Hermione felt the sob bubble in her chest, begging to be expelled, but she fought it back.
She wanted to just drown in her misery, just succumb to the ever present heartache that was her
constant companion, but she knew that now was not the time. Harry still needed her. Harry was what
was important, not her own petty wants and desires. She needed to do whatever it took to get him to
the end of his journey. She would say anything if it meant that he would hold onto some hope.
Because that's all they had now.*



“*Yes,” she said, a single tear running down her cheek, “Ginny.” She then reached her hand out
to touch his hair, but thinking better of it, drew it back.*



“*You've known love Harry. Right now however you are letting the darkness swallow you. You
have to fight it Harry! Don't let it blind you to all the good you've had in your life.
Because if you do, we're all sunk.”*



*Getting no response with that, Hermione slowly moved so she could lay on her back next to
Harry. Although she tried her best not to physically touch him, puberty and the size of the bed
made that virtually impossible. Even through her thick jumper she could still feel his body heat
next to her. His very nearness was almost enough to overwhelm her, but she would not give into the
need to lay her head on his chest. Instead she found a tiny crack in the ceiling above them and
chose to focus on that instead. She never took her eyes from that spot, even as she began to speak
again.*



“*You know, when I was a little girl, my Nan used to tell me this old Irish fairytale about
this magical land called Tír na nÓg. There was no death in Tír na nÓg. There was no old age in Tír
na nÓg. The people of Tír na nÓg knew nothing of disease, hardship...suffering. And it was because
of this that those poor people never experienced joy, because with nothing to compare it to how
would they ever have recognized it if they had. Don't you see Harry, you've known pain and
sadness but by that same token you have also know happiness, and friendship, and...and love. And
that's what it's going to take to bring down Voldemort. Whatever you have to do to remember
that, use it. Hold on to it. Don't discount it. Ok Harry?”*



*Noticing that she hadn't heard a peep from Harry in a while she turned on her side as she
said again, “Ok?” The sight of Harry's peacefully resting face was all the answer she found.
Hermione smiled. The Dreamless Sleep hadn't wasted much time taking effect.*



*When she nicked the vial out of Madame Pomfrey's supplies she barely wasted a guilty
thought over her little act of thievery. She hadn't even been aware that she was going to do it
until she was quickly sliding the glass tube into her pocket. Before she could contemplate what she
had done any further she was already running back towards Ron's bed in hopes of helping him.
But it was no accident that she picked up the potion. Since September she had been visited night
after night with dreams she knew would never come true. Though her outward appearance gave no sign
of it, inside Hermione felt that she was slowly coming undone. She needed some respite from her
mind's night time wanderings and the Dreamless Sleep looked to be just the answer. Besides
being a mild sedative, the potion would relieve her of the world she escaped to every time she
closed her eyes in sleep. Not that these were nightmares she experienced. Far from it.
Hermione's dreamscape was a world that was peaceful, most times naughty, but always filled with
so much heart rendering beauty and love that she often found herself wanting to close her eyes
again just to fall back into it as soon as she woke up each morning. But it wasn't real! And it
could never be real. And Hermione was tired of having to endure it. She had finally decided to take
the easy way out. When her eyes fell on the potion vial she knew that if she drank it no dreams
would plague her sleep for once. She had every intention of drinking it once they arrived at the
farmhouse, but when she heard Harry cry out in his sleep she knew that someone needed the draught
far more then she did. So if the only thing she could give Harry was one restful bit of sleep
before he went off to meet his destiny, then that is what she would do.*



*And that is what she did.*



*After Hermione watched the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest for a moment she edged
closer to him on the bed and tenderly placed her head on his shoulder. She knew that she
wouldn't disturb his sleep, still she was very careful not to move around too much. Once she
found a comfortable position for herself she turned her eyes up to his face and stared longingly at
it as she waited for sleep to claim her at last. After yawning once, and feeling the gentle tug of
her eyelids Hermione whispered a soft goodnight and closed her eyes. Before all thought left her
though she finally said the words she had only ever uttered in her dreams.*



“*I'm in love with you Harry.”*



*And for a few hours after that Hermione Granger knew a bit of peace.*









“...just how long have you been in love with Harry Potter?”





Hermione slowly opened her eyes and found herself trapped in the gaze of the gray eyed wizard
before her. To look at her one would think that Draco's words had no effect, but Hermione's
stomach felt like a typhoon had wrecked her from the inside. He knew! Or if he didn't quite
know the all of it he wasn't that far from putting it together. She ducked her head down and
closed her eyes again as she frantically thought of something to say, something to distract him but
she could still feel the Draco's icy, penetrating stare. It seemed to look right through to her
very soul and any lie or flippant remark she tried to think of to toss back at him seemed useless
and ridiculous. The only answer that would work now would be the truth, Draco wouldn't settle
for anything less and wouldn't stop hounding her until he got it. The very thought of telling
someone...anyone the secret she had held onto for so many years was too inconceivable a notion
though. Especially Draco! Telling Draco Malfoy a secret like this would be akin to putting a pair
of scissors in the hands of a three year old child and saying, “Here, go play in traffic”. It had
the potential to be a disaster of epic proportions. Titanic. Hindenburg. Showgirls. This could only
end badly!



But oh to be able to tell someone. Finally. To let go of the burden. The desire to unload her
trove of secrets was almost too strong to resist. And Hermione found herself wondering why she
should resist. She trusted Draco, didn't she? If she swore him to secrecy he would hold to it,
wouldn't he? And it wasn't like Draco didn't know how to keep quiet when it was
important. The war taught her that. So maybe Draco could be her confidant. Maybe Draco could be the
one she finally revealed everything to. Maybe it was time to tell someone. She was so tired of
always hiding behind lies.



And yet...and yet...and yet, even now when she had made the decision something inside her still
fought to protect what her heart had guarded so jealously for so many years. She had become too
adept to hiding behind false smiles. She was a master at subterfuge. So instead of answering the
question the way she should have she instead looked Draco straight in his eyes and asked a question
of her own.



“Is it that obvious?”



“Um...” said Draco, sounding as though he were looking for something to say. “Not really,” he
answered uneasily. “I was just taking a stab in the dark there I guess.”



Hermione stared at Draco, mouth open, as disbelief and rage slowly washed through her. She'd
been had!



“Well,” she snitted waspishly as she jumped up from the footstool, “it's good to know that I
can blame my nervous breakdown on your fucking stab in the dark! And when they find your cold,
decomposing body the courts won't have a hard time finding a motive. Because make no mistake,
I'm going to kill you!” she roared, eyes blazing. Her hands were balled into fists at her side
and she looked just a hairs breadth from attacking him.



“Settle down pet, settle down. Don't you think you are taking this a bit too seriously?”
Draco asked with his usual Malfoy smirk, though it came out a tad nervously.



“Pet!” she fumed. “Pet! Argh! I don't even know why I allowed you to call me that!
It's...it's demeaning!”



“Well, the one time I called you cookie you stomped on my foot. After that I thought we both
just decided that pet was the lesser of two evils.”



“Well I don't like it! I forbid you to call me that from now on!” she said as she stomped
her foot.



“Alright then,” Draco conceded, “my little pumpkin pastie.”



Hermione obstinately stomped her foot again.



“You unimaginable bastard!”



“Unoriginal and somewhat lacking in teeth. C'mon, surely you can do better then that,” he
teased although not with much humor as he was his usual.



“Argh! You are the most galling, insufferable, supercilious son of a bitch that I've ever
had the displeasure of breathing the same air with!”



“Merlin!” he exclaimed. “I think that one might have actually hurt my feelings.”



Hermione made a snarling sound and turned away from him in disgust. She began angrily pacing the
area just in front of the scroll top desk, muttering curses under her breath as Draco watched
helplessly.



“Look pe...”



Draco stopped mid word as Hermione's head snapped around to him and her eyes narrowed
malevolently.



“Hermione, what the hell has gotten into you? I was just joking. I didn't think you would
take it so seriously,” he tried to explain as he put his hand up before him as though to ward her
off. “I'm sorry that I offended you. If you want to just drop the whole thing...”



“Since I was seventeen years old!” Hermione cried out, effectively cutting off the rest of
Draco's sentence as she whipped around to face him. Her eyes were wet with tears and she began
taking quick, short breaths.



A very bewildered Draco looked at the teary eyed woman before her and didn't know quite what
to make of her.



“W-what?” he asked haltingly.



Hermione leaned back against the desk and closed her eyes tightly, mortified at her outburst.
When she opened her eyes again Draco's befuddled face spurred her on as she said, “You asked me
how long. Since I was seventeen years old. At least,” she paused, her voice sounding like that of a
child lost with no way home, “at least that's how old I was by time I was forced to realize
it.”



Draco rose from his seat, completely astounded by her revelation.



“You can't be serious,” he said in a tone that made it clear that he knew that she was.
“But...but that's impossible. You couldn't have been in love with Potter then. I
mean...Weasleby...and...and,” he paused, clearly at a loss for words. “You just couldn't have
been!”



“But I was. Still am.”



Draco's hand went to his head and plucked at his hair as he tried to comprehend what he was
being told. “I was actually joking with you about Potter,” he said, mostly to himself. “I never
dreamed...”



He looked back towards her. “I figured you would just make one of your snappy little comments, I
would then say something brilliant as always, and then we'd revel in how terribly cleaver we
both are. Like usual. I never expected you to actually answer the question. Not really. Not that
way. At least...at least I don't think I did.”



He dropped back down on the settee, exhausted from thinking too hard. “Or maybe I've always
known,” he mumbled so low that Hermione barely caught it. “And what do you mean you were forced to
realize it?” he asked urgently as he looked back up at her. “Did someone do something to you? Did
they hurt you? Did Potter...”



“No!” she hysterically shouted as she quickly crossed the carpet back to Draco. “Harry did
nothing! He did nothing!”



“I should say so!” he bellowed as his brows knitted together. “That's just the bloody
problem! That fucking selfish git!” Draco barked as he began rubbing his hands together in a rough
manner. His eyes were low on the carpet, but he didn't see it. He looked so angry that Hermione
doubted he saw anything.



“Always walking around, beating his chest, ready to maim or bludgeon any bloke who so much as
looked at you when he knew...”



At the very moment Draco's eyes drifted up towards Hermione's terrified face. The wild
eyed look of panic that he saw there immediately killed his resentful fury of only a second or two
before. Draco sighed as he dropped his forehead in his hand.



“Potter didn't know.”



She scampered to sit before Draco on her knees. She shook her head negatively.



“And he can never know Draco,” she told him. “Not now, not ever. Do you hear me Draco? You
can't tell Harry! You just can't!”



Draco lifted his head up to meet her eye. “Hermione I...”



Draco went silent, he didn't know what to say. To her horror Hermione was beginning to think
that maybe telling Draco hadn't been such a smart move. He almost seemed reluctant to agree to
her.



“This shouldn't be that hard!” she insisted.



“But he's my partner Hermione...”



She was livid now! Would Draco actually take Harry's side in this too?! Hermione didn't
know what she would possibly do if that were the case.



“You've got to be kidding me!” she shrieked. “You don't even like Harry! I mean...you
still hate Harry don't you?”



Draco opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again and said, “Of course I
do! Potter is a rotter and all that.”



But he sounded very unconvincing to her ears. But Hermione pressed on. She had to get him to
promise her that he would keep his mouth shut. She needed that promise!



“Good,” she said slowly as she locked eyes with his “Then you should have no problems keeping
this little secret. Right?”



“I...I won't tell.”



“Do I have your word?”



Draco paused, only for a moment before answering.



“Y-yes. Of course you do.”



Hermione exhaled the breath she had been holding. She almost imagined Draco telling her that he
couldn't promise what she asked of him. But it was silly of her to think that and she silently
reproached herself. Draco wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She truly believed that. So she
knew where this secret was concerned Draco would act in her best interest. She could put money on
that.



“Thank you,” she weakly said. “Thank you.”



With Draco's pledge taken care of, Hermione felt her whole body relax as she melted onto the
floor and leaned her top half on the settee. She barely noticed it when Draco got up to close the
library doors. Her mind was truthfully elsewhere.



“I think it was fourth year when everything changed,” she said in a low, far away voice.
“I've had a lot of time to think about it and as far as I can tell it was definitely fourth
year.”



She turned her head towards where Draco still stood by the doors.



“Why do things have to change?” she asked bleakly.



“If things stayed the same life would be incredibly dull.”



She smiled brittlely at his statement as she turned around fully and sat with her legs folded in
front of her. “I think I would have rather liked dull.”



Draco walked from the door and sat on the footstool next to Hermione. He picked up the forgotten
basket of scones on the floor and offered Hermione one. She gave him a tiny smile to thank him for
his kindness as she picked one up and took a few mechanical like bites of it. As she finished it
off Draco put the basket down and, putting both hands on his knees, focused his full attention on
her.



“You know I was crazy about Ron back then.” It wasn't said in the form of a question.



“Ugh, all of Hogwarts knew that.” he said dryly.



She softly chuckled at Draco's nasty sneer.



“I thought I fancied Ron something terrible.”



She waited a sec for a stinging barb, but getting none asked, “What, no comment from the peanut
gallery?”



Draco rolled his eyes haughtily. “Well, there's no accounting for bad taste, is there?”



Hermione ignored him. Instead her eyes focused on the pattern of the carpet underneath her. She
plucked aimlessly at the Aubusson.



“I realize now that what I liked best about Ron was all the possibilities I saw in him. I
thought I could change him, make him better. Help him.”



“Like one of your pet projects?”



She looked quickly up at Draco, but seeing no malice in his eyes she nodded her head.



“Yes,” she said mournfully as she ducked her head down again. “Like one of my projects. But I
know that I did feel something for Ron. I just know I did!” Her brows furrowed as though she were
deep in thought. “And I'm almost certain that before fourth year I never saw Harry as anything
other then a friend. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if I made myself not see. Maybe I told myself
that he was a moving target and that...and that he wasn't worth the bother.”



She almost hid her face at the wretchedness of her words. But a quick glance at Draco let her
know that he didn't think poorly of her for saying it.



“The Triwizard Tournament started it all,” she continued. “Harry and Ron had that terrible
falling out. Well I simply refused to choose sides. I split my time between the two of them. I even
secretly thought that it worked out pretty well for me since I would get to spend time alone with
Ron. Get closer to him maybe.”



“But you ended up getting closer to Potter.”



“I guess without the distraction of Ron always there I got to know Harry better,” she said as
she raised her eyes towards his. “Better yet, I truly liked what I got to know. And Harry actually
listened to me. Like what I had to say was important. Ron didn't,” she said, lowering her head.
Even though it was the truth she felt as though she were somehow being disloyal to Ron. After all
this time the guilt still seemed so fresh.



“I found myself wanting to be with Harry sometimes when I was alone with Ron.” Hermione lifted a
hand to her temple and began to rub at the dull throb she felt there. “I was ever so happy when the
two of them resolved their issues. Besides them needing each other I was tired of being confused as
hell.”



“And you didn't find that odd?”



"I told myself that it was normal that I should want to spend so much time with Harry. I
convinced myself that it was completely understandable why I was always so worried about him, why I
felt the need to take care of him. He was the bloody Boy Who Lived, it was my duty to ensure that
he did just that. But I should have realized things were different. As I was getting ready for the
Yule Ball I wondered if Ron...**and** Harry would say something. I actually felt a twinge of
jealousy after the Second Task. I blamed it on being the odd man out. That Harry would probably be
the person that Ron missed most if their roles were reversed. And while Harry was being menaced by
that...that...madman dressed as Moody I...I almost attacked Madame Pomfrey! When we arrived at the
Infirmary and Harry wasn't there I nearly lost it. Ron had to hold me back, I didn't give a
damned if Molly and Bill were there.”



Hermione inched closer to Draco as she asked feverishly, “How could I not recognize the signs
Draco? I was supposed to be the smart one. How could I have been so blind?”



Draco seemed to ponder her question for a moment. His face took on a wistful expression.



“Most times you don't realize you're in love 'til you're up to your bollocks in
it.” he said, then smiled wanly at her. “At least that has been my experience.”



Hermione cast her eyes downward. “I suppose you're right.”



An awkward silence filled the room for a moment and Hermione kept her eyes focused on the floor.
Searching for anything to quell the looming void she said, “I kissed Harry.”



That did it.



Draco's eyes widened in astonishment. “I thought you said he didn't know how you
felt?”



“It was on the cheek, at King's Cross, at the end of term. At the time he probably just
thought that I was mental.” She then frowned miserably. “He probably doesn't even remember it.
I was just filled with so much...feeling for him in that moment that I couldn't stop myself
from doing it.”



She closed her eyes and tried to force the gloom away. She could almost see that scene right
before her; an innocent peck from a young girl to a bespeckled boy. She; too unworldly and immature
to comprehend what her body was telling her and him, scarred in countless ways, unable to
understand much of anything at all.



“Dad saw the kiss,” she confided as she looked back at him. “What a disaster that was! As soon
as we got home he and I had 'the talk'.” She dramatically exaggerated her two last words.
“Do you know how painfully clinical 'the talk' is when your parent has a medical degree?
There was a film and a book with detailed colorized pictures. Oh, and let's not forget the
flowchart. Can you imagine how embarrassing that was?”



Draco leaned in towards her. “Try being fourteen, locked in a darkened room with a French squib
whore named Fifi, and told “Happy Birthday”.”



Hermione was appalled. Her jaw dropped as she squeaked, “Fifi?”



Draco nodded his head casually in answer.



“Well...well happened?” she asked curiously. Hermione wasn't too appalled to voice the
pertinent questions obviously.



The nonchalant demeanor of his dropped for a second as his pale cheeks colored slightly.



“Couldn't...um...quite get the dragon to fly, if you catch my meaning,” he muttered
quickly.



Hermione turned up her nose in distaste. “Your father...”



“My mum,” Draco corrected her.



“Ugh! I sometimes think a pet rat is a better mother. They have the decency to at least eat
their young.”



“Stop,” he chided. “Mother did her best.”



To that she merely rolled her eyes.



“Well dad almost put me off sex for years.” Hermione then tilted he head slightly as she chewed
on her lip. “Now that I think of it, that might have been the plan. Good one dad,” she said as her
eyes rolled upward and she smiled genuinely. She then chuckled lightly.



“Luckily mum was there to take me aside and tell me that sex was natural and normal and nothing
to be ashamed of. But it's not like I was even thinking about that is regards to Harry or Ron.”
Then as an after thought she added, “Yet.” Realizing her slip of the tongue Hermione dropped her
head to the floor, hoping to fall through it probably.



“So, you fancied both of them at one time then?” Draco asked as he kindly ignored her last
statement.



“Yes,” she answered, grateful for the effortless switch of subject. She sat back up. “All
through fifth year I waited patiently for Ron to ask me out to Hogsmeade or to take my hand during
patrol, but he never did. And with Harry, goodness, my behavior was ridiculous! I couldn't seem
to stop touching him, hugging him. I even went so far as to ask him to sit and knit house-elf hats
with me. Could I have been more transparent?!” she asked disgustedly.



He snickered amusedly. “You tramp!”



“Piss off!”



“Sorry. Simmer down,” he said, as he tried to conceal his smile. “So Potter and Weasley noticed
none of this?”



Hermione snorted disdainfully. “Ron was too worried about Viktor Krum and the only girl Harry
seemed to notice was Cho.”



“Chang?” questioned Draco as his lips twisted into a salacious grin. “Pucey was an idiot for
standing her up like that. What a lovely piece of arse she was. I remember wanting to test run that
one back in school and...”



“Draco!” Hermione gritted out through her teeth. “Not. Helping.”



An actual look of contriteness formed on his face this time. She huffed peevishly, stood up from
the floor, and wrapped her arms around her as though she were cold. She began to nervously pace in
front of the settee.



“I waited and waited for Ron to make his intentions known. I just knew that once that happened
all would be right. But he took so fucking long!” she cried angrily. “You know, I almost died when
I was sixteen years old and I'd never been kissed!”



“Tragic.”



She rounded on him, throwing her arms wide. “It was to me! I was so angry when I went home that
summer. And confused. I-I was nastier then a blast-ended skrewt, I was! One night I heard dad
asking mum what was wrong with me. Mum answered, “boys”. So dad asks her which one, the redhead or
the one with the black hair. Mum says, “both”.”



Draco shook his head in amazement. “What do you know, mother's intuition.”



“Oh, but I was offended by the very idea of it. It sounded like I was some boy crazy twit! Which
was ridiculous! I knew what I wanted! I wanted Ron Weasley! I wanted Ron Weasley for ages! It was
ridiculous to think that I was interested in Harry! Like I was some starry eyed fangirl swooning
after the hero of the story. How cliché! That's why I came back for sixth year determined to
make Ron put up or shut up. I was a modern girl, why couldn't I ask him out. So I did. I asked
him to Slughorn's Christmas party.”



“I don't recall King Weasel being there.”



“That's because he wasn't,” she told him, resentment in her voice. She crossed her arms
in front of her. “That's because the stupid, stupid git decided to let Lavender Brown examine
his tonsils with her tongue not too long after I invited him.”



“Twat,” Draco sneered. Hermione didn't bother to berate him for the dig.



“I remember watching the two of them going at it like dogs and thinking to myself; this
can't be right. It's not supposed to be Lavender and Ron...it's supposed to be me and
Ron. I was hurt. I felt like the biggest fool in the world! And all I could think was that everyone
was going to laugh at me, and point, and call me names. Look at Hermione, isn't she just
pathetic? Who would want her; they would say. I had to run! I had to hide! But Harry found me.”



Hermione's eyes misted as her voice went low.



"He wanted to make sure I was ok. He wanted to let me know that he cared. He was such
a...a...boy about it,” she said smiling tearfully, “not knowing what to say, but the intent was
there. It was the sweetest thing. But then Ron came stumbling into the room with...**her**.” Her
smile twisted bitterly. “I was supposed to be the scorned other woman so I did what I thought was
expected of me. I attacked Ron with an Oppugno hex.”



Draco sat up, smiling winsomely. “Brilliant!”



None of Draco's gaiety touched her though. Hermione sunk down on the settee as though she
were weary and her legs couldn't hold her weight any longer. Her face remained stoically still
yet tears coursed down her cheeks.



“I didn't know it then,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I didn't realize it because
I was so blastedly focused on Ron but...I think that was it. When Harry came in that classroom that
was the moment...that was the moment.”



“That you fell in love ,” Draco said finishing her sentence for her.



“I swear I didn't know,” she told him, pleadingly, begging him to believe her. “I
swear!”



Draco, as always, was weakened by the sight of a crying woman. He stood up to search his pants
pocket for a handkerchief in which his friend could dry her face, wipe her nose. Finding none he
took out his wand and conjured one for her.



“Thank you,” she said as she took the white scrap of silk out of his hands. She blew at her red
nose after dabbing at her eyes. She then handed the soiled hankie back to him. With an upturned
nose and a frowning face he held it between two fingers before promptly setting it on fire and
returning his wand to his holster.



“Hermione,” he said as he got down on one knee and kneeled before her, “you are one of the most
straight forward persons that I know. You never failed to give your opinion on any and everything.
It was one of your most endearing and annoying habits. I just find it hard to believe that you sat
on how you felt for Potter all that time. It makes no sense.”



“That's exactly it though. I can talk a blue streak about what I think on any given subject.
Like right now, I think your hair is entirely too short,” she said as her red eyes drifted up to
his scalp. “Do you plan to keep mowing it down until you hit skin?”



Draco scowled at her in answer which she ignored.



“But feelings? I preferred deciphering runes then analyzing what was going on in my own head. It
simply made no sense to suddenly love Harry! I couldn't accept it. It had been Ron for so long
that I wouldn't acknowledge anything else. Now Ginny loving Harry, that made sense. She lived
and breathed Harry Potter since she was a child. She wanted to be with him and I was supposed to be
her friend and help her.”



Draco's face frowned in distaste. “Why would you do that?”



“Trust me, I didn't want to at first but...”



Hermione paused for a moment, lost in thought, searching for the right words.



“Ginny can be very...persuasive when she wants something,” Hermione said diplomatically. “She
can twist you around so that you almost believe the words coming from her mouth.”



A single tear slipped down her face as she said, “Especially if you already believed them.”



“A parting gift from the Dark Lord?”



As if suddenly remembering that Draco was in the room with her she shook her head, freeing
herself from her pitiful thoughts.



“Sometimes I think that was there even before Voldemort got his hands on her,” she said. “But
that's beside the point. Ginny wanted me to help her get Harry. I was reluctant at first but
then lo and behold, out of nowhere, Harry suddenly starts to fancy Ginny back. I mean, it was so
bloody obvious! He would stare longingly at her face, at her lips, at her hair. Stupid shiny hair!”
she added sorely.



“Ugh! You should have seen the victory snog after the big match. Right in the middle of the
Common room, in front every bloody Gryffindor Harry kissed her! It was so ridiculously over wrought
that all was needed was Celine Dion screeching in the background to complete the scene.”



“Sounds like you were jealous.”



Rather then deny it she just mutely nodded her head.



“At the time I didn't know it though. I actually smiled. Harry just looked so...so...happy.
He practically walked on air when he and Ginny got together. All I ever wanted for him was to be
happy. And it's not like I had too much time for self reflection, you know!” she countered
strongly. “At one point it seemed like our whole little world imploded. You,” Hermione said as she
swatted him on the shoulder, “you turned our school into Deatheater central! Bill got hurt,
Dumbledore died, we were constantly on the move. The only thing that seemed constant at the time
was Ron. He was so sweet. He wanted me. And I...I was so relieved.”



“Relieved,” he asked as he took a seat next to her.



“I don't know how else to describe it,” Hermione answered sadly.



Not wanting to press her further in that direction Draco subtlety switched gears. “Ok, so you
and Weasel the Red finally get together. Everything should be perfect...except it's not.”



“No.”



“What happened?”



“You Draco!” she cried vehemently, voice raising. “You happened! You brought that demon
possessed cup into our lives and I, like some demented Alice out of a Carrolian nightmare, decide
to drink from the stupid thing! Everything went tits up after that!”



“Demon possessed cu-” Draco began to ask warily, uncertain of what she was talking about before
the answer suddenly hit him. He gasped loudly as he pulled back from her. His eyes never left
hers.



“The Cup!” he said, shock plastered on his face.



Hermione nodded bitterly. “The goddamned Cup.”



Draco rose slowly as a new idea floated in his head. “That potion!” he exclaimed, completely
keyed up. “The one that Pomfrey couldn't pinpoint...Dear Merlin! Hermione, you got whammied by
a love potion!”



She had been nodding her head until she heard his last statement. “I...what?!!” she
exclaimed.



Draco however was on a roll. He began pacing back and forth madly in front of her, making odd
statements that completely baffled Hermione. She tried to catch his attention and correct him
soundly but it was to no avail.



“When you woke up Potter...Son of a bitch! Potter was the only one in the room with you. I
remember Weasleby telling his brother about it. He left the room, probably to stuff his belly, and
he came back to find you awake with Potter hovering over you. Potter would have been the first
person you saw! It all makes sense now!”



“Good, then maybe you could fill me in,” she said as she arched an eyebrow.



Draco sat back down, reached for her hands, looked her in her eyes and said, “Hermione, you have
been under the thrall of a love potion all this time!”



“I've been what?!!” Hermione rolled her eyes as she pulled herself out of Draco's grip
and stood up.



“Draco, have you even been listening to me? I was already in love with Harry, a potion
didn't do that! The Veritaserum, the Wit Sharpening...while I was knocked out they opened my
eyes to the truth that had been there all along, though I fought it tooth and nail. The Discordium
then tried to use that against me.”



Draco's brow furrowed as he processed what she said. “Discordium? What the hell is
Discordium?”



“The mystery potion,” she answered, sighing dismally as she walked over to the desk. Her voice
sounded detached and she kept her back to him.



“Also called the Elixir of Eris. It roots around inside you, like a virus, looking for something
to go to work on. Looking for what it needs to make your world crumble round you. Looking for just
the right way to cause discord in you and all around you. It's like an anti-Felix Felicis only
ten times worse. It's an execrapotio.”



“A potion with a hex cast on it?”



Hermione turned and smiled wanly at Draco. Potions had been his best subject once. “Fifteen
points for Slytherin.”



Draco however wasn't impressed by her little joke. “But how would you have gotten something
like that in you? Those have been banned for thousands of years. Severus made mention of them once
or twice, but that's all. He never told me...No Potion Master alive today would even know how
to brew one of those,” he said feverently.



“Lucky for me that old Helga's been dead for about that long, huh?”



“But how did you discover that it was Discordium? Pomfrey was at her wits end trying to figure
it out.”



At his question a look of guilt settled on her face causing her to look at her feet in shame.
“That's...that's not exactly true.”



“What do you mean by 'that's not exactly true'?” Draco stood up. He sounded terribly
displeased at this revelation. She kicked at the imaginary dust on the floor in order to avoid his
reproachful gaze.



“What I mean is, though initially Madame Pomfrey was stumped as to what the potion was , after I
woke up and was able to tell her some of my symptoms she was able to identify the Discordium.”



Hermione chanced a look up at Draco. He did not look like a happy camper. She tried to make her
voice sound light as she continued.



“As you said, excrapotios are rarely seen anymore and the fact that Hufflepuff made one is a
fact that you would have to look through the dustiest of books in the Restricted Section to find.
Not too many people like to imagine the staid and matronly founder of Hufflepuff House as the
closeted sadist she so obviously was! Madame Pomfrey never said anything after she diagnosed me
because I swore her to her Healer's oath. Not even Minerva was privy to the information. No one
has ever known besides me and Madame Pomfrey what the potion was,” she said slowly, hoping for her
words to sink in. “That is until now.”



Their eyes locked across the small distance between them and Draco got the subtle message. It
was one more secret that he was being entrusted with.



“So what exactly is Discordium? What does it do?” he asked resignedly.



Hermione's face twisted in disgust. “It's vile...and invasive...and...merciless. It
searches inside you for what would cause the most strife in your life. It breeds discontent. And
worse of all, you are the person who is solely responsible for your misery. It was always there,
buried deep, it just makes you act on it. Once you do that...chaos ensues.”



“And what does the Discordium make you want to act on?”



She cast her eyes down, ashamed to look at him. “My feelings for Harry.”



“I'm confused,” Draco said as he got up and walked towards her. “Why would that cause
strife?”



“How would that cause strife?” she asked, disbelievingly. “Are you kidding me?!” Her voice
became frantic as it went up a few decibels. She began to feverishly pace, her hands gesturing
about wildly. Draco only stepped back to take it all in.



"We were in the middle of a war! I was with Ron! Harry was practically cracking up from the
weight of the world on his shoulders! Could you just imagine if in the midst of all that I suddenly
turned to Ron and told him that although I loved him very much I was really in love with Harry?
That once again he had come in second place to Harry? Do you have any idea how that would have made
him feel?” Hermione shivered at the very thought. “Fourth year would have been a bloody Sunday
picnic in comparison! And what about Harry? He'd be trapped in the middle; one best friend
hating him for something that he had no control of...**AGAIN**, and the other one having
feelings for him that he did not return.”



She paused as she looked back at Draco. “Harry didn't need that kind of drama, especially
with the threat of Voldemort ever present. Our friendship would have been tested and though I would
like to think it would have passed with flying colors I honestly don't know if that's true.
More importantly I was not going to take that risk! There were bigger things that were more
important at the time. Harry needed us, his friends. Even Professor Dumbledore told him that. I
would not ruin that for him.”



“Alright, alright I hear you. If that potion is as powerful as you say then I can understand
your reasoning for keeping quiet...then. But what about after the war? The Dark Lord was gone, the
war was over.”



She looked away. “I thought it best to leave things as they were.”



“You thought it best?” her asked incredulously. He walked up to her and turned her so she could
face him.



“Look,” she said defensively as she pulled out of his grip. “I still had this...poison in me.
The potion would still try to wreak havoc any which way it saw fit,” she argued. “It made sense to
just grin and bear it. And Harry was in love with Ginny anyway. He married her, so what was the
point?”



Draco did not miss the hurt tone in which she said the last.



“That hag?!”



“That hag is gorgeous and sexy and funny and...”



“A hag!” he finished for her.



“Yes, well most men seemed to loose the gift of speech at the sight of that hag, as you call
her. Harry most of all.” If she had been in a better mood she would have laughed at the picture
they were making. She defending Ginny Weasley to an irate Draco Malfoy. Then she remembered that it
was Ginny Potter now and winced at the reminder.



“What was wrong with you? You're not that hard to look at,” Draco said helpfully as he
leaned back against the desk. She followed suit.



“You flatterer, you,” she said tartly.



Draco rolled his eyes. “All I'm saying is that it's not that inconceivable of an idea
that Potter might have considered a little dally with you if you had told him how you felt.”



“No Draco,” she answered smiling weakly. “You're thinking of that Hollywood fairytale where
the Plain Jane librarian, or girl next door, or...or even the best friend takes off her glasses,
shakes out her hair and suddenly the leading man is all over her like a cheap suit. My life however
is not a movie. I knew that would never be me. To Harry I would always be just Hermione and most
times I was able to convince myself that was enough. As long as I had his friendship I could bear
the rest.”



Her eyes however made Draco doubt her words. “Do you ever regret drinking from the Cup?” he
asked.



“It helped Harry. I would do it again and again if I had to,” she said, staring unseeingly
before her. “But yes, I have a treasure chest of regrets.” She sighed. “I used to regret that I
even woke up at all.”



“Hermione!” Draco exclaimed, taken aback by her candidness.



“When I was in that deep sleep all I did was dream over and over again. Those dreams seemed so
true, far more real then the life I went back to. And even when I woke up they didn't stop.
Night after night I was visited by the same visions. After the war it got to the point where I
started taking Dreamless Sleep to relieve myself of them. After almost two years on the stuff they
finally stopped. I don't dream so much anymore now.”



“What were these dreams about?” he cautiously asked.



She turned her face to him and wiped at the unshed tears in her eyes. “Harry. Loving him, being
loved by him. There were times I even imagined I saw the faces of our children. But then I'd
wake up and know that they would never come true.” Her eyes closed, trying to hold the flood of
tears back.



“Those dreams could never come true,” she mournfully added.



“Your sacrifice...”



Hermione looked up into Draco's face. It was filled with wonderment and confused her.
“What?”



“In order for the Cup to be destroyed you had to sacrifice something. I always wondered what it
was, just what you would have been willing to part with, but I get it now. You traded in your own
happiness, didn't you?”



Hermione stepped back from Draco nearly stumbling. Her face turned a molten red as her eyes
narrowed at him. She opened her mouth to reply, but at first couldn't find the words. It was as
if the question violated her in some way.



“Don't be daft Draco,” she snapped. “If that isn't the stupidest thing...My happiness,
honestly! Haven't you been paying attention to me at all? My sacrifice was my denial. It was
the one thing I clung the hardest to.”



“So you are telling me that Dumbledore nearly exchanged in his bloody hand for a stump to
destroy a horcrux and all you had to do was let go of your denial? Come now pet, you can't
really be that thick.”



Hermione did not miss the sarcasm in his voice and she was not pleased.



“I'll have you know that my denial kept everything together! Harry, Ron, and myself were
doing just fine before that stupid Cup entered the picture! My world was content! I was satisfied
with my life! I was...”



“Happy?” he offered, eyebrow arched. Hermione felt like hitting him, but chose to stomp off to
the settee instead. She threw herself down on it and crossed her arms before her.



“You just don't get it,” she huffed indignantly.



“I do. But somehow I think you don't.”



Hermione turned her head and refused to look at him.



“Merlin! Is there no cure for this thing, the Discordium? An antidote? A counter?” He came and
sat next to her.



“No. The only way to be released from an excrapotio is for it to pass through your system. The
only way for it to pass through your system is to give in to it. But I can't do that. I
won't,” she forcefully told him. "Not then, now now."



“Hermione, this thing sounds as strong as an Imperius,” he said warily.



“And?”



“Well, if you fight the effects of an Imperius long enough you...well, you eventually go
mad.”



“Do I seem mad to you Draco?!” she shrieked as she jumped up and stood over him. Her eyes eyes
blazed furiously.



Draco paused for only a moment before saying, “No?”



“Is that it?” she seethed. “Do you think I'm crazy? D-do you think I'm insane? Would you
like to lock me up too?!” Hermione was so agitated that she barely felt her fingernails dig into
the skin on her palms as she clenched her hands tightly together.



“Who tried to lock you up?” Draco asked as he slowly stood up, eyes never leaving her. At his
question her wrathful expression paled to one of fear. Her eyes seemed to enlarge and her mouth
formed a little O. Before he could ask anything else though she shook her head and smiled ruefully.
She scampered back to him, took his hand and sat down, bringing him with her.



“Sorry.” she chuckled falsely. “I tend to get a little touchy when my sanity is called into
question.”



“And you act like a right bitch.”



“Yes, and I act like a right bitch.” This time she smiled for real. It then turned into a
grimace.



“Arg! It's just really frustrating now, you know. It's not fair of me to take this out
on you, but I just don't know what else to do. It used to be easier to fight this thing, but
not so much anymore. Something is wrong. Something has changed. I just don't know what it could
be!”



“How do you mean?”



“It's part of the reason why I'm a little antsy to be around Harry right now,” she
confessed. “You see, Discordium has two nasty little side effects. For one, sometimes in my head I
hear these voices. Actually a voice. It sounds like me but it's not. It's oilier. Slicker.
It tries to tell me what I want to hear. What it thinks I want to hear.”



“It tries to spur you on you mean.”



“Yes. And it also warps my perception of things. It used to be that Harry would say something to
me, completely innocent sounding, like...oh, I don't know, are you going to eat that or Remus
look a bit shaggier then usual today, and it would sound like...”



“Fancy a shag?”



“Erm...no,” she said, blushing demurely. “Not quite. I mean, the words would still be the same,
but sometimes the way Harry would talk to me, or look at me, or smile at me I could almost believe
that...” She shook her head. “But then I would realize that it was just the potion. Luckily I
always caught myself in time before I did something completely stupid and embarrassed myself.”



“To be honest I never noticed it. You never appeared to be under any emotional turmoil. Sure
there were the times that you seemed a bit batty, but I always saw that as part of your charm. Of
course I mean once I stopped fantasizing of all the many bloody ends you could meet, that is.”



“Why Draco Malfoy, I think that's the sweetest thing you ever said to me,” she teased. He
chuckled lightly.



“I've never been like you,” she told him. “You never shied away from letting anyone and
everyone know just how you felt at any given moment. Loudly. Not me. As a little girl I got very
good at hiding my feelings. Kids can be cruel to those who are different. I learned how to show
them that I didn't care, even if it were just an act. I guess those skills just came in
handy.”



Draco patted her hand reassuringly. She smiled at his sweetness and continued on.



“Something is definitely off now. When I was away this urge in me was always there, but it was
like a dull throb. I still felt it but it could easily be ignored. But all of a sudden I'm back
and...dear lord the potion...it's like it's working at treble the old pace. I...I'm
quite frankly terrified of being alone with Harry now. I...I goodness, just the other day I could
barely keep my eyes off of Harry's crotch!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.



“And I think I just went deaf.”



“To be fair how could I not notice it...”



Draco put both of his hands to his ears and shut his eyes tight like a little brat. “I can't
hear you.”



“The way he was just walking around blatantly waving it around in my face. Just who in the hell
does he think he is?!”



“You are not talking about Potter's dick...you are not talking about Potter's dick...you
are not talking about... Oh balls!” He opened his eyes and fumed at her. “Now you've got me
talking about Potter's dick.”



“Oh, but I haven't told you the worse of it! I...I...IthrewmyselfatHarry!” she mumbled out
quickly. Hermione then clasped her hands over her mouth as though she had incriminated herself.



Draco however didn't understand a word she said. “You re-grew your cherry?” he asked her
bemusedly.



Her hands plopped in her lap and Hermione looked at him as though he were the dumbest git in the
world. “In what parallel universe does that sentence even make sense?!” she exasperatedly asked
him.



“Well I hear that there are exercises a woman can do and...”



“You big honking pervert!” she yelled. “Get your hand out of your trousers for once and be of
some use. I said that I threw myself at Harry! We were in the kitchen, just fooling around...”



Draco's jaw dropped as he stood up swiftly.



“No you idiot! Not that kind of fooling around,” she said causticly looking up at him. “We were
playing and joking when suddenly I...I don't know how to explain it. It's like some switch
got flipped inside me. All of a sudden I practically had my legs wrapped around him in a strangle
hold. I heard this voice telling me over and over again that I should kiss him. Just kiss him
Hermione. What's one little kiss.”



“Did you?”



“Draco, Harry is a married man. Of course I didn't,” she scoffed.



Draco smirked at her knowingly which made Hermione want to punch his smug face. It was just like
old times!



“Oh alright, Lizzie got in the way,” she admitted. “Dumb dog!”



Then realizing her slight to her beloved pet she collapsed sideways onto the settee, hid her
face, and whimpered into the cushion, “I'm a horrible person!”



“Um...I know were on this whole Hermione isn't mad as a box of doxies thing. But woman, you
are on the verge of a mental collapse!”



“I know!” she wailed, face still pressed into the cushion. She then quickly sat up and turned
frenzied eyes towards him. “Draco, what in the world possessed me to come back to England?”



“You missed the fine cuisine and the excellent weather?”



The joke however was lost on Hermione. Her breathing became rapid and a barage of words tumbled
out of her mouth growing louder and more frenzied with every passing second.



“What made me think that I could actually do this, be near Harry again? Why did I think that
being gone so long and him being married would have changed things? I should have never come back
here! Maybe...maybe I am mad for thinking I could do this. Or maybe that was my plan all along, to
just finally give in. I told myself that I came back for Ron's big day, but deep down I know
what I really came back for. I know what I really wanted. I know what I...No! I can't do this!
I can't do this Draco! I'm almost certain that Harry knew something was amiss yesterday,
but he's so sweet and kind that he's willing to pretend that his best friend didn't try
to bloody seduce him! He's just so happy to have his best mate back, don't you
see?!"



Hermione began to cry bitterly as her body shook with the force of her sobs. "I'm
already cracking under the pressure. I don't know how much longer I can keep this act up!
It's not Harry's fault that all he sees me as is his sister, but it's breaking me!
It's wearing me! I'm not strong enough now. I'm not strong enough! I'm not! I'm
not! I can't stay! I can't! I can't!”



Draco dropped back onto the settee and clamped his hands firmly on her shoulders. He looked
unflinchingly into her eyes. “Pull yourself the fuck together!” he commanded her. Oddly enough
these were just the words she needed to come back to herself. Her crazed ramblings ceased, her
breathing began to return to normal.



“Now you listen to me Granger, I don't care how addled this poison has your mind, you are
not running away again with your tail between your legs. Do you understand me?”



“But...”



“Do you want to be back home Hermione?”



“I...of course I do! This is my home!”



It was the truth. She had never wanted to leave in the first place really. She had only done
what she thought was right at the time, but she knew now that it really solved nothing. Through her
travels she had tried to get as far away from England as she could, never even coming near Europe
again once she went to the States. But Hermione always knew that no matter where she tried to call
home it would only be a poor substitute. She belonged here. The only problem was that something
inside her told her that wherever Harry was that's where she belonged as well.



“Good then,” Draco said, taking her from her thoughts. “You've got your reasons to stay in
your own self imposed hell. I may not agree with them, but for your sake I will respect them. But I
will not listen to this drivel about you not being strong enough to handle it anymore. You are one
of the strongest people I know! You've fought this thing for seven years, you can keep fighting
it!” he told her. “The difference is that now you don't have to do it alone.”



Hermione stared at him in awe. “Draco...”



“You were a good friend to me once Hermione, now it's my turn to return the favor. A Malfoy
always repays a debt. You need me to run interference with Potter, I'll do it. You need me to
help you keep your distance, I'll be your shadow.”



“I can't ask that of you,” she told him sincerely. She didn't want to bring anyone else
into her problems. But oh, what Draco was offering...



“You've done this alone for so long Hermione. Why don't you let someone help you? Let go
of this stupid Gryffindor pride. I want to help. Please let me help,” he begged. The look on his
face was free of any duplicity, empty of guile. Draco was honestly offering his hand to her.



“Oh Draco!” she cried as she pitched herself at him and grabbed him in a huge hug. The tears
continued to slide down her cheek and soak his shirt as she pressed her face into it. But these
were not bitter tears. They were tears of relief now. For the first time in years Hermione felt the
heavy weight of her secret slacken as Draco took on some of it's heft himself. She felt
lighter. She felt more confident. She imagined that just maybe she could handle being back. She
could stand to watch Harry live out the rest of his life with the woman he loved. After all, she
had an ally now.



Draco's arms went protectively around her as he held her close. He smoothed her hair like
one would do a child. “And I'll make sure Potter's little bitch leaves you alone too,” he
assured her. These words did not have as much of a calming effect on her as the others however.



She raised her tear stained face up to his. “Ginny? Why would you think that you need to protect
me from Ginny?”



Draco was startled by her question. “Why would I...well, because she knows doesn't she? She
knows what you feel for Potter. That's why you left, isn't it?”



“Oh God no!” Hermione shook her head frantically. “Ginny doesn't know any of this. Are you
mad?! Ginny never found out. How would Ginny have found out that? You're the only person that
knows Draco. The only person.”



“B-but the fight...the fight that the two of you had. The night before her wedding the two of
you had some kind of row. And then you took off.”



The realization of what Draco meant set in and smoothed her harried face. “Oh,” she whispered
softly. “Oh. Ginny doesn't know anything. That's...that's not what we fought about,”
she said.



“That's not what you...”



“No. So just put the whole thing out of your head,” she said firmly, jaw set.



“But that night...”



“Nothing happened that night.”



“But you were so upset...”



“I thought you said that you were going to help me in this?” she asked imploringly. “Ginerva
Potter is not a concern. Just leave it alone Draco.”



“But...”



“Oh ,” came a low voice from the door interrupting Draco from saying anything else. “I figured
the two of you would be done by now.”



Both Hermione and Draco turned to see Luna standing in the now opened doorway. She had changed
into a plain white scoop necked top and a long black skirt. Her normal dreamy expression however
looked artificial. Once realizing how they must look to her, wrapped in each others arms, both of
them simultaneously split apart to opposite ends of the small settee. Hermione might know that it
was a perfectly innocent embrace, but she wasn't too sure how she would feel if she found her
boyfriend holding another woman so closely. She smiled as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks to
dry them and turned her full attention to Luna. She noticed the roll of parchment in Luna's
hand.



“We are,” she said. From the corner of her eye she caught the baffled expression on Draco's
face. Wanting to make sure that he understood that the subject was now closed she turned to him and
said stonily, “We are.”



Luna looked at Draco first then brought her lazy gaze over to Hermione. Hermione nervously
swallowed. She wondered if Luna was picking up on the weird vibes between Draco and herself. Worse,
she wondered if Luna was going to make mention of it and what lie she would have to come up to try
and appease her. Even Hermione knew that she wasn't that good. Besides once being in Ravenclaw
house, Luna Lovegood was one of the most eerily intuitive people she knew. Thankfully Luna decided
not to mention the tense looks on her and Draco's faces.



“So did you two have a nice chat?” she asked instead.



“Oh yes,” he drolled languidly as he got up and headed towards Luna direction. He crossed in
front of Hermione as he said, “You could even say it was illuminating. Ow!”



Hermione pulled back the foot she had casually stuck out. Luna however was there to catch Draco
as he stumbled.



“Careful with that Hermione,” she said serenely. “I may need him later.” Luna then wrapped a
possessive arm around his waist. Draco was too busy scowling at Hermione to see the look on
Luna's face but Hermione, who gave him a feigned innocent smile in reply, saw it plainly.
Hermione could only chuckle inwardly at the subtle signal that only another woman could read.
Mines. There was once a time when the very mention of Luna Lovegood's name would make
Hermione's hair once bushy hair stand on end. Though Hermione tried to write off her distaste
of the younger girl as just a difference of personalities it was obvious to anyone with eyes in
their head what the real issue was. At Hogwarts they both fancied the same bloke. But that was
then. Hermione eventually grew to respect Luna and was quite fond of the woman. The fact that she
lost of some of her odder tics also helped matters.



Hermione slightly nodded her head at Luna to let her know that the message had been received and
the two women smiled at each other. Draco missed all of this of course.



“By the way, I hope you don't think I overstepped my bounds,” she said holding up the scroll
in her hands, “but I took the liberty of sending off a note to Harry with lover's owl.”



“You still have old Pollux?” Hermione asked Draco. For the moment she preferred not thinking
about the note that Luna was brandishing. She tried telling herself over and over again that no
matter what Harry's note said she could handle it. She had Draco backing her up now after all.
She could handle it! She could!



“Yes,” said Luna answering for Draco. “And he nips at my fingers every time I go to use
him.”



“Well if you would stop teasing him, calling him Polly and such-”



Luna pouted. “I'm just showing him affection.”



“He's a bloody eagle owl! He'd eat you if you were small enough!”



“Children, break it up,” Hermione said sternly cutting off their little squabble. “What did you
tell him Luna?”



“I just told the poor dear that you were safe and sound here and that lover was entertaining
you.”



“Bet that went over well. He's going to have my head,” Draco said shaking his head. He was
smiling though and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Draco and Harry spent a lot of time
antagonizing each other for sport. Then she thought of the secret that Draco now had that he could
hold over Harry's head. But Draco won't tell Harry, she told herself over and over again.
Telling Harry would only hurt her. Draco wouldn't want to hurt her. Draco could get no
satisfaction out of telling Harry this. The secret was safe.



“I also told him that you would be having dinner with us. Pollux came back with this for you.”
Luna held the scroll out to Hermione. Hermione eyed the parchment with trepidation before standing
up and walking over to Luna. She took the scroll from her, unfurled it and read the short note
written in what was unmistakably Harry's hand.



“Damn! He says that he's coming over here later,” she said as she began to tear at her
bottom lip with her teeth.



“Don't worry, leave him to me,” Draco slyly told her. “I'll be ready for him. I'll
give him a tour of the place. Conveniently lock him in the portrait gallery. See how he likes it
when two centuries worth of Lovegoods natter on for hours about the mating habits of the Blibbering
Humdinger.”



Luna's eyes bulged. “Holy cricket! Even I think that's just mean. I told you the first
time Daddy did that to you that it was merely an accident,” she said to him.



“And I believed you. The fifth and sixth time did give me pause, however.”



“What could poor Harry have possibly done to merit that kind of treatment?”



Draco and Hermione's eyes met quickly and then skirted away.



“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head over luv,” he said as he left a peck on Luna's
nose. “Just being sociable. I'm sure your fourth cousin Casper would just love to tell Potter
the difference between muggle hemorrhoids and the magical kind.”



Despite the nervous rumbling of her stomach Hermione's interest was piqued. “Is there a
difference?”



“No, not really. Although cousin Casper claims that his can hum the Habanera from Carmen,” Luna
answered.



“You can look at the portrait for hours and have no idea where the melody is coming from,” added
Draco sniggering at Hermione's mystified expression.



“I thought you were just going to distract Harry for me. That sounds like cruel and unusual
punishment.”



“Well you know what they say,” said Luna as she gave Draco a squeeze, “if I don't allow him
to torture at home he'll just do it out in the street somewhere.” Draco laughed out loud.



Ok, so Luna was still weird. Draco however seemed to like it so Hermione figured that all was
well.



“I think I'll just go and get dinner started,” Luna said.



“What are we having tonight?” Draco asked her as she turned in his arms to face him.



“Shepard's Pie. I'm using my Nanny Lovegood's secret recipe.”



Draco's eyes darkened lustfully as he growled lowly, “I must have been a very good boy
today.”



“No. But I'm sure you will be tonight,” Luna answered with a sneaky smile on her lips.



“Ahem. Still in the room.” Hermione felt the need to remind these two of this small fact. She
might think that Draco and Luna made a cute couple but she didn't want to see them shag or
anything right in front of her. Judging by the way they practically undressed each other with their
eyes Hermione wouldn't put it past them.



“So,” Hermione said, drawing Luna's attention away from possibly humping Draco's leg,
“what makes your Shepard's Pie so secret?”



“Nothing too big,” she answered as she pulled away from Draco. “Grandmother just had a few
unconventional cooking methods. She played around with all kinds of different spices and such. She
rarely used her wand. Oh, and she liked to cook in the buff as well," Luna added as an after
thought. "Would you like to come and help?”



Hermione's mouth hung open as she looked at Luna in abashed silence. Draco was practically
bent over laughing.



“Nanny Lovegood practically made it into an art form really. She cooked just about everything
starkers. Naked rack of lamb, naked Toad in the Hole, naked Chicken a la King,” Luna said, linking
her arm with Hermione's. “According to her grandfather never complained and cleaned his plate
every time.”



Hermione was near speechless. Luna had Hermione almost out the door by time Hermione came to and
dug her heels into the carpet to stay put.



“Oh, but don't worry,” she told Hermione noticing her reticence, “you don't have to take
off your clothes. You might feel a bit over dressed though. You see, lover likes to help in the
kitchen too.”



Hermione looked towards Draco and was horrified to see the devilish grin on his face.



“She usually lets me lick the bowl,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.



That was just about Hermione's limit.



“Um...I think I'm just fine out here,” Hermione squeaked as she pulled out of Luna's
grip.



“Are you sure?”



“Yes. I uh...I'm useless in a kitchen anyways.”



Luna shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh alright.” She then turned back to Draco. “Coming?”



Goodness! Did these two ever let up?!



“In a minute,” he told her. She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. She turned
to walk out the door, but not before removing one slipper from her foot. As Hermione and Draco
watched her walk into the hall she slipped the other one off.



Draco turned back to Hermione with a huge smile on his face. “She's as mad as a hatter, but
I love her!”



“Yes, well her boyfriend is one pancake short of a stack so they are well matched I should say,”
Hermione told him. Draco apparently found it funny because he chortled at the quip. His eyes then
traveled down to the note that Hermione still held tightly.



“Don't worry about Potter pet. Everything will be alright. You believe me don't
you?”



Hermione gave a brief nod to her head as she cast her eyes downward. “Yes,” she lied.



“Good,” he said as he slowly began to back himself out the study doors. It was obvious where his
mind was at the moment.



“Now I think I hear my Loony Love calling me. I need to go give her a hand.”



Hermione snorted. Draco had the decency to smile bashfully as he practically ran for the
kitchen.



After watching Draco inelegantly stumble out of his shoes as he raced into the hall Hermione
sighed to herself and made her way back to the settee. She sat down and after glancing at the
basket of scones on the floor she picked it up and took one out. She bit down on the slightly hard
confection and hoped that whatever Draco and Luna were getting up to in the kitchen they
wouldn't be all night about it. She then unfurled the note in her hand and quietly read it to
herself again.



*Dearest Hermione,*

*Luna's told me that you are going to be spending the evening over at Lovegood House with
her and that git Malfoy. I thought that you and I had plans to be together this evening. With Ron!
You and I had plans with Ron!*

*Are you avoiding me? Is this about yesterday? Sorry about yesterday. We can pretend that
nothing happened if you want.*

*I'm having dinner with the Weasleys. I'll be by later to walk you back to the Burrow.
Don't shake your head at me. I know that you can take care of yourself but it will be dark soon
and you really shouldn't be walking alone. You know how much I would hate it if anything
happened to you. Besides, wouldn't it be nice to spend some more time alone?*

*Not that I'm trying to get you alone. Bugger, I sound like I'm 15 years old
again.*

*It's just that I miss you.*

*Merlin! Now I sound like a 15 year old girl. Sorry. Please just wait for me at Luna's.
Please.*

*Yours always,*

*Harry*





Hermione read and caressed the last three words gently with her fingertips. She leaned back
against the settee and closed her eyes wearily as she brought the letter to her side. She
didn't notice it as it fell from her hand and fluttered to the floor. Yours always, Harry. If
only it were true, she bitterly thought. If only.















*TRUST ME Y'ALL, THIS STORY ENDS **HARMONY**! I'm sure that now you really think
it's impossible for them to end up together, but at the conclusion there is no doubt that they
are the endgame. TRUST ME! I just need your patience. Remember Harry's still married (though he
is working on it, hee) and Hermione has only been home for FOUR days! If you can bear with me I
promise you it will all be worth your while.*

*I know I promised you two updates, but this one gave me trouble. Sorry. Chapter 15 will see
the story skip ahead a few days, will be told from Lavender's POV. Things to look for; some
more info on the Olde Rites, wedding planning, a near disaster at the British Cup, and Bitchy
Hermione. YAY! I hear the grumbling. But remember I've said from the begining that from time to
time I will throw the other perspectives. Also just because a chapter doesn't feature
**H/Hr** they are the focal point of the story meaning that the chapter isn't there for
fluff. It bears importance to the whole story. And to be fair to me the last six chaps have been
from either Harry or Hermione's POV like I promised. Don't worry though the chap will be a
short one (probably 30 pages at the most...stop laughing at me). Now because I like to make
y'all as happy as I can here is the question; I know that y'all get antsy when a chap
isn't from a **H/H**r perspective. Would you prefer me to hold the Lav chap(which I'm
having a ball writing by the way) and update it along side chapter 16 which will be either
Harry(more then likely) or Hermione(maybe)? If I hold the two you won't be seeing the update
'til the end of May if then. My best friend is getting married this month, I'm the maid of
honor, I got stuff to take care of yo! But if you prefer me to just update chapter 15 as soon as
it's ready I'll do that. Let me know if you review. I'll go with the one that has the
most response. I really do take your suggestions to heart as long as I can make it work with the
outline. Someone (**mysterium** perhaps) asked for a helping of **H/Hr** in this chap and
though it wasn't in the first versionof this chapter I actually loved how that piece came out.
I've taken a lot of what y'all had to say in mind. I do listen.*

*Just not about the pace. *g* LOL!*

*Points of interest:*

*A cookie for the fist person who can spot the Titanic quote. What? It's on HBO, I've
watched it like 10 times in the last month. Leave me alone!*

*Tír na nÓg is a real Irish fairytale. For the use of my story I tweaked it. If JK can do it
why can't I. Heh.* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T%C3%ADr_na_n%C3%93g

*Discordium and excrapotios(the words execrate& potion) are mine. I thought that Dreamless
Sleep was canon, but I can't seem to find it on the Lexicon. Whoever it does belong to
thanks!*

*If you couldn't tell by my pen name or some of the stuff in this story I am a HUGE Greek
and Roman mythology geek. When I came up with the idea of Discordium/Elixir of Eris I used Eris the
Goddess of discord and strife as the inspiration. As usual I like to do some research and what do I
discover but the counter goddess to Eris was named Harmonia. Not that it's important to the
story, I just though it was cool. I told you that I'm a geek. Shut up!*

*I think that's it. As always if you have a question I will answer.*







*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.
*





















19. JUST ANOTHER A/N
--------------------

Hi guys!





I know, I hate Author’s Notes too, but I just wanted to let y’all know where things stand.



I’m sorry I am so late with the new chapter, but my computer decided to have another meltdown. I
was starting to get afraid that this one was serious too because it just did not want to start up
again. I was torn between looking at sales ads for new computers and wanting to cry because I
realized that all my notes and outlines would be lost to me. But the tech Gods decided to smile on
me and the ‘puter started up this morning like everything was ok. YAY!



As I mentioned my best friend is getting married tomorrow. After I get her wedded, hitched, over
the broom, I’ll be ready to turn into an All Roads Lead Back writing machine. I don’t want to give
y’all a time frame because every time I do that I get kicked in the balls. And I don’t even have
balls! *g*



So all I will say is that look for me soon and I hope the faithfulls are still out there.







pandie



20. Chapter 15
--------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N:** Sorry for how long it took to post it, but first Real Life and then computer
issues delayed it big time. In a way though I'm glad because I came out liking how this chapter
turned out far more then what was originally planned. Personally I LOVE it but YMMV.*

*Thanks to **murphsmines**!*

*As always your reviews are greatly appreciated. You guys RAWK!Thank you.*

***Warning:**: So as I've mentioned before, this chapter is from Lavender
Brown-Pye's POV. Please, don't leave me reviews that tell me that there was too much
Lavender. I'm telling you point blank that this chap is all Lav all the time. Hee. So seriously
if you are not interested in hearing her perspective you might want to skip this one. Also I really
hope that if you see Hermione coming off super bitchy in this chap...well... it's because in
Lav's opinion Hermione **is** a Super Bitch. Just saying.* :) *You do get a sprinkle of
Harmony in this chapter, but it's Hermione who plays a major role.*

*By the way you all get a small reveal in this chapter (although not one of the many ones you
have been waiting on). Some of you called it long ago so *** WoOT *** congrats on that! Though I
don't explicitly state it, I think there should be little doubt left. There might not be that
much humor in this one because Lav just doesn't bring the funny like some of the other
characters, but I hope you still enjoy!*

***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*

*Wednesday, 06/08/05*





**Main Entry: *kar·ma* Pronunciation: ***'*kär-m& *also*
'k&r-****Function: *noun*Etymology: Sanskrit *karma*
fate, work**1 *often capitalized*: the force generated by a person's actions
held in Hinduism and Buddhism to perpetuate transmigration and in its ethical consequences to
determine the nature of the person's next existence**

**Merriam-Webster**

********



**Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein**

**Proverbs 26:27**



********



**People pay for what they do, and still more, for what they have allowed themselves to become.
And they pay for it simply: by the lives they lead.**

**James Baldwin**













“I just think that something needs to be done about that hem.”




Lavender looked down from her perch on the short stepping stool at the irate little seamstress
on the floor before her. After two hours of fitting and then re-fitting the silky white robes
Lavender had chosen for her wedding and sewing the small bundles of Hawthorn leaves and flower
petals wrapped in lace throughout the lining of the garment the woman's temper was starting to
show. Especially with Lavender's mother standing over her like a hawk, supervising every stitch
that was made. Luckily for Lenore Brown the seamstress' mouth was clamped over a number of pins
so she couldn't express just how grateful she was for Mrs. Brown's unsolicited advice. But
if her thick drawn eyebrows and narrowed eyes were any indication of her true feelings it was
indeed a good thing that Lavender's mother didn't understand a jot of Italian.




“Nothing is wrong with the hem,” said Madame Borghese as she wiped at the fine film of sweat on
her brow. Since Lavender was the Madame's very own special consult they were working in her
office instead of out on the main floor with the shop's other clients. The cooling charms
however were not strong enough to alleviate the tension in the room, what with Lavender's mum
playing Mother of the Bride to the hilt and spewing hot hair all over the place. For nearly two
hours her mother and her wedding planner had been having the same disagreement.




“The hem is just perfect Anna,” The Madame assured her trustworthy seamstress. Anna Bencivenga
had been with Blissful Brides from the very first day it had opened its doors. She was not only a
talented seamstress able to turn any girl into the epitome of a blushing bride, but she was also a
formidable witch whose fertility charms were some of the strongest in Europe. For years the rumor
had been floated around that nine out of every ten girls who got married in a Bencivenga charmed
robe conceived during their honeymoon without fail. Lavender had heard the stories as well. Of
course for all she knew it could have been the Madame who spread the rumor. Even so, Lavender was
still willing to give their track record a chance.




“I don't know,” Mrs. Brown said as she bent down to look at Anna's handiwork, determined
it seemed to find some flaw in the woman's workmanship, “I really do think it should be lower.”
Mrs. Brown then looked at her oldest daughter who had been sitting in a chair close by, flipping
through the pages of InChant's Annual Wedding Spectacular with the bored air of a veteran. In
one month she would officially have been Mrs Theodahad Greenberg, chief Loan Officer for the
Sentient Being Department at Gringotts, for one whole year. “What do you think Kelly?”




“My thoughts exactly Mummy,” Kelly said through an over exaggerated yawn, barely looking up.




Mrs. Brown triumphantly turned towards the Madame. “See! You just have to lengthen the
front!”




It would seem that the Madame had reached her breaking point with one Mrs. Lenore Brown.




“Dio Mio!” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “If we do that it completely takes away from
the dramatic fall of the train,” she said as she threw her arms wide.




“Oh I completely see your argument Madame,” Mrs. Brown said with false graciousness as she
placed a fluttery hand across her chest. “I am an avid devotee of Modern Witch Bride and Mrs. Emily
Hoppingkirk after all. But you see my little Lavey has rather lumpy ankles...”




“Maeve calls them mankles,” Kelly said, finally finding some interest in the proceedings as she
simpered like the empty headed twit that she was. Merlin, Lavender certainly hoped that she
didn't sound like that when she talked.




Mrs. Brown shook her head solemnly as she paid Lavender's ankles a pitying glance. “Yes,
they are quite stout, poor dear. There isn't anything feminine about them at all, I'm
afraid.”




Everyone in the room; Kelly, Anna, the Madame, her assistant Paloma, and her mother all took a
moment to consider Lavender's ankles. Lavender took the brief pause to wonder if it was
possible to self immolate by sheer strength of will. Since her wand was far from her reach and she
had little to no wandless skills the likelihood of it happening was quite small. Still, the thought
was there.




Lavender began to nervously chew at the little piece of skin that was hanging next to her
smallest finger nail. The disgusting habit, as her mother called it, had been her safety blanket
all through her childhood whenever Lavender felt crushed under her mother's harsh scrutiny.




“Now look at mines,” Mrs. Brown said pridefully as she lifted her plum pink robes to reveal her
delicately boned ankles that continued down to her petite feet and the matching heeled slippers
that encased them. “Yaxley and Wallingford. This is what you call good breeding.” Mercifully she
dropped her robes back down. Her face took on that same pitying look again that made Lavender want
to stomp on those oh so lady like ankles. “Unfortunately my little Lavey--”




“Is a vision!” the Madame protested, cutting her off. Lavender timidly smiled in her direction,
but it gave way as soon as her mother continued to talk.




“Of course she is! She looks like me...thankfully. But those ankles...”




Mrs. Brown exhaled laboriously as if to show just what hard work she had put into providing the
genes for her middle child. Funny enough Lavender did resemble their mother, even more so then her
other two sisters. Same golden hair, same corn flower blue eyes. The same exact perfect bone
structure.




Except for Lavender's ankles. Those goddamned ankles.




“They are all her papa's,” she sighed disconsolately. “Poor dear.”




Lavender nearly gnawed the skin clean off her finger.




“Ow,” she said softly. Only Paloma heard her. The younger girl offered her a sad, sympathetic
smile.




“Lavey is very, very lucky that that was all she got from him. But tell me who is going to
notice that face,” said her mother pointing at her while looking at the others in the room, “when
they see those ankles coming down the aisle? Don't you agree Lavey?”




Hearing no response Mrs. Brown swung her attention towards Lavender and gave her a hard,
appraising stare.




“Well, don't you?” she tried again.




“I--”




“Of course you do,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk spreading on her face as she looked
pointedly at the Madame. “We'll just have to pick out another set of robes.”







Lavender was sure she had never been half so miserable in her entire life and that was including
the 32 hours she spent in labor. Here she was an expectant bride, and the only times her face
registered any human emotion was when she remembered to pinch her underarm. Otherwise she looked
like an automaton; lifeless and hollow and wouldn't that jackass Bozo from The Prophet just
love to get a shot of her looking like her heart was breaking. Which it was.




Like now. She was, trying on a set of bridal robes that she hoped made her look like a modern
and sexy witch of the ton, and all she could do was feel like the runt of the litter once her
mother got finished with her. Originally Ginny was supposed to accompany her to have her robes
fitted and charmed. Ginny had been very irritable as of late though, complaining of sudden sharp
pangs behind her eyes that were gone as soon as they came. Lavender figured it was the stress of
trying to keep her struggling marriage afloat. Just about the whole family knew it, they were all
just too polite to say something about it. Ginny didn't help matters either by pretending that
everything with Harry was business as usual. Lavender had decided not to bother her Matron of
Honour. When Lenore offered to come Lavender had found it difficult to say no. Lavender had even
foolishly thought that maybe the two of them could use it as a bonding experience. But once
Lavender saw her sister Kelly walk through the doors of Blissful Brides Lavender knew that this day
would be like any other Brown family pileup.




“Cara, is this what you want?” the Madame asked Lavender kindly as she came close to the young
woman and looked searchingly in her eyes. She took Lavender's hands in her own and gave them an
encouraging squeeze. “When you first saw these robes you loved them.”




And she had. But that seemed like a lifetime ago now. That was just the day before her
engagement party. Then again everything had seemed so perfect then.




“I...” Lavender tried again, doing her best to avoid her mother's admonishing eyes. Eyes so
like her own.




She failed miserably.




“Maybe Mummy is right,” Lavender answered, half-heartedly. This time it was the Madame's
gaze she didn't wish to meet.




“Bene,” said the Madame reluctantly as she dropped Lavender's hands. “Go in the first
changing room and take those off. I'll send Paloma in with a few more selections.”




Lavender nodded her head quickly and stepped down from the cushioned stool. She kept her head
lowered as she crossed the floor to exit the room.




“Now that's all settled I think that something with a Sweetheart's neckline would suit
Lavey just fine,” said Lavender's mother airily. “Do you have anything with capped sleeves by
chance?”




“Capped sleeves?!” shrieked the Madame, much in the same way one would say '...in hell'.
Paloma actually crossed her self. Anna just sneered. Mrs. Brown however ignored the slight to her
taste and continued on.




“Kelly's wedding robes had capped sleeves. I picked them out myself.”




“Yes, but my robes were prettier then any of the ones here,” Kelly snootily added.




Lavender rolled her eyes as she crossed through the door. Everything Kelly had, said, or did had
to be better then anything of her younger sister's.




“Yes they were darling,” said Mrs. Brown in an indulgent tone. “I think I shall never see a
bride even half as lovely as you were my princess.”




Ouch! Lavender hadn't made it out of the room fast enough to miss that little nugget.




Then again Lavender had long ago reconciled herself to the fact that she was little more then a
prop in her mother's life. Lavender after all was the middle child of the family. Kelly was the
prized first born of the batch and Maeve was the baby of the family, just finishing up her seventh
year at Hogwarts. Both had all of the spoils that came with those coveted positions. Lavender just
had the bad luck of being born when her mother had finally come to the conclusion that she would
never love her husband even if she was going to have another baby for him. Lavender was the child
that bore the brunt of Lenore's indifference. Lenore Wallingford had dutifully married Mr.
Brown under the Rites, but after Lavender's birth she no longer cared to pretend that it was a
love match. Her old Hogwarts sweetheart started spending an incalculable amount of time at the
Brown home when ever Mr. Brown was away at work. Lavender was told to call him Uncle Mingus.




Mr. Brown, though probably in denial of the situation at first, didn't remain in the dark
for long. Although Lenore was discreet enough about it, due to the blood bond Lavender's daddy
felt every heated glance like a pin prick, every stolen kiss sent him searching the potion cabinet
for a migraine draught. The wife he had believed was a cold fish in bed sent Mr. Brown to St.
Mungo's so often with a phantom peptic ulcer that it baffled the Healers for months. He
eventually began renting a private room for himself to avoid any public embarrassment. Although
Mrs. Brown eventually ended her affair (for mysterious reasons Uncle Mingus seemed to have recalled
the wife and four children he had stashed away in Pretoria) Mr. Brown died soon after Maeve was
conceived. Mrs. Brown didn't see any reason not to give the new baby the same last name as her
other two children.




Lavender was only seven when her father died. He had been the only person in the Brown household
that Lavender never doubted loved her. He called her his little Empress and treated her like one,
so his death was a harsh blow to her. What made matters worse was that it occurred to Lavender that
she was the only member of the family that seemed to mourn his passing. Although she was too young
to understand why her father seemed so unhappy, she was bright enough to know that her mother had
something to do with it. Lavender had seen enough of her playmates' parents together to know
that the Brown marriage was as cold and shallow as Lenore's mothering skills. While Kelly was
lavished with all of her mother's bright and glowing adoration, Lavender and her daddy had to
huddle together in the shadow of those two just to keep themselves warm. A young Lavender could
never understand her mother's ambivalence towards her husband. It was so obvious that Mr. Brown
worshiped the ground on which his wife trod, but Lenore never let him forget that she only married
him as a consolation. The boy she had wanted was betrothed to another witch so Grandfather
Wallingford had introduced her to his young apprentice as a distraction. Mrs. Brown never shied
from telling her daughters that she had merely settled for their father. When Mr. Brown died
Lavender assumed that he died from a broken heart. She later found out that it was an overdose of
Halcyonian that killed him. He had been taking the potion to dull his senses to the constant ill
health that plagued him through out the latter half of his marriage. Lavender didn't bother to
change her original opinion.







Lavender trudged into the changing room that Madame Borghese told her to go in and closed the
purple curtains behind her. When she turned around her breath caught at the image in the mirror.
The bias cut robes with their gauzy bell sleeves that came all the way to her fingertips made her
look like a Celtic goddess, a fairy princess. To complete the royal picture, though tea length in
the front, the back ended in a five foot train. Sparkling crystals trimmed the edges of it. The
first time Lavender got married it was a rushed affair so that she was already Mrs. Pye before she
started to show. She had opted not to wear a set of traditional wedding robes then. That wedding
was just a few ordinary vows spoken quickly to ensure that her child had a name. Corny had been
kind enough though; he even offered to buy her a set of bridal robes for the ceremony, a trousseau
too. But back then as well as now, whenever Lavender envisioned herself wearing wedding whites
there was only one wizard she ever saw standing beside her.




Lavender sunk to her knees, watching the fairy princess goddess girl in the mirror do the same.
She dropped her face into her hands to muffle the sound and softly began to cry.










*Although these were supposed to be the happiest days of her life Lavender's whole world
had officially turned to shite ten days ago and pretending otherwise was slowly taxing her. Though
the days following Ron's proposal had been wonderful, they had been hectic as well. There was
just so much to do and plan that Lavender barely felt that she had time to exhale; flower
arrangements, menu selections, picking a venue, purchasing the wedding ribbon that would be tied
around their wrist to officially bind them. Lavender had taste tested so many different cakes that
she was sure she would be as big as Madame Maxime soon. But once the day of her commencement
arrived she had been determined to enjoy it to its fullest. She felt that she had earned it.
Lavender had committed herself to Ron long ago and now she was reaping the rewards. She had been
looking particularly forward to being fawned over by all of her and Ron's guests. She had even
put out of her head the row their mothers had engaged in that morning. As always, Ron had saved the
day. Ron always saved the day! He sat both women side by side and told them that if they made
Lavender cry again the couple was eloping. It was a lie, but convincing enough that Molly and
Lenore retreated to their separate corners for the rest of the day.*




*After that everything felt like a beautiful dream. She was going to marry the man that she
loved, that she had always loved. Because she wanted something traditional this time around she and
Ron decided to do the Rites. Her parents' disastrous union barely weighed on her mind. Her
marriage would be different, she was sure. Lavender believed that her and Ron's covenant would
be a joining of two souls that loved each other whole heartedly. And most important, unlike her
father, Lavender was secure in the belief that she wasn't Ron's second choice.*




*That sweet dream was shattered by day's end.*




*The party had been on its last legs. Ron, Harry, and some of their old school mates had gone
outside to goof around leaving most of the women to gossip over cake inside the house. Lavender
took the time to chat with most of the members of her bridal party in the living room. Due to her
frosty relationship with her own siblings, Lavender was over the moon that not only did she get to
be Ron's wife (finally) but that she was also getting four new sisters out of the deal. Fleur
and Penelope were the perfect big sisters, always filled with advice and encouragement and Ginny
was always fun to gossip and go shopping with. Glinda had her odd quirks (Lavender particularly
didn't understand why the Muggle woman got such a kick out of calling Ginny and her Lucy and
Ethel), but Lavender liked her despite of them. Trouble was Lavender didn't think Glinda liked
her at all. That wasn't surprising though. Lavender might be Glinda's sister-in-law, but
Her...her friend would always be a point of contention between them. Which was a shame because she
truly believed that if Glinda gave her a chance they might actually get on well with each other.
But Glinda didn't seem interested. Nothing drove this home further then the bored expression on
her face as the other Weasley women gabbed on and on about Hannah McMillan's noticeable baby
bump or Romilda Vane's tacky augurey feather hat that she claimed was a custom original. Glinda
looked as though she would rather be anywhere but there. Her glazed over eyes listlessly wandered
around the room. Lavender, wanting to show Glinda how much she wanted to include her in the
conversation, decided to try and draw her out. She turned to ask her a question, but before she
could it died on her tongue the moment that she got a look at Glinda's face. The woman's
jaw was slack and her eyes had grown to twice their normal size. Glinda had gone so still that it
was hard to tell if she was even breathing. Her attention seemed stapled to some fixed point behind
Ginny and Lavender's head on the far wall. Fleur and Penelope, sitting the closest to her, both
reached out to ask her what the matter was but Glinda quickly shook them off and ran out the house.
The four women traded worried glances then turned, as if commanded by one single voice, to see what
had held Glinda's fascination.*




“*Mon Dieu!” Fleur whispered as a hand went up to her mouth. Ginny however came the closest to
expressing Lavender's opinion on the matter.*




“*Bloody hell!”*




*Indeed.*




*According to the Weasley family clock Hermione Granger had finally come home.*













“You know, back when I was a mere slip of a girl the only times a pretty thing dressed in
wedding robes as beautiful as those wept like a baby, like you are doing now, was either before the
ceremony because her padre was forcing her to it or afterwards because her mamma had just told her
what was to be expected of her on her wedding night. But I must admit that this is a first Signora
Browne-Pye. I've never seen a bride cry just from the mere sight of herself in the mirror.
Especially when it is such a beautiful sight.”




Lavender raised her head and saw Madame Borghese standing before her in the small changing room.
Lavender wasn't sure how long she had spent in there, but she had eventually turned to lean
back against the mirror, knees drawn up towards her chin. The train was bunched up underneath her.
She was only half aware that she was ruining the fairy princess robes.




“I'm sorry Madame--”




“Filomena,” Madame Borghese said reproachfully as she turned her back a moment to close the
curtains. Lavender heard her cast an Imperturbatus on the curtains.




“I'm sorry Filomena,” Lavender said, correcting herself once the Madame was facing her
again. “I should have taken these off. I'm sorry for ruining these lovely robes,” Lavender
glumly said.




“They are not half as lovely as the girl in them.”




Lavender gave her a watery smile. The Madame stepped before Lavender, and offering her a hand,
helped to lift her from the floor.




“But tell me cara, what makes you cry so? Is it...” The Madame paused to look over her shoulders
as though to make sure her charm stuck. “Is it your madre?” she continued cautiously.




Lavender brows knit, perplexed as to what the Madame meant. “Do you mean mum?”




The Madame nodded.




Lavender smiled shyly and shook her head. “No,” she said sounding slightly embarrassed that the
Madame had a front seat to the Brown dynamics. She shrugged her shoulders. “I'm used to mum
being mum, I guess.”




The Madame looked into Lavender's eyes for a brief moment before asking her next
question.




“Is it that bit of business in the papers then?”




Lavender found herself wondering once again just why she had been sorted into Gryffindor house.
She honestly tried to refute the Madame's inquiry, but the brave grimace like smile she tried
to present first trembled, then completely toppled off as soon as a strangled sob escaped her
throat. No longer caring if the whole place flooded with her tears, Lavender threw herself into the
Madame's arms. Lavender felt a hand softly brush down the back of her hair and the gentle
touches soothed her as she closed her eyes.




“Oh cara.”










*It wasn't like she had ever deluded herself into believing that she was the love of
Ronald Weasley's life. That didn't stop her from believing that there was no one in this
lifetime, or several others for that matter, who would love him as much as she did. That was the
reason that she wouldn't even entertain the thought of allowing him to actually marry Lovegood.
She didn't care that she ended up causing a scene. She didn't care that the shell shocked
bride had to be escorted way, too stunned at the proceedings to even cry. She didn't care that
she had only been a widow officially for two weeks. She just didn't care! Besides she knew that
Ron wasn't in love with his bride. She couldn't allow him to trap himself like that! Quite
frankly she would have pushed the Loon in front of the Hogwarts Express if she had to. Such drastic
measures weren't necessary though, Ron was smart enough to realize that Lavender was right.
They consummated their reunion that very night. It had all been so perfect. But now...*




*Now all bets were off. There would be no wedding. Still continuing to act as though that
wasn't the case was foolish. There would be no wedding, all the gifts they had been receiving
since the announcement would have to be given back. All Lavender would have left would be egg on
her face and her mother calling her “poor dear” in that nice nasty way of hers. Ron was going to
dump her. When had Ron ever failed to dump her when that jumped up bitch ever batted her eyes at
him? It was like she had some sick control over Ron that Lavender could never figure out. Argh!
What was her hoohah made of anyway, gold or something?! Lavender never understood what Granger had
that made men fawn all over her, but whatever it was she had been using it since they were all
kids. How else had she managed to rope Ron and Harry into stomaching her company for so long? Now
that she was back it was like nothing had ever changed. Every time Lavender tried to reach Ron on
his two-way that home wrecking tart was with him. Sure Ron would waste no time assuring her that
Harry was with them too, but Lavender wasn't deceived. Harry was little more then a cover. She
and Ron had quarreled more in the last few days then they had in there entire time together. The
last big row had been over the fact that Hermione hadn't been invited to their Naming Tea. A
small gathering of those closest to them had come to the Brown home to formally hear who would be
in the wedding party. Hermione had been conspicuously absent. Ron balled her out good and proper
for the slight. Lavender had been so hacked off that she neglected to mention that it was Ginny who
had been in charge of the Tea invitations. Ron then tried to coax her into putting Hermione in the
wedding somehow to make up for it, she was his best friend after all. When Lavender refused he told
her that she was acting like a child. Lavender hexed his hair Oxford blue. They both refused to
talk to each other for the rest of the evening. The next day, though she was still annoyed at Ron,
she dutifully came to his big game. She had never missed a single game in his entire professional
career and she wouldn't do so now, Hermione Granger be damned. It was quite an ironic turn of
events then that when she went to find her seat that was just who she ran into.*










“*This is the place that the player's wives generally sit. You don't belong.”*




*As Granger lowered the omnioculars that she had been using and her head slowly rotated in her
direction, Lavender had to control the near shiver that the woman's icy glare produced in
her.*




“*Then what are you doing here?” she asked maliciously before settling her eyes back before
her. Lavender felt as though she had been physically slapped down.*







*The British Cup was being played in a newly built stadium at Glastonbury Tor. The Department
of Magical Games and Sports had opened it earlier then the scheduled date to accommodate the large
turn out they were expecting for the game. This had led to much controversy. Luna Lovegood 's
article in Monday's* Quibbler *claimed that the Ministry had decided to use a fly by night
contractor to put in the security wards and safety charms for the stadium. They were trying to save
a few galleons by not using the company that had been licensed since Grogan Stump came to office.
The Ministry vehemently denied the accusation. The Minister for Magic had assured all those who
would be attending the game that they would be perfectly safe. This game was to be the jewel of the
season, nothing was allowed to go wrong. The two best teams in the league, Appleby and Wimbourne,
(with the biggest rivalry as well) were facing off and just about all of wizarding Great Britain
had come to a standstill for this match. Those unlucky souls who hadn't managed to snag tickets
would be listening to it on the Wireless as it was being transmitted all over Europe. Still, it was
early enough that the stadium was still slowly filling up and Granger was sitting relatively by
herself.*







“*Look Lavender, that sign over there says Family and Friends. Ron asked me to sit
here.”*




*Granger hadn't even looked at her. Lavender wanted to slap the smirk that had accompanied
this statement off of Granger's smug face.*




“*Well I don't see why,” Lavender fired back. “You're neither his family and after the
stunt you pulled you aren't really his friend.”*




*Granger gave her a dismissive once over and feigned a bored yawn. She then turned her head
again as though Lavender was some annoying fly she was trying to ignore. Although Lavender knew
that she should be trying to hold her ground against her old school mate she just couldn't sway
the feelings of helplessness that was engulfing her. She trembled with it.*




“*Why are you here?!” Lavender asked in a choked, small voice.*




*Granger rolled her eyes as she tittered softly. She looked at Lavender and said, “You know
me, just can't stay away when there is a rousing game of Quidditch being played. I can't
wait to see Ron Wonky Feint all over the place or something.”*




“*Why are you **here**...in England?! Why did you come back?! Why did you come back now?!
Everything was perfect while you were gone! Everyone was happy!”*




*Granger's haughty smile wavered for a second before coming back, strong and nastier then
before.*




“*Lavender,” she said in a cloying voice, “you're becoming hysterical. Do something about
it, would you?” she chirped. She then got up from her seat and went to the nearby railing. But
Lavender was too wound up to just let Granger get off that easy. She followed her.*




“*I hate you!” she said hatefully through gritted teeth, eyes malevolently burning as she came
up next to her.*




“*Aww, you hate me Lavender?” Granger mocked. “Join the queue.” She then pulled the
omnioculars back up and tried to ignore Lavender again.*




“*Ron...and Harry, they've always had you on such a high fucking pedestal. But I know the
real you Hermione Granger. I've always known it.”*




“*Enlighten me.”*




“*You're cold and calculating. You're smug and selfish. You're self centered, you
think the whole world revolves around you. Everyone loves Hermione,” Lavender shrieked as she
snatched the omnioculars from Granger and forced her to look at her, “but I don't!” she said as
her voice dropped. “I just wish you'd go away! Just go away!”*




*Granger grabbed Lavender's upper arm and painfully pulled her close. Her eyes narrowed as
she hissed, “You are causing a scene!”*




*Lavender looked around her and saw the curious glances they were drawing. People were
probably wondering at the identity of the woman who seemed to be having a heated exchange with the
fiancée of the Wasp's star Keeper. Not too many people outside of the family knew that Granger
was back. She had been keeping a low profile. Unless you really got a good look at her it was hard
to tell that it even was Granger. For one there was the dyed hair, she also was wearing a pair of
overly large white sunglasses to match her white tunic dress and they all but covered her whole
face. Even when looking through the omnioculars she didn't remove them. She looked very chic
and sophisticated, worlds different then the mousy little bint she had been all those years ago,
and Lavender wavered back and forth between wanting to know where she shopped...and wanting to
gouge her eyes out of her head. Right now the latter was winning.*




“*I'm not in the mood to humor you today,” said Granger as she released Lavender from her
grip and wrenched the omnioculars back. “So if you're looking for a little girl on girl action
take it elsewhere. I'm not interested.” She then raised the omnioculars again and looked around
the stands.*




*Sweet Circe! This just wasn't fair! Lavender wasn't so sure she would have been able
to take on the shrew under normal circumstances...but a blonde Hermione Granger?! That was like
waving a sirloin steak in front of Ron. Lavender had to wonder what she had ever done to deserve
this. Then she remembered Lovegood...the Express...and realized that she had brought this all on
herself. What was it that Parvati had once shared with her? She had gone to spend the night at the
Patil home one summer and the two teen girls had stumbled onto Parv's mother's stash of
elderflower wine and proceeded to drink until they were sick. During a sketchy conversation about
the cosmos, the meaning of life, and pre-destiny, somewhere between their seventh and tenth glass
of the drink, Parvati had made a wise observation.*




“*Karma is a bitch.” And then she threw up.*




*Parvati had never been any great genius, not like Padma, but she was a strong believer in
mysticism and seemed to know what she was talking about. Lavender had to wonder now if truer words
had ever been spoken. She had done Lovegood a dirty trick, now fate seemed to be evening the score.
To put it bluntly, Karma was kicking her arse right about now.*




“*Oh look,” Granger said bringing Lavender's focus back to her. “I see Molly up there with
the children.” She then waved as though trying to catch their attention. Lavender looked up in the
direction as Granger, but couldn't see anything since they were probably too far away.*




“*You know, we had so much fun the other night; Violet, Felicity, Rosemary, and myself. It was
an enjoyable little girl's evening. Lizzie was beside herself and even Crookshanks seemed to
enjoy it, being the only bloke and all.”*




*Lavender turned back towards Granger, but she still was looking through the
omnioculars.*




*The afternoon of the Tea the three little girls stayed at Godric's Hollow. Violet and
Granger had worked out a shared custody agreement of sorts for the dumb cat (how could Lavender not
have recognized that flat faced fleabag) and somehow Violet had managed to con Granger into
inviting her and the other two girls along for the visit. Granger laughingly agreed to the
manipulation and the children enjoyed themselves so much that Violet had gone on and on about how
much fun Aunt Hermione was for days after. Lavender nearly gave herself an aneurysm trying to keep
from screaming. It would seem even her own child preferred her nemesis to her.*




“*You know, that Violet is quite the handful,” Granger continued. “Reminds me of you.
Very...headstrong. A bit willful, but in children it can be cute.”*




*Lavender nearly growled at her. She started to throw a nasty retort right back at her, but
Granger's next comment nearly made Lavender woozy.*




“*She looks just like her daddy however,” she said. Granger then turned towards Lavender and
gave her a kneazle amongst the pixies grin.*




*Lavender's jaw dropped before she snapped it shut. “I happen to think she looks more like
myself and my Wallingford cousins,” Lavender haughtily informed her as she smoothed down her hair.
There, take that wench!*




“*Well I guess with the all of the redheads in the Pye family you were pretty much covered
either way, now weren't you?”*




*Lavender let out a horrified cry at these words. Before she could dissolve into a heap of
tears at the heartless bitch's feet Harry came and thankfully interrupted them. A second more
and there would really be a scene.*




“*I hope I'm not intruding,” he said as he carefully walked up behind Granger. She froze
at his voice before a look of regret crossed her features. She slowly turned around to face Harry
and Ginny.*




“*Hi Harry,” she said in a tiny, shame filled voice.*




*Lavender wondered why Granger even pretended to be remorseful. It was evident now that she
knew! Lavender didn't know how she had found out, but there was no doubt that she knew. And
that meant it was only a matter of time before she told Ron. And when she did that Ron would leave
Lavender. He would never forgive her. And Granger would be there...waiting. Just like she had
probably planned all along.*




*Lavender briefly wondered how Granger would do it. Ask Ron to meet her somewhere far from
prying eyes and gently kill all of his trust in his fiancée. Or perhaps she would wait until the
wedding and drop the truth in front of the assembled guests. Yes, perhaps that was it. If the shoe
had been on the other foot that's the way Lavender would have done it.*




“*Are you alright Lavender?” she heard Harry ask. She looked into Harry's kind green eyes
to see him looking at her with worry. She saw his gaze briefly flicker towards Granger, a look of
chastisement in them, before he brought them back to her. Harry was so sweet. It wasn't his
fault that his best friend was a world class bitch.*




“*I'm just fine Harry, thanks,” Lavender said with false cheeriness. She then smiled at
Ginny. “Hi Ginny. My don't those robes look nice on you.”*




*Ginny walked up to Lavender and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I could say the same for you,”
she said. “Why hello there Hermione,” she continued coolly, acknowledging the other woman's
presence. Granger however took a moment to respond. She and Harry seemed to be having a wordless
argument with their eyes. His looked disappointed, hers read belligerent. Both seemed like they
were waiting for the other to surrender to their staring contest.*




“*Hello Ginevra,” Granger finally said as her eyes pulled away from Harry's. “Those are
rather nice robes. You look quite smart in them.”*




*Ginny smiled loftily. “These old things?”*




*Lavender looked at Ginny questioningly for a moment before adopting a neutral expression.
Lavender had been with Ginny in* Gladrags *when she bought those “old things”. Lavender knew
very well how much those “old things” cost. For Ginny's sake Lavender hoped that Harry never
found the bill because Ginny would be wearing those “old things” until she was an old thing
herself.*




“*That's a nice dress by the way,” Ginny replied back. “Where did you get it? Harry so
loves it when I wear Muggle clothing,” she said as she looped a possessive arm through Harry's.
Lavender noticed him stiffen. Granger did too, her eyes drifted down to where the husband and wife
were joined. Ginny pretended not to notice.*




“Guess,*” Granger said as she raised her eyes to meet Ginny's. The redhead's brow
furrowed.*




“*Uh...I don't know, Kevin Klein?”*




*It took a moment for Granger to realize that it wasn't a joke. One of her eyebrows arched
up in a superior manner making Ginny's ears turn purple. Lavender decided to try and save her
friend before she embarrassed herself further.*




“Guess *is a pricey Muggle designer brand,” Lavender explained. Lavender, being the clothes
horse that she was, often looked through Muggle catalogs and magazines. She considered it part of
her Muggle studies to impress her future father-in-law. Lavender found that she actually liked most
of the Muggle styles and had often wanted to try some of them herself.*




“*And I think you meant* Calvin Klein*,” she added.*




*Ginny's quickly smiled. “Well it really makes you stand out from the rest of the crowd
Hermione. Calls real attention to you. But I guess that was the point.”*




*Harry frowned at the remark.*




“*So, you and Lavender having a nice chat?” Ginny looked between Hermione stony face and
Lavender's tear stained cheeks and had assessed the situation right away.*




*Granger opened her mouth to reply but Harry, stepping forward, cut her off.*




“*Can we talk?” He fleetingly looked back at Ginny and then turned back. “Alone.”*




*His words were formed in a question, but by his tone it was clear that he wouldn't accept
no for an answer. Ginny and Granger both balked at the question.*




“*Harry darling, we really should take out seats.”*




“*I don't want to miss the game!” Granger protested.*




“*You barely can tell the difference between a bludger and a beaters bat,” said Harry
caustically. “Come along.” He grabbed her arm.*




“*But the game...Ow!”*




*Harry had dragged her off behind him. He marched with his captive through the now thickening
crowd, further down the railing from Lavender and Ginny.*




“*You promised,” she heard Harry tell Granger.*




“*The stupid bint asked for it,” she heard Granger's muffled voice say before distance and
the noise of the crowd swallowed the rest of what they said.*




“*What do you suppose that was all about?” asked Ginny suspiciously as they disappeared from
view.*




“*Don't know, don't care. As long as Harry keeps her the hell away from me!”*




*Ginny took Lavender's hand. “Listen Lav, do not let Hermione get to you. She's good
for doing that. Don't let her think that she has the upper hand with you.”*




“*But she does Ginny! It's just a matter of time before she takes Ron away from me
again.”*




“*Well Ron would be an idiot if he allowed that to happen!” Ginny vehemently exclaimed. She
crossed in front of Lavender and continued to try and stare after Harry and Hermione. From their
vantage point all they could see every now and then as people passed back and forth was the two of
their heads placed closely together. Ginny put a hand to her head and began to slowly message the
temple.*




“*After all, Ron wasn't good enough for her then, what would make him think he's good
enough for her now?”*




*Lavender was taken aback by Ginny's hurtful words. She stumbled and spluttered as she
tried to refute what Ginny said. Before she could Ginny held up a hand to halt her.*




“*Not that I feel that way of course. I love my brother, for all I want to throttle him
sometimes,” Ginny said affectionately. “But I hated the way that Hermione used to run rough shod
over him. It was obvious that she thought herself too good to marry a Weasley. She just liked
jerking Ron on her chain, seeing how often she could make him jump through her little hoop. She
almost tried to get away with that with Harry until I put a stop to it.” Ginny smiled proudly when
she said this. “I had to let Hermione know who was boss when it came to Harry. You just have to do
the same with Ron.”*




*Although Ginny had never outright said it, through little things said here and there Lavender
had long ago gathered that Ginny had soured on her former friend. This was the first time that
Lavender was really seeing it in action though. First there was the stilted small talk from
earlier. Now it seemed like Ginny was outright bashing Granger. From what Lavender could see, the
other woman didn't seem particularly fond of Ginny anymore either. It was weird, Ginny had no
real reason to hate Granger. Lavender wondered what could possibly be behind their enmity.*




“*Well that's easy for you to say,” Lavender threw back at her. “Hermione Granger was
never the great love of Harry's life.”*




*Ginny snorted at the comment. “I should hope not.”*




*The two of them then fell into easy giggles after that. Unfortunately their moment of levity
was short.*




“*Hullo Red, Pye!”*




*At the sound of the voice Lavender and Ginny rolled their eyes in tandem, then turned to the
right to greet their intruder.*




“*Daphne.”*




“*Greengrass.”*




*The dark eyed Slytherin witch came sauntering towards them, quill and notepad already
drawn.*




“*How are the two luckiest witches in all of England faring this fine day?” she asked in a
sugary sweet voice. Lavender had to bite down on her tongue not to say something biting to the
woman. She had barely written three words in her column about her and Ron's commencement
ceremony, the hag!*




“*Just fine Daphne,” Ginny said diplomatically, smiling benignly. “And yourself?”*




“*Horrid!” said Greengrass as she pouted. “I've been looking all over these stands for a
story to write and there is none to be found.”*




“*No acts of depravity and debauchery to report on?” Lavender muttered.*




“*No,” the silly woman said with a crestfallen expression on her face. Ginny hid her smile
behind her hand.*




“*Did you know that* The Quibbler's *circulation is now gaining on* The
Prophet*?” Greengrass asked as though shocked at the very idea. “Rita is in a lather over it. She
told us that one of her reporters better bring in a story worthy of the front page or she was
sacking the lot of us. I tell you what,” she said conspiratorially as she leaned in closer to
Ginny, “I have to wonder if Lovegood isn't putting subliminal charms behind those articles of
hers. Why would anyone actually read them?”*




*Good journalism, real sources, words larger then a five year olds vocabulary perhaps, thought
Lavender contemptuously before she realized that she was actually defending the Ravenclaw. I need
to come out of the sun, she told herself.*




“*If I don't find a good story soon I might have to run with the little piece of gossip I
picked up from Eloise Midgen when we had lunch at* The Dragon's Egg
*yesterday.'*




*Lavender's eyes practically popped out of her head and she swallowed nervously.*




“*Pye, when was the last time you talked to Midgen?” Greengrass asked tauntingly.*




“*Uh,” said Lavender, voice raising an octave as she looked guiltily at Ginny, then quickly
away. “I don't remember.”*




*Although she did. It was just the other afternoon. She might have invited Eloise and her baby
over for a visit. And she might have doused their tea with a little too much Killerman's Cognac
as they settled in for a chat. And she might have let it slip what Ron told her about the Potters
sleeping in separate beds. She might have.*




*Shite.*




“*You could always interview Ron,” Lavender quickly proposed. “Once the Wasps wipe the pitch
with Appleby that is,” she said with a smile. “I might even be able to arrange it for you.”*




“*Oh, that's sweet Pye. But I'm looking for something a little more...I don't
know...interesting.”*




*The smile on Lavender's face plummeted to the ground.*




“*Like that hot little number talking to your husband down there Red,” Daphne said as she
looked around the other two women. Her eyes were bright with interest at a possible story. “Is she
a tourist? Foreigners seem to like dressing up like Muggles while they are here on Holiday. Is she
a friend of either of yours?”*




*Lavender and Ginny shared loaded glances. Neither was sure what to tell Daphne. The answer to
both questions was no, but it seemed inappropriate to say that.*




“*I hope everything is ok in the marriage Red,” said Daphne with a smirk catching on to their
unease. Lavender looked uncomfortable. Ginny huffed indignantly. Daphne ignored it though. She gave
Ginny's shoulder a squeeze and let her hand rest there casually. “You know, if you ever need a
shoulder I'm here for you.” She then displayed two sets of sharp white teeth. Lavender wondered
if a diver saw a similar image right before he was swallowed whole by a Great White. Ginny however
was saved just in the nick of time.*




“*LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...WELCOME! WELCOME TO THE FINAL FOR THE BRITISH NATIONAL CUP!”*




*The sound of clapping and wild screams filled the air. The game about to get under
way.*




“*It's been a joy talking to you Greengrass,” Lavender said in a syrupy tone. “But Ginny
and I really need to go take our seats with our family. The game is about to start. Ta!” Lavender
then grabbed Ginny by the arm and steered her away from the railing and over to the Family and
Friends section.*




“*She has no shame,” said Ginny in an awed voice.*




“*Told you she was trying to get in your knickers,” replied Lavender knowingly.*




*After fighting their way through the mass of people who were struggling to make it to their
seats as well, they eventually found Bill, Fleur, Fred, Glinda, Percy, and Penelope. Arthur and
Molly were sitting with all of the children in one of the higher levels and Charlie and George were
sitting with the players. As the two women scooted their way to their seats Lavender's mood had
started to improve. Then she noticed that Luna Lovegood was also sitting with the Weasley group.
For whatever reasons that were beyond Lavender, the Loon and Ron had remained friends even after
their break-up. Ginny sat down next to her and politely asked after her boyfriend. Lovegood pointed
to the stands opposite from them. Lavender wondered why she couldn't have sat with the arsehole
instead. She barely nodded to acknowledge the other blonde's presence. She wasn't on
speaking terms with Lovegood. The batty woman had sent over a truly monstrous engagement gift and
Ron was actually contemplating placing the “artwork” in their future home. He thought it was a
riot.*




*While Ginny and Lovegood fell into pleasant conversation, Lavender chose to focus on the
pitch instead. When Appleby's starting team was being announced to the sound of thunderous
applause Harry finally wandered over, a cagey expression on his face. Lavender made way for him on
the bench so he could sit next to his wife.*




“*Hermione isn't going to sit with us?” Ginny asked her husband as he plopped down next to
her. Lavender couldn't tell whether it was really a question or a statement.*




“*No,” was the only gruff reply she got.*




“*Oh,” said Ginny brightly as she smiled at her husband. “That's too bad.”*




*Harry missed the smile and what she said. He was craning his neck towards the direction of
the railing, trying to keep his eyes on Granger.*




“*NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME THE HIGHEST SCORING TEAM IN THE LEAGUE--THE
WIMBOURNE WASPS!”*




*The cheering was near deafening. Lavender clapped her little hands so hard that they
ached.*




“*I GIVE YOU-ADDISON!”*




*On their side of the stadium a black and yellow clad figure on a broomstick came zooming out
onto the field. Their section was shaking with all of the Wasp supporter’s excitement.*




“*IKEMAN! NORTON! PEPPERS! QUIMBY! VERDON-HALL!”*




*With each name that was announced the crowd was whipped into a frenzy. Lavender's skin
seemed to tingle from the thrill of it all. All that was left was just one more name to call
out.*




“*You know, I don't think it's such a smart idea for Hermione to be standing at that
railing like that,” Glinda said as she shared a concerned look with Harry. Harry stared at her
mutely for a second before some sort of comprehension snapped into place.*




“*Oh shit! Hermione!”*




*Harry jumped from his seat and bolted in the direction of his friend.*




*But it was too late.*




“*AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST-WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASLYYYYYYYYYYYY!”*




*Quick as a shot a yellow and black blur came flying out onto the pitch. In a split second the
heavy stomping of feet made the stands shake as dozens of young women and a few men headed towards
the railing singing.*




“Weasley is our king,

Weasley is our king

He won't let the Quaffle in

Weasley is our king.




Weasley can save anything,

He never leaves a single ring,

That's why Wasp fans always sing

Weasley is our king.”







*Ron's more avid fans, The Red Heads as they called themselves, had adopted the song as
their own not too long after Ron began playing for Wimbourne. Not one game went by when they did
not serenade their hero with his song as he confidently took the field. They usually would rush to
the railing on the side where the players would come out, a mob of people with hair charmed to
match the flame color of the Keeper. No one wanted to be in their way when they launched into their
fight song. Often times innocent bystanders got tossed around or even bruised and battered if they
happened to get trapped in the melee.*




*When Lavender first started climbing into the stands she joked to herself that it looked like
a Weasley family convention. With it being such an important game the fan turn out was enormous.
Now, with all of The Red Heads converging near the railing, it looked like they were an avalanche
of Weasleys pouring down from the heavens...in Granger's direction.*




*Maybe they'll do me a favor and just push her off, Lavender mused archly to herself.
Glinda's voice however interrupted her dark thoughts.*




“*Jesus!” shouted Glinda as she stood up. “She's going to be crushed!”*




*Their small party was all looking in Granger's direction now, horrified. She had whipped
her sunshades off and the expression on her face made it quite clear what she was feeling as
Granger realized the danger of the situation. Terror. Her mouth was contorted in a scream to form
Harry's name, but it couldn't be heard over the commotion of the crowd.*




“*Don't worry,” said Lovegood serenely. “Ronald won't let anything happen to
Hermione.”*




*No one else seemed to hear Lovegood say this, but Lavender did. For some reason those cryptic
words made Lavender's chest seize painfully as she looked at the other woman wondrously. Her
view was blocked when Ginny agitatedly jumped to her feet. With her attention being drawn from
Lovegood, Lavender followed suit.*




“*Harry come back! You'll get trampled in there! You're not going to get to her in
time!”*




*Ginny's words turned out to be prophetic. As the crowd of fans pressed themselves closer
and closer to the railing the sound of bending metal was heard. In mere seconds the rail in front
of Granger gave way with a soul chilling groan. Before Lavender's hands could reach up and
cover her eyes she saw her rival fall over.*




*It could have been a greater tragedy that day, more people had started to slide through after
Granger, but the shoddy safety charms that were supposed to prevent such an accident from happening
finally kicked in keeping the rest of the startled mass from going over. But that hardly made an
impression on Lavender's guilty mind.*




*Dear Merlin, I've killed her.*




*That was the first thought that came to her before Lavender's fevered mind began shouting
the same mantra repeatedly.*




*I take it back! I take it back! I didn't mean it! I didn't really mean for Hermione
to die! Oh, Ron forgive me!*




*The sound in the stadium was the equivalent of a sonic boom. All one could hear was
screaming, shouting, children crying. The Announcer, Lee Jordan, was trying to calm everyone down
and regain order but even with a* Sonorus *he could barely be heard above the din. Lavender
wondered if she would be deaf by the end of the day. For a moment there, when she finally dropped
her hands from her face, she had actually thought she had gone blind. All she saw was hundreds of
bright points of light. She assumed that some higher power was punishing her immediately for
wishing for her rival's death, even if it had been said in jest. But as her eyes slowly came
into focus she realized that what she had been seeing was dozens upon dozens of flash bulbs going
off.*




“*LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOU ARE WITNESSING A MONUMENTAL MOMENT,” Lee's voice boomed across
the stadium. “IT LOOKS LIKE RONALD WEASLEY DECIDED TO PLAY HIS HAND AT SEEKING TODAY. BUT INSTEAD
OF THE SNITCH HE CAUGHT A BIRD!”*




*The relieved crowd erupted into laughter and cheers. Lavender however had little to smile
about. Her lips were in a straight line as she watched her fiancée flying from the side of the
stands where the rail broke. In his arms was cradled his ex-girlfriend who appeared to be
unconscious. Harry, who had apparently brought his broom with him, was flying next to them.*




“*AND IN ANOTHER INTERESTING TURN OF EVENTS HARRY POTTER IS ON THE FIELD! WHY POTTER IS ON THE
FIELD WE DON'T KNOW, BUT THE LAST TIME HE AND WEASLEY FLEW ON A QUIDDITCH PITCH AT THE SAME
TIME WAS JANUARY 2001. WHAT A DAY FOR SURPRISES FOLKS!”*




*Suddenly the image of the two men flying side by side was put up on the huge scoreboard near
the Announcer's box. Nearly all of the spectators jumped to their feet and began furiously
applauding. The sound of that was all that was needed to rouse Granger from her faint. Her head
slowly began to rise up and as she opened her eyes her shell shocked face was what filled up the
screen next. A collective gasp rose up from the spellbound crowd.*




“*SWEET FANCY MERLIN!” Lee shouted excitedly. “IS THAT HERMIONE GRANGER?!!”*




*Lavender slowly lowered herself into her seat although those all around her were still
standing. She closed her eyes. She tried to tell herself she closed them to spare them from the
glare of all of the tiny camera flashbulbs going off continuously. Really it was to hold back any
renegade tears that tried to slip past her shut lids.*




“*LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE GOLDEN TRIO OF GRIFFINDOR ARE REUNITED AGAIN!!”*




*Well, at least Greengrass got her story, Lavender bitterly thought.*










And what a story! The game had been four days ago yet England was still all abuzz over it. It
hardly mattered that the Wasps had won the match by 80 points or that Ron had been on fire blocking
just about every goal; all anyone could talk about was Granger's sudden reemergence into their
world. More importantly everyone wanted to know the significance of her timing. The editor at Witch
Weekly stopped the presses so that the next day the front page featured a picture of Ron flying
under Granger as she fell from the sky. In the picture he caught her over and over again.
GRANGER'S BACK, BUT CAN HE KEEP-HER was the title of their story. The Daily Prophet decided to
take a slightly different approach. HERMIONE COMES HOME(WRECKING), the paper said the morning after
the game. For six pages it detailed every true and untrue exploit of the woman's love life.
Mondays headline read: WEASLEY WEDDING WILD CARD; WILL THEY OR WON'T THEY. A picture of Ron and
Lavender taken at their commencement ceremony smiled out from it as Lavender's black and white
image sneaked adoring peeks at her fiancé. Set right next to it for comparison was a picture of Ron
and Granger as they danced at Harry and Ginny's wedding. Both of them looked heartbroken.
Granger's head rested on Ron's shoulder and every few moments he would place his lips in
her hair and kiss the top of it. It was gag worthy! The tabloids like *Accio!* and The Dublin
Daily Comet had all ran similar articles within the last couple of days. The story was even being
featured in The Observer in France, The Iron Quill in Bulgaria, and in The International Seer which
was sold world wide. The Quibbler was not left out either, although their piece was buried all the
way on page ten the first day and page 15 the next. After that they dropped it, but the other
papers didn't. Every day they seemed to pose the same question; how long would it be before Ron
Weasley chucked his current fiancée for his old flame. Lavender was left wondering the same
thing.







“Oh there, there my dear,” said the Madame as Lavender continued to sob on her shoulder. She
held the younger woman to her tightly, brushing her hair back gently, as she whispered words of
endearment in Lavender's ears. After a few minutes Lavender, feeling spent, pulled back from
the older witch and tearfully gave her an embarrassed smile.




“Sorry,” she said. “Now I've ruined your robes too.”




The Madame laughed. “Bella, this is nothing that won't be cured by a freshening spell.” The
Madame then flicked her wand at herself and Lavender and instantaneously their clothes were in
order. She then pocketed her wand.




“Now tell Filomena what is wrong bella.”




For close to an hour Lavender did just that. She told the Madame about how she came to first
date Ron. When she had gotten a good look at him at the start of sixth year she thought he had
gotten quite fanciable over the summer, but the real reason for her sudden interest in him was
connected to Granger. Lavender had grown tired of the way that Little Miss Prefect acted as though
she barely tolerated associating with Parvati and herself. In the beginning Lavender and Parv
honestly tried to reach out to their other room mate; they offered her cosmetic advice, tried to
help her with that dreadful hair of hers, included her in all of their late night boy talks, but
Granger acted as though she were too good to associate with the other two Gryffindor girls. Things
completely went south between them at the start of fifth year. True Lavender had let herself get
swept away in all of the mounting anti-Harry hysteria, and she might have accused him of lying
about You Know Who's return, but she did not deserve the telling off that Granger meted out to
her. From that day on she acted as though she had nothing but disdain for Lavender. Lavender,
wanting to try and make her see that all was forgiven even joined the DA later, but the damage had
already been done. Lavender had maligned Harry and in Granger's mind was no longer worthy of
her attention. At first this bothered Lavender, she hated the idea of someone, anyone not liking
her. But eventually a bit of the prideful nature she inherited from her mother came to the
forefront. If Granger thought she was so much better then her Lavender would strike back at her
where it would hurt the most: Ron.




“I just never intended on falling in love with him,” said Lavender pitifully as she dried her
face with a handkerchief the Madame handed her.




“How does that Muggle song go? Love happen when you are busy making other plans,” the Madame
chuckled.




Lavender sniffed. “It's life,” she corrected her. “John Lennon. Don't ask me how I know
that.” Lavender smiled bashfully.




“Ah yes, but the sentiment is the same. No?”




“I thought that finally Ron and I would have a real chance, but with his ex back in the picture
I might as well give up. He would never choose me over her. She's his soul mate.”




“Says who?”




“Glenda Chittock. She dedicated an hour of sappy love songs to them last night on the
Wireless...”




The Madame scoffed at her answer. “And you think that this woman you dislike so is your
fiancé's soul mate because of that?”




“She was his first love.”




“First love does not necessarily mean forever love.”




Lavender sighed. “Well maybe Ron and I weren't meant to be a forever kind of love. Maybe
I've been just a place holder all of this time. Maybe I should just do the adult thing and step
out of the way, let Ron and Hermione be together.” Though it might kill me, thought Lavender sadly
as she fidgeted with her robes.




The Madame stared at her for what seemed like ages. Lavender began to feel foolish under the
scrutinizing green eyes. She began to bounce her weight from foot to foot nervously and was about
to ask the Madame if everything was alright when the woman broke the silence herself.




“Did you know that the ancient Greeks are the ones who came up with this whole ridiculous
nonsense of soul mates? They once believed that the original human race had been created with four
arms, four legs, and a single head that contained two faces.”




Lavender's face scrunched in confusion at the odd turn of the conversation. The only
response that she could come up with was, “Ewww.”




The Madame's eyes glittered mirthfully.




“Zeus, a drama queen if ever there was one, thought this race of mortals were far too powerful.
So he split them up. For the rest of their lives the two halves were doomed to search endlessly for
each other to feel whole.”




“That's...depressing.”




“Very,” said the Madame. “And quite an over-simplification of love in my opinion,” she
continued. “Don't get me wrong bella, I do believe there are people who simply belong together.
But to call them soul mates...cheapens it. I fall more towards the belief that love is an organic,
living thing. It needs nourishment to live and thrive. If tended, given light and air, and allowed
to grow--love can last forever.”




Lavender was captivated by the Madame's speech. She felt as though she could hardly breathe.
In her mind's eye all she could see was Ron's smiling face as the old witch talked on.




“There is another side though. Love can also be smothered or starved to death. It can be
neglected and ignored, left out in the cold to die, leaving only a frozen, shriveled corpse
behind.”




She then placed a soothing hand on Lavender's cheek and patted it.




“Do you understand what I mean?” she asked.




Lavender bewilderedly shook her head. The Madame only smiled.




“That's alright, you're still young,” she told her. “What I mean is that you have to
work for real love. And most importantly lay all of your trust in it. Do you love your Signor
Weasley, cara?”




“Madly!” Lavender said fervently.




“Then you never give up on him. Trust him,” she said simply as she looked into Lavender's
eyes. “And if you can do that you two are what is meant to be.”




Lavender saw the genuine affection for her in the Madame's eyes and nearly wept from it. But
she was no longer depressed and unhappy. Instead the Madame's words had invigorated her. Her
belief that she and Ron belonged together was renewed and the thought of that seemed to fill her
with light.




“Thank you Madame!” Lavender gushed as she pulled the Madame into a tight hug.




“Filomena,” said the Madame lightheartedly as she squeezed Lavender back.




Lavender giggled as she pulled back from her. “Filomena. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so
much!”




“It is my pleasure cara. I've been in this business far too long not to know when a couple
is meant to be. With you and your Signor Weasley there was never a question.”




“Thank you,” Lavender softly said again. She then realized that her mother and sister must have
been wondering what was taking her so long. It seemed like she had been hiding in the changing room
for ages.




“I guess it's time I took these off,” she said referring to the wedding robes she still had
on.




“Before you do I would just like to see something,” said the Madame as she dashed out of the
room. A minute later she was coming back through the curtains. In her hands was a garland of small
white flowers. The woman held it to her chest reverently for a moment before she approached
Lavender.




“When I got married...” the Madame paused to smother a giggle, “eons ago...I wore a wreath on my
head made of Madagascar jasmine. This was it. Stephanotis. They symbolize marital happiness. Most
brides prefer to wear the traditional veil. In the years long pass, a young girl about to be wed
would meet her future husband head bare, hair tumbling down her back. It was a sign that she was
his virgin, pure and untouched. Somewhere along the line we witches adopted our Muggle counterparts
use of the veil to represent our virtue. But when I married my husband I chose to wear this.”




She lifted the wreath to Lavender's head. Lavender barely blinked an eye as she bowed her
head slightly to receive it.




“I wanted to see my love clearly as I came down the aisle. I wanted to see my future as I walked
towards it.”




The Madame turned Lavender around so she could see herself. Lavender barely noticed the few
tears that slid down her face as she looked at the fairy princess, now turned queen, before
her.




“There,” said the Madame as she smiled at Lavender. “Magnifico! Just as lovely as I thought it
would be.”




With tears still glistening in her eyes Lavender tore her gaze away from the mirror.




“Madame, could you please tell my mum that I've found the robes I'll be wearing when I
get married.”




The Madame could barely contain her glee.




“Signora Brown-Pye, it would be my pleasure.”










**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~ **













After leaving Blissful Brides Lavender decided to pop over to see Ron, the Madame's advice
ringing in her ears. She apparated into his and George's flat, but was dismayed to find that he
wasn't there. To quiet her mind she decided to try and straighten the place, the two young men
were anything but neat freaks. She washed all of the dirty dishes in the kitchen and vanished the
trash, put all of Ron's Quidditch training robes in the hamper to be laundered, and dusted
around the living room. Once that was done she settled on the couch to wait for Ron. She waited all
of six minutes before she pulled out her two-way mirror to see where he was...and just who was with
him. As she opened the little pink compact and spoke Ron's name into it she prayed that he
wasn't with his ex-girlfriend.




“Lav?” came Ron's voice from the mirror as Lavender saw his tiny image appear. She smiled
down at it.




“Hi luv,” she said, trying to control her trembling lips.




“How'd things with your mum go? Was Lenore on her best behavior? I don't have to give
her another talking to, do I?” he asked as his eyes twinkled. Ron knew just how much her mother
could get under her skin.




“No. Everything was fine, no blood shed.” Ron laughed.




“Where are you?”




“The flat.” Lavender paused to gather her strength and ask her own question. “And you?” she
squeaked.




“The pitch,” was Ron's reply, making Lavender exhale gratefully. “Which Broomstick wants me
for the next cover! Can you believe it?! Me! It was a last minute thing. I've been taking
pictures all day.” His words came out in an excited rush.




“That's fabulous Ron,” she said as she shared in his infectious happiness. “Sounds like
we'll be celebrating tonight.”




“Lav!” a scandalized Ron said. “I'm not that kind of wizaed.”




“Don't be so cheeky. You don't get that again until we're officially married,” she
said giggling. “I'm going to fix you a feast tonight. Everything that's you're
favorite.”




Ron however didn't seem too enthused at the idea. This was odd. Sometimes the smell of a
simple roast could get Ron to do some chore or run some errand when even the kinkiest piece of
lingerie imaginable could not.




“What's wrong? My tenderloin with the pineapple mango salsa is usually enough to get you to
carry my shopping bags all through Diagon,” she teased. Lavender's excellent culinary skills
however didn't seem enough to tempt Ron. He had other plans apparently.




“Can I get a rain check hon?” he asked. “It's just that I was going to go over to Remus'
with Hermione and Harry later. That is if it's alright with you,” he quickly added. “Is it
alright with you?”




Lavender put on her perkiest face and lied through her teeth.




“Of course it is.”




“Are you sure?”




Lavender bravely nodded her head.




“You're the best!” said Ron as his worried face broke into a smile of relief. “Then I'll
see you tomorrow?”




She absently nodded her head up and down again.




“Great! Then I have to go sweetheart,” he said before quickly ending their call.




With a soft click the two-way was closed. “Love you too,” she said meekly.







What was Lavender to do? Her fiancé was off gallivanting with a woman who had designs on him. It
was painfully obvious. Everyone else might have bought into Granger's little story about
wanting to come home, but Lavender would not be fooled. Granger's whole act reeked of a
pathetic last ditch effort to win Ron back; the glamor girl make-over, the expensive looking
clothes, the money she was throwing around like there was no tomorrow. Granger's bitten down
nails of old gave way to perfectly manicured hands now. The former Plain Jane wore nothing but
designer clothes and was dripping in jewels. Holy Hippogriffs, she had a diamond around her neck
that was roughly the size of Rubeus Hagrid's thumbnail! And for a woman with no job and
seemingly no intent to get one she spent money as liberally as though it would never dry up.




Lavender had pointed this last fact out to Ron when they agreed to meet a few of the family for
drinks and dinner at Presto's, Granger's treat. Well, Ron was the one who had actually done
the accepting. Granger claimed that she wanted to thank Ron for saving her life. I'll bet she
wants to thank him, thought Lavender. Probably would try to “thank” him under the table if she
could get away with it, the tramp. Lavender was determined not to let Ron out of her sight the
whole night.







“*Hermione's always had money,” Ron explained easily. “Her parents were like some kind of
Healers, but for your teeth. Apparently Muggle teeth Healers make a killing.”*




“*I think she's up to something,” said Lavender as she tried to plant a seed of doubt in
Ron's mind about Granger's motives. He wasn't buying it though. He actually snapped at
her harshly.*




“*Drop it Lavender!”*







*When they got to* Presto's *later that evening there had been a brief delay at the
door. The Matre 'd had actually refused to seat them before he recognized who Ron was. After
bowing and scraping accordingly, he showed them to the table where their group was waiting. Harry,
Hermione, Glinda, and Fred were seated on one side of the booth while George and Charlie sat across
from them. When they reached the group Fred and George burst into laughter while the rest of the
table's occupants stared in stunned silence. Though Lavender had come dressed in her best
robes, Ron's get up was a complete contrast to hers. On his feet were a pair of expensive
trainers that were unlaced. His jeans were at least three sizes too big and they hung off of him
revealing a bit of his boxers with the frolicking dragons. Though Lavender loved his muscular arms,
she didn't think it was appropriate to have them on such display in his sleeveless white
t-shirt. But the topper, the thing that completed the entire ridiculous costume was the brimmed cap
Ron had cocked to an angle on his head. On it was printed the message: I Break for Fat Chicks.
Lavender had no idea what that even meant.*




*It was Granger who eventually broke the silence.*




“*Well hello there K-Fed.”*




*Glinda threw her head back as a merry stream of tears slid down her face. Her whole body
reverberated as she struggled not to laugh out loud. It was a loosing battle.*




“*Huh?”*




*Ron looked at Glinda and then Granger curiously before shaking his head.*




“*You know what, never mind. Knowing you it can’t be good.” The men's laughter soon joined
Glinda and Granger’s.*




“*Merlin’s beard Ron!” exclaimed Charlie as he eyed his youngest brother up and down. “Why on
Earth are you dressed like that? The seat of your pants is dragging the ground. I hope you didn’t
let mum see you like that.”*




*Ron looked at Charlie as though he were insane. “Are you daft?!”*




*He and Lavender slid into the plush vermilion love seat-like booth next to Charlie and
George.*




“*I had an interview with a big time celebrity reporter from the States today,” Ron told the
table excitedly. After being congratulated by everyone Glinda asked Ron the name of the publication
he was going to be featured in.*




“Warlock’s Quarterly*,” Lavender answered for him, eyes filled with pride. Those eyes then
narrowed as she set Fred and George in her sights. Both of their amusement quickly dried up. They
each slunk back in their seats and tried to avoid her gaze.*




“*Ron’s dressed like a vagrant however because someone…”*




*She looked at Fred.*




“*And his idiot brother…”*




*She looked at George.*




“*Convinced Ron that this was what wizards over in the States wore.” Lavender then crossed her
arms before her angrily.*




*Harry guffawed loudly as he teased Ron. “You just never learn, do you mate? Taking any kind
of a suggestion from those two is never a good idea.”*




“*Well they were right actually,” Granger said. “I often saw people who were so obviously
magical and they were rarely ever wearing robes. None of them kept it as...um...'gangsta',”
she paused to stifle a chortle, “as all of that though.” Glinda burst out laughing again.*




“*Eh, the writer thought it was funny,” Ron replied, unaffected by the ribbing. “He loved me.
What was it he said, ‘Ron Weasley is a bona fide star in his own right now’. Saving your arse
yesterday didn’t hurt either.” Ron then winked at her. Lavender pursed her lips irritably.*




“*You’re welcome. Next time I’ll arrange to be tied to a set of train tracks.”*




*Ron laughed, stood up to bend across the table, and laid a smacking kiss on Granger’s
forehead. She squirmed and tossed her head back and forth complaining about icky boy germs. Harry
hooted at their act. Lavender didn’t think it was all that funny. For all Ron was ignoring his
fiancée he would have been showing the whole restaurant all of his lily white arse if it hadn't
been for her! When he had refused to change his get up after the interview she cast a spell so that
his pants would at least stay up.*




*A waiter came to take their drink orders. Ron and Fred’s drink of choice was Firewhiskey.
Harry, George, and Charlie ordered a large pitcher of beer; 'Ye Olde Troll. Granger asked to
see the wine list. After perusing it for a few moments and seeing that the restaurant had some
Muggle varieties, asked for a bottle of the Chateau d’Yquem. Glinda licked her lips; she seemed to
approve of Hermione’s selection. Not that they offered, Lavender preferred to have a Blue Fairitini
herself. When the drinks were floated out the whole table wasted no time getting properly sloshed.
Glinda and Granger practically had the bottle of wine emptied in minutes. With every glass Glinda’s
mouth got filthier and filthier while Granger’s giggles rose higher and higher. She sounded like a
hyena. The men were content to sit back and let the two women dominate the conversation. Feeling
left out, Lavender silently nursed her drink.*




“*Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”*




*Glinda was practically standing up in her seat. She was gawking at a very attractive man and
his date seated far across the room.*




“*Is that Jude Law sitting over there?” she asked in wonder.*




*Granger craned her neck to see who Glinda was looking at.*




“*Looks like. Little Miss Size Two however does not appear to be his fiancée. Men!”*




“*I do believe I resemble that remark,” quipped George. Granger threw her napkin ring at
him.*




*Glinda was still reeling from her discovery.*




“*Do you mean to tell me that Jude-bleeding-Law is a wizard?!” she asked as she looked around
the table.*




“*Well, yeah,” Granger answered. She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought everyone knew that. I
mean come on; he was in like fifty movies in this last year alone. That bloke has got a Time-Turner
stashed somewhere or my name is Pythia the Portly. And it’s not.”*




“*I remember Law,” shared Charlie after tipping back his mug. “He was a Hufflepuff in my year.
Never met a mirror that he didn’t like. He ended up leaving Hogwarts mid term. Said that the yellow
in his robes clashed with his eyes.”*




“*A valid complaint if ever there were one,” said Glinda with a nod of her head making Granger
giggle.*




“*Goodness, he is utterly fuckable.”*




*Ron’s jaw nearly hit the ground. He looked across the table at his brother.*




“*Fred, are you just going to stand by and let your wife talk like that in front of
you?!”*




*Glinda folded her arms and sneered at Ron. “And just what is he supposed to do about it Fifty
Pence? Put me 'cross his knee and spank me?”*




*George snorted.*




“*She’d enjoy that too much.”*




*Fred pulled his wife close to his side and grinned. “It’s alright. Law is on the list,
right?” When Glinda nodded her head he added, “He’s allowed then.”*




“*Allowed?” questioned Charlie.*




“*What list?” asked Harry. Lavender had to admit, she was curious too.*




“*Oh nothing too big, Freddy and I each just put together a list of the three people we both
are allowed to shag if given a chance.”*




*It took a moment for the statement to sink in.*




“*You’re both bloody bonkers.”*




“*Hang on Ron; it’s genius if you think about it really,” said Fred. “You can’t cheat if the
person isn’t on the list.”*




“*That sounds like Vengadasalaam reasoning if ever I've heard it.”*




*Glinda pointed her middle finger at her friend. Lavender was pretty damned sure that she
wasn’t telling Granger that she was #1. Granger found the whole thing hilarious though.*




“*So who made your illustrious Top 3?” she asked as she licked a droplet of the spirit off of
her bottom lip. Out of the corner of her eyes Lavender saw Harry shift in his seat with
unease.*




“*Are you ok Harry?” Lavender asked him. Everyone turned to look at Harry.*




“*Yes,” he managed to get out before lowering his voice and answering the question again.
Feeling uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on him he turned to Glinda.
“So...erm...list...”*




“*Well, pretty boy Law, for one. He’s at the very bottom though. It used to be Hayden
Christensen, I mean who wouldn’t want that light saber pointing at them? But I began to feel like a
letch lusting after such a young boy.”*




*Granger scoffed. “You’re not that old.”*




“*No, but he looks like he has no hair down there. Hair down there is very important.”*




“*Here, here” responded Granger as she raised her glass in toast. The two of them then clinked
their wine goblets together.*




“*Hermione!” cried Harry and Ron. They sounded shocked, horrified, and a trifle amused. All at
the same time.*




“*If I had a set of pearls I’d be clutching them right about now,” Harry joked, causing her to
giggle louder. Harry then shook his head.*




“*That’s it young lady, no more wine for you.” He then reached for her glass.*




“*I’ve only had three glasses,” Granger whigned as she tried to throw back the remaining
drabbles in her glass. Harry eventually rested it away from her.*




“*I know. I should have taken the bottle away from you two glasses ago,” he said lightly as he
placed his lips on the goblet where her faint lipstick print was and drank the rest of its
contents. The action came off oddly sensual to Lavender. Granger seemed in a daze as she watched
the muscles in Harry's neck cord, then undulate as the liquid went down. Ron's voice seemed
to finally shake her from her spell.*




“*I don’t think I like the idea of you women trying to turn us poor blokes into sexual
objects,” Ron said sarcastically as he motioned for the waiter to refill his tumbler. They all
laughed, Granger the loudest. What was she trying to prove? Show-off!*




*Lavender made a show of grabbing hold of Ron's hand as he brought it back to the table.
Ron gave her a bemused smile, but patted her hand tenderly as he turned his attention to his newly
freshened glass. Lavender knew Granger had been paying attention to it all because she rolled her
eyes.*




“*You know, I don’t think I would mind it so much,” Charlie said mirthfully. “Being treated as
a sex object, that is. Turnabout is fair play as they say, right?” He looked across the table at
Granger and she grinned and nodded her head.*




“*Well I say objectify me all you want. Hell, until you’re blue in the face! And twice on
Sundays, if you like.”*




*Granger laughed uproariously as did Glinda, Fred, George, and Ron. Harry didn't seem to
find it as amusing though.*




“*Charlie, you flirt!” Granger scolded in jest.*




*Charlie did his best to look innocent.*




*Harry once again tried to steer the conversation back on track, this time with a little more
force. His tone was annoyed as he said, “As you were saying Glinda.”*




“*Well Colin Firth is my number two.”*




*Granger's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she closed them languidly. “Mmm…Mr.
Darcy. Good choice!”*




“*I know! That’s the kind of man you’d give up Jimmy Choo shoes, indoor plumbing, and suffrage
for.”*




*Lavender couldn't stop herself from laughing then. Despite her reluctance from earlier
she found herself slipping into the ease of the conversation and enjoying it greatly. She even
shocked herself by understanding a good deal of what Granger and Glinda were talking about.*




“*So who’s number one then Glinda?” she asked, joining in the easy going fun. Glinda's
eyes twinkled at Lavender as she answered her.*




“*James Bond.”*




*Granger's brow furrowed. “Pierce Brosnan?”*




“*No, James Bond.”*




“*Oh, you mean Sean Connery,” she tried again.*




“*No,” said Glinda irritably as she poured herself out another glass of the d'Yquem. “I
mean James-bloody-Bond. You know, shaken, not stirred and all that.”*




“*But you do realize—“*




“*Believe me Blondie, she realizes,” Fred snickered.*




“*So who made the cut for you Fred?” asked Charlie. Fred wasted no time in answering. The
names rolled off his tongue as easily as his jinxes.*




“*Elikapeka Kapulani, Inez Toledo, and Nwadinobi Ouedraogo.”*




*Granger's bewildered expression changed once Harry filled the details in for her.*




“*Chasers for the O’ahu Balls of Fire, the Guadalajara Gravediggers, and the Seeker for the
Silver Spears of Swaziland.”*




“*Oh.” Once that sunk in she turned in her seat to look at Glinda. “The amount of thought that
you two have put behind all of this is frightening.”*




“*Thank you.” Glinda didn't even miss a beat. She then nudged Fred. “But dear husband
of* *mine don’t think I didn’t see you practically licking the screen the other night when we
were watching* Die Another Day*.”*




*If Fred was ashamed of his actions his playful grin didn't belie it. “That Berry chit
isn’t that hard on the eyes, I must admit.”*




“*Yes, yes luv. But unless one of those other little bitches gets chucked the hell off poor
Halle just won’t make the cut, now will she?” She then kissed him grandly on the lips as everyone
at the table laughed. Fred pulled her in closer.*




“*I take it back,” said Ron as he shook his head. “The both of you are so far from bonkers
that you’re not even in the same room with it anymore.”*




*The couple however ignored him and everyone else around them. Lavender had thought it was a
sweet moment. Then Granger had to go and completely ruin it.*




“*Aww, I think it’s kind of sweet. The two of them got to marry their best friend. Who
wouldn’t want that? I know I would,” she wistfully said, watching Fred and Glinda snog away. There
was only a hint of envy in her voice, but Lavender caught it.*




*She might has well have thrown the gauntlet down. But at last Lavender had indisputable proof
that Granger was after Ron again. And she wasn't the only one who knew. Lavender had caught the
way Harry's head snapped towards Granger when she had spoken. Granger didn't notice because
she was talking to Charlie across the table. Harry appeared to study her for a moment before
retreating into himself. It looked like something was weighing heavily on his mind and he was
trying to sort it all out. Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked across the table at Lavender and then
reddened when their eyes met. Guiltily, he swiftly cut his eyes away from hers. Probably was coming
to the realization that his best mate is a slag of the first order, thought Lavender.*




*And not a very smart one, for all her hype. The alcohol seemed to have loosened her tongue to
the point that she let that slip. Really, what best friend could she have been talking
about?*




*But in a way Lavender was glad that it was all out in the open. The battle lines could be
clearly drawn now. The only question now was how to handle the situation. She couldn't bad
mouth Granger to Ron, he wouldn't stand for it. She couldn't outright accuse her or tell
her off like Ginny suggested, Granger might then bring up things that Lavender rather not have made
public. Just what could she do to make sure that Ron stayed with her? That he knew that she was the
right one for him? What would it take? What would Lavender have to do?*










She felt a warm, calloused hand gently stroke her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw a pair of
blue eyes lovingly staring down at her.




“Ron,” she groggily murmured as she pressed her cheek into the caress. She felt a weight settle
beside her.





“No, it is I, your Argentinean lover Rrrrrrr-ramon.”





Lavender pressed down on her lips tightly so as not to smile.





“Well Rrrrrrr-ramon, as much as it hurts me to have to tell you this, I don't think
you're really from Argentina. You’re accent is the worst I’ve ever heard.”





“Ah, that is only because you are not be hearing Sanjay from Calcutta yet,” said Ron in a
horrible Hindi accent which made the Latin one sound authentic in contrast.





“You are a nut,” she said as she playfully swatted his arm. They both laughed.





“Yeah, but I’m your nut.”





Her head felt giddy and light at his words.





Lavender pulled her eyes off of him and pulled herself up into a reclining position on the
couch, leaning back on her bent arms. She realized that she must have fallen asleep in the flat
after she talked to him earlier. Ron was sitting next to her.





“It’s still light outside.”





“It’s only four.”





Her brows furrowed. “I thought you were going over to Mr. Lupin’s,” she said.





“I was. But then your voice kept playing over and over again in my head. You sounded so sad. So
I decided to ditch Harry and Hermione and spend time with you instead.” He then gave her a quirky
grin.





“With me?” Lavender asked, eyes going glossy with tears.





“Yeah, with you,” as though there was little doubt. “I mean, more then likely all we would have
wound up doing was talking about the good old days. Which were good, for the most part. But I think
I like today worlds better.”





With his thumb he wiped at a lonely tear drop on her cheek.







“So are you going to tell me why you were so sad earlier?”







“I wasn’t sad.”





“C’mon, I think I know my LavLav pretty well to know when she's down.” He folded his arms
and gave her an expectant look.







“I guess I just was having a few of those pre-wedding jitters you hear so much about. Just some
stupid, unfounded fears. But I’m working through them.”





The answer was enough to satisfy Ron.





“So,” she said coyly, “did you come here straight to see me?”





“No.”





Lavender's cheery expression faded.





“I spent some time alone with this beautiful blonde who has got me wrapped around her pinky.” He
paused a moment before adding, “Violet sends hugs and kisses by the way. I stopped at mum and
dad’s. The midget was just getting in from school.”





Lavender's mouth hung open dumbly before she tackled Ron and pushed him down on the couch.
He landed on his back with Lavender on top of him. Both were giggling like children as they tumbled
around on the sofa. The rough housing became a hug, which segued into a peck on the lips, which
eventually developed into a heavy bout of snogging. After briefly debating whether or not a hand
job counted as sex and deciding in a land slide vote of two to none that it most certainly did
**NOT**, the two cuddled as Lavender laid back against Ron.





How could she have been so stupid? Lavender wondered to herself. Here she was, so concerned
about what Granger was plotting and planning, that she had lost sight of what was truly important.
Ron had never given her any reason not to have any faith in him. When they got back together after
Cornelius' death Lavender never felt that she was a consolation prize for Ron. He proved to her
time and again that she was the only one he wanted to be with. He wanted to be a real family with
her and Violet and in just a few weeks that really would be. Ron gave no hint that he wanted to
change his mind, so why was she worrying herself sick thinking that he would?









“Ron?”





By the sound of his breathing in her ear he had just been drifting off to sleep. “Hmm?” he
said.







“I’m thirsty.” She said it again after there was a brief pause that was punctuated with a
snore.







“There should be some butterbeer in the fridge,” his tired voice informed her. Lavender turned
her body around slightly so she could look at his face, his dear freckled face, that was still and
in repose.







“Actually I was thinking you could floo Mr. Lupin’s and see if Harry and Hermione would like to
meet up somewhere after. The four of us could go to The Cauldron for a drink or something.”







One surprised blue eye shot open. “You mean that?”







“Harry and Hermione are important to you. What ever is important to you is important to me. What
you care about I want to care about too.”







Both of Ron's eyes were open now as he looked at her with a trace of skepticism. Lavender
really couldn't blame him for the doubt.





“Even Hermione?”





She curled her fingers in his hair and looked at him earnestly. “I can try. I’m willing to work
on it, for you. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy. You make me happy...” she said, a
mischievous glint in her eyes.





“...Rrrrrrr-ramon.”





A laugh from deep in his belly made Lavender bounce up and down.





“How did I get so lucky?” he asked as he pulled her down and laid her head on his chest.





Lavender shrugged as the corners of her lips turned up.





“Maybe you did something really good in another life.”













**Love conquers all, even Karma.**

**Unknown**
















***A/N: **And there it is, Lavender in all of her whiny, crybaby, insecure, but madly in
love glory. Can you tell that I actually love her? I had a ball with this chapter. I adore my girl
Herms, but it was kinda fun putting myself into another character's head who doesn't and
going to town on her. LOL!*

*Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to; our two favorite Aurors have a
"touching" moment of bonding, to her dismay a face from Hermione's past catches up to
her in England, we return to Boadicea's story, and Harry finally starts to catch a clue! Yay!
Usually I would give you an estimation of how long it should take me to get it out, but I usually
get pie on my face when I do. So all I will say is don't think I've abandoned the story if
it takes me a while. Besides, I live in Miami and this is Huricane season. I'm sure my lights
will be out for days at a time this Summer. So don't worry!*

*A few more points of interest...*

*1) The leaves and flowers that were being sewn into Lavender's robes were from the
Hawthorne (also called Whitethorn) tree. It is closely associated with witch craft and
fertility.*

*2) Weasley is Our King is from Order of the Phoenix of course. There was no way I was going
to let my chance go to use that slip by. LOL!*

*3) "Life is just what happens to you, while your busy making other plans" is from
John Lennon's Beautiful Boy(Darling Boy). Or as I call it, the Mr. Holland's Opus song.
Don't mock me!*

*4) The soulmate theory is from Plato's Symposium.* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plato%27s_Symposium

*5) The Stephanotis is usually used in bridal bouquets.*

*Just to make sure it's clear, Mr. Brown did not die because of the blood bond. But if
you've guessed that the level of illness or pain of the offended spouse varies depending on the
degree of the “cheating” you are correct.*

*I originally wrote the actual Quidditch match for the story, but when it was finished I made
an interesting discovery...It suuuuucked! I could not do it justice, which isn't that
surprising, I usually fast forward those sections in the movie. Hee. But I like what I did instead
and I hope it was action enough for you. I do tip my hat to all fanfic writers who can write
Quidditch matches. It's hard!*

*The pot shots I take at Jude Law are all in fun by the way. My room mate and I used to joke
around that Jude Law had to have a Time-Turner to have been in all of those movies he was in last
year. I just thought wouldn't it be funny if he actually was a wizard. Yes, I actually take
time to think about things like that. Fear me. *g**

*I think that's it. As always if you have a question I will answer.*







*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review. Just
to let you know usually I answer reviews when I'm about to update, but since I really do like
answering them all it takes awhile when I do it in one sitting. So if you see me reply to a review
that doesn't mean that I'm updating. Sorry, I have to do it like that now. *














































































21. Chapter 16
--------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N:** First off allow me to Snoopy Dance for a moment. ::snoopy dance snoopy dance:: I
know some folk can put out two chapters in a week or update four times a month however I am
insanely happy that I managed two for June. I just really wanted to give y'all this Harry
chapter quickly after you were so great about the Lavender chapter. I love most of this although as
usual I feel I ran out of steam near the end, but hope y'all can still find something to like.
It's longer then I would like, but not massive enough to embarrass me.

I do want to mention that I made a few plot errors in the last chapter. I know y'all get on
me about my grammar and spelling and I don't blame you, but what gets my goat is when I make
timeline mistakes. Usually I type with my outline pulled up, but for some reason I didn't last
chap and thus made a few errors. The article that Luna wrote about the shady security charms at the
stadium should have said Friday's Quibbler. I mention a picture of Ron and Hermione dancing at
Harry and Ginny's wedding. It should have said wedding reception. Sorry for that.

Although I know you guys have been avidly playing along and following the story, I do worry that
this chapter might be a little harder to piece together. So just to make it clear the first
flashback in this chapter takes place the night that Hermione tells Draco about the Discordium
(that would be chp.14 A&B) while the second one at the end is set relatively simultaneous with
the last chapter(Lavender trying on her wedding robes). Thanks for playing! :)

As always the reviews rock my socks! I'm glad you guys seemed to enjoy the last one,
here's hoping that you enjoy this one cause it's gonna be a wild ride!

And thank you **Sir Padfoot** and **murpsmine** for always coming through for me!

**Warning:** None really. W0ot! Although it may be a bit controversial. Some may find it a
bit angsty. I hope you might find a lil' H/Hr fluff too though. Hell, there's even a little
Harry & Draco fluff. * g *

**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

*Thursday, 06/09/05*







That clock is mocking me. 





Harry's eyes had been glancing religiously at the double sided wall clock mounted above the
door to Interrogation Berth C for the last fifteen minutes. Since entering the sweltering, close
spaced room he had been on edge and the belief that the chrome plated chronometer was playing him
for a fool was not helping matters. The clock had to be mocking him! Really it was the only line of
reasoning. Every time its ivory face swiveled around in its bracket the alternate side would taunt
him. FIVE MINUTES SINCE THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED SHIT FACE, it would say in neon green wording.
How pleasant. Really, just whose brilliant idea was it to buy a clock with an attitude problem
anyway? Harry ignored the fact that the mind games the clock employed were for the benefit of the
criminals and suspects that were led into the room for questioning. Sometimes a perp would think
that they had been held for little more then ten minutes when really a day might have passed them
by. But this fact barely weighed on Harry's mind. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the
floo call he was expecting at any moment. The smart arsed timepiece however was driving him insane!
And though he couldn't be sure, he had an unrelenting suspicion that the goddamned minute hand
had not moved since the last time he looked up. In fact he was almost inclined to believe that it
had actually gone backwards.


Fucking clock!




“Do you two dunderheads have even the slightest idea what idiots you are?!”





Harry's eyes drifted away from the clock, and instead of obsessing on the time, he tried to
focus his attention on his partner as the irritable blond laid into the rooms other occupants.
Draco Malfoy's pale complexion was almost ashen and his gray eyes looked like thunder heads had
swooped in and replaced the actual pupils. As Malfoy railed away at the two young people seated
across the table from him Harry casually leaned against the wall, arms folded, and continued to
hold his peace while the drama unfolded before him. If the observation window by the door
hadn't been spelled to look as though the room were empty any passerby would have thought that
they were being treated to a show of Good Auror, Bad Auror. Thing was Jacoby and O'Shea, the
unlucky pair that was getting the business end of Malfoy's sharp tongue, were actually members
of the Department as well.





“No, really,” began Malfoy again, “do you even have a fucking clue?!”





Jacoby tentatively raised his hand.





“Um, sir--”





Malfoy's eyes bore down on him as he rose from his seat and braced his arms against the top
of the table. His hands were resting on the Cadmus case file.





“Did I tell you that you could speak rookie?!”




Jacoby's hand plopped down limply in his lap.




“Do you two great brain trusts even understand the enormity of this situation?! We are on the
verge of what could possibly be an International incident!”




Both Jacoby and O'Shea sat by meekly as Malfoy's eyes raked back and forth between
them.




“Well?! Do you even have anything to say for yourselves?” he barked.





“Auror Malfoy,” O'Shea began hesitantly, her voice coming out as little more then a squeak.
She cast an unsure glance towards her partner, but finding no help there, tried to work up the
courage to try again. “Sir, we can exp--”





“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”





“Well alright then,” she mumbled haplessly.





Malfoy's hands began to pluck angrily at the bit of hair he had on the top of his head.





“Do you two useless sacks of shit mean to tell me that you didn't know that all the stupid
Muggle-y fairy tales about Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, jolly old Saint-fucking-Nick or whatever
other pansy arsed names they've used through out the years were actually real?!”





Malfoy scanned both of their faces for a moment, eyes narrowed, and waited for some sort of
response. When it looked like there would be none forthcoming he reached for the glass of water
that had been sitting in front of Jacoby and threw it against the far wall behind the two Aurors
causing each to jump in their seats.





Harry leaned in slightly from the wall. “I'd answer that one if I were you mates,” he said
helpfully before taking up his indifferent pose again.





“Well, the thing is...”





“Auror Malfoy, if you would just give Peggy and me a chance to tell you...”





“...it's all been an honest mistake really...”





“...we had no idea...”





“NO BLOODY IDEA?!” boomed Malfoy wrathfully.




O'Shea's glass of water met the same fate as Jacoby's.




“We're talking sixth year History of Magic you dumbarses! What did you do, sleep through
it?!”





Though he tried valiantly, Harry could not stop the ill-timed snort that escaped from him.
Malfoy gave him a dirty look before turning back to the younger Aurors, but Harry couldn't help
but feel some sympathy for the two kids. Catching a bit of rest during Binns' class was a long
held Hogwarts tradition. Hell, when the shriveled up ghost started droning away even Hermione was
known to take a short kip, though she steadfastly maintained that she was merely resting her eyes.
Harry really couldn't fault Jacoby and O'Shea for committing a crime that he or Ron would
have easily been guilty of themselves.




The reason behind Malfoy's tirade was currently sitting in Interrogation Berth D being
watched over by Romilda Vane as a favor to Harry. Actually the hacked off Bavarian was ranting and
raving away in a strange goulash of languages that would baffle any linguist, but with her ears
plugged and her concentration focused on her nail buffer, Romilda hardly noticed. Luckily Zelig
Klaussen had been relieved of his wand before he was brought in so all of the threats he was
issuing were empty for the moment. However as Malfoy had stated before they had the makings of a
catastrophe on their hands!







Zelig Klaussen was the descendant of a line of wizards who also were closely related to the
Eldar, the higher Elves. They called themselves the Álfari. Unlike their Eldar and wizard cousins,
the Álfari felt it was their duty to help Muggles. Some chose to fight alongside them in great
wars. Some simply would help a poor struggling milliner or shoemaker make ends meet. The Klaussens
were a more adventurous sort; they were demon hunters and one demon in particular. The dynasty;
which could trace their lineage as far back as ancient Anatolia and would eventually spread to
modern day Austria, the Netherlands, Germany, and beyond, was a clan that hunted the villages of
Central Europe in search of krampus demons. The red skinned krampus was a cloven footed, two horned
beast that possessed a foot long tongue and terrorized small Muggle hamlets. The krampus would
crawl out of the pits of hell each year during the winter solstice to mate with any poor,
unprotected women that crossed its path and spread its demon seed across the lands. He was a horny
little bugger, and how! Of course every now and then the creature would find a willing victim; the
krampus did possess a foot long tongue after all. For the most part Muggles lived in fear of him.
Especially children. When the krampus broke into a home it would often slit open the bellies of any
and all small children as they slept or stuff them up the flue before they were fully awake. The
sound of a crying child had the power to drive the krampus into impotency. The demon would kill any
little ones in the town first, and then try to have its way with their mothers afterwards. Wizard
families had long possessed the means to ward off the krampus, a well aimed Patronus did the trick
every time, but their Muggle counterparts were not so lucky. For centuries the Klaussen family did
their best to thwart the demons. One night a year Klaussens from all over would journey far and
wide looking for the beasts and having found one, its head would be chopped off and thrown in a
magical bottomless sack. If some child happened to witness the event, the Álfari would buy the
child's silence with some sweet or small token before being on his way. Despite the bribery the
stories of "The Klaussen" who traveled the world in one single night still managed to
spread from the old world and into the new. Harry never quite understood just how Muggles
eventually turned him into the obese bloke with the reindeer fetish and the army of toy making
house-elves he was today, but he had come to accept long ago that Muggles were just dotty about
some things in general.





The Álfari usually married within their own family groups which led to a few distinct traits
emerging in certain clans. With the Klaussens, though higher Elves tended to fall into the tall and
willowy variety due to the strain of human ancestry the Klaussens were a very short, roly poly
bunch. Neither did they possess eternal life or youth. In fact a snowy white beard usually signaled
the onset of puberty. The women were even known to grow a whisker or two. Zelig Klaussen was a
jolly looking old fellow who was nearing the end of his years at 210 and possessed a beard that
nearly reached his knees. It was the envy at many a family gathering.






It also gave him a passing resemblance to Ptolemy Cadmus.







“You see, I just want to make sure that I have the right of it, is all,” continued Malfoy, words
oozing sarcasm. “I mean, Klaussen just happens to pop off to have some alone time at a spa. Who can
blame him for wanting to have a mani and a pedi, what with him usually knee deep in demon guts?
I'm sure that when you two bumbling oafs stunned him from behind, tackled him to the ground,
confiscated his wand, and stuffed a bloody sock in his mouth he just thought he was getting the
Platinum Package!”







“Aurors Jacoby and O'Shea,” said Harry, rubbing at the spot on his nose just under the
bridge of his glasses, trying to make some sense out of the whole debacle, “besides forgetting that
Munich is outside our jurisdiction, didn't it occur to you that Klaussen didn't speak
English?”







O'Shea turned to face Harry. “Squad Leader Potter, sir, I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess
Donovan and I just got carried away. Knowing how important capturing Cadmus is, I'm afraid we
got a little ahead of ourselves. We thought we had a clean collar. I honestly thought that Mr.
Klaussen was Cadmus and that he was just trying to throw us off by using a clever ruse.”







“A clever ruse?!”







Judging by Malfoy's disgusted sneer Harry could see that his partner found the woman's
answer ... lacking.







“O'Shea, I sure hope you're a better lay then you are an Auror, because you have got to
be the dumbest cun--”







The rest of the insult was lost in the sound of O'Shea's affronted gasp and the scraping
noise of Jacob's chair being pushed across the stone floor as the younger man stood up from his
seat and glared hostilely at Malfoy.







“Heel Malfoy!” said Harry sternly, effectively calling Malfoy off and calming down Jacoby who
took his seat again. He had let his partner blow off his steam, but enough was enough. When he
received the inter office memo from Jacoby telling him that Cadmus had been brought in Harry nearly
ran over several Ministry employees trying to get back to Level 2. As soon as he got a good look at
the 'suspect' his enthusiasm withered away so fast he felt as though someone had let the
air out of him. When Malfoy started tearing into the two Aurors responsible for the mess Harry let
him. Malfoy enjoyed yelling at people and Jacoby and O'Shea deserved a good telling off. Harry
would have been lying if he said he wasn't just as hacked off, but he was the Squad Leader and
although Malfoy was basically his second in command he couldn't allow him to abuse the two
Aurors any longer. He pushed himself away from the wall and approached the table.







“I believe Jacoby and O'Shea understand the error they have made.”







Malfoy scoffed at this. “Do you now? Well I wish they would help me understand how they were
able to mistake this son of a bitch here,” he said as he reached for the file and pulled out a copy
of the sketch of the real Cadmus, “for that five foot four fat fuck in the next room?!” He waved it
around before throwing it back down on the table. Jacoby and O'Shea both hung their heads in
shame.







“I ought to bust you both down to the Fourth Squad.”







The reaction to Malfoy's threat was instantaneous.







O'Shea's head snapped up and she looked horrified as she spoke. “But Squad Leader Potter
is our Division Lead!”







“You can't do that!” Jacoby shouted belligerently.







“Oh yes I can,” said Malfoy.







“No you can't,” Harry said in a bored tone. Malfoy was always threatening to chuck someone
off of their team.







“Fine,” he snitted like some spoiled child, folding his arms across him. “Potty will do it
then.”







Harry merely rolled his eyes at the statement. “Potty will do no such thing. The only person
with the authority to demote an Auror would be Commander Hanes, but Hanes will never know about any
of this because as far as the four people in this room are concerned today's little mishap
never happened. Am I making myself understood?”







Harry took a moment to look each and every one of them in the eye just so they could understand
that he meant business. His gaze fell on Malfoy last. “Am I?”









His partner's lips thinned indignantly before saying, “What Bavarian?”







“Good.” Harry was smart enough to conceal the smirk that threatened to appear. Malfoy however
still wouldn't shut up about the whole thing.









“Just tell me this, what were you two even doing in Erding at that spa? O'Shea, you're
supposed to be on medical leave. And Jacoby, I thought Shacklebolt borrowed you for that case his
Squad has been working in Dover?”







“Squad Leader Shacklebolt told me that he wouldn't need another Metamorphmagus sir.” Though
Malfoy asked the question Jacoby directed the answer towards Harry.









“Auror Lupin is b-back from her leave, you see. And ... w-well...” Jacoby went on, stumbling
over his words as his eyes briefly held with O'Shea's, “P-Peggy owled me about how l-lonely
she was over there in Munich all be herself and...”







The sound of Malfoy's amused snicker stopped Jacoby from finishing. Both he and O'Shea
slunk down nervously and at first Harry wasn't sure what had caused their discomfort. Malfoy
being the dear that he was, provided the answer shortly.







“You two are fucking.” Something that resembled a grin, but was more like a sneer spread across
his face from ear to ear.







The couple's matching pink cheeks confirmed for Harry the truth is Malfoy's
assessment.







“Ok Malfoy, shove off. Leave them alone!”







“Potter, you and I both know how dangerous a situation like this could be,” he argued, turning
to Harry. He then faced the two younger Aurors again. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed?!
There is no fraternization between partners and for good reason! Let's say that Potter and I
were fucking--”







“Let's not,” Harry said wryly.







“The relationship you share with your partner must always maintain a steady balance. When
working a case your life is in their hands. You have to trust your partner implicitly and you
can't allow petty outside matters complicate that alliance. You're supposed to concentrate
on being an extra set of eyes and ears and have their back. Not try to figure out how to get them
on their back,” he said as he gave Jacoby a pointed look.







O'Shea worriedly looked up at Harry. “Are we going to get written up?”









Harry sighed. “Look guys, far be it from me to tell anyone who they should or shouldn't
love...”







Though Harry was facing the couple he could see the revolted look on Malfoy's face from the
corner of his eye.







“...but as much issue I have with Auror Malfoy's methods of getting a point across I
can't fault his sentiment.”







Jacoby and O'Shea shared an apprehensive look, and then turned back towards their
superior.







“I'm not going to put you on report. However I will suggest to Commander Hanes that you two
be reassigned to new partners.”







It was a fair solution and both Jacoby and O'Shea's relieved expressions reflected this.
They both stood from their seats.





“Oh thank you Har--” began O'Shea before her hand clamped over her mouth and she realized
her slip-up. “I mean, thank you Squad Leader Potter,” she said as she held out her hand to
Harry's. He shook it, and then shook Jacoby’s hand as well.







“Thank you for your understanding sir. As always I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve
on **Potter's** Posse,” he said. He made sure to look at Draco briefly when he emphasized
Harry's name.







“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” Malfoy bellowed sending both Aurors scurrying for the door and out
the room. His gray eyes followed them before turning to Harry.







“Why don't you just tuck them in and read them a bedtime story next time.”







Harry ignored him. One of Malfoy's constant criticisms, when he wasn't mocking
Harry's hair, was that he was far too easy on the Aurors that were under his command. In truth
Harry never cared for holding a position of leadership. When he first joined the Department all he
really wanted to do was go out in the field, do his job to the best of his ability, and not worry
about stupid office politics. When the Squad Leader position was foisted on him however one of the
things he prided himself on was that he tried to be a fair leader. He listened to what his Aurors
had to say and he only used his authority when he felt the situation called for it. Really, Malfoy
was the only one that ever got any harsh treatment from him and that was only because they were so
used to aggravating each other that it was almost a reflex action with them now. It was hardly the
battle of wills that it used to be.







“One doesn't have to be a tyrant to be a good leader.” Harry settled next to Malfoy and
turned to lean back against the table. Malfoy, arms still folded, turned so that he could face in
the same direction.







“Thank you oh wise one. Next time I run into Caligula at the baths I'll be sure to pass that
one on.”







“Shut up Malfoy!”







For a moment both stewed in their own thoughts. It was Harry that eventually broke the
silence.







“Dammit! I almost got my hopes up there for a moment,” said Harry dismally. “It’s never taken us
this long to bring in a perp. Cadmus is somewhere having a good laugh at our expense and now with
Hermione's picture on the cover of every paper...”







Harry couldn't even finish the statement, he was that perturbed by the situation. He sighed
defeatedly.







“If you’re so worried, maybe we should just tell Hermione about the case and --”







“No!” said Harry bluntly.







“But if she's in danger from the toe-rag, and I'm not even so sure that she is mind you,
at least she would know what's going on and --”







“I said no!” He wasn’t about to add this Cadmus mess to whatever other drama Hermione might have
gotten herself into. If only he would get that damned floo call already.









Malfoy looked at him and said, “Hermione doesn't need for you to treat her like a
child.”







“As though you're some expert on what Hermione wants or needs.” The words were spoken
arrogantly and punctuated with a dismissive wave of the hands. Malfoy's eyes glittered
hatefully for a moment and he opened his mouth, on the cusp of saying something. Harry saw it
plainly on his face and almost welcomed the reprieve from their current troubles a spirited row
with Malfoy would provide. But before the heated words could fall from Malfoy's lips he clamped
them down and swallowed whatever he was going to say.







“What are we going to do about the fat Bavarian fairy?” he asked instead. The tension in the
room dissipated quickly.







Harry folded his arms and looked at the clock over the door again. SUCK IT, it said. Harry shook
his head cheerlessly and looked up at the ceiling. Well that suggestion certainly wasn't going
to help solve matters.









“That’s Álfari, Malfoy. And I don’t have a clue. Do you know that there are over 34 common
Elvish dialects?” he asked tonelessly. “And the Álfari don't even have a name for theirs.”







“We're fucked.”







Harry couldn't deny Malfoy's succinct observation. Instead he looked to him, hoping to
find a solution for their dilemma.







“Don't we have a bloke on our team who's three quarters Álfari or something? Maybe he
could talk to Klaussen,” he said hopefully.







“Krispens,” Malfoy answered. “He claims his great-grandmother was one. Never stops flapping his
jaw about it, the plonker,” he added for good measure. “Fur face is a notorious brown noser.
He'll sell us down the river to Hanes in the Arse in a heartbeat.”







“Bugger!”







“That's exactly what Hanes in the Arse will do to us.”







Despite the seriousness of the situation Harry still cracked a smile. He then dropped his face
into his hands before asking, “Do you suppose Klaussen speaks German?”







“It's a distinct possibility.”







One green eye peeked at Malfoy from between his splayed fingers. “Don't you speak
German?”







“My old Nanny might have taught me how to turn a clever expletive filled phrase,” he said
absentmindedly. He then looked at him askance. “Why?”







Harry dropped his hands and gave Malfoy “the look”. The look that Malfoy hated. The look that
told him that Harry was about to make him do something he wasn’t going to like.







“Hell no!” Malfoy told him. “You are not sending me in there with that Bavarian crème puff!”







“Scared you're going to get a lump of coal in your stocking?” Harry joked.







“Funny,” Draco said snidely. “Rather I prefer not to have that fucker keep track of when I'm
sleeping or when I'm awake. I might wake up one morning with the head of one of his horned
friends under my pillow.”







“You've been watching too many Muggle films.”







Harry pushed off from the table and crossed to the door. He opened it and looked back at his
partner. “However I think ickle Drakeypoo is just going to have to take one for the team, now
isn't he?”







Malfoy let out an obnoxious growl.







“Fine, fine, fine! I have to do everything around here!” he fumed as he stomped towards the
exit. “If you need me later I'll be in the Archives!” he snarled as he slammed the door behind
him.













As he watched Malfoy storm pass the observation window and barrel through a crowd of startled
trainees, Harry exhaled in relief. Although Malfoy was a jackass, he had an unfailing talent for
browbeating and bending most people to his will that often came in handy in times like these. Harry
was sure that if anyone could clean up this mess with Klaussen Malfoy would find a way to do it. Of
course Harry might not agree with whatever methods his partner chose to get the job done, he
decided that he would just have to worry about that when the time came. He only hoped that the
wanker was smart enough to calm Klaussen down before he gave the Álfari wizard back his wand.
Harry's opinion of Malfoy wasn't **that** generous at the moment.







Though he hated to admit it, Harry was still smarting a bit from the small disagreement he and
his partner had just had over Hermione. Really, just who in the hell did Malfoy think he was giving
him advice on how to deal with his own best friend? Idiot! Harry tried to ignore the little voice
of doubt that told him that maybe he didn’t really know all there was to his best friend
either.







This whole week he and Malfoy had been engaging in similar little squabbles. It was starting to
threaten the tenuous tolerable relationship that the two Aurors had built these last few years. He
and Malfoy could be talking about anything; a perp being held in detainment, just what exactly
**had** crawled up Hanes' arse and died, or whether or not the comely dark haired new hire
down in Transportation, Dorian Greyson, was actually a witch or a wizard (Malfoy swore he knew a
bloke that knew a bloke that knew a bloke that had discovered the answer the hard way). But somehow
Hermione's name would get brought up in the conversation and the two of them would come out
swinging. The worse part was that each time they argued Harry began to think that he had less of a
leg to stand on. The woman was frustrating! She blew so hot and so cold, sometimes all at once,
that he was never sure what exactly was going on inside her head. But it seemed like Malfoy did.
And it irked him that maybe Malfoy could be right. Maybe he was coddling her; this was a witch who
had taken on a slew of Death Eaters when she was still just a girl. Maybe he was letting his
romantic feelings towards her cloud his better judgment. That thought made Harry wonder if he was
missing a great many things in regards to his best friend because he was thinking with the wrong
head ... to put it lightly. That idea in turn made him very irritable that it was Malfoy who was
making him question himself.





Plus she’s hiding something, he reminded himself.















*It was the evening that he went to collect Hermione from Lovegood House that really began to
enforce this belief. Up until that point everything had seemed far simpler. Sure he couldn’t have
the woman he wanted because he was already married, but Harry naively thought that all of that
could be fixed. It was like that little shot of Hermione he had on that kitchen counter had
intoxicated him and like a drunkard stumbling into the night after last call, he had believed
himself invincible. Nothing could touch him! He would be able to have Hermione because he wanted it
badly enough; whatever it took to make it happen he would do. He and Ginny would sit down and both
accept the failure of their relationship like the two mature adults that they were. Next he would
find the means to dissolve the union. Once that was done ... well ... he would cross that bridge
when he got to it. In that bitterly brief moment he held Hermione in his arms he knew he felt a
spark, a tingle that told him that there could be something between them; all she would have to do
was give it a chance. In order to convince her of this he couldn’t still be married. That
wouldn't be fair to her, but more importantly that wouldn't be fair to Ginny.*





*After leaving the Hollow he ended up walking around Diagon Alley for hours as he strengthened
his “plan”. It was nearing midnight by time he Apparated home. When he got there he found Dobby
waiting patiently with a hot plate of food and a glass of ale. When he asked after Ginny the
house-elf informed him that his cooking hadn't agreed with her and she had retired to bed
early. Dobby offered to bang his head with the tea kettle for a few minutes for being responsible
for such a grievous infraction, but Harry firmly told him that it wouldn't be
necessary.*





*That night Harry slept at the desk in his study, his head pillowed on top of the Cadmus case
file.*







*Early the next morning, before the sun had even fully risen, he was striding out of one of
the gilded fireplaces that led into the Atrium of the Ministry. Harry had been in a great mood. He
had plans to see Hermione that evening. Of course he had to practically strong arm her into
agreeing to it, she seemed reluctant to spend time with just him alone for some reason, but as soon
as he dangled the promise of meeting the newest addition to the Lupin family she became more
agreeable. He even suggested Ron could come with them, any fears that she still was in love with
the redhead seemed ludicrous to Harry now. Yes, there was a decided pep to his step. Everyone who
saw him remarked on it. When he stopped by Tonks' cubicle to see if the three friends could
stop by Grimmauld later she even pointed out his glowing smile and suggestively mentioned “that it
looked like someone's hairy potter had finally been able to make it to the hole”. Since this
was Tonks he didn't dignify her statement with a response. After checking to see if Malfoy had
bothered to show his face yet, he let Romilda know that if he was needed for the rest of the day he
could be found in the Ministry Archives. It was around this time that his good mood went the way of
a phoenix and burst into flame, only Harry wasn't sure if it was ever coming back.*







*Harry figured that the Archives were a good enough place to start looking for any information
he could find about the Olde Rites. Hogwarts might have been a better option, but the sight of
Auror Potter lurking around the dusty library on Level 1 would draw less attention. The Archives
was under the supervision of a hag who was a drunk and a distant relative of Scrimgeour’s wife, if
the Ministry gossip was to be believed. The hag’s bleary eyes followed Harry as he made his way to
the stacks in the back where the books on old and obscure laws were kept. It was early, but she was
already blattered so he didn’t bother asking her for any help. Even if he had it would have been a
lost cause. Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton, Blood Magic and the Ties that Bind, Magus Lex
Legis; Harry must have searched through over a dozen books that didn't help him in the
slightest. They all seemed to say the same thing, the Rites were irreversible. He couldn't find
any evidence of any marriages that had been successfully overturned. Although he understood that
wizards were ambivalent towards the idea of divorce, Harry knew that there had to be at least one
on record somewhere. He could still remember Hermione telling him that the Rites could be revoked
as long as there were no children born in the marriage. That right there convinced him that there
had to be a case that set the precedent, but after nearly going blind reading through several texts
in both English and Latin, all hope seemed lost. Then luck chose to shine upon Harry Potter. While
putting a book back on its shelf he knocked down a larger one by accident. When Harry bent down to
pick it up and return the huge tome to its proper place a battered old pamphlet fell from between
its pages. The strange booklet, The Wrong and Right of the Rites, featured a very crude stick
figure drawing of a man and a woman chained together at the wrists, both tugging at their shackles.
Its brown cover was splotched with dark stains as well as some of the pages and smelled strongly of
nettle tea that had been brewed for too long. Before Harry could study it further he heard Hanes
barking his name through out the library as the old crone caretaker threatened to prick him with a
spinning wheel needle if he didn't lower his voice. Knowing it was against the rules; Harry
slipped the pamphlet into his robes and stepped out from between the stacks to greet his commanding
officer. Without pause Hanes chewed him out for not being at his desk, for breathing, and for not
being Malfoy who he really wanted to play merry-hell to. He then ordered Harry to assemble the
Second Squad and head out to Woodcroft. For the last day or two the town had endured vicious spurts
of Muggle baiting that had finally spiraled so far out of control that it claimed the life of the
Third Squad Leader originally in charge of the mission to quell the disturbances.*







*Potter's Posse was home before dinner time with an hour or two to spare.*







*As soon as all of the proper paper work was filled out and filed, Harry exited the Ministry
and Apparated himself into the cottage at Godric's Hollow. He was dismayed to find an empty
house and yard; no truck, no dog, and no Hermione. He calmly told himself not to panic. He placed a
floo call over to the Burrow and learned from Fleur that Hermione had been over earlier. When he
arrived there he found her truck parked outside, Lizzie playing with the children in the back near
the pond and was told that Hermione had walked over to Luna's.*







*During dinner that night at the Burrow he practically wallowed in his disappointment,
discouraged at how fast his world had gone from bright and hopeful to dull and disheartening in
less then 24 hours. The fear that Hermione was avoiding him began to blacken his thoughts. He just
knew that she had been in Lovegood House when he stopped by there earlier! He could feel it. It
wasn’t clear to him why Malfoy would lie about it, but when he got the note from Luna later it only
confirmed his hunch.*







*Harry then had a furious Ginny to contend with. Harry had let the fact that he hadn't
exactly told Ginny about Hermione's living arrangements slip his mind. Given the fact that
Hermione and Ginny weren't that close anymore it didn’t come as that huge a surprise that his
wife wasn’t pleased about the situation, but since she never gave a damn about the cottage before
Harry didn’t think it should be that big a deal if Hermione lived there indefinitely. Merlin let it
be indefinitely! Since the family was around Ginny didn’t express her displeasure. But her stony
silence spoke volumes on the subject. Even though they sat next to each other at the family table
neither of them said a word to the other.*







*After the meal, Ginny disapparated out of the Burrow in a fit of pique. Harry debated for a
moment whether or not he should just follow her home and maybe broach the sensitive subject of
their relationship right then, but he hated the thought of leaving things in such limbo between him
and Hermione. He needed to find out if she truly was avoiding him now. After making his excuses to
his in-laws Harry walked over to Lovegood House with Lizzie in tow to keep him company. When he got
to the house the atmosphere was tense, Hermione's smiles were forced, and Malfoy was being an
even bigger tosser then usual. When Mr. Lovegood invited Harry in for tea Malfoy made sure that he
sat no where near Hermione. Every time Harry tried to ask her a question or even just catch her eye
Malfoy would rudely interrupt and Hermione would actually ignore him in favor of the Slytherin. And
Harry suspected that the Ferret purposely sent him to the wrong room when he asked for directions
to the loo. The fifteen minutes he spent locked in that room with all of those old doolally
paintings he wouldn't ever have back and for the life of him Harry almost imagined he'd
never get that infernal humming out of his head! Just where in the hell was it coming from anyway?!
Something was definitely up, but when he questioned Hermione and Malfoy about it they denied that
there was anything wrong. Harry knew that they were lying because whatever was going on Luna seemed
somewhat privy to it as well. The only ones who appeared to be in the dark besides him were Mr.
Lovegood and Lizzie. For Harry the only bright spot of the whole evening was that Lizzie did not
care for Malfoy in the least. She even barked viciously when she first laid eyes on him and nearly
took his hand off when he tried to pet her. The lovable, clownish dog fairly growled every time
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak. Hermione apologized to the git profusely and said over and over
again that she had no idea what could have gotten into her.*







*Probably never saw anyone that unnaturally blond before in her life, thought Harry
spitefully. Damn, did he love that dumb dog!*





















**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~**













*Harry and Hermione walked back to the Burrow side by side, neither speaking to the other. The
only sound that could be heard was the brush of the grass at their feet, the occasional screech of
an owl making a kill, the giddy yipping and yapping of the dog as she capered back and forth, and
the uneasy tension that practically vibrated the air around them. It was a beautiful night, the sky
was dusted with its twinkling array of stars, and the moon hung in the sky as a silver sliver. But
the beauty of all of this was lost on the two young people. Hermione walked as though she were on
autopilot. Her arms were wrapped around her as though that was all that was holding her intact and
her blonde head hung down low. Her eyes studied her feet as she walked at a wraith like pace. Harry
unfocused gaze was straight ahead, but he was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely
acknowledged what direction they were going in or that Lizzie had taken off ahead of them. Although
Harry would have given anything to know what was in Hermione's mind, his own thoughts were
jumbled and distraught.*







*She hates me.*







*That could be the only explanation. When he almost kissed her the other day he had broken
some unspoken trust that lay between them and now she was punishing him for the heinous
transgression. He had crossed the line of all lines that she obviously had no intention of ever
stepping over with him. She hated him. That's why she wouldn't speak to him, even look at
him. That's why she seemed to prefer Malfoy to him. That's why Luna looked at him so
pityingly. Hermione hated him. And now, not only had he lost any chance to be with her, he had also
lost her in the process it seemed.*







“*You dropped your book.”*







*The sound of her voice nearly made him jump out of his own skin.*







“*What?” he asked as he turned back to face Hermione. She had stopped walking a few paces
behind him.*







“*Your book,” she said again. “It fell from your robes. Here, let me get it for you.” Hermione
slowly bent down to pick up the brown object that lay in the grass.*







“*NO!” Harry yelled as he dove for the book. In his haste to get to it before she did the two
of their heads collided together in a hard hollow thwack that sounded like a pair of bludgers
knocking together. The force of it made both fall back on the ground, each grabbing for their
head.*







“*Ow,” whinged Hermione as she rubbed at her forehead.*







*Harry's response was a tad more colorful as he went through a litany of swear words that
would have made his partner proud. Even Hermione was amazed at his dexterous turn of phrase. She
gaped at him, an expression of marvel on her face, as she still held her hand to her head.
Harry's wild oaths died down as soon as he realized that he had her rapt attention. They both
stared at each other in wonderment before that ever present pressure around them suddenly popped
and released its self in a spate of hysterical laughter and carefree giggles. Hermione laughed so
hard that she actually collapsed on the grass and turned on her side. Harry started hiccoughing. He
had to pat the grass beside him to find his glasses and that only amused him more. Every time their
merriment threatened to die they would each cast side long glances at the other and start back up
again.*





“*From all of those falls you took from your broom I always knew your head had to be made of
concrete,” she said when she was finally able to speak coherently, “I just never figured that I
would ever have such intimate knowledge of just hard it is.” A giggle still managed to escape
behind every other word. She sat up and brought her knees to her chest.*







*Harry's smile was so large it practically lit up the sky on its own. “Yes, and I suppose
yours is made of feather down of course,” he snickered.*







“*Is that your clever way of calling me a bird brain Mr. Potter?” An impish grin accompanied
the question.*







*Harry adopted a very serious face and in affected solemnity said, “Never that.” Then he began
to laugh again. Hermione joined him. On all fours, she crawled over to where Harry was and sat up
on her knees. He was slipping his glasses back on his face and it took him a moment to notice that
she had the pamphlet in her hands.*







“*Your book.” She held it out to him, never glancing down at it. Instead her beautiful brown
eyes were lit up like fairy lights as they held with Harry's. Those eyes were almost his
undoing as he fought down the urge to just gather her in his arms and never let go. But realizing
that such actions would not solve matters he opted to take the book from her hands and slip it back
into his robes.*







“*Thank you.” He then asked the question that had been worrying his heart that whole
evening.*







“*Are you ever going to speak to me again?” Harry could have kicked himself for sounding like
such a weepy git, but he needed to know if his thoughtless action from the day before had cost him
the only thing he had ever allowed himself to truly want for himself.*





*Hermione's cheery smile slowly faded at his question and her eyes began to pool. Her
miserable expression made Harry's heart constrict and he started to apologize for any harm he
had ever caused her, but before the words could leave his lips she flung her arms around him and
buried her face in his neck. Harry could feel her hot tears sear his skin. Without thought his arms
encircled her and he began to gently rock back and forth.*







“*I'm so sorry Harry.”*







*Her words confused him. She was sorry? What could Hermione possibly have to be sorry for, to
apologize to him for? Was she talking about the other day? He was the one who had buggered up their
near fourteen year friendship, not her. Harry pulled back so he could look at her and try and tell
her this, but she kept her eyes closed tightly. Still, the tears trailed down her face torrent
like.*







“*I've been such a bitch!”*







*Now Harry was flummoxed.*







“*Hermione, what? Why would you even say something like that?” he asked as he tenderly wiped
at the tears on her cheeks.*







“*Because it's true! I'm a horrible, horrible person. I've been so selfish, so
concerned about my own feelings when you...”*







*She opened her eyes to look at him, but quickly closed them tight as her face wilted and she
began to sob again. The only thing Harry could think to do was hold her again.*







“*You're my best friend Harry. The best friend I've ever had or will ever have. And
I've been so unfair to you. So unfair.”*







*Then she said something that threw him completely.*







“*It's my entire fault. Not yours. I'm so sorry.”*







*Before Harry could puzzle the odd statement out or even deny it she began babbling so
erratically that Harry felt he couldn’t keep up with the pace of her words.*







“*It's just all been too much. I thought that I could handle it. I thought...I th-thought
I was stronger then this, but I was wrong. I try to come off as though I have it all t-together,
l-like I have all the answers, but I don't! I'm so fucking clueless Harry! And I'm
weak, so weak.” Her voice became so small and wretched that Harry had to strain to hear it. “But
that's not your fault and I shouldn't take it out on you. I just don't know what else
to do!”*







*He held her closer then and tried to get her to calm down. “Hermione, whatever is wrong I can
help,” he murmured in her ears.*







*She shook her head wildly. “No you can't! You can't!”*







“*Yes I can! If you would just let me. Why won't you let me? I'd do anything for you.
Anything!”*







*He had pulled away again so she could see the sincerity in his words, in his face, in his
heart. Her teary face lay trapped between his palms and he tilted it up just so, that his face was
all she could see. At that angle the moonlight seemed to make her eyes into twin pools of liquid
amber.*







*Her voice croaked as she asked, “Anything?” He shook his head to focus it clearly.*







“*Just ask it.”*







“*Then I need time.”*







*Harry's brow furrowed. “Time?”*







“*Time to regroup. Time to settle in. Time to get myself accustomed to the way things are
now.”*







“*Time away from me.” He tried not to say it as bitterly as he felt in that moment.*







“*No! No, no, no. That's not it. Not really.” She wiped clumsily at her face, trying to
dry it. “I've just had to deal with seven years of baggage in four days and ... and it's
all a little too much. I've cried more in the last few days then I have my entire life, it
seems. My coping skills are shot. And I'm just afraid that I won't be any good to anyone if
this keeps up. I just need some time to be myself is all,” she said, pleadingly.*







“*How much time?”*







“*Two days. Or three,” she said, sniffling. “Three at the most.”*







“*Ron's game is Saturday.”*







*She smiled a little. “That's just perfect then. Two days. In two days this blubbering
wreck you see before you will be back to the bossy, nagging best mate of old. Just like old times.
Like how we've always been. That should make you happy right?”*







*Happy? He was almost tempted in that very moment to tell her exactly what could make him
happy, the least of which was what she was offering him. He didn't want things back like the
way they were. He didn't want "old times". He didn't want to keep pretending that
all she was to him was just a friend. He wanted her! And he should have said that. And he would
have said it if she hadn't been looking at him ... pleading with him so desperately in that
wordless language they shared. But because he promised her anything he now had to give it to
her.*









“*Two days?”*







*Hermione lifted his hand and held it close to her. Harry could feel her heart beating, almost
in time with his own. “Two days,” she said. She then turned her head from side to side and surveyed
the area surrounding them. “Where's my dog?” Hermione asked him, puzzled.*







*Harry chuckled dryly. “Probably halfway to Timbuktu by now, I reckon.” Hermione then laughed
and the sound of it dulled at least a little of the ache from Harry's dismal spirits.*







“*Goodness, I'd be a disaster as a mother,” she said lightly. “Come on then.” She stood up
and offered him a hand. “Let's not keep her waiting.”*













*The rest of the short walk continued in silence, but the mood was decidedly lighter. A time
or two Harry felt himself reaching to hold Hermione's hand, but every time that urge rose up he
fought it down. As they neared the stone broom shed a few feet from the Burrow they could hear
Lizzie barking in the distance. As they got closer Harry could make out the forms of Bill and Fleur
sitting in chairs outside the house keeping the dog company. Once Lizzie caught sight of them she
ran pell mell towards their direction jumping on Hermione first, then Harry. The big sheepdog
licked at Harry's face adoringly and he let her. Hermione joked that yet another female had
fallen victim to the Potter charm which made him threaten to spank her bottom if she didn't
shut it. After waving at Bill and Fleur and watching them go back into the house, Harry walked
Hermione to her truck. She reached into the pocket of her sports coat, pulled out a set of keys,
and unlocked the driver's door and the door to the back seat so that the dog could get in.
Harry could see her big purse sitting on the passenger seat and he wondered if she had actually
taken his advice to carry his mum's wand with her at all time. Then again it's not like it
would have mattered anyway, she hadn't even bothered to bring the purse with her when she went
to Luna's, and he fretted inwardly. He didn't bring it up though. He knew that it would
just make her cross and he hated to break the easy peace between them so soon. He also noticed her
mobile sitting in the cup tray, its little red light blinking. He turned his attention from it and
back to her.*







“*So two days, right?”*







*Hermione turned to face him and bobbed her head in answer.*

**


“*Two days. We'll rendezvous at the Cup,” she said. A frown crossed his face. He
couldn't help it. “What? What's wrong? What's with the face?”*

**


*Against his better judgment Harry once again tried to push the issue. “Are you sure you want
to go to the game?” he asked. “The press will be crawling all over and you don't even like
Quidditch.”*

**


“*No, but I like Ron. And this game is going to be his big moment in the sun, his chance to
shine. He deserves it and I want to be there to witness it. As many times as he stood by and
cheered you or I on while we had our time in the spotlight, I owe this to him. Besides, no one will
even pay me any notice. They'll be too focused on the game.”*

**


“*I guess you're right. It's just...I don't know, I have this really bad
feeling...”*

**


*Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. “Hmm, the Potter hunch. Tell me, what could
possibly go wrong at a Quidditch match?”*

**


“*Speaking from experience, a great many things.”*

**


“*I suppose you're right," she replied off-handedly. Then the corner of her lips
twitched. “Then again I'm not the one with the Harry Potter Memorial bed at Hogwarts.”*

**


*Harry smiled bashfully. “That was awful mean of Poppy to put that plaque up like
that.”*




*Hermione giggled.*

**


“*And it was mean of you to make it for her.”*




*That made her laughs louder. She then turned around and lifted herself into the truck. After
putting the keys into the ignition and starting the engine the hulking beast of a machine revved
into life. As she pulled her door close and pushed a button to send her window down he saw her
glance at her phone. Although the inside of the truck afforded him very little light in which to
see he didn't miss the blink and you miss it look of annoyance that crossed her face. It was
gone though by time she gave him a small smile as she pulled the straps of her seatbelt across her.
Harry quietly watched all of this as he racked his mind for something profound and well meaning to
say to her before she drove off into the night. Finding nothing that didn't involve him
confessing his feelings, asking her to run away with him, and convincing her to be the mother of
every one of his near sighted, hair challenged children, he decided that the less is more treatment
would probably work best. Plus it won't scare the crap out of her, he told himself.*

**


“*Two days,” he said as he came closer to the window, his eyes drinking up everything about
her to help sustain him for the sheer hell the next 48 hours surely would be.*

**


*She gravely nodded her head. She then lowered her head out of the window. Harry felt a soft
pair of lips brush his cheek. They lingered on his skin for just a moment, just a fraction of a
heartbeat really, before she inched back and whispered, “Two days.”*

**





*As Harry watched the off-roader drive down the lane, his hand absently rubbing at the spot
where she kissed him, he couldn't know what the next 48 hours would bring. He couldn't see
the look on Hermione's face as she thought she was going to die, the sound of his name the last
thing tearing from her lungs. He didn't yet know the burning sensation of his heart leaping
into his throat and lodging there as he watched Sirius fall through the veil...no...Hermione going
over that railing. He had no inner eye, no crystal ball; no tea leaves of which to speak. At the
time he just fervently hoped that the next two days went by without incident and quickly enough so
that he didn't end up flying his Firebolt down to Godric's Hollow, storming the cottage,
and going back on his promise.*







*Nobility was a right kick in the arse!*













Harry strolled into the Archives as nonchalantly as he could muster. He scanned the large room,
and not finding the hag at her desk, headed straight to the back. He was returning to the scene of
the crime, returning the pamphlet he had nicked the week before. Fortunately there was something to
return, because after Harry finally got a chance to read through The Wrongs and Rights of the Rites
he nearly ripped the damned thing to shreds. The good news was that he had found the information he
was looking for. The bad news was that said information didn't help him in the least.





There were three unions on record that had been overturned in England even though the Rites had
been performed. In all three cases the wizard in the match was the one who petitioned the
Wizengamot for the dissolution of his marriage. Although almost 100 years separated each case, the
earliest being in 1689, they all had one thing in common; all three wizards claimed that their
wives married them in bad faith, thus making the Rites invalid.





After 47 childless years together Hezikiah Burnermacher threw his wife Patience out of the house
after he learned that she had purposely planned never to have children by him. Even before they
officially became man and wife she had been peppering his food with monksroot, a plant that made
him sterile. He found this out after he finally questioned his Healer why he wasn't able to get
her or any of his five mistresses with child. Since the Wizengamot back then was anything but
progressive he was allowed to get rid of her in favor of her sister Constance, mistress number one.
No one was really surprised when Hezikiah and Constance died in a tragic Mountain troll accident.
Patience “accidentally” set the Mountain Troll on them.





Summuel Knott and Wallace Smethwyck each married women who weren't what they said they were.
Despite sharing separate rooms and never seeing her before 6, Knott seemed to be the last person in
his small village that didn't know that he had married a vampire. True, half the guests at his
midnight wedding were quite pale and his father in-law did look a bit long in the tooth
(literally), Knott just figured they were odd because they were foreigners not because they were
the living dead! Knott wasn't that bright. Neither was Smethwyck. When Georgina Boyle walked
into his life he often wondered aloud if there was anything that could ever make him stop loving
her. Finding out that his bride had originally begun life as George almost did the trick. It took
about a year and a half to make Wallace realize that he was wrong, but by then his marriage had
already been stricken from the record. Despite the small setback the couple eventually got back
together and lived out the rest of their years as two very old, but very happy wizards.




In all three cases the Wizengamot ruled that the offending spouse had perpetrated a fraud, thus
invalidating the blood bond.




After reading this Harry was nearly inconsolable. Although he often questioned it when she was
in a temper, Harry was pretty sure that Ginny was human. After five years of marriage, he sure as
hell hoped she was a girl. And she definitely wanted to start a family. If anything he was the one
who had married her under fraudulent circumstances. It was beginning to become unquestioningly
clear that if his marriage was going to come to an end it would have to be Ginny who initiated
it.





In the words of Draco Malfoy: fuck...all.




Since learning that Hermione was living at the Hollow Ginny barely spoke to him anymore. Oh,
when they were out in public it was a different story. When others were around she was the most
loving wife, the most adoring spouse, but behind closed doors was another story. When he got home
most nights she was already in bed, the door to the room locked. She started leaving the house
earlier then he did. In the rare instances that he did manage to get her alone and tried to broach
the subject of their relationship she begged off, usually citing a headache as the reason. It was
almost like she was avoiding him. If Harry didn't know any better he would think that she had
guessed that he didn't want to be married to her any longer. Oh Merlin! Had she guessed that he
didn't want to be married to her any longer? Did she know the reason why? Was he that
transparent? And if Ginny wouldn't divorce him what exactly could he do about it? Could life
possibly get any more complicated?







The answer appeared to be yes.







Because since the Quidditch match Hermione had been sending him such mixed signals that he never
knew whether he was coming or going most days. Whereas he had begun to fear that Hermione might try
to make another run for it, especially after how emotionally wrung out she was when she begged him
for some space, and these days she looked like that was the farthest thing from her mind. She was
even making the cottage into a real home. Linens, knick knacks, picture frames, state of the art
appliances, an enormous bookshelf and a monster of a television set that he and Ron had to shrink
down just to get it into the house; with so much free time on her hand Hermione had taken to
decorating the whole place with relish. There wasn't a corner of the house didn't have a
bit of her own personal touch. When she asked him if he minded it at all he did his beat not to let
her know how over the moon he really was about the whole thing. He even offered to pay for what
ever she needed, but she told him that it wasn't necessary. She did however ask him his
opinion; what he liked, what he thought the house might need. Harry never thought that the sight of
girlie, frilly throw pillows could make him so happy. You just don't buy throw pillows if
you're planning on taking off any day, at least in Harry's humble opinion you
didn't.




Hermione's attitude towards him was also maddening. One moment she would be holding him at
arms length, in the next, it was like she couldn't keep her eyes off of him. He should know,
his were very rarely not glued to her every movement if she entered the same room he was in. When
their eyes would make contact she would usually turn red and become flustered. It was cute. It was
confusing as hell, but still cute. And then there was the flirting. Sometimes Harry felt the need
to wipe the steam from his glasses. Coy side long glances, sly words; it was bloody verbal foreplay
was what it was! If they had never bothered to venture into this territory before, they were making
up for lost time now. Then when it would get really spirited she would back off so quickly that it
would give him whiplash. The funniest part was that Ron, for Ron was wedged between them like some
unofficial chaperon, acted as though he didn't notice a thing. Either Harry was making more out
of it then there really was, or Ron had to be the thickest bastard in all of England.




God bless him.







But what baffled Harry the most were the things Hermione would say in her more unguarded
moments. Those were few and hard to come by true, she was usually so zealously in control of the
situation at all time, but when she allowed the mask to slip the peek that Harry would get made him
wonder if this whole shambolic state of affairs he found himself in wasn't so one sided after
all. Like when she tried to make it seem that what happened in the kitchen was all her fault. What
was that about? She almost sounded guilty, like she wanted it too. Did that mean she had wanted it
too? Was that what she was so upset about? Thoughts like that had the power to make him giddy and
nauseous, hopeful and scared as hell. It was a wonder he could stand upright. Because these
thoughts began to foster in him the crazy, wonderful, unbelievable idea that maybe Hermione could
be attracted to him despite the fact that he was her best friend. Maybe even be attracted to him
because they were each others very best friend and understood each other in ways no one else ever
could.




“*The two of them got to marry their best friend. Who wouldn’t want that? I know I
would.”*




Even now he could still hear those words in his head. Of course it could have meant nothing,
Hermione had been just this side of tipsy when she said it, but Harry wasn't so sure. Maybe
Hermione had actually thought about what it could be like to be with her best friend. Her very best
friend. He was positive she wasn't talking about Ron. As she told him once, that ship had long
since sailed. So if she didn't mean that best friend just who was she referring to? Dared he
hope?









Where there hell was that floo call?! He really needed to take that call before he allowed his
thoughts to go down that road.
















Harry was passing through the potions section, heading towards the front of the library, when he
caught sight of Malfoy at a desk near a window, a pile of books and parchments spread out over the
table before him. He and the hag were arguing about a book or something and their loud voices were
carrying. From the mutinous look on his face Harry could tell that Malfoy was being his usual
charming self. Since he wanted to find out how things had gone with Klaussen Harry waited for her
to leave before approaching the table.





“Listen you Ogden embalmed bag of bones, either you get me that book or I’ll drop a house on
you!” he heard him order her.




The crone merely bobbed back and forth unsteadily as she listened to his empty threat. “If I
didn’t suspect that you were already heartless Auror Malfoy, I would threaten to cut it out myself
dearie,” she slurred in a scratchy voice. She then cackled wildly at her own joke, drawing stares
from those nearby. As she shuffled away from Malfoy's table she left the stench and near
visible trail of stale ale in her wake. Malfoy made a series of impolite gestures at her retreating
back.




“Wooing the witches as usual Malfoy?” asked Harry as he glided towards his partner.




“I hate that dried up old bitch!” he stated, his brow creased angrily. “She's always
threatening to lock someone in a tower or bake them in a pie.”





Harry shrugged his shoulder noncommittally. “She's a hag, that's what they do.” Malfoy
rolled his eyes in reply.





“So how did things go with Klaussen?”





“Swimmingly," he said drolly, lowering his eyes to the page he had opened in front of him.
“I think I might have betrothed myself to him.”





An amused smirk played across Harry's face. “I'm sure Luna will love that.”




“Well she's the one always telling me that I need to make more friends.” The absurdity of
the statement actually made Harry chuckle. The sound caused Malfoy to raise his head and bring his
attention back to Harry. “What are you doing here anyway? You rarely come in the stacks? I always
assumed you were allergic to books.”




Harry ignored the insult. “The Bulwark Charm I put up,” Harry said, lying through his teeth. He
wasn’t about to tell Malfoy what he was really up to. “It's been messing with the electricity
in the cottage.”




That part was actually true. The charm was too strong to be used around so many electronics. It
was wreaking havoc. Hermione's computer was instant messaging with the dead, the telly was
broadcasting what was going on in the houses of the other residents of the Hollow, and though they
didn’t have conclusive evidence to prove it he and Hermione had come to suspect that the microwave
might have tried to eat Lizzie! The poor dog seemed terrified to go anywhere near it.





Draco studied him hard for a second before returning to his book. “Either you’ve gotten better
at lying or I’m just tired,” he said as he turned a page. “For a Ministry designed spell of that
magnitude you would have to calibrate the biorhythms of all of the occupants in the house in order
to make it work correctly,” he said, in a bored manner. “That includes the stupid mongrel. Any
idiot would know that.”





“That's good to know,” Harry said gingerly. “Idiot.”




Malfoy scowled down at his book. Harry began to drum his fingers distractedly against the table.
His mind wandered off for a moment as he wondered at the time.





“So I suppose you’ll be going over to the cottage later?”





Malfoy's query took Harry away from his thoughts.







“I suppose I might.” In truth, since the British Cup, a night hadn't gone by that he
didn't spend at least an hour or two at Godric's Hollow.





“Do you suppose that’s a good idea?” It was the artful disinterest in which he asked the
question that made Harry's teeth grind together.





“And what exactly is that **supposed** to mean?” asked Harry, trying to control the instant
flicker of doubt coupled with rage that sprung to life inside his chest.






Malfoy didn't spare Harry a glance as he answered him. The annoying prat just dipped his
goshawk feather quill in a small ink pot near Harry's hand and began to jot down some notes on
a piece of parchment.







“It just seems like you've been spending an abundant amount of time around Hermione, is all.
I'd be surprised if the woman had been able to put on a fresh pair of knickers, you're
always under her. Besides, don't you have a wife?”







The ink pot exploded sending little shards of glass all over the desk. Funny enough, only Malfoy
seemed to get soaked in the indigo goop. He muttered a curse or two as he pulled out his wand to
clean the mess up. Malfoy absolutely abhorred having even a speck on his Auror robes.







Harry menacingly bent down over the table as he put his face right up to Malfoy's.
Harry's eyes narrowed and through his gritted teeth he laid down the law.





“I'm going to say this once and then the case is closed Ferret. What goes on between me and
my best friend is none of you're fucking business! You could never hope to understand a
friendship like ours, so stop trying to! If she wanted me gone she would tell me. She tells me
everything!”







Malfoy's silver eyes looked up into his, devoid of malice or spite. “Does she?”

















“*You've been keeping something from me Miss Granger,” Harry said teasingly.*







*He and Hermione had been idly strolling through Piccadilly Circus, looking in shop windows,
gossiping about their friends, nipping at food they bought from street vendors. Harry had knocked
off work early to spend the time with her. They actually had been on their way to drop in at
Remus', but Hermione had wanted to take the detour. She looked completely at ease being around
the huge crowds of Muggle London and Harry couldn't be more pleased at that. You couldn't
walk down Diagon Alley without seeing her face staring out from every newsstand these days. Even
though they had to use old pictures of her, some from right after the Final Defeat, the tiny images
of Hermione still tried to shield their faces from view. Thankfully no one knew where she was
living or Hermione would have never gotten any peace. Because their owls couldn't find her due
to the Bulwarvivus he had set up around the cottage, people began sending letters, requests for
interviews, and more then a few howlers to him and Ron. It seemed like everyone was waiting with
bated breath to see Hermione stop Ron and Lavender's wedding and everyone had an opinion on the
matter. Harry felt that they all needed to get a ruddy life!*





*They had dropped in at a record shop and perused some of the cds. She bought a few disks,
some classical, some rock, a few jazz artists that she told him he absolutely had to give a listen
to**.** She threw them in the large camel handbag she carried on her shoulder and then they were
on their way. She pointed out some of the sites to him; he very rarely ventured this far into
London if he could help it and when they took a moment to catch a breath they found themselves
standing in front of the large fountain with its winged statue atop it.*





“*Cupid, right?” he had asked her.*







*She smiled in good humor as she shook her head. “A common misconception. It's actually
his sibling, Anteros. Eros begged his mum and dad for a little brother to boss around.”*







“*Alas...The pain of being an only child,” he said jokingly. She swatted him on the shoulder.
“So if Eros is the God of love what is Anteros, anti-love or something?”*





“*No,” she said as she stared solemnly at the statue. “Anteros is the God of unrequited
love.”*





*Harry looked over at her upturned face and felt the subtle stir of longing flutter some where
deep within him. “Oh.”*







*She turned to look at him then and Harry felt that longing sensation do a handstand. “Yeah,
oh,” she said.*







*After that they drifted along in a comfortable silence that was only disturbed every now and
then when one would catch the other staring and the guilty party would mumble an apology and
nervously look the other way. At one point they wandered over to Glasshouse Street. Harry
didn't know exactly when her hand had worked its self into his, but even a flagon of Felix
Felicis wouldn't have rivaled the feeling it filled him with.*









*Hermione tilted her head curiously, a small smile on her lips. “I've been keeping
something from you, have I?”*







“*The name of the wizard who will be taking you to the Ball,” Harry said as he playfully swung
their arms between them.*









*The Victory Ball was in just a matter of days and all of the women in their little circle had
been in a tizzy trying to get themselves and their men ready for it. Ginny had bought him a new set
of robes and had hung it up in his study the other night before he got home, the note attached to
it telling him in no uncertain terms what time she expected him home that night so he could escort
her there. Fred had mentioned in passing that Glinda offered to set Hermione up with someone for
the night so she wouldn't feel awkward going to the big Ministry function all alone. That news
didn’t sit well with Harry and he almost said something rude to Fred about his busybody wife, but
he figured all was forgiven when the Weasley twin said that Hermione turned her down. He then added
that she turned Glinda down because she already had a date. Fred didn’t know who it was because
Hermione was being secretive about the whole thing. Although Harry was smiling on the outside as he
asked her who her mystery escort was, inside he was seething. Just who the hell was the twat who so
obviously had a death wish?!*







“*So who is the lucky bloke?”*







*So I can rip his spleen out through his ear.*







*Harry smiled brightly.*







“*I'm not telling,” Hermione teased as her eyes sparkled.*







“*How very fourth year of you Hermione,” he said dryly causing her to laugh.*







“*A girl has got to have some secrets.”*







*Harry had opened his mouth to say something profoundly brilliant, he was sure, when off in
the distance he heard a twanging voice call out.*









“*Harmony?”*







*Before he knew what was happening Hermione had dropped his hand and without ceremony pushed
him so hard that he nearly lost his balance. He felt himself stumbling sideways into a little
cramped shop. It took him only a second to get his bearings together.*







“*Bloody hell Hermione! What the hell did you do that for?!” he asked as he rubbed at the sore
spot on his upper arm where she had pushed at. To look at her one would never know that she was
that strong. Son of a bitch it hurt!*







*If Hermione heard him she didn't betray it. Instead she stood at the dirty glass window
of the store furtively staring out at the sidewalk they had just come from. Her head swiveled back
and forth like she was searching for something.*







“*Hermione?”*





*It was as if she couldn't even hear him. He tried again.*







“*Hermione? What's wrong?” he asked as he walked towards her. “What are you looking
for?”*







*She whirled around, her eyes practically popping out of her head. She looked as though she
had seen a ghost.*







“*Huh? What? Wrong?! W-why would you think something was wrong?! Nothing is wrong!” She gnawed
at her bottom lip as she turned her head to look out the window again.*







*Now this was strange. “Well, you pushed me, you see...” he said slowly.*







“*I didn't push you!” she protested as she stepped away from the window. “I...we were
going to pass this shop and I...uh...I wanted to go in. I didn't push you,” she said again,
defensively.*







*For the first time since coming into the store Harry looked at his surroundings. His mouth
fell open. He could hear the soft pounding beat of drums being played from a hidden stereo. He saw
shelves of candles with the pictures of various saints on them, the smell of incense wafted through
the air. That too was being sold in bins littered all across the floor along with trinkets,
amulets, aerosol cans, cowry shells, and wooden statues of various sizes and shapes. Colorful flags
and festoons hung from the ceiling. About a year before Professor Lermontant, the Hogwarts DADA
professor, had given a special seminar at the Ministry for the Department. The class was to help
teach the Aurors the difference between the vast array of religions in Africa, the Caribbean, and
other regions that were steeped in magic as opposed to real black magic that tried to dress its
self up as a faith. Harry could only wonder which one they had stumbled on to in this
place.*









“*You wanted to come in here?” he asked Hermione incredulously.*







*She nodded quickly as she stepped further into the shop and turned her back to him. “Yes
I...I saw something in the window that caught my eye.” Her head looked back and forth as though
casing the place. She began to examine a shelf that held several wooden idols.*







“*In this shop?” he asked her, dumbfounded. Her odd behavior was unnerving him.*







“*Yes Harry,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. “In this shop. In
fact...”*







*She paused as she lifted up the statue of a beautiful, dark bronze woman with a tiny mirror
in her hand. She held it out toward Harry.*





“*This is what I saw.”*







*Harry came closer to where she was standing and looked down at the wooden statue. He then
looked back at her face, completely stymied by her total change in temperament. Was it only five
minutes ago that they were smiling and laughing together? What happened to kill that?*







“*Hermione**--”*







“*Yes, I saw this and just had to have it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice continued to
nervously raise as the shopkeeper, a dark mahogany skinned woman dressed in African inspired robes
and wearing an ornate head wrap with little silver coins hanging off of it, wandered over to them.
“I knew that I just had to have it no matter the cos--**£650**?!?!”*







*She had just gotten a look at the price tag. Her outraged expression gave way to a sheepish
grin however once she realized that both Harry and the shop keeper were looking at her oddly. The
few other customers in the store also stopped to see what the commotion was about. Hermione
tittered uneasily.*







“*Do you take American Express?” she asked the woman with chagrin. She lowered her burning
face from view and dug into her purse. *







*As Hermione finished her transaction with the sales lady Harry tried to make sense out of
what had just happened. They had been walking along when all of a sudden Hermione freaked out and
pushed him into the store. What had he missed?*







“*Dere ya go dear 'eart,” said the woman in a thick West Indian accent. She had just
finished wrapping Hermione's purchase and was handing her the bag. “An' may Oshun grant
'er favor to ya an' ye man dere.”*







*Hermione's hand faltered for a moment as she reached out for the bag. After taking it, in
a tight voice she said, “He's not mine.” Harry grumbled under his breath. Did she have to be so
adamant about it?*





*The shop keeper seemed to be taken aback at this news. Her dark eyes raked back and forth
between the two of them. “'im not?” she asked. “De way ya went straight to Oshun I figured dis
was ye 'usband.”*





*Hermione's lips stretched thinly. “He's not my husband.” Well!*





“*But ya do 'ave one, right?”*







“*What does that have to do with anything?” asked Harry.*







*The woman turned to look at Harry. “Well I t'ought ya knew what Oshun was fe'. Ya do
'ave de touch.”*







*Both he and Hermione inhaled sharply.*







“*Oh don' worry chil'run, Aunt Nancy 'as de touch too,” she said as she placed her
hand on her chest. “Course not like dis gal ‘ere...”*







*She looked at Hermione.*







“*An' n'where near as much as ya,” she said as she turned back to him. “But it
dere.”*







“*What do you mean by, 'what Oshun is for'?” Harry asked skeptically, leery of the
answer. The woman scoffed at his question.*







“*I don' do nunna of dat star,” Aunt Nancy chided him. “Ya not g'wine find no
'oodoo or obeah ‘ere my frien’. I worship de Orishas of my ances'tas. I bow down before
Olodumare,” she said proudly, a lift to her head. “And Oshun is my guide,” she explained as she
stepped near a shelf and picked up a wooden statue similar to the one Hermione bought. She brought
it close to them. “Dis is Shango 'oman 'ere. She is de light in ye eyes and de power
'tween ye t'ighs daugh'ta,” said Aunt Nancy as she gave Hermione's cheek a friendly
pinch. Hermione timidly smiled back.*







“*An' best of all, Oshun brings lots of babies.”*







*The smile on Hermione’s face dropped quickly. “BABIES?!!”*




*Aunt Nancy softly chuckled at Hermione’s horrified expression. “Why yes gal. Oshun is de
Yoruban goddess of love, sex, and fertility. Ya place ‘er by ye bed an' in no time ya ‘ave a
‘ouse full a pic’ney.”*




*It was about this time that Harry lost it.*




“*Shut up Harry! It’s not funny!” Hermione fumed at him as he nearly doubled over from
laughing so hard. She even stamped her foot which made him laugh harder. Through the tears he wiped
from his eyes he saw her turn back to Aunt Nancy and say, “This is going no where near my
bed.”*




*Aunt Nancy was not deterred. “Don’ worry daugh'ta. Oshun will work fe’ ya in any of de
room ya house ya choose. Put ‘er in ye show’a. On de kitchen coun'ta per'aps?” Hermione’s
cheeks were aflame at the sly, knowing grin the woman gave her.*




“*She’ll be going on my bookshelf,” she primly declared as she dropped the bag in her purse.
Aunt Nancy merely shrugged her shoulders.*




“*Might be a bit uncomfortable fe' ya an’ ye man dere, but dat could work too.” She winked
at them.*




*Hermione glowered at Aunt Nancy, but she held her tongue.*




“*Come on chuckles!” she ordered Harry as she marched off in the direction of the door. Harry
politely waved goodbye to the shopkeeper and turned on his heel to catch up with Hermione. However
she hadn't gotten that far. She was hanging halfway outside the door, her head swinging from
left to right. He stealthily crept up behind her. Harry bent down and whispered in her ear.*




“*Are you looking for someone?”*




*Hermione jolted around and stared at him, eyes wide. She slowly backed out onto the sidewalk
and Harry followed her out. He studied her face hard. The skittish behavior, the shifting eyes, the
rapid breathing. Harry had seen too many suspects not to recognize the signs of someone who was
caught with no where to run.*




“*Or are you hiding from them?” he tried again, a little more forcefully.*




“*I-I-I’m not hiding! I don’t even know what you’re talking abou--”*




“*Harmony?”*




“*Fuck,” he saw Hermione lips mouth. She then turned around and Harry witnessed one of the
most frightening occurrences he was sure he had ever been witness to. Right there in the midst of
Glasshouse; with the sound of drums still ringing in his ear and a horde of tourist nearby snapping
pictures, he watched his best friend, a woman who up until that point he was sure he knew better
then his own self, morph into an exaggerated over the top copy of Lavender Brown-Pye. It was enough
to give him nightmares for days.*




“*Bertina!” Hermione called in a dripping, saccharine voice as a woman, probably only eight or
ten years older then them, wearing an ostentatiously large pale pink hat and matching suit
practically wiggled (there was really no other way to describe it) across the street in their
direction. Trudging behind the woman was a squat, balding man in a seersucker suit that was the
same color as his companion’s outfit, his arms weighed down with bags and packages. The man looked
like he would rather be anywhere then where he was currently. Despite their loud clothing it was
hard to miss that both of their suits were finely tailored and that they carried themselves like
royalty. The woman looked like a Christmas tree; she was covered in so many sparkling
baubles.*




“*Well land sakes!” the woman cried as she reached them. “As I live in breathe, what are you
doing here?!” The woman latched on to both of Hermione’s shoulders and gave a fake kiss to each
cheek. Harry didn’t know what shocked him more, Hermione allowing the woman to do it or that she
returned the favor. It was like he had entered some parallel dimension.*




“*I saw you and I said to myself, ‘Self, that looks like Harmony scampering into that little
ol'e store.” The woman turned towards the gentleman that was with her. “Didn’t I say that Hamp?
Didn't I say that looked like Harmony?” she asked him.*




*Before Hamp could give an answer she was continuing on.*




“*That’s exactly what I said!” she answered for the mute Hamp. “Then again it’s a wonder I
recognized you at all! Just look at that hair! Did Alejandro do it or John Paul?”*




“*Actually my friend, you remember Benitez don’t you, he did it for me in his kitchen
sink.”*




*The woman's smile dimmed slightly. “Oh, you mean Mr. Cohen, that little artistic fellow?
Yes, I remember him. That's...nice. However as soon as I saw that purse I knew it had to be
you. I still remember when you bought it. I called out to you honey. Didn’t you hear me?”*




*A phony smile grafted its self to Hermione’s face. Her eyes on the other hand were dead
looking. It reminded Harry of a preying shark. “I can’t say that I did.”*




“*Well that’s alright darling,” she said as her eyes drifted towards Harry’s direction. She
looked at him with a little too much interest and Harry couldn’t fight off the feeling that maybe
he should be covering the goods.*




“*Harmony, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”*




*Hermione tittered uneasily and cast a worried eye towards Harry. She then looked back at the
woman. “Of course, how silly of me. Harry Potter,” she said motioning towards him, “I would like
you to meet Bertina and Hampton Beauregard.” She brought her attention back to the couple.*




“*Of the Houston Beauregards,” Bertina said full of pride as she stepped closer towards Harry
and held out her hand to him, practically shoving it into his face. Harry was lost as to what to do
for a moment, Hermione actually looked pale at the proceedings, but Harry decided to play along. He
took Bertina’s hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.*




“*Oooh,” she bubbled as she held his hand in a near death like-grip, “I just love foreigners.
They are just so European!” Harry could only gape at the woman. Was she for real?! He very politely
tried to get his hand back before he had to result to gnawing it off.*




“*You can call me Bertie by the way,” she said once she finally let him go. “All of my friends
call me Bertie.”*




*It did not escape his attention that Hermione didn’t.*




“*So what are you doing here Harmony all the way here in jolly old England? I mean of course
everyone knew that you were from ‘across the pond’,” she simpered as though she had made the
cleverest of jokes, “but you never seemed interested in heading over this way.” Bertina turned to
look at her husband. “Isn’t that right Hamp?”*




*Hamp opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Bertina was talking again. “Are you
in town for the Season too? Do you know I went to that li'l ol'e flower show and I think I
actually sat by a Duchess!”*




“*Fancy that,” said Hermione in the most insincere voice one could imagine.*




“*The Season?” questioned Harry, looking between the two women.*




“*The Castle Season,” Hermione explained as a quick aside to him. “No Bertina, nothing as
fabulous as all that. I’m just here for a short spell, visiting some friends. An old school chum of
mine is getting married.” Bertina saddened at that news and looked covetously at Harry.*




“*No, no Bertina dear, not this one. This one is already married.” Hermione edged possessively
closer to him and Harry was eternally grateful for it. “It’s another friend of mine.”*




“*Well doesn’t that just beat all? You know, I ran into Laurie and Cynthia at the Babineaux’s
supper party…you remember what a horrible debut the youngest Babineaux girl had last year don’t
you, bless her heart…anyway I asked them where in the world you were and Laurie said that you were
off in some clinic somewhere.”*




“*Is that what Laurie said?” Hermione asked in a tight voice.*




“*Why yes, but I couldn’t imagine what you would go away to have done. Of course this is my
third nose.” Her laughter gradually decreased as she realized that no one else was. She coughed to
cover her embarrassment.*




“*But you should have seen the look on Collier’s face Harmony,” continued Bertina. “Hamp,
didn’t Collier look like that was the first time he was hearing about it? Collier looked fit to be
tied!”*




“*Imagine that. Listen Bertina, my friend and I really have to be running.”*




“*Oh of course, of course. We have got to go too. Hamp has been spoiling me so today, we’ve
been shopping like the dickens! We were just about to hail a taxi and go back to the hotel. I
bought about seven or eight different suits I might wear to see the Queen troop the color. I have
no idea what that means, but I’m terribly excited about it!”*




“*I bet you are!” Hermione said with a smirk. “Say Bertina, why don't we get together
sometime while were both still in town?”*




*Harry peered down at her quizzically, but she ignored him.*




“*Oh let's!”*




“*Where are you staying?*




“*Well everyone says if you come to England that you must stay at the Savoy, so of course Hamp
got us a luxury suite,” she simpered haughtily. “Isn't that right sugar?”*




*Harry, Hermione, and Bertina all turned to look at Hampton. Hampton appeared to have fallen
asleep standing upright. His chin rested on his chest and he snored softly in the middle of all of
the hustle and bustle.*




“*HAMP!”*




*Hampton Beauregard sluggishly came back to life. “Yes dear,” he managed to say while yawning,
eyes blinking as they tried to focus.*




*Bertina turned back to Hermione and Harry.*




“*Should I give you a ring?” she asked.*




“*'Fraid not,” Hermione said in a disappointed voice. “I really can't be reached. I
guess I'll just have to drop in on you.”*




*Bertina seemed agreeable to that proposal. “That sounds like a plan!” She then leaned in and
gave Hermione another kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to Harry and held out her hand again.
Harry looked at Hermione and she very casually tilted her head. Just do it, the gesture seemed to
say. Because Harry wanted the woman gone, he gave in. He leaned down to kiss her hand making her
giggle like a love struck third year. She then revived her husband who had fallen asleep yet again
and started down the walk, the poor hapless bastard following in her wake.*







“*Just wait until I call everyone and tell them who I saw!” he heard her exclaim excitedly as
she paraded down the walk.*







*For a moment he and Hermione watched her in silence before she spoke.*




“*You know, I've heard Juan Miguel Benitez Cohen called many things, his personal favorite
being Fabulous Diva Jewban, but never have I ever heard him referred to as 'artistic',”
Hermione said scathingly. “Honestly, that woman!”*




*Before she could say anything else Harry grabbed her by the upper arm, hauled her down the
sidewalk until they came to an empty alley next to a restaurant, and pushed her up against the
brick wall of the building.*




“*Harry! Harry, ow! You're hurting me! Harry?! What do you think you're doing?!!” she
cried until they were hidden from view. Once she was propped up against the wall her pleas quieted.
All it took was the look on Harry's face to make her swallow her protests.*




*He was livid!*




*Harry had sat back quietly, for the most part, and played a silent witness to the little show
Hermione had been putting on for the benefit of whoever that flighty woman was, but enough was
enough! Now was the time for some answers.*




“*Harry?!”*




“*That's it Hermione,” he said in a direct and authoritative voice. “That's it! You
are going to tell me right now what the hell that was all about!”*




*The tone in which he spoke to her was deathly calm. It was his interrogation voice. Hermione
didn't appear to agree with it. Her brows pulled together harshly and her eyes seemed to grow
dark.*




“*Harry, if you wish to speak civilly with me I advise you take your bloody hands off of
me.”*




*Harry’s grip slowly loosened. His arms stretched out before him and he placed his hands on
the wall on either side of her head. He leaned in to the point that their noses were almost
touching. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't a bit turned on; having her pressed up
against the wall like this, no one for miles to see what they were getting up to, her heavy
breathing making her chest rise and fall...rise and fall...rise and...*




*Focus Potter! Now was not the time to let his more prurient thoughts about Hermione get the
better of him. He was starting to suspect that that's what had been wrong in the first place
ever since she had come back home.*




“*What the hell was that all about?” he asked after he calmed down a bit.*




*She didn't bat an eye. “What do you mean?”*




“*Who was that woman?”*




“*Bertina Julia Beauregard. Second wife, spoiled rich, and a man eater if ever there were one.
I swear the woman can’t keep a gardener pass a fortnight and—”*




“*You’re trying to redirect me.” Hermione's jaw lowered slightly and she looked hurt at
what he said. Or guilty. Harry leaned more towards guilty.*




“*I assume you knew this woman in Dallas?”*




“*Well yes I —”*




“*How did you know her?”*




“*Harry–”*




“*How do you know her Hermione?”*




*Hermione's mouth closed and she frowned. She then crossed her arms in front of her. “You
saw the husband, Mr. Motormouth? He was on the Board of Directors for the center I worked
at.”*




“*Why did she call you Harmony?” That was the question Harry was really after. Hermione was
very particular when it came to people pronouncing her name right. The only person he ever knew her
to give a pass to was Viktor Krum and that was only because the Bulgarian's English wasn't
that good.*




“*How the hell should I know?” she shouted in answer, loosing her cool for a moment. One of
his eyebrows slowly crept up and she made a small sound of disgust.*




“*Look, Bertina never took the time to learn to pronounce my name correctly. I was never fond
enough of the woman to correct her,” she said defensively.*




*Harry took a moment to thoroughly weigh his options. If he were to try to read her mind again
Hermione would probably never trust him as long as she lived. But she was hiding something and the
fact that she was so stubborn, so unwilling to tell him what it was cut him deeply. Just how long
had it been since she stopped telling him everything? And just when had he stopped noticing
it?*




“*Are you in trouble?”*




*She looked him directly in the eye. “No.”*




*Harry's arms dropped to his side, but he didn't break her stare. His eyes begged her,
willed her to tell him the truth. He was almost convinced she had. He wanted so desperately to
believe she had, but the she began to talk again.*




“*And even if I was, it wouldn’t be anything I couldn’t get myself out of.”*




*It was then that he began to believe that she might just be lying.*




“*Now come on,” she said as she took his hand and led him out of the alley and back out to the
sidewalk. Harry allowed her to pull him along even though his feet dragged. “We’ve dawdled enough,
don't you think?”*




*He had begun to say something to that when she cut him off.*




“*Oh bother.”*




“*What?” he asked warily.*




“*I meant to pick up a gift for the baby.”*




“*Remus and Tonks won’t care.”*




*A rather condescending smile appeared on her face. “But I will.”*




“*Alright,” he said carefully as he took her hand. “Well, I guess we could go to that big
store over on Regent.” Harry began to walk with her up the street in that direction.*




*Hermione took a few steps and then stopped in her tracks. “I have a better idea. Why don’t I
run over there and I’ll meet you at Grimmauld?”*




*Harry almost gawked at her in disbelief, but he controlled the warring emotions that
threatened to play out on his face. “Why don’t we both go?”*




“*Harry, don’t be so difficult,” she said in a light hearted voice. “Ron has probably been
over there for ages wondering where we’ve been. You can go back behind that restaurant and Apparate
to the house and I’ll just pop over to Hamleys. When I'm done I’ll just have a cab drop me in
front of Number 10. Grimmauld is still hidden, correct?” He dully nodded his head. “Good. Then
I'll meet you there.”*




“*Ok,” Harry said in a hollow voice.*




*She lips smiled, her eyes didn't. “Good.”*




*She rose up on her toes to give him a small peck on his cheek. He looked into her face,
searching it for some clue as to what was going on, but finding none he turned around and began to
walk towards the alley they had been in just a moment before. Before he got too far he turned
back.*




“*Hermione?” She had been looking in the direction he was going, but it was as if her eyes
were glazed over. It took her a moment for them to focus at the sound of her name. Her face was a
blank mask before that shark eyed smile showed it’s self again. “Don’t be too long,” he told
her.*




“*I won’t,” said Hermione. He then turned and hastened away.*




*Harry entered the alley. Once hidden in its shadows he peeked around its corner just in time
to see her come sprinting by, her mobile at her ear as Hermione spoke hurriedly into it. She
didn't see him thanks to a hastily cast Disillusionment charm. She did look over her shoulder
at one point, probably sensing eyes on her, but shook her head and kept on her way. He watched as
she tried to hail a cab. He watched as one stopped and she jumped into it a moment later.*







*And he watched as the cab drove off in the opposite direction of Regent Street.*


 













“Here's your book!”








Harry heard the scratchy voice first before he looked up and saw the enormous reference book
magically teetering over Malfoy's head. There was no inner monologue, no little voice of
intuition that told him what to do, he simply put a foot out behind him and stepped back quickly.
It was only after the near 4000 pager came toppling down on Malfoy with a cringe inducing thud that
Harry's mind began to stir again. As the Slytherin let out an ear splitting yowl and tumbled
backwards out of his seat head first, Harry watched him go over and made a mental note to never
piss off the hag when she was half drunk and coming off of a bender.







The wizened old witch in question sauntered over to where Malfoy was lying on the floor and bent
over him.







“Will you need anything else Auror Malfoy?” she asked sweetly before ambling off, cackling all
the way to her desk.







The first few times Malfoy tried to get up he kept slipping over the papers and spilled ink that
were knocked down during his fall. Harry finally took pity on him and hauled him up under his arms.
He then ended up having to restrain Malfoy when he tried to charge forward and give chase after the
crone. Even all the way from her desk her laughter could still be heard through out the Archive
room.







“Let me at her! Let me at her!” shouted Malfoy as he tried to break free from Harry's grip.
“I am going tear all five teeth out of her head!”







Harry practically had to hold him around his middle and lift the bastard off the floor so he
couldn't get away. “You can't do that Malfoy,” Harry tried to convince him. “She's a
woman!”







That argument didn't hold water with Malfoy. “I demand proof!” he roared.







“Sit your pale arse down!” Harry said as he righted the chair and threw the git into it. He then
took out his wand and quickly tidied the mess on the floor, vanishing the spilled ink and floating
the papers and books back to where they were. There was one sheet of parchment he missed; it was
under the table, so Harry got down on his haunches to get it. He handed it back to Malfoy, not that
the prat was grateful or anything! He snatched it out of Harry's hands.







“Malfoy, why are you even in here?” he asked irritably as he stood back up. “I've had to
drag you out of here by your robes for the last few days. What are you looking for? What are you up
to?”




“None of your business,” he priggishly said. “Shoo fly, you're bothering me!” He hunched
over the parchment and tried to ignore Harry. Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes, and glanced
down at the vellum sheet.







“Discordium,” he read from the parchment, the tone of recognition clear in his voice. “Hmm …
interesting.” Harry then walked off heading in the direction of the door. He only got a few feet
away before Malfoy was bounding up to him in a rush, calling his name. Harry was really tired of
dealing with Malfoy's attitude and he was this close to just pretending that he hadn't
heard him, but he relented and turned around.




“What?”




Malfoy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off into one of the secluded alcoves where they
could be hidden from any of the other employees in the room. People usually used the alcoves when
they wanted to have a private conversation. The little niches were sound proof, once inside no one
could hear what they were talking about.







“What did you mean by ‘hmm … interesting’? What does 'hmm ... interesting' mean?” he
asked in a harried voice.







“For starters Malfoy you are standing far to close to me. Secondly, you might want to look into
a breath mint. And third, what’s it to you?”







Malfoy growled in frustration. “Potty, stop being such a tight arse for once in your life and
just answer the fucking question! Do you know what Discordium is?”







“I may have read about it,” Harry said as he straightened his glasses.




“You read?!”







“Malfoy you’re being a wanker again, and wankers don’t get their stupid little questions
answered, now do they?”




Malfoy pointed a finger at him. “Look Bangs Boy,” he tried again, “tell me where you've read
about Discordium!”




Tiring of this little game Harry decided to just answer him and be done with it. “In Advanced
Potion-Making.”







“What are playing at? Advanced Potion-Making doesn’t cover Discordium. That's a Ministry
approved N.E.W.T. level book. As if they would allow a bunch of sixth years to study a potion of
that magnitude. Besides, I had that book too. Remember? It wasn't in there,” Malfoy said
pompously.







“Well maybe not in your copy but it was in mine.” He started to exit the alcove, but Malfoy
blocked his way.







“In your copy?” Malfoy asked, frowning.







Harry rolled his eyes. “Does the name 'Half Blood Prince' ring any bells for you?”







Malfoy's eyes goggled. “You mean Severus?”







Harry felt the usual momentary twinge of irritation any time that name was spoken. “Yes. He
seemed very interested in Discordium; its properties, its side effects. There were tons of
handwritten notes towards the back of the book about it. I guess he was doing some sort of research
or something maybe?”







“Potter, this is very, very important. Where is that book now?” Malfoy asked anxiously. He
seemed deathly interested in the answer. Of course that only made Harry want to torture him for
kicks.







“I don't think I want to tell you,” he cheekily said.







“POTTER!!”




“Why is it so important anyway?” Harry asked before a more important question crossed his mind.
“What are you up to?” he asked again, his voice a tad rougher this time.







“Why do I always have to fucking be up to something?!!” he asked resentfully. If Harry
didn't know any better he would think that Malfoy almost sounded hurt as well.







“Fine. Just answer me this,” said Harry looking at him squarely, “would knowing what this is all
about make me very cross?”







“Potter, I can say with full honesty that knowing what this is all about would make ten foot
flames shoot out of that tight arsehole of yours.”







After taking a moment to cringe at the mental picture, he gave in. “Very well, the Squad is not
to be involved in this and don't come running to me when it all blows up in your face.”







“Done and done!”







Harry sighed resignedly. “Room 39, Janus Thickey ward, St. Mungo's.” Harry saw the instant
recognition on Malfoy's face. “A few years ago I returned it to its proper owner.”







Malfoy's pinched face relaxed some. He actually looked genuinely grateful. “Thanks Potter,”
he said. His eyes then bulged and he froze.







It took Harry's mind a few seconds to catch up. Did Malfoy ... did he just ... did he...




“Did you just thank me?” he asked, clearly shocked.




Malfoy looked as though he was going to be ill. “Yes,” he said, shuddering.







“Oh.” In all of the years that Harry had known him Draco Malfoy had never willingly said a kind
thing to Harry. Today was shaping up to be one for the record books.







“Did you mean to thank me?” Harry asked him bewilderedly.







Malfoy looked just as disturbed at the whole odd turn of events as he did. “I don't know,”
he groaned in disgust.







Harry wracked his brain for something to say. Finding nothing better, he said, “Your
welcome?”







Malfoy closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple. “Listen Potter; let's never speak of this
again.”







“Works for me,” Harry said only too gladly. They both began to leave through the archway of the
tiny room when Malfoy put out an arm to hold him back.







“What is it now you ponce?!” Harry asked irritably. “I do have things to do!”







“Shhh ... did you hear that?” Malfoy's head was cocked to the side.







“Hear what?”







“It sounded like someone was saying my name.”




“You always think someone is saying your name.”







“Four-eyes I heard your name as well. It sounded like - ”







Before he could finish his statement Malfoy pulled Harry to the side of the wall next to him and
flattened himself against it. He peeked a bit of his head out and Harry, ducking down, followed
suit. They watched as a group of women, Ministry employees all came from out of the stacks and came
to a stop near where they were hidden. Romilda and Peggy O'Shea were among them. The pregnant
blonde standing next to Romilda Harry had seen a time or two in the Portkey office though he
couldn't recall her name, but he certainly knew who the last female in the quartet was. Marilyn
Yaxley-Pickering. She was fittingly on the Pest Advisory Board. Most of the gossip that floated
around the Ministry usually started at her door. Harry tried his best to avoid her when he
could.







“I'm telling you they were back there together,” Marilyn said to the women who were paying
her court, hanging on her every word.







“I don't know Marilyn, I think you've finally let this little obsession of yours get the
better of you,” said the blonde amusedly as she eased herself into a chair nearby.







Marilyn playfully tutted at the remark. “I have not! Potter was back there and then not fifteen
minutes later his *lover*,” she emphasized the word salaciously and batted her eyes, “went in
after him. I saw it with my own two eyes.”







LOVER?!







Malfoy's gray eyes looked down at him, clearly tickled by the conversation. “Been keeping
something from me Potter?” Harry only narrowed his eyes at him in answer. He started to throw a
cutting remark back at his partner, but then the blonde began speaking again.







“I just don't think that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are shagging,” she said.







Malfoy's mouth nearly hit the floor. Well that shut him up, Harry thought with a smirk
before turning back to the women. The two Aurors could only stare at the group in amazement as they
continued to dish.







“Potter seems so ... straight laced. Pardon the pun. I just can't see him stepping out on
his wife, much less with Malfoy. In the back of the Archive room no less!”







“Well it would make sense in a way Samantha,” Romilda said to the blonde, sitting in the chair
next to her. “Circe only knows how many times I let Harry know that I'd be willing to do
anything ... and I do mean anything that povvy little Weasley of a wife of his won't...”







Harry was this close to stepping out and telling Vane off for the slight to Ginny. How dare she
insult the Weasleys like that! It took Malfoy pulling him back to stop him.







“But has he ever taken me up on it?” continued Romilda. “What else could be the reason?”







“Maybe because you're a big fat slag, you cow!” snarled Malfoy in a biting tone. Harry
nodded his head in agreement.







“But the way they go at it ...”







“Exactly my point Samantha!” Marilyn said to her companion. “With all of that unresolved sexual
tension can you just imagine the hate sex?” Her eyes exaggeratedly rolled to the back at her head
causing the other three women to laugh. “My Morgana, what I wouldn't pay to watch them go at
it!”







Malfoy looked down at Harry. “As though I'd have the bad taste to waste a tumble with you!
Do women actually talk like this?”







“Have you never met Fred Weasley's wife?” said Harry in answer, tilting his head to look up
at him.







“But they don't hate each other.”







The voice of their fellow Second Squad member caught both of their attention. O'Shea,
looking far more relaxed then she had earlier, knowingly said, “Sure they are constantly sniping at
each other, and threatening each other, and calling each other the most horrible names, but I
don't think they hate each other. In fact in an odd, twisted about sort of a way I think they
are rather fond of each other.”







Both Harry and Malfoy looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion. They inched as far away
from each other as they could manage without tumbling out and into the open.







Marilyn pouted. “Oh poo. There goes all those lovely fantasies of hate sex down the
drain."







The laughter that remark produced was so boisterous that the hag drifted by and gave each and
every single one of them the evil eye until they were properly quieted. Once the hag was gone
Marilyn started up again.







“If all of that hot sexual tension is no more they must have broken up. That can be the only
answer.”







“Who would have dumped who?” asked the one they called Samantha.







All four women paused for only a second before they all answered, “Harry,” then practically
crowed with laughter. Despite the ridiculousness of the conversation Harry snickered and sent
Malfoy a pleased look.





“Oh don't be so smug, I wanted to see other people anyway!” Malfoy grumbled obnoxiously.




“Well I don't think Harry is in here any longer,” Romilda said as she stood from her chair.
"I just wish I knew where he was. I don't know how much longer this Yank is going to stay
on the floo for hi – “







“Romilda - ” said Harry, stepping through the archway, scaring the hell out of the women. One of
them even shrieked.







“Oh no!” whimpered O'Shea as her hand flew to her mouth. The pink shade she turned clashed
monstrously with her scarlet work robes.







“Sweet Circe!” the witch named Samantha gasped as Malfoy came stepping out of the alcove.







Yaxley-Pickering was beside herself. “I knew it!” she declared triumphantly pointing a red
nailed finger. Malfoy looked enraged. Harry ignored all of them.







“Romilda, you said I have a call?” Harry asked, advancing on Romilda so aggressively that the
woman took a panicky step back from him. Later, when he turned a thought back to the scene, he
would think it was because Romilda was ashamed of getting caught gossiping about him. In actuality
it was the look on Harry's face that had sent chills, and not the good kind, down the addled
woman's spine. He looked fiercely determined and almost ... animalistic. His emerald eyes
burned a deep, dark viridian.







“Oh y-yes!” she stammered out breathlessly. "A Trans-Atlantic floo call from B-Baton Rouge.
A Marshal Rabinowitz is holding for you in Booth 1.”







“Thanks!” Harry yelled as he took off in the direction of the exit. He entered into the hall and
made a sharp right. He was heading to the lifts. Harry was half way there when he realized that he
was being followed.







“Potter!” called Malfoy as he lagged behind Harry, trying to catch up with him. Both of them
ignored the stares they were pulling from the other wizards and witches in the corridor. “Potter
wait up! Who is Rabinowitz? Potter, I'm your partner! I demand to know who Rabinowitz is!”







Harry turned around, but kept walking backwards. He was almost jogging. Two paper airplane memos
flew by his head and he watched his partner duck and swerve to avoid them. “Nothing for you to
worry your pretty head about Malfoy!” He turned around and broke into a trot. There was no way he
was telling Malfoy anything!







“POTTER!” Malfoy yelled, incensed at Harry's refusal to answer him.









Harry reached the hall where the lifts were. He saw a large crowd standing before the last
golden grille all the way to the end. The lift had just descended and the grille was pulling back
to allow the group to go inside. Harry had just managed to squeeze himself onto it before the gate
started to close. Malfoy stopped short as they banged shut in his face. The clanking and clattering
sound that signaled that the lift was moving started up.











“WHO IS RABINOWITZ POTTER?!!”









Harry smiled, joker like, into Malfoy's wrathful face. As the lift slowly started to creep
downwards he waved jovially at him. “Bye bye Malfoy.”









The smile only left his face once Malfoy's visage had passed out of sight.





















**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~ **



















“So what do you have for me Gabe?”







Harry was currently sitting on a small cushioned bench as he stared into the floo grate. The
Ministry floo booths from the outside looked like cramped water cabinets, hardly big enough for
someone to bend their knees. However they were nicer inside. The ceilings were lined with lighted
tiles, the sides were oak paneled, and they were spacious enough to allow one person to sit on one
side while they conversed with their party in the grate directly in front of them. Right now
Gabriel Rabinowitz was the face that Harry was staring at.







Gabe was an Auror, or rather a Marshal as they were called in America, who he had known for
about four years. Harry had first become acquainted with the young officer back when he was working
at the American Ministry in Salem in a department that was somewhat similar to the British MMBA
office. He had been the contact that Arthur consulted with when they discovered that Hermione might
be living in the States all those years ago. Although Gabe had worked tirelessly on the case back
then nothing had come of it, but he was such a likable guy that he and Harry eventually struck up a
friendship. When Gabe decided to leave his cushy job to train and become a Marshall a few years ago
Harry, having made a similar career move, encouraged him and gave him advice. They had maintained
their acquaintance ever since then, even after Gabe and his young family relocated to
Louisiana.







As soon as Harry Apparated to Remus' yesterday he had greeted his former school teacher and
instantly asked to use the floo in the library. He briefly wondered where Ron was, but didn't
spare it that much thought. Remus had asked after Hermione, but Harry shook off his inquiry and
once again asked to use the floo. Remus had looked at him strangely, Harry could only imagine the
expression that was probably on his face, but the older man told him that he didn't even have
to ask. Harry thanked him then made a beeline to the library and locked himself in. He immediately
placed a call to Gabe, never thinking about the time difference. Luckily it was still early enough
there that Gabe was on his lunch break and could talk to him. He was agreeable when Harry asked him
to do him a huge favor. Gabe told Harry that he would be giving him a call the next day if he had
something for him.











It looked like Gabe had something for him.











“Well let me just say that having an actual city to start the search off from this time helped
tremendously,” said Gabe mirthfully, adjusting his large red wire rimmed glasses as he spoke.







Harry felt his heart dip painfully. “You found her,” was all he said.







Gabe shook his head. “I didn't say that. I couldn't find a single trace of a witch by
the name of Harmony Granger living in Dallas during the time frame that you gave me.”









Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or perplexed at that. Then again they wouldn't
have been looking for a witch. “She was living as a Muggle then.”









“Oh no, you made that clear. Just every now and then an “undercover” will make a slip up here,
say the wrong thing there ...”









Harry was just this side of getting his hopes up. Maybe he had been worried about nothing. Maybe
there really was no cause for him to be suspicious, concerned. Maybe ...









“So you found nothing then?”









Gabe shook his head again. “I didn't say that.”









Harry's jaw stiffened in irritation. Gabe was a good enough bloke, but dear Merlin was he
chafing his arse right now! Gabe must have sensed Harry's aggravation because he immediately
continued to talk.









“I have a friend, an investigator of sorts. He belongs to this group, this organization if you
will, of ...” Gabe paused, searching for the word, “psychic detectives,” he finally settled on. “I
think that's the best way to describe them. Get this, their motto is 'We watch, and
we're always there'. Bunch of wack-a-doos, but they are more or less harmless,” he said
softly chuckling.







“My friend has been tracking this family we have in New Orleans for quite sometime now.
We've been tracking him. That's how we came to know each other. So I mention to the buddy
of mine everything you've told me about the woman you were trying to find info on. Sometimes my
friend’s 'work' takes him to Texas, Dallas occasionally. According to him he thinks he
knows your witch. Not personally of course. But she made a big enough impression on him to start a
file on her. Something to do with a garden party, a water hose, and a shar pei.”







Harry's eyebrows furrowed in a muddled manner.







“I know! I didn't ask too many details. But I think we might have a match. Young, pretty
enough, daycare worker from England? The name he gave me was Harmony Darlington.”











It was as though suddenly the tiny cabinet was full of locusts buzzing, humming directly in his
ear. Harry barely heard anything else Gabe was saying.







“She worked for the Deering Corporation. Big to do's over there in Dallas. Other then that
one incident my friend said she kept a relatively low profile. Then she disappeared about a month
ago so the case file on her has been shut temporarily. No one seems to know what happened to her.
Her ... Harry, pal, you still there?”









“That's her,” Harry said swallowing the lump in his throat. “That's her mother's
maiden name. That's her.”









Gabe quirked a smile. “Well I guess we found your girl.”









“I guess,” said Harry wearily. He cast his eyes to the ground as though searching for answers
there. Finding none he looked back up. “Gabe, I need another favor.”









“Shoot!”







“I need that file!”







Gabe pulled a face. He looked very uncomfortable. “I don't think I can help you on that one
pal,” he said shaking his head. “These guys are pretty anal when it comes to those files. I mean
really anal,” he said stressing the point.









“Gabe, I wouldn't ask it of you if it weren't important,” said Harry feverishly.









The Marshal took in Harry's agitated appearance for a moment and then sighed. “My pal owes
me a favor. Maybe I can call it in, see what I can do.”









Harry brightened at that. “I'd be eternally grateful.”









“I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best.”









“Thanks Gabe! I'm going to send my Hedwig to you. She should get there in a couple of days
or so. As soon as you get that file you can send it by her. I really don't trust any other
lines of communication for this.”







“It might take awhile.”







“Hedwig won't mind. She's been through worse.”







Gabe nodded his head and snickered. “Perhaps. But I have twin two year olds at home who have
discovered the joys of pulling things apart. I'm sure that your Voldemort would look like a
kitten in comparison.”









Harry told himself that he should smile at the joke. It was a very painful looking smile. “Thank
you again Gabe.”









“Anytime Harry,” he said before his head popped out of sight.











Harry sat in the floo booth for what could have been hours, he really wasn't sure nor did he
care. His legs were spread far apart, his hands braced on top of them, as he stared unseeingly
before him.









Hermione was in trouble. That's what his gut instinct told him. She was running scared from
something. The fact that she would have used an alias when she left England wasn't so
surprising. They often assumed that was the reason why it was so hard to find her. But why had she
left Dallas in such a rush? Harry wasn't sure, but he knew that something was definitely up.
She had told them all, that she left Texas to take a holiday. At the time Harry had thought it odd
that she would have gone to such an out of the way place as Cyprus, but he shrugged that thought
off at the time. He was just so happy to have her home that he would have eaten up anything she
tossed him. He had, in fact. But what Gabe told him started to form a different picture in his
head. For some reason she had totally dropped out of sight in Dallas, just like she had done in
England years before. Had she gone to such a far flung locale to hide? Why would she feel the need
to hide? What had she done? What had been done to her? Those thoughts made Harry's throat
tighten. The phone calls she seemed reluctant to take, the inconsistent stories, her odd behavior
yesterday with that Bertina woman … the HAIR?!







How could he have been so stupid?! So blind?!! He was smarter then this!









Well that settled it, whatever was going on with Hermione he was going to take care of it! If
she wanted to be stubborn and not tell him what the problem was he would go around her. Damn
straight he had a saving people thing! And he would save her too, even if she yelled, scratched, or
kicked at him while he did so. No matter what else lay between them Hermione was his best friend
and he would always take care of her, just as he would if Ron were in danger. Harry was going to
get down to the bottom of all of this. He would find out what had happened to her in Texas. He
would find out who this fucking Collier person was who kept calling and Merlin help him ...







And for now he would shelve his quest to obtain a divorce. He would put to the side this whole
drama with Ginny. He would fight his romantic feelings for Hermione as best he could, though that
task seemed more daunting then facing a cave full of half starved giants from where he was sitting
right now. And he would try to ignore the light he imagined he saw in Hermione's eyes when he
caught her looking at him. He would do all of this because right now her safety was what was
important. Nothing else mattered half as much. There were bigger things to worry about then which
woman lay in his bed at night. There were bigger things to concern himself with then who he wanted
to spend the rest of his life with. There were bigger things then pleasing his selfish heart. There
were just far bigger things. Harry could make the sacrifice for now. Really, he didn't mind it
so much.









At that thought the panel of tiled lights above Harry's head began blinking furiously in a
crazy series of patterns before exploding in flying sparks. He was plunged into darkness
instantly.

















Well maybe he minded a little.















Now breathe. Just because Harry says he's going to try to fight his feelings doesn't
mean that he will succeed, now does it? * g *





Next up is Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to; visions of past and present H/Hr fluff
(you're going to get to see a scene that Harry mentioned to his inner voice in chpt11 but from
Ms. Granger's view point now), you'll learn a little about Glinda Vengadasalam Weasley,
Hermione and Glinda go for a day of shopping for the Ball and girl talk, and a surprise visitor
drops in on them at the end. :)





I know I said that the Boadicea conclusion was going to happen in this chapter, but I goofed.
That's what happens when you don't look at you're outline. Sorry.





A few more points of interest:





1) My Santa Claus legend is my own twisted creation, but krampus (who RAWKS), is not. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krampus



2) Àfari is my bastardization of the elves of Norse mythology called Àfar. Of course the Eldar
are from LotR.


3) As I've mentioned I know nothing about England except what I have read. If my imagining of
Piccadilly Circus doesn't jibe...alas. But the fountain gave me too much inspiration. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piccadilly_Circus#Shaftesbury_Memorial_and_Eros

4) Miss Nancy is based on a woman who I know. I tried to reproduce her accent phonetically
because trust me, you wouldn't have understood a thing if it was actually written in patois.
But if anyone wants the translation I'll drop it for you in your review. It's just too much
to put here.

*5*) The shop probably looks more like a Santeria or Candomblé shop then an Olodumare one,
but I know what the first two look like and I don't know what the other does.
So...yeah.Hee!

6) Oshun is a Yuruban goddess of love and intimacy and a few other things. I threw in the babies
to fuck around with Herms. I am VERY evil.

7) I don't know what a Texan socialite would sound like, but I know what a Charleston one
would. So that's what I based Bertina off of.

8) Yes, that is a Talamasca reference for any Witching Hou or Lestat and his friends fans out
there. Damn I miss the real you Anne and your sexually ambiguous Vampires! * g *

I'm sure there are tons of other cultural, literature, and film references I've made,
but I'm tired and I can't think of anymore right now. LOL! But seriously y'all, this is
all in fun. Like I've said I have a twisted sense of humor and I have no sacred cows. I make
fun of EVERYTHING! I make fun of things I don't like. I make fun of things I love. That's
how I get my kicks! So please don't take anything I say too seriously. Sometimes it's not
even my opinion, but the character. I just don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. If you have
questions, shoot!









*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*



22. Chapter 17
--------------

**Title**: All Roads Lead Back

**Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.

**Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.

**Spoilers**: All six books.

**A/N:** Good news/Bad news. Good news, I finally wrote a Hermione chapter that didn't
have to be broken up in half. Yay! Bad news, it's loooong! This is a chapter I’ve been dying to
get to, had portions of it already written, so that’s why it’s coming to you so fast. I’m nervous
about it, I like it, but as always mileages do and will vary. As I mentioned in one of my last A/N
you are going to see a scene that Harry mentioned, but from Hermione’s POV. It’s the last flashback
in the chapter. If you want to go back and look at the Harry mention (you don’t have to) it’s in
chapter 11 when he is speaking to his inner voice (that looks like Hermione) and she brings up a
time where Harry almost kissed Hermione.

I apologize in advance for all of the Star Wars references. The Sith has been on HBO all month,
I’m a fangirl, I’ve watched it a committable number of times, and I am a sponge; all kinds of
things find themselves in my writing eventually. Sorry!

Thank you for your reviews for last chapter! Also thanks to **Padfoot** and **murphsmine**
(AKA **adamolupin**-read her fics read her fics)!

**Warning:** Well if you’ve been reading thus far I shouldn’t have to give one. I’ll just say
it begins with a bang (heh) and ends with an “oh no”. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

*Friday, 06/10/05*







The dream started out as it usually did. That feeling, as though swimming, struggling through a
pit of molasses, pressed its self all around her and seemed to weigh her down. She tried to call
out for help, the hitch of her chest signaling her lungs expanding, but no sound broke from her. As
her forehead wrinkled a thin film of sweat began to form. Her head tossed listlessly back and forth
upon the pillow, and her whole body began to tremble due to her soundless, desolate weeping. She
was cold, so very cold, though it wasn't because of the satiny sheets that lay tangled about
her bare legs. It was more of an inner chill that seemed to permeate every cell and nerve of her
body and left her thinking that she would never be warm again.









Never warm...never...again...









“Shhh...”







She felt a heated palm slowly wipe at the moisture at her brow.









“Relax, it will be alright. Go back to sleep.”









She wanted to say “no” but the word would not come, would not form. Her brain could not remember
the process in which to make it. Her head fell weakly to the side.









“Go back to sleep. You'll feel better if you sleep. It will all be over in the morning.”









Fingers walked themselves into her hair. They began to massage at her scalp. She felt a weight
settle next to her on the bed. Although it felt like it took all the strength she had she brought
her head back up. She fought to open her eyes and when she finally managed she found herself lost
in a sea of green.







“Har—”







“Shhh...I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here.”









It was the kind tone in which the words were spoken that made the tears trickle down the sides
of her face. Everything else in the room was lost to her, everything but those green eyes.









“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she heard a voice that she vaguely recognized as
her own say. It was pitiful and feeble and it almost turned her stomach to hear it. She hated women
like this! When had she become a woman like this?! “I'm so scared.”







Lips, chapped, but still soft and firm brushed the top pf her head. As he leaned over her his
scent seemed to envelop her, to invade all of her senses. She began to tremble again, but this time
she knew it wasn't because she was cold. As he pulled back she felt those eyes on her
again.









“I'm going to take care of you now. I'm going to make everything go away. Believe me,
don't you?”









Child like, she nodded her head.









“Good.” He looked down at her lovingly. He tenderly brought the back of his knuckles across the
plain of her cheek and down to the corner of her mouth.







“So sweet,” he murmured thickly. “So swee—“







The rest of what he had to say was lost as she sprung forward and pressed her lips onto his.
Hard.









“Mmph!”







The startled sound was probably accompanied by his eyes widening in shock at her bold move. She
didn't get to see it. Her eyes were closed as she tried to lose herself in the moment, in the
heart stopping second of bliss. She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt as though she had lived her
entire life for this feeling. As she threw her arms around his neck her hands clamped down on the
back of his head as she tried to force him closer, nearer, inside her. She had to have him inside
her.







Her tongue reached out tentatively to meet his just as he was doing the same. She felt him grin
as he kissed her and she returned it. But as their tongues began to swirl and twist about each
other, they both began to take this whole beautiful madness seriously. His large hands were at the
base of her back. They would smooth out the silk of her short, thigh length camisole then pull at
the fabric of the garment making it rise higher. When he moaned she almost imagined she felt the
sensation travel her whole body and settle at her feet.







She began to draw him down with her. There was a brief hesitation on his part, she felt it when
his body tensed, but she would not allow him to deny her what she wanted. Not this time. She held
him tighter, refusing to let him slip from her hold. Although her torso lay locked in a rigid
position her legs kicked frantically at the sheets trying to free themselves. He still seemed
reluctant to continue, but finally relented as he slipped out of his shoes and fell with her to the
bed. Their lips never parted.







He settled over her and her legs parted gratefully to welcome him home. She shivered as she felt
the night air tickle at the small damp patch on her knickers. She shivered again as she felt his
erection run against that spot only helping to make it wetter, nearly soaking them. She heard a
muffled, tortured whimper and knew that it was her. The sound of it seemed to shake him from his
thrall. He gently dropped a kiss on her lips before pulling back. She instantly missed the contact
and blindly began to lean back in. Not being able to land her target she petulantly opened her eyes
and found him balanced above her on his hands looking down into her face. She was almost terrified
that he was going to call a stop to this, but that fear only emboldened her. She never wanted this
to end.







“You want me.”







There was no plea, no questioning tone in her voice. But as she spoke her hands found the thin
straps of her night shift and pulled them down. She watched him steadily, triumphantly as his
hungry eyes feasted on all of her glorious skin, her naked breasts displayed wantonly before him.
She felt her nipples become taught as he unconsciously licked at his lips. She knew that there was
no turning her down now. She wouldn't stand for it!







Suddenly his lips were upon hers again, forcefully, demandingly, possessively. She nearly let
out an exultant cry as he lay back on top of her and she welcomed his weight. The coarse material
of his shirt began to rub at her hardened nubs, his cock began to rock at her core, and she felt a
quick stab of pleasure pulse at the center of her. Her legs wrapped around his arse and she tried
to meet his rhythm with thrusts of her own.







Once again his lips stole away from hers and traveled down her neck, but she was so distracted
by the fingers that were pulling her camisole down the rest of her body that she barely noticed.
Her skin began to feel the pin pricks of air as she lifted up just enough to get it off of her
leaving her nearly nude. All she had on were the drenched knickers that would certainly be ruined
after all of this. She almost protested the fact that he still had all of his clothes on, even his
socks. Then his lips found one of her nipples and began to suckle, pulling and pulling at it until
her brain was left useless. Her other breast was receiving substantial attention as well; he would
squeeze and knead it and every so often give the nipple a playful tweak. Pleasure and pain would
mix in her head and become one, making her incoherent as she arched her back off the bed. It was a
scream that eventually tore from her as his tongue flicked at her nipple and his other hand crept
inside of her bikini briefs, his thumb circling at her clit.







She sat up quickly on her knees determined to put a stop to this endless teasing. She began to
tear at the buttons of his shirt like a madwoman possessed. He knelt before her as well, one hand
fisted painfully in her hair while the other continued to play inside of her. First one, then two
fingers began to pump her as his thumb continued to mercilessly flirt with that swollen little bit
of flesh it had become so enamored of. She began to ride his hand with as much leverage as she
could muster as their mouths ravaged each other, bruising and nipping and robbing the other of air.
Every now and then they would catch a quick breath whenever his head would duck down and playfully
nip at her breasts as they bounced up and down. Finally she slowed her pace and grinded herself on
him. His shirt was unbuttoned now and she was peppering his hairless chest with kisses, her teeth
scrapping the skin every so often as she pulled it off of him. She thought she heard him say her
name, but her head was so fuzzy that she couldn't be sure. It almost felt difficult to keep her
eyes open. But she came wide awake once she reached out and squeezed the bulge in his pants. It
jumped to life in her hand. She was certain when she heard him hiss loudly that he was just as
ready to claim her as she was to have him.







“Stand up,” she heard his strangled voice instruct and she did, though her legs trembled
dangerously. Her body was begging for something that she desperately wanted him to give her. The
box springs of the bed made a sound as she stood before him, her fingers began running through his
crisp hair. Oh, how she loved his hair and his face and those eyes. Oh those eyes! Her knees nearly
knocked together, the look he was giving her was so desirous, so starved that she couldn't
stand the heat from those laser like lamps. She had to close her own and just let the sensations
take over. She felt it when he moved closer to her, the body heat emanating off of his skin almost
boiling the blood under hers. She felt it when something fleshy and wet began to dip into her
bellybutton and dance around its rim. She felt it when his two hands rubbed at the sides of her
hips before dragging the last piece of clothing she had left to her off. When she felt the bikini
briefs finally make it to her knees she stepped one foot then the other out of them. Her eyes were
still closed so she didn't get to see the pleased look cross his face, but when his tongue
darted out and took one long, unhurried lick of her folds her knees buckled and gave out from under
her.









“Now!” she begged him as she took his face in her hands, staring into his eyes. “I’m tired of
waiting!” Almost every word was punctuated by her heavy pants.









If he didn't hurry she was going to come before she got a chance to feel him inside of her
and she didn't want that. Not this time at least. They had time for every thing else later.
Later would be good. Just now she wanted everything that was him pushing, stretching, hammering
into everything that was her. He seemed to understand her needs perfectly. She suspected that they
might be his as well.









“Turn around,” he said huskily.







She maneuvered herself around so that she was facing the top of the bed, her back towards
him.









“Bend over.”









Timidly she reached her hands out, gripped them around the pine wood headboard, and held on to
it for dear life. She heard the sound of his zipper being pulled down and after a few minutes she
turned to find him leisurely stroking his cock up and down, his pants and boxers pulled down far
enough that they hung under his knees. She watched his thumb run over the swollen, purple head as
he stared intently at her while jacking himself off. Her head swung back around and she wiggled her
bum nervously. She wasn't so sure about this. She felt a moment of apprehension at not being
able to see him while he did whatever he was going to do to her. He must have taken the truly
innocent movement as an invitation though because she felt him move closer. All insecurity vanished
once he began to trail kisses down her spine, each kiss making the skin tingle and her moist, slick
sex quiver. She even giggled when she felt him lay a smacking kiss on each cheek of her bum. The
laughter quickly evaporated when he grazed the head of his cock teasingly against her slit. Without
meaning to she felt her legs spread further apart. Her arousal practically drizzled down the
insides of her thighs and yet he continued to stroke her artfully, masterfully. One hand began to
knead the flesh of her hip. He would just barely let his cock dip inside her before it would lazily
slide back out. Over and over again, he did this. It made Hermione want to weep in frustration and
need. She tried to push back against him, but he kept her where he wanted her, determined to drive
her into a frenzied state. She felt that throbbing, dull ache welling up inside of her and growing
restless, waiting for him to do something about it, removed one of her hands from the headboard to
take care of it herself. But before she could he grabbed her hand, placed it on her clit and as his
hand manipulated its movements in one...two...three deft strokes he slammed into her from behind
causing her to cry out his name in ecstasy before stars filled her view and everything went
dark.





















**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~** 

















“HARRY!”











Hermione wrenched herself into a sitting position on the bed, sweat pouring down her back
sticking the red cotton tank top to her skin. The name of her best friend seemed to echo in the
darkened room for a moment and she almost thought she could still see his startling green eyes
staring right before her. Her heart felt as though it was trying to blacken the inside of her
ribcage, it beat so furiously at it. Hermione's head swiveled back and forth wildly as her mind
tried to make sense of what was going on. It took her a few moments before she remembered where she
was; Godric's Hollow, the Potter cottage. Despite the darkness, faint strips of sunlight peeked
from around the drawn window curtains helping her to see. She was in the master bedroom surrounded
by almost all of her parents' old bedroom furnishings as well as a few new pieces she had
bought within the last couple of days. Her dog lay asleep on the floor next to the bed. Lizzie had
momentarily lifted her head to see what the problem was, but finding only her disoriented master (a
sight that was becoming only too common to the beast) dropped her muzzle back to her paws and went
back to sleep. The familiarity of her surroundings was what eventually began to calm Hermione. As
her breathing began to settle, her pulse rate returned to normal, and her brain began functioning
again Hermione fell back on the bed, the tousled sheets damp beneath her, and realized that she had
only been dreaming again.









She also realized that she was in need of a fresh pair of knickers.











Hermione decided that another shower would probably do the trick as well. A nice, long, arctic
cold shower. She even stood under the tap as the freezing spray of water washed over her and with
her loofah in one hand and her scented body wash in the other tried desperately to scrub the memory
of the damned dream away. But it was as though she would never be clean. *Jesus, why can’t it
just go away*, she inwardly screamed. *Like I need this shite too!* She nearly rubbed
herself raw.











The first time she had the dream was her last morning in Dallas. She had woken up that day, so
completely determined to get the hell out of town that she hadn’t had the luxury of time to focus
too much thought on it. Besides, it wasn't like she had never dreamt of Harry before. Her
dreams up until that point had just never been that...graphic. It wasn't until the second time
it intruded upon her that Hermione began to worry. It was her first night in Cyprus. Even then she
wrote the whole thing off as just her frazzled nerves. The temptation to go scouring the city in
search of a wizard's apothecary for a ready made vial of Dreamless Sleep was strong, but
Hermione did not give in to it. When no other dreams followed that one she just decided to put it
out of her mind as best she could. She thought she had until the recurring dream came to her some
time around four that morning, then made an encore performance a few hours later. This marked the
first time the dream (not to mention Hermione herself) had come twice in one day. It had disrupted
her sleep sometime after dawn so she had decided to go jogging to clear her head. Lizzie went along
with her. She ended up limping home afterwards, having tripped only once this time. She had taken a
shower afterwards to cool down and rid herself of the dust she had picked up in the fall. She had
plans to go shopping with Glinda later, but decided that she could sneak a quick nap in before
then. Since it was so warm in the house she threw on a simple pair of cotton knickers and a tank
top to sleep in. She couldn't have been asleep more then ten minutes before she was plunged
back into that erotic darkened den where all that she craved was Harry Potter, fucking her brains
out!









*Argh!* It just seemed so damned real! More like a memory then just a simple night vision.
She could almost feel Harry's fingers on her...in her. She turned lobster red whenever she
thought that last part. When she first started having "those kinds of dreams", somewhere
just before she turned fourteen, they were usually exaggeratedly romantic scenes that had the
dignity to fade to black before anything too interesting happened. At first Ron was the star of all
of them. Then near the end of fourth year Harry started to creep in slowly. There was that one
instance where both of them turned up one night...Hermione tried not to think of that one too
often. It was only after the whole mess with Hufflepuff's Cup that Harry became the marquis
star exclusively. It was also then that her fantasies became less vague. Whispered midnight
conversations she had heard traded between Lavender and Parvati now fueled the naughty little
scenarios in her dreamscape. Not that Hermione only dreamt about having sex with Harry, those were
just the dreams that tended to leave her so very unfulfilled and wanting more. After she started
abusing the Dreamless Sleep those dreams as well as all the others began to fade away until they
rarely ever bothered her. In fact, those last few years in Texas she hadn't had another dream.
Except for that last day...







Now it was as if she was being tormented, punished, for wanting Harry. Each time the dream came
another piece would be added on to further unhinge her mind. *It has to be the goddamned
potion*, she told herself. Hermione wouldn't accept the idea that she would ever think of
doing such things with Harry on her own. She always thought that if Harry were to ever make love to
her (wishful thinking yes, but still...) they would make nice love. Sweet love. Vanilla, as Glinda
would call it. But this dream wasn't nice, far from it. It was raunchy and lewd and savage and
beastly and raw and lustful and primal and rapturous and dear sweet baby Jesus...she didn't
know how she would manage not to attack the poor man the next time she saw him! But she knew she
wouldn't. She had trained herself to ignore that little voice quite well through out the years.
Ignoring it now should be a piece of cake, she believed. Of course being in love with Harry made
things stressful and living in his house was cause for concern. Then there was the fact that she
hadn't been intimate with a man in at least a year. She couldn't even remember the last
time she had been kissed! None of those factors changed the situation. Harry was married to the
most beautiful girl in the world, the love of his life, and all Hermione was to him was his friend.
His very best (frustrated) friend. A sister.









Sometimes Hermione really had to laugh at herself. She was a kept woman without any of the
benefits.







Well it was either that or cry.









After putting on some underwear, throwing on her robe, and tying a kerchief over her messy and
somewhat damp hair Hermione managed to get downstairs without stumbling over her own feet. She was
hungry and had her heart set on a box of powdered donuts she had hidden from herself just the other
day. Since leaving Texas, Hermione had taken on the inglorious habit of stuffing her face every
time her nerves became too frayed. If she kept at the rate she was going she wouldn't be able
to fit inside the Great Hall. She had been trying to counteract her eating habits for years, it
wasn't as though she enjoyed getting up so early in the bloody morning to run, but since she
couldn't manage to stay on her feet these days she figured that she needed an alternative
method of keeping the pounds at bay for now. One method she tried was eating healthier things. She
figured that if she was going to stuff her face she might as well gorge herself on low calorie
snack foods. As she walked down the staircase she even held a bag of rice cakes in her hand
munching on one as she came to the bottom landing. Sadly the bag was now nearing empty after having
spent the night in her bed cuddled in her arms. That was why she was after the donuts now.







As Hermione ambled through the living room, taking great care not to put too much pressure on
her right foot, her eyes were drawn to the bookcase. It was a large mahogany affair that possessed
very few books at the moment. There were times Hermione felt like weeping over all of her precious
books that she had gotten rid of after she fled England. But since the majority of them were
magical they didn't quite fit in with the new Muggle life she tried to make for herself. Right
now all that the bookcase held was a small collection of Dickens' classics that were her travel
reading, a cd stereo system that she was certain was almost sacrilegious to store there, and the
wooden statue she had bought from Aunt Nancy's shop on Wednesday. The exotic dark skinned woman
who preened before her mirror sat on a shelf all by herself, as though holding a position of honor.
Hermione paused a moment to stare at the beautiful object d'art. That's how Hermione
thought of the thing; she wouldn't even entertain the ludicrous notion that it was really some
kind of magical idol. That didn't stop her from having no intentions whatsoever of keeping the
thing in her bedroom.







*Though it’s not like Oshun would have much to work with*, she chuckled.









Hermione put down the bag of rice cakes and picked the statue up to have a good look at it,
turning it over a few times in her hands. It felt warm to the touch. As she studied it she
contemplated passing it on to Glinda. Glinda would just love it! It was just odd enough to hold her
fascination. Glinda would also probably think it was real. Hermione wondered if Glinda would like
to give Felicity a little brother or sister to play with. For a Weasley spouse she was hanging
dangerously behind the curve that Fleur and Penelope had already set. Then again if anyone was
lagging behind it was Harry and Ginny, which was a shame really. Harry would make such a good dad!
He'd be authoritative yet still fun loving, firm but understanding. And a pushover if it was a
little girl he happened to have. Hermione smiled to herself as an image of Harry flying through the
sky with a small bundle wrapped in his arms played before her eyes. She could just see the
child's mother, hair flying about her head, running out of the house to scold Harry soundly for
taking the toddler that high up. Hermione's smile began to fade once she noticed the red hair
on the woman. She placed the statue back on its shelf quickly and went into the kitchen.









She had only been in there for a few minutes, a donut caught between her teeth when music began
to play through the house.









“I fell in love with you first time I looked into
Them there eyes
You've got a certain lil' cute way of flirtin' with
Them there eyes
They make me feel happy
They make me feel blue
No stallin'
I'm fallin'
Going in a big way for sweet little you”









Hermione's head popped up from the cabinet she had been searching through. She didn’t recall
turning the stereo on. In fact, she was positive that she hadn’t turned it on! How could the music
just start playing like that? Was the security spell acting up again? Charlie had been over the
night before and spent an hour or so investigating the sound system and trying some of her cds out,
he seemed to have the same fascination with Muggle technology as his father, but Hermione knew that
she had turned it off after he left and she headed off to bed. It was when she heard the soft thud
of a book falling off of its shelf that Hermione realized that someone was in the house with her.
Panic instantly set in. Although it should be impossible, someone had managed to get into the house
without her knowledge of them. Hermione quickly wondered where her dog was, but she threw that
thought aside. Lizzie wouldn't be able to do a damned thing to help her. Lizzie was so friendly
that she approached complete strangers with no trepidation. The only person the dog seemed to
dislike was Draco. Well, Laurie too, but that was understandable.













"They sparkle
They bubble
They're gonna get you in a whole lot of trouble
You're over workin' them
There's danger lurkin' in
Them there eyes"













Regardless of that, if someone had broken into the house to get her Hermione would have to take
care of the situation herself. Fight or flight had been the credo she had lived by for years. She
had chosen the latter so often that it had almost become second nature to her. As Hermione reached
a hand onto the counter above her and grabbed the handle of the first object she came in contact
with she decided that maybe now was the time to do the other. She gulped down the rest of the
donut, slowly rose from her haunches and stole towards the doorway on cat like feet. She took a
quick breath for courage and, raising the makeshift weapon above her head, launched herself into
the other room as the jazzy little ditty was fading to an end. She had no idea who she would
encounter, but for some reason she never figured on who it actually was.







“HARRY?!”







At her bookcase stood the smiling, tousled hair, green eyed cause of her restless night. In one
hand he was returning a hard cover first edition of Great Expectations to its shelf. In the other
hand he held Oshun.









“Hello,” he said, eyes gleaming brightly as he looked at her. His smile dwindled some as his
eyes drifted up to her hands. “What were you going to do with that thing?” he asked
inquiringly.







Hermione's whole body flushed with embarrassment. She quickly dropped her arms and hid her
hands behind her back. Considering the situation Hermione answered him with as much dignity as she
could.









“I was going to brain you but good with this thing!”







Harry quirked a mirthful, boyish grin. “With that thing?!”







That “thing” happened to be a heavy wooden rolling pin. A pink ribbon tied around its middle
section completed its imposing image.







“It was the best I could do with such short notice. I thought that someone had broken into the
house,” Hermione contested as she crossed over to the stereo and turned it off with its remote. She
could feel herself becoming very disagreeable. Harry, standing so near, looking sinfully good in
his simple white shirt and khaki pants was not helping her mood. Random images of her dream ran
through her head to the point that sweat began to bead on her forehead. She could only imagine what
a fright she looked. One hand came from behind her back to brush off any remnants of the powdered
donut that might still be on her face. She then tried to run her fingers through her hair quickly
so it wouldn't look as disheveled and poofy as she knew it did, but realized that she had the
kerchief tied around it still. As always she wondered why this man had the power to turn her into a
befuddled teenager. It just wasn't fair!









“Never mind all of that! What are you doing in my house?” she asked crossly.







Harry's eyebrows lifted higher into his fringe but the smile never left his face. “Your
house? I thought that it belonged to both of us.”









“Oh don't start that up again!” she retorted, stomping her foot. He laughed at that. “What
are you doing here?!”









Harry put down the statue. By the looks of his adorable smile he appeared to be finding her
contentious demeanor quite amusing.







“You asked me to come over, remember? You asked me to look after the dog while you and Glinda
got up to no good today.”







Hermione searched her memory and realized that he was right. That didn't stop her from
wanting to smack him one good time about his head.







“Well, you should let a person know when you just pop in like that. For all you knew I could
have been walking around in my underthings.” She silently said a brief prayer that the ties of her
robe were knotted tight.







Harry's ever present grin became even more mischievous, if that were possible. “And you say
that like it’s a bad thing.”







“Careful there,” said Hermione, eyebrow arched, “you're starting to sound like your
partner."







Hermione knew that the intended insult had done its job when the smile dropped off of
Harry's face and was replaced by a green tinged look of distaste.







“Now that was just mean Hermione,” he admonished, shaking his head in awe. Hermione only smirked
in reply.







“What's got you so wound up anyway?” he asked. “This place is warded so tight that a person
would have a better shot at breaking into Gringotts. And you know that I'm the only person that
can just come right through. Why would you think otherwise?” He then paused as he tilted his head
and studied her. “Think someone's after you?"







“No!” Hermione screeched loudly as she took a step back. “I just...I mean, I am a woman alone
Harry. I just...freaked out a bit, is all.” She tried to laugh the whole thing off, but her jittery
laughter only made Harry look at her skeptically.







“If that's all...”







“It is,” she said firmly signaling that the conversation was now closed. Harry however didn’t
see it that way.







“I seem to recall giving you a wand,” he said as he folded his arms across his chest and looked
down his nose at her. He really did cut an intimidating figure, even outside of his work robes. It
was as if he still held the fate of the wizarding world on his broad shoulders. But Hermione
wasn't scared of him, not in the least.









“I seem to recall telling you that I didn't need it.” She gave him a challenging look and,
withdrawing the rolling pin from behind her back, began to tap it lightly on her other hand. Harry
got the message this time.







“I'll leave it alone for now,” he relented, throwing his hands up before him. “So where did
you get the rolling pin from?” he asked lightly before his facial expression changed into one of
worriment. “You're not baking, are you?”







“No, I'm not baking, you prat!”







Harry let out a relieved whistle. It was obvious that he hadn't forgotten the last time she
baked in the cottage's kitchen. She nearly burned the place down.







“Molly sent it. It's a housewarming gift.”







“She gave you a rolling pin?”







Hermione looked down at the utensil in her hand and frowned. Molly had always had the bad habit
of giving her gifts that she could really have done without. Wizarding cookbooks, cleaning
accessories, a pair of self-knitting knitting needles one Christmas; Hermione had actually liked
that last one until Molly archly hinted that they were perfect for making baby booties. Though
Hermione truly adored the woman, Molly's intent was always clear. She wanted to make Hermione
over into a perfect Weasley wife. Though she knew that that was something she could never be,
Hermione gratefully accepted the gifts back then with a smile. She just found it funny that even
now, when there wasn't a chance in hell of her marrying Ron, Molly would still give her a
present like it. That Molly Weasley was an odd one.







“Yes she gave me a rolling pin,” said Hermione. “Though I'm no Betty Crocker it was sweet of
her.” As she turned to go into the kitchen she added as an afterthought, “Charlie brought it over
last night."







“Charlie was over here?!” Harry had come marching into the kitchen after her.







“Uh huh,” she said as she placed the pin back on the counter and turned around to lean on it.
“Molly asked him to bring it over for me,” she told him.







“But he shouldn't have been able to...”







Harry stopped short of what he was going to say and his eyes squeezed shut. He realized
instantly that he had incriminated himself.







“Go on.” Hermione said as she folded her arms and gave him a smug little look. His expression
was priceless.







“Erm...”









“Shouldn't have been able to floo in?” Hermione said, finishing his statement for him. “Is
that what you were going to say?”







Harry nodded his head. He knew it was futile to try and deny her veiled accusation.







“Well he couldn't,” Hermione continued, “but since he had been here already he was able to
Apparate out back.”







“Oh.”







“Yeah, oh. You see, after Luna tried to come through a couple of days ago and couldn't the
sneaking suspicion that someone had put a block on my floo started to occur to me. Imagine my
surprise yesterday when I went over to the Floo Network Office and found out that not only was
there a block, but only Ron and Glinda were authorized to use my grate.”







A very argumentative look crossed Harry's face. “I only did it for—”







“My protection. Yes, I know. I'm not mad. Annoyed, oh yes! But not mad. In fact I left it as
it is.”









Surprise flitted across Harry's face, but he smoothed his expression to a more serious one.
“Good,” he said before his brows knitted together and he asked, “Wait, you were at the Ministry and
you didn't come and see me?”









“I did,” she answered as she turned to open a cabinet behind her head and pulled out a glass.
She walked over to the sink and after filling it passed the glass to Harry. He took it gratefully.
She watched him drink it down as she continued to talk.







“Ran into Romilda, ugh!” The curled lip and rolling eyes showed just what she thought of Vane.
“Met your boss; have you ever heard the horrible name Draco calls that poor man? But did I see
Harry Potter? And I waited for a good spell too.”







Hermione didn't miss it when his Adam's apple hitched. “Must have been taking a call,”
was all he said as he handed the glass back to her. Hermione shrugged it off. *Must have been
something to do with the big mystery case*, she told herself.









“That's what Romilda said.” Hermione walked back to the sink and put the glass in it. Her
back was turned to him. “Were you in one of the booths when all of the lights through out the
Ministry went crazy? That was weird, wasn't it?”









“Lights?” he asked in a deadpan tone as she turned back around. If you asked Hermione it was a
trifle too impassive. Harry didn't waste time changing the subject. “So what were you doing at
the Ministry?”









“I was doing some banking in town. Afterwards I decided to drop in and see if you wanted to go
for a bite."







A soft smile formed on Harry's lips as he took a step closer to her. The look in his eyes
made her chest feel very warm. “I would have liked that.”







*Stop smiling at me like that*, was what she would have liked to say. She was very
flustered and all of a sudden she didn't know what to do with her hands. They fidgeted
nervously as one finally came to a rest at the top of her head. “Yes, well...um...Draco was kind
enough to keep me company.”









A disgusted chuffing sound came from Harry. *That was good*, she thought. *Focus on
that*.







“Oh stop acting like you're jealous of me spending time with Draco.” Hermione found it very
silly that the two of them would still act like prats about each other after all of these years.
What kind of partners did that make them?









Harry slowly approached her. Her eyes widened as she felt the edge of the sink pressing into her
back. She felt trapped with no place to go. Worse then that, a little voice told her that she
didn't really want to go anywhere. She just watched helplessly as he reached a hand to the
corner of her mouth. He was trying to get at the last bit of powdered sugar that was, unbeknownst
to Hermione, still on her face. His thumb lingered close to her lips far longer then was necessary
or appreciated.







“I think I would be jealous of you spending time with anyone,” he said lowly as his gorgeous
eyes looked down into hers. The feel of Harry's fingers so near to her lips, just like in the
dream, was so titillating that she thought she felt herself clench down in her knickers. Her lips
trembled as her body jerked. Her fingers snatched at the kerchief and brought her hand crashing
down to the rim of the sink. Whether she cried out from the pain of the knock to her wrist or from
something else was up to debate, but it was obvious that Harry felt he was somehow responsible.









“Sorry,” he said awkwardly as he dropped his shame filled eyes. He bent down to pick up the
kerchief where it had fallen to the floor, but when he went to hand it back to her his jaw
dropped.









“Your hair...”









As Hermione rubbed at her sore wrist it took her a minute to realize what had him so
speechless.







“What about my hair?” she asked him quizzically before understanding his meaning. Her other hand
dove into the thick, frizzy (though not entirely bushy) mass that was on top of her head.









“Oh yes. Looks awful doesn't it?” She began to self consciously smooth it down, although
that wasn't much help. Usually it took hours with a flat iron to make her hair behave. However
she just didn't have the energy to try and make it look picture perfect today. Plus her dark
roots were starting to show. She figured that when she and Glinda went shopping later she would
just throw on a hat or a scarf and be done with it. Hermione had no idea what she was going to do
with it for the Ball tomorrow night.









“Nearly gave myself a scare when I looked in the bathroom mirror. I tell you, pay a bloke a few
hundred dollars to make it look like your hair isn't running away from your face and it
doesn't do any good does it? The humidity has been horrible to it and I haven't really been
taking care of it like I should. It almost looks like it did when we were kids. Ugh!” she said
glibly as she took the kerchief back and walked passed him to go back into the living room.







She had never been that fond of her hair when she was younger, the amount of brushes she had
gone through in her adolescence could attest to that, but it wasn’t like she had spent much thought
on it either. Sure, every now and then her self-conscious vanity would kick in like in fourth year
when she had almost went crazy with the Sleakeasy's, but usually she thought of her hair as
just an extension of herself. Like her eyes, her nose, her kneecaps; her hair was there to serve
its purpose, to keep the top of her head warm, and that was all, nothing terribly special. It was
only after a teen aged witch in a supermarket in Fort Worth recognized her that Hermione began the
arduous (and a lot of times tortuous) task of straightening her unruly mop. Not that it did much
good; her hair seemed to be just as stubborn as she was. And all of the rules annoyed her.
Don't wash it too often, don't let it stay wet, don't sweat, don't go through the
task of living a normal life. There were times Hermione felt like a collector's doll that was
being held captive in a vacuum sealed bag just so she could have silky, flowing hair. But
eventually it became manageable. Best of all it made her look less like herself which was the
intended point. All of her new friends in Texas seemed to like the straightened version which made
it all the better. She always assumed that her friends in England would probably feel the same
about it if they were ever to see her. Apparently that wasn't the case.











“I liked your hair when we were kids.”







Hermione stopped in her tracks. While tying the kerchief around her head she turned to face
Harry. The earnest look on his face should have left little doubt to his sincerity. Hermione still
somehow convinced herself that he was just humoring her.









“Stop lying, you did not!” she said as she knotted it and gave him a friendly shove to the
shoulder. It was said jokingly, but Harry suddenly became very serious. It was the face he usually
made when he was trying desperately not to trip up on his own words.









“I did!” he insisted strongly. “It just seemed to suit you perfectly. I mean, on the outside you
were so very prim and proper. From the hairline down you were all business. But that hair hinted at
the untamable girl underneath it all. You very rarely let that girl out but when you
did...wow.”







It was like her mind went blank, which for the likes of Hermione was a pretty hard feat. She
stood very still as one of Harry's hands pulled the kerchief back off of her head making the
hair halo around her head. The other hand instantly dug in and began playing with the unruly curls
it found. He didn't see her stunned look because he was too busy gazing at her hair with a far
away look on his face.









“I still remember taking walks with you around the lake at Hogwarts. Remember? Sometimes, when
the sun would hit you just right, Merlin, your hair would look like brass wildfire,” he said with a
dreamy little smile. His eyes then bulged as his hand froze.











You could have knocked Hermione over with a feather quill, she was in such shock at Harry's
beautiful, and startlingly eloquent words that she almost forgot to breathe. Who the hell was this
Harry?! By the way that Harry's cheeks suddenly colored and he snatched his hand back as though
he had burned himself Hermione could tell that he was probably wondering the same thing. He tried
desperately not to make eye contact with her.









“So...erm...yeah,” he said, completely discomfited, “I liked your hair.”







Hermione leaned into him, as though being drawn by some magnetic force. “You...you thought all
of that?” she asked, hopeful to hear the answer and at the same time dreading it.









Like a small boy being caught with matches, he nodded his head furiously.









“H-how come you never said that back then?”









Harry raised his head shyly and all but kicked at the ground. He bashfully said, “Come on
Hermione, I was a kid back then. I probably would have said something stupid like, 'I think
your hair is really wicked'. Or something equally as dumb.”









She smiled. “I would have still liked to have heard it.”









His eyes sought hers and the two of them just gazed at each other silently. Both seemed dazed by
Harry's admission. Thinking that she couldn't stand the power of Harry's stare anymore
her eyes lowered...to his lips. It was a bad move if ever there were one. They practically
mesmerized her. She leaned in closer as she watched his top lip twitch nervously. She realized only
too late that if she didn't watch it she just might actually kiss Harry. It was like watching a
Mack truck heading full speed towards a brick wall and knowing that you had no power to stop it
from happening.







Harry let out a jittery cough and somehow managed to sidestep her. “So I see you put the statue
up,” he said sounding very perturbed. He hightailed it out of the kitchen leaving Hermione alone as
she silently cursed herself for being such a fool over and over again. After taking a moment to
pick up the remnants of her shattered dignity she followed him back into the living room.









“After spending a fortune on her I figured I better put her to good use,” she said airily.









Harry was back at the bookcase examining the wooden statue again. He seemed on edge, as though
he realized that she was going to kiss him. *Of course he realized what you were going to do*,
she inwardly seethed, *why do you think he ran like hell*? *Why else*? But just like
Harry he was willing to sweep everything under the rug, just as always. He was even sporting an
over done smile trying to alleviate the tension of the awkward situation. He was a good friend. It
was a shame that she couldn't be as good a friend to him.









“What, you don't want 'lots of babies'?” he joked in an exaggerated copy of Aunt
Nancy's accent trying to lighten the mood. He held the statue out towards her.









A rueful smirk greeted that statement. “Stop it,” she chided him as she removed the statue from
his hands. “There will be no babies in this house,” Hermione said primly while putting Oshun back
in her place. She turned back to face Harry and was a bit rattled by the look he was giving
her.









“You mean...” he began uneasily, running his hands through his longish hair anxiously.
“Don't you ever plan on having children?”









Hermione shook her head as looked back at the statue.









“Children aren't really my thing. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed my time at the
center. But I just can't see myself being the perfect little mum who wipes runny noses and
kisses bruised knees. I'm more than happy playing Auntie Hermione who gets to give the child
back at the end of the night.”







The words were spoken with just the right amount of detachment that no one ever questioned.
Comments like those were no different from the ones she had been making for years. Now, as back
then, Harry or anybody else had no reason to doubt her. When she used to become all thumbs and fall
to pieces around Fleur or Penelope's babies the boys and everyone else just assumed that it was
because she didn't like kids and Hermione allowed them to believe that. But it wasn't true,
wasn't true at all! Sure she was a tad ill at ease with the kiddies, but she loved the
innocence in them and the smell of a baby was just about the sweetest perfume she knew of. But back
then she had to swallow the bitter pill that any children that might be hers one day wouldn't
be Harry's. It was a selfish thought, but it was still there. Eventually she had come to terms
and accepted that maybe she just wasn't meant to be a mother at all, should never be a mother
in fact. At this stage of her life Hermione was convinced that she could live with that
decision.











“What about you?” she asked him, diverting the attention back to him. “I would think that you
and Ginny would have a house full by now.”









Not that she really wanted to hear the answer, but it was polite to ask. Spotting the bag of
rice cakes she had left on the shelf earlier, Hermione reached for it, pulled one out, and gobbled
it down.







“Have you ever seen my house? That would be a lot of kids!” Harry then paused, as though
weighing what he was going to say next very carefully. “I...uh...I can't see Ginny and I having
any children any time soon.”









She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “Oh Harry, no. But you would be such a good
father.”







“You think?” he asked softly.









She nodded her head as she took one of his hands in hers. “I know.” She gave his hand a gentle
squeeze making him smile sweetly. She returned the smile with one of her own. She then gathered as
much of her House courage that she could so she could ask something that had been plaguing her mind
for awhile.









“Harry...”







He looked at her expectantly and Hermione contemplated just abandoning what she was going to
ask, but her curiosity eventually won out.









“Is everything alright with you and Ginny?”







There! She had finally thrown it out there. Hermione would have had to have been blind not to
notice that things weren't as perfect between Ginny and Harry as she always imagined they would
be. Harry’s odd behavior at the Quidditch game had made Hermione raise an eyebrow, but she brushed
the idea off. Ginny certainly acted like everything with her and Harry was fine. Maybe she was just
imagining (hoping) that something was wrong. Hermione quickly shook that thought out of her head.
Of course she wouldn't wish for something to be wrong with her best friend's marriage. What
kind of friend did that make her? And...well...if there was something wrong, as Harry's best
friend, she should want to do everything possible to help him. Shouldn’t she?









“Things could be better,” was all that Harry gruffly said.









“Oh,” she replied simply. “Well, um, if you ever want to talk about it just know that I am here
for you. I'll listen.”











*Though I’d rather take a hot coal up the arse*.













Hermione had the good grace not to add that last part thankfully because Harry honestly looked
touched at the offer.









“Thank you Hermione. One day I would like to sit down with you and talk about it. All of it,” he
said looking her directly in her eyes. She almost shivered at the intense look in his eye. “Just
not today, ok? The timing is just not that good now. Is that alright?”









Hermione tried not to show just how relieved she was that for now she had a reprieve. She knew
that sooner or later the two of them would have to talk about Ginny, and from the look on
Harry's face there looked like there was a lot to discuss, but it didn't have to be right
now. Hermione only hoped that when the dreaded conversation did happen she had the strength of will
to be objective. Because that's what Harry would need. Not an opinion, but a patient ear.







She gave his hand a final squeeze to let him know that it was ok and passed by him to head
towards the stairs. She was going to go get Lizzie so Harry could be on his way. Glinda would be
over any minute and Harry's hovering presence was starting to affect her. Besides, there was a
carton of ice cream in the freezer that Hermione wanted to sneak a few scoops from before her
friend's arrival.









Noticing that she was putting most of her weight on her left foot Harry asked, “What's wrong
with your leg?”









“Ankle hurts,” she answered. “Fell while I was jogging.” She was standing at the foot of the
stairs, one foot on the bottom step about to go up.









Harry walked over to her. “I hear you've been doing a lot of that. In fact if you ask them
to the twins will do a dramatic re-enactment of it.”









“Glinda talks too much,” Hermione muttered crankily, loud enough for Harry to hear. He laughed.
“I think my equilibrium is just off,” she explained feeling her cheeks warm at her own
clumsiness.









“Well let me take a look at it.” He reached a hand into his robes and pulled his wand out of his
holster. Hermione looked at him as though he had come from another planet. “Come on then, let me
see,” he said when he noticed she hadn't moved from her spot.









“When did you become good at performing healing charms?”









“I'm better than you ever were,” he said confidently causing Hermione to huff peevishly. It
was probably true, but he didn't have to be such a smart arse about it. Sensing her annoyance
he tried to charm her.







“I hear I'm pretty good at curing all that ails,” he said with a smile. It was a very cute
smile. It also looked a mite wicked in Hermione's opinion. Like Harry was planning something
she might not like. She took a step backwards up the staircase. “Come on, all I'm going to do
is point my wand at you.”









Hermione caught the giggle in time. She would have had a hard time trying to explain to Harry
what image popped into her head at such innocent words.









“Harry, its nothing!” she protested as he inched closer to her. She wondered if she could make
it up the stairs before Harry tried to point his “wand” at her. She stifled a laugh again.









“Then let me see.”







Hermione took another step up the stairs.









“I guess if the mountain won't come to Mohamed...” an exasperated Harry wearily sighed.











“Are you trying to call me a mountain?!” she asked indignantly, legs spread apart. Before she
could say anything else Harry had seized her, reached under her legs, and lifted her up in his arms
as though she were as light as a cloud.









“Not even close,” he whispered, cradling her in his arms. Hermione was so surprised by the
unexpected move that she was stunned into open mouthed silence. With big eyes she just stared at
him as he carried her over to her sofa and laid her down, her head resting on the arm. The large
flat panel television sat across from them on the far wall, a quiet darkened idol. Harry removed
the bag of rice cakes that was still clutched tightly in Hermione's hands and dropped it on the
end table next to the armrest her head was propped on. Harry then sat at the opposite end of the
couch; placed one of the decorative sofa pillows on his lap, and laid both of her feet on top of
it.









“Now, close your eyes,” he ordered her. Shockingly enough Hermione hadn't even thought of
protesting. As she closed her eyes obediently she felt Harry's fingers on her sore ankle,
gently prodding the bone. The dull ache she felt before suddenly became very sharp and shooting.
Hermione tried not to groan too loudly. After examining the ankle Harry ran the tip of his wand rub
up against it. Although it was very silly of her, once again she wanted to giggle at the idea of
Harry using his “wand” on her. Hermione tried to clap a hand on her mouth, but it was too late this
time.









“What's so funny?”









Hermione opened one eye and took a peek at Harry. “Huh?” she asked innocently.









“You giggled.” He was looking at her expectantly.









Both eyes shot open. “I did not,” she insisted, sitting up on her bent arms.









“You certainly did. I heard you. It was a snicker at the least.”









“How does one even snicker?”









Vexed, Harry shook his head. “Changing the subject yet again, I see. Are you ever going to tell
me what you found so funny?”









“Are you ever going to tell me about your case?” Hermione shot back tartly.









Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling before settling them back on her. Still he smiled as he
said, “Let's call it a draw.”









They shook on it.









“Now close your eyes again.”









Hermione complied.







“Now tell me, how does that feel?” Harry asked as he lifted her bare foot about as high as his
face. She felt soft puffs of air at her feet and her toes curled at the feeling. When Harry pressed
the tip of his wand to the bone of the ankle it felt as though all of the bones in Hermione's
foot leading up to her ankle were being covered in ice sickles.









“Oooh, ice cold,” Hermione squealed through chattering teeth. She tried to pull her foot back,
but Harry held on to it tightly.









“And this?” he asked. The chill instantly melted and was replaced by a warm, soothing
sensation.









“Mmmm,” she practically purred as a satisfied grin pulled at her lips. Hermione rotated her
ankle around clockwise then counter clockwise and nestled further into the cushions she was lying
on. “That's nice. That feels good."









“And this?”









In her relaxed state Harry's deep, almost sensuous voice nearly lulled her into a trance.
She knew she probably had a giddy little smile on her face, but she couldn't be bothered to
care.







“That—nyah!”









Harry had lowered her foot and began massaging it.









Hermione sat up again. “Harry! I'm really sensitive about my feet,” she told him as she
tried to remove her foot from his grasp once more.











“Scared I'll eat them?” Her alarmed reaction was entertaining him. “This little one is
looking rather appetizing,” he flirted as he brushed a finger against her smallest toe.
Hermione's leg jerked at the action.









“Harry!”







A deep rumbling laugh came from him. “Just relax Hermione. Go on, close your eyes.”









Hermione glared at him for a moment before doing so reluctantly. She would have put up a bigger
argument, but Harry had begun massaging and kneading her foot again and she felt herself
involuntarily loosening up. She began to lean back into the arm of the sofa.









“So, who's taking you to the Ball?”









Without opening her eyes Hermione grabbed the nearest throw pillow and threw it at Harry. She
missed him by a mile.









“Just messing with you,” he joked. “You're too tense. Why so uptight? Have a lot on your
mind?” His tone was light, but Hermione sensed something else behind the innocuous query.











“No. Why? Should I have a lot on my mind?” she asked him guardedly, opening both of her
eyes.











“You tell me. I just figure that everything has been so hectic that you haven't really given
yourself a chance to rest. Plus I'm sure you must be missing those room mates of yours that you
left back in Texas. What were their names again?”











“Amy and Benny.” Hermione yawned as her eyes began to get heavy. It was nothing short of magic
that Harry was working on her feet. He began slowly stroking the surface from her toes to her
ankles, applying slight pressure here and there. Hermione was almost inclined to tell him that he
had a future in massage therapy if he ever decided to get out of the dark wizard racket. Her head
was feeling too fuzzy though and she couldn't seem to concentrate long enough to speak the
words. It wasn't long before her eyes fluttered shut.











“Ever think about them much?”









A sleepy smile crossed her face. “Are you kidding me? All of the time, just about. Amy was the
sweetest girl you could ever meet, really kind and caring. Not the quickest up here,” she said
tapping the side of her head before dropping the arm back, “but she would help anyone if she
could.”









Harry had now moved back to the ball of her foot. He rubbed it firmly, but then would brush his
low cut nails against the bottom of it.









“Sounds a lot like a certain person I know.” Hermione could practically hear the smile in
Harry's voice. “Not that I'm calling you an airhead,” he quickly added.









“Well she was the very first friend I made at the center. She's the one who suggested I move
in with her and Benitez.”









Harry began rolling his thumb against her arch and without meaning to, Hermione emitted a
pleased moan.









“You said you lived with your cousin at first, right? She welcomed you in with wide open arms,
if I recall correctly.”









“What a piece of work she was. If you and Ron thought that I was a nightmare...”









Harry's fingers paused. Hermione sluggishly opened her eyes to find him looking at her
intently. “I never thought you were a nightmare.”











The corners of Hermione's mouth rose up slowly. “And I'm sure Ron thanks you for
throwing him under the train in absentia,” she said. Chagrined, Harry went back to work on her
foot. Hermione closed her eyes again and felt her body relaxing again.











“Well, Cynthia wasn't that easy to get along with. I'm afraid I may have embellished the
truth about her a tad,” Hermione admitted.









Harry sounded very interested. “Oh really?”









“She was so bloody focused on her career. Not very warm either. I think she saw me as more of a
pesky intrusion in her life rather then family or even a friend. Her life was devoted to her job
and her boss. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if that's how I would have turned out if I
never...well, if I never met you. And Ron,” she said sleepily.









“No way. However you would have spent far less time almost getting expelled.”









She giggled lightly. “I'm never going to live that one down, now am I?”









“Nope,” said Harry humorously. He laughed and she felt the warm sound wrap around her, like a
hug. She was so tired.









“So Amy and Benny took you in, huh?” Now both of his thumbs were attacking her arch. It felt
achingly good. Hermione felt she could almost melt away.









“Yes,” she said after letting out another sated yawn. “We lived in this crowded little apartment
in Oak Cliff that was barely big enough for a house fly. Amelia could cook anything you wanted from
scratch and she was always stuffing our faces with something or other. We would go to the movies
often, a bar sometimes. The best nights were when we would just stay in. We would push back all of
the furniture in the living room, not like there was much to start, then Benitez would put on one
of his mum's old bolero or samba records and we would dance and dance.”









Hermione barely noticed a solitary tear slide down her cheek. Harry saw it though. She smiled
wistfully as she whispered, “That was a real good year.”









Her last words seemed to hang in the stillness of the house. The first fingers of sleep had just
begun to play themselves over her when Harry's voice disturbed the silence.









“So you only lived with the two of them for a year?”









Hermione's brow furrowed. Her leg fidgeted. “What?” she asked groggily.









Harry applied a bit more pressure to her heel. “You said that that was a really good year. Does
that mean you only lived with Amy and Benny for a year? I remember you said that you got that
tattoo of yours when you moved out.”







Though it felt like miniature boulders were sitting on top of them, Hermione opened her eyes.
“Y-you remember that?” she asked uneasily.









Harry shrugged the question off. “I remember everything you ever told me.”









It wasn't the first time he had said that to her, but it was the first time it had bothered
her greatly. That right there was what one would call a liability.









“So where did you live after you moved from Oak Cliff?” he pressed. “You were in Texas for three
more years so you had to have gone somewhere.” He held her bleary gaze steadily. Hermione tried to
look away, but she couldn't. She felt drugged almost. And no matter what she couldn't
escape the assault of Harry's questions.









“Did you live with someone else?” he asked. His eyes grew darker when he added, “Did you live
with Collier?”









Hermione forcefully jerked her foot out of Harry's grasp a she sat up. She was awake
now.









“No,” she said as the two of them sized each other up.









*Am I being interrogated*, Hermione's hazy mind wondered as it tried to catch up with
the rest of her. If she didn't know better she would think that Harry was pumping her for
information. Dammit! Was he pumping her for information? *Why did Harry have to be with me when I
ran into Bertina*?! *Everything would have been fine if that hadn't happened*.







“Why are you asking all of these questions?”









With an expression devoid of any guile Harry merely answered, “Just curious.” He looked as
innocent as a choirboy. “Come on, give me the other one,” he said as he reached for her left foot.
Placing it on the pillow in his lap he began to give it the same attention he had lavished on the
other foot.









Hermione leaned back into the armrest of the sofa and closed her eyes. She was too worked up to
actually relax again and she was wide awake enough to give Harry Potter a taste of his own
medicine. Besides, what was a little harmless teasing between friends?









As long as it was harmless.









“Mmmmm, that feels good,” she crooned, stretching her body. She could fell Harry's eyes on
her and she knew she had his undivided attention.









“Did you know that there are some cultures that believe the touching of feet is a precursor to
foreplay?”







Harry gulped loudly. Harry would always get agitated whenever she talked about sex. He would
never see her as anything but a sister and sisters were to be thought of as nothing more then
sexless creatures. Whenever Hermione tried to challenge his view of her Harry would always get
upset. Hermione hated that he could never see her as anything more and obviously nothing had
changed. Well, she could use that against him to teach him a lesson now. He had made her
uncomfortable with his probing questions, now it was her chance to return the favor. Don't mess
with Hermione Granger!









“You don't say,” he finally managed to spit out.







“Oh yes. I mean a foot massage may look innocent but there is always a underlying subtext to it,
you know. Always a lot more going on then meets the eye. It's a very intimate act don't you
think?”









“Y-yes,” he stammered.







“Just think about it, some people think that they can cure common ailments by just applying the
right amount of pressure to just the right spot...of the foot. That's a lot of power in just
one itty...”







She lowered the timbre of her voice.







“...bitty...”









She lowered it again.









“...body part.”









The feel of Harry's hands on her foot had become uneven, but Hermione didn't let that
distract her. Instead, she went in for the kill.









“Never mind all of the pleasure centers it connects to.”







She made a deep mewling sound as she curled her toes.









“Oh Harry, that feels so good.”









Hermione opened her eyes. Harry had completely abandoned her foot and was looking at her,
bedazed. His jaw was practically sweeping the floor and he was holding on to the little pillow over
his lap for dear life, as though it were a life preserver.









Hermione batted her eyes. “Everything alright Harry?”









His mouth clamped shut. “You're toying with me. And though I'm trying to be the bigger
person right now, I would watch it if I were you Hermione!”









She cocked her head to the side. “I don't know what you mean,” she said angelically as she
wiggled her toes at him. Hermione figured that he had cottoned on to the fact that she was paying
him back for trying to grill her. Any other meaning sailed clear over her head.







“I mean this!”







Harry tossed the pillow to the side, grabbed her foot and began tickling it.







“HARRY!”







Hermione began thrashing about the sofa as though she were being tortured. If it wasn't for
the mad merry shrieks and boisterous giggles one would have thought that Harry was killing her.







“Harry stop! Stop! Ack!”







She kicked her foot out and struck something.







“Oof!”







Hermione opened her eyes and watched as Harry slid off of the couch and on to his knees, doubled
over in pain. His head was lowered so she couldn't see his face. She had a bad feeling that she
might have kicked him somewhere unintentionally.









“Oh...no...Harry...s-so...s-sorry...”







No matter how frustrated he made her she would never purposely kick Harry in the crotch. That
was a bit much, even for her. She scrambled quickly off the sofa and knelt next to him.







“Harry I am so sorry,” Hermione apologized, face lined with concern. “Are you alrigh—EEP!”







She screamed as Harry grabbed her by her shoulders and flipped her over. They rolled a few times
across the carpet before coming to a stop, Hermione straddled on top of him.









“Harry!” Hermione shouted as she smacked him across his chest. Harry found it the funniest thing
ever. “That wasn't funny Harry!” she scolded.







Harry snorted. “I thought it rather was.” His eyes were bright and gay and Hermione couldn't
help but smile too.









“I thought I hurt you.”









“No need to worry. The boys are intact,” he quipped.









She spread her hands out across his chest. “The boys? Oh I hope you haven't named them and
their little friend.”









With mock outrage Harry said, “He can hear you, ya know Hermione.”









Hermione smacked him playfully across the chest again. As her laughter slowly died she looked
down into his green eyes.







“Why is it that the two of us can't seem to stay vertical for very long these days?”







She said it as a joke, but Harry's laughing eyes suddenly became very serious. He looked
like he was struggling to say something...or not say something. Hermione really couldn't tell
which, she was too busy at the moment. Her mind had just become aware of the fact that she was
sitting on top of her best friend while wearing little more then a few scraps of silk, satin, and
lace. *Well this isn't good*, she instantly thought. She was also becoming aware of
Harry's hand absently stroking the material of her robe where her hipbone was. Hermione let out
a thankless sigh.







*Oh dear, looks like I'm going to have to change my knickers again.*







And if she didn't get the hell off of Harry soon he might just become cognizant of this
fact!







“Hermione...” he had started to say when all of a sudden the floo in the right corner of the
room roared to life and out of the green flames Glinda Weasley tumbled out.









“Goddamned fireplace!” she grumbled sorely as she picked herself up from off the floor and
brushed the soot off of her denim shirt dress. Her eyes then casually wandered over to the pair
still entangled on the floor. Glinda's rubbed at her eyes as though to make sure she wasn't
hallucinating, then an imp-like smile began to form on her face. Her arrival had startled Harry and
Hermione to the point of inaction. They could do little more then stare at her, both of their eyes
huge and filled with alarm. Now this definitely wasn't good!







“It's not what it looks like!” yelped Harry.









“I can explain!” added Hermione.









Glinda Weasley just continued smiling as she came closer to where they were sprawled on the
floor. It hadn't missed her attention that neither of them had bothered to get up yet.









“She says that she can explain. He says it's not what it looks like.” Glinda dropped her
clutch purse on the couch. Her hand then traveled up to her chin as she drummed her fingers lightly
against it. “Who to mock? Who to mock?”









Hermione had enough of her friend's blatant innuendo. “Oh stuff it Glinda!” she snapped as
she swiftly got off of Harry and offered him a hand to help him up. Glinda only laughed at the
harsh words and both of their red faces.









“Temper, temper ducks,” she told Hermione. Hermione could tell from her smile that Glinda was
going to have a field day with her once Harry departed.











Glinda crossed by Harry and Hermione and picked up the snack bag on the end table. “You know
what your problem is Hermione?” The look on Hermione's face said that she didn't want to
know. “You are too tense. You need something to loosen you up,” she said archly.









Hermione had to stop herself from growling at the woman. Harry had said something similar
earlier, but there was a different meaning behind Glinda's observation. In a moment of
insanity, surely, Hermione had confessed to Glinda that she had been celibate for awhile. Glinda
had pretended to look for a dictionary so she could find out what that word meant. Hermione was
just as amused by her antics then as she was now. She fixed Glinda with a severe glare as Glinda
reached into the bag and impudently tossed the remaining bits of food into her mouth. She then
gagged.









“What the fuck kind of crisps are these?!” she said, face twisted in displeasure. “It tastes
like Styrofoam!”







Hermione snatched the bag out of her hands. “That’s because they aren't crisps, they are
rice cakes,” she said matter-of-factly.









“Rice cakes?” Glinda disgustedly asked. “Why would you want to eat those things?!”









Hermione glanced nervously at Harry who was quietly observing their conversation. She didn't
want to say too much in front of him.









“Well, you know, big event coming up. I'm trying to watch what I eat. I figure if I'm
going to put something in mouth it might as well be good for me, right?”









“Oh hun,” Glinda cooed, “it really has been awhile since you had a date, huh?”









Hermione stared at Glinda in incredulity as Harry began to make a choking, spluttering
sound.









“Er...uh...d-dog?” he asked her, barely meeting her eyes.









Hermione stared menacingly at Glinda as she gritted out between her teeth the word “upstairs”.
Harry practically flew up them. She watched him go and as soon as she believed he was well out of
ear shot she spun on the woman.







“Are you insane?!” she hissed in a harsh whisper. “Why would you say something like that in
front of Harry?!”









“Oh Harry's a sweet kid,” she said breezily as she walked by Hermione, crumpling the now
empty bag in her hand. “He probably had no idea what we were talking about.”









Hermione followed after her. “Of course he did! Did you see how fast he ran out of here?! I told
you about my being ab...that I hadn't...I told you all of that in confidence!” she fumed.







“And I haven't told a soul,” said Glinda. “Just like I'm not going to tell a soul that I
walked in on you molesting that poor boy up there.” She crinkled her nose naughtily. They had
stopped in front of the kitchen doorway.









“It was an accident Glinda!” Hermione protested.









“A happy one, I'm sure,” she teased. “Now where is the real food in this place?”









Hermione stubbornly crossed her arms in front of her. “There is none.”







The act wasn't fooling Glinda. The two of them stared each other down in an age old battle
of wills that always ended the same way.









“I hate you!” Hermione whigned bratily as she threw her arms down. “Bottom left cabinet.”









Glinda smiled victoriously. “Thanks.” Then she exited the room.







Hermione watched her go and shook her head in amazement at her friend’s nerve. As usual there
was admiration mixed in as well. Although the woman often drove her crazy, Hermione wouldn’t have
traded her in for anything in the world. Glinda had entered into Hermione’s life at a time when she
had been desperately searching for an identity outside of magic and spells. The War had been over
for only a couple of months, her parents were dead, and Hermione felt like she was walking on a
tightrope that would snap at any given moment; living with Ron, whom she had just broken up with
and Harry. On the outside Hermione looked none the worse for wear. Inside the wounds were piling up
to the point that all that would be left was scar tissue after awhile. She needed a refuge from the
melodrama that was her life. Befriending Glinda had offered a nice respite.













*They met at a French cooking course in Bromley, of all places. For years Hermione had been
aware of the fact that her vast wealth of knowledge stopped short at the kitchen's door.
Although it had bothered her somewhat that there was actually something her beloved books couldn’t
teach her, she accepted that cooking was just something she would never be good at. She even was ok
with it when Lavender would come over to the Trio’s flat to fix “Won Won” lavish feasts since he
wasn’t being properly taken care of at home, to hear her tell it. Hate her or love her, Lavender
could really cook and Hermione wasn’t above sampling a good home cooked meal where she could get
it. It was when Ron began needling Hermione about her deficiency, he was such a bloody berk about
their relationship ending, that Hermione began to take it to heart. Harry would jump in and try to
defend her, but it wasn’t like Ron’s insults weren’t true. The problem was that it almost made her
feel as though she were somehow less of a woman just because she couldn’t boil an egg properly. But
of course Lavender could. And Molly could. And Ginny...Ginny could.*







*Hermione decided to face her problem head on. One day she looked through a directory, found a
beginners adult education class that met in the evenings once a week, and signed up for it. She
convinced herself that she was taking the class for no one but herself. Of course the idea of
rubbing it in Ron’s face when she whipped up something that could rival anything that Lavender…or
Molly…or Ginny could create was tempting.*







*It shouldn’t have been a surprise that that’s not how it went. The cooking class was a
failure. Her Chocolate Soufflé went flat, her Coq au vin was rubbery, and her Cassoulet looked like
raw sewage. According to the cooking instructor it didn’t taste that far off either. She was
dangerously close to actually failing a class. Hermione just did not fail classes!*









*As she took the half burnt looking concoction out of the oven Hermione sighed mournfully. She
laid the tart tin on the open oven door, got on her knees before it, and just stared at her sludgy
looking masterpiece. Normally Hermione wasn’t one to give up so easily, but she was beginning to
wonder if all of this was just an exercise in futility.*







It’s hopeless. It’s absolutely, utterly hopeless.









“*Can’t be as bad as all of that, now can it?”*









*Hermione had gotten permission to use the cooking classroom for an hour before class started
so she could do a trial run for her final project. The way she saw it the instructor took pity on
her, that's why he gave her the ok. She had expected to be in the room alone, but as she turned
around she found a tall, dark haired woman with a lovely dark butterscotch complexion looking down
on her, a bottle of water in her hand. She was dressed quite nattily and had a plaid cooking apron
tied around her waist somewhat similar to the one Hermione was wearing. Hermione had spotted her at
every one of the classes she had taken, they had even traded friendly nods with one another a time
or two, but they had never spoken to each other before now. Hermione didn't even know her name.
She also didn't know that she had spoken her last thoughts aloud.*







“*Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude,” the woman said apologetically.*







“*No,” Hermione said quickly, worried that she might have come off rude, “it’s quite alright.”
She then smiled weakly.*







*The dark haired woman took that as an invitation. She came closer and Hermione stood up to
face her. “So what’s got you so worked up?”*







“*This.” Hermione waved a hand over the dish that was cooling on the oven door.*







*The stranger gave it a once over and frowned slightly. “Alright…um…what exactly is it
supposed to be again?”*







“*Quiche au Samon et Epinards. Salmon and spinach quiche.” Hermione removed her over mitts and
threw them on the counter of her cooking station. “It looks absolutely nothing like the
picture.”*







“*Is that all? Relax; it never looks like the picture in real life. What matters is how it
tastes. Do you mind?” she asked motioning towards the quiche. Hermione said that she didn't and
gave her a fork so she could try it out. Hermione stood back as the woman took a generous portion
onto the fork, swallowed it, then promptly gagged. She then quickly dropped the fork and took a
long and lengthy swig from her water bottle.*







“*Well?” Hermione asked bleakly.*







*In a choked voice she said, “It’s definitely not a party in my mouth.” She then took a few
more swallows of water.*







*Hermione was thoroughly dejected. “Just go ahead and say it, its rubbish. I’m
rubbish.”*







“*So it didn’t come out like you’d hoped. So what? Big deal! It’s not the end of the
world.”*





“*You don’t understand, there really isn’t anything I’m bad at. I’m supposed to be brilliant!
Everyone tells me so all the time. And though I’ve tried not to buy into the hype it is a bit of a
blow to the ego to find out that hype is all it is. No matter how many books I read I just can’t
solve this one! I’m just a bloody horrible cook!” Hermione said, throwing up her hands.*









*The woman studied Hermione for a second before saying, “Tell me, why are you really
here?”*







“*What?”*







“*I’ve come to find that most people usually take cooking classes for reasons other than
wanting to learn how to cook. Take me for example, I am here because my dear mum fears that I will
die alone and a spinster if I don’t learn how to do anything more difficult than boil water. She’s
convinced that if I don’t learn how to cook she’ll never be a grandmother because no nice,
self-respecting Hindi boy will ever marry me,” she said, then snorted. “Like I really want
that!”*









“*You have something against Hindi boys?”*







“*No, just the nice, self-respecting ones,” she said wryly. Hermione smiled.*









“*But since I love Ma I figured that I might as well try and make her happy. That is why I’m
here. So tell me, what is your reason? A boyfriend, perhaps?”*









“*Ex-boyfriend.” For some reason Hermione found herself opening up to this total and complete
stranger. Which was interesting, she usually was standoffish with people she didn't know that
well, especially women.*







*A look of understanding crossed her face. “Of course. And let me guess, the new chippie is a
whiz in the kitchen and he wastes no time bragging about it to death.”*







“*Her name is Lavender,” Hermione told her. The woman looked appalled.*







“*Lavender?!”*







“*I know!”*







“*So he throws her in your face, eh?” she asked Hermione sympathetically.*







“*Well he can’t help it really, we live together.”*







*Her eyes bugged. “You live with your ex-boyfriend? Woman, either you're a saint or a
masochist.”*







“*Well, he’s still my best friend you see,” explained Hermione. “We both live with our other
best friend, Harry. It’s complicated,” she added.*







“*No shite.”*







“*Well Ron, the ex, he’s always going on and on about my cooking skills. Or rather lack there
of. Then he rubs it in about how good Lavender is because apparently Lavender can cook just about
any bloody thing there is,” she snitted. “Her and Ginny.” Without meaning too, that last bit
slipped out.*









“*Ok…trying to keep up here. Ginny?”*







“*The sister,” said Hermione. “Apparently Harry won’t have a thing to worry about once he and
Ginny get married cause she is just as amazing in the kitchen as well, to hear Ron tell it.”
Hermione's words dripped with bitterness.*







“*Sorry, you lost me. What does the sister have to do with all of this again?”*







“*Well…nothing really…it’s just…well…”*







*Hermione tried to search for the right words. The right words that didn't make her sound
like a jealous shrew.*







“*Ginny learned everything from their mum and of course their mother is the domestic goddess
of them all.”* There*, thought Hermione.* That will do*.*







*The woman made a face. “One of those? Ugh! Well just be thankful that you dodged a bullet on
that one. Who would want to end up with one of those for a mother-in-law?”*







*Hermione dryly chuckled. She did have a point. “Well, I don’t, but still…”*







“*Tell me, do you really care that you can’t cook?”*







“*Not really. I mean, yes, it does hurt my self pride in a way. But no, not really. I guess I
just let Ronnie…”*







*Hermione groaned. She really had to break out of calling him by that.*







“*...Ron get to me.”*







*Hermione then glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that it was almost time for class
to start. She picked up the quiche, which had cooled by now, and threw it in the bin. She then
began cleaning up her work area. She had been wiping down the counter with a dish cloth when the
woman sidled up to her, eyes dancing, and made a stunning suggestion.*







“*I have an idea. Let’s ditch.”*







*Hermione was aghast. “But what about class?! We have our final projects to prepare!”*







*The woman looked as though that was the silliest thing she had ever heard. She was untying
her apron from around her waist. “I don't care,” she said, shrugging.*







*The scary...wild...funny...crazy thing was that Hermione didn't think she cared much
either. “But…b-but, I don’t even know your name.”*







“*Easily solved,” said the stranger said holding out her hand towards her. “Glinda
Vengadasalaam, pleased to meet you.”*







*Hermione giggled. She couldn't believe that she was actually contemplating taking this
stranger...Glinda...up on her offer, but she was. She reached out her hand, grasped Glinda's,
and gave it a firm shake. “Hermione. Hermione Granger.”*





“*Hermione? Nice!” she remarked, a huge smile on her face, “Is that from Twelfth
Night?”*







“*Winter’s Tale,” said Hermione, beaming. Her mum had given her a beautiful name and she knew
it.*







“*Ah, yes…‘I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: In every one of these no man is
free’.”*







*Hermione was astonished. Though she loved the play and had seen it numerous times she knew it
wasn't one of the more quotable works. “Impressive! A fan of the Bard?”*







“*Hell no!” Glinda exclaimed, a look of mischief in her eyes. “I’m just a fan of skinny pale
theater boys who go around spouting that shite all day.” They both laughed. “So are you in?” she
asked temptingly as the first few early bird students began to come into the classroom.*











*Suffice it to say, Hermione never bothered with another cooking class.*









*That was in August of '98. By January she had moved in with Glinda. To all who asked she
simply told them that Glinda needed a flatmate (the last one had “unintentionally” ended up
sleeping with Glinda's now ex-boyfriend) and she wanted to stretch her wings. Both points were
the truth. But there was another reason for the move. Hermione had just gone through an agonizing
Christmas holiday with Ginny, home from Hogwarts on break, continuously underfoot at the Trio's
flat. It seemed like every time she left her bedroom she encountered Ginny and Harry together.
Hermione almost began believing that Ginny was purposely flaunting her relationship with Harry,
staking her claim. She loathed herself for having such disloyal thoughts. Ginny wasn't even
aware of her feelings for Harry. That's why Hermione made the decision that it would be best
for everyone that she move out. She needed to put some distance between her and Ron and especially
Harry. Not that living with Glinda didn't come with its own set of problems and
challenges.*











“*Hermione, I think one of your books tried to bite me.”*





“*I can explain!”*











“*Hermione, why did that little man in the dress and the pointy hat just take your
picture?”*





“*I can explain!”*











“*Ducks, there are about 10 owls sitting outside our door and each and every one of them have
a little red envelope in their beaks. And they look like they're smoking.”*





“*SLAM THE DOOR AND RUN!!!”*











*Although she hated lying to her, Glinda was a Muggle and as a witch Hermione's duty was
to protect the secret of the magical world. Unfortunately the secret came steamrolling out of the
closet not even a year after they had become friends.*











*The two of them had made plans to go out and see a movie that day. Actually it would be the
fifth time they would be seeing the new Star Wars movie. Glinda was a tad obsessive about it, she
was a huge fantasy and sci-fi fan, and Hermione was being driven to distraction by her fixation.
Still she humored her. Hermione was waiting patiently for Glinda, who was still deciding on what to
wear, when there was a knock at the door.*







“*What are you doing here?” she asked rudely when she saw who it was.*







*Ron, looking insecure and uncomfortable was at the door. A quiet and subdued Fred was
standing next to him. Both were dressed like Muggles, thankfully.*







“*Can we come in Hermione? We really need to talk.”*









*Hermione didn't want to let him in. Since the break-up with Rodger Ron had been sniffing
around her door once more; Lavender seemed to be a distant memory to him. Hermione didn't
really want to go down that road yet again though it would be very easy to. She still cared for Ron
and Harry would be happy about it. He said he wanted to see both of his friends happy.*











“*Glinda is here,” she told Ron bluntly.*







“*So?”*







“*You know my rule. If Glinda is here there can be no more than two magical persons in the
domicile concurrently. More than that and people get sloppy. Now Fred can stay, but you have to
go.”*







“*Aww Hermione, have a heart!”*







*She folded her arms across her chest. Her face was expressionless. “Well you did say that I
was a heartless bitch, did you not? There you go.”*





*Ron didn't appreciate her smart tone.*







“*Oi! You can’t go throwing that in my face! You’re the one who broke up with me. Your choice.
I don’t have the right to be upset about it?”*







“*We are not having this conversation again.”*







“*If I were Harry you would let me in,” he said sullenly.*







“*Dammit Ron, what do you want?!” Ron always knew just what buttons to push.*







“*Nothing for me, this is actually about Fred here.”*







*Up to this point Fred had just stood silently by while the ex-lovers had it out. At first
Hermione had thought nothing of it, but then the oddity of it began to set in. Fred was never that
quiet!*







“*Fred what’s wrong?” He didn't answer her. He just stood outside her door looking lost
and helpless.*







*Fred Weasley. Lost and helpless. Something was definitely up.*







“*He’s been like this all day,” Ron said troubled, trying to explain the situation. “I figured
if anyone could talk to him and make him feel better it would be you.”*







*Hermione had been touched until he added, “You’re a woman; you understand how absolutely
barking you lot can be.”*







“*Well, what happened?” she asked Ron snappily. Fred decided to answer for himself.*







“*Angelina…” Fred's voice sounded gravelly, as though it was worn from ill-use. “I
proposed to Angelina last night. She said no.”*







“*Oh Fred, no!” she said, reaching out a comforting hand to him. Fred and Angelina had been
dating for years. Everyone assumed that they would eventually make it official. Then again that was
the same thing they thought about her and Ron.*







“*It gets better,” said Ron archly. Hermione, puzzled, turned back to Fred.*







“*She told me that she’s pregnant.”*







“*Whoa!”*







*Now this **was** peculiar. Not the fact that Fred and Angelina had been fooling around,
that was pretty much a given. It just was that the wizarding world was a tad on the conservative
side. You could go against a few social mores as long as you were discreet about them. But you
rarely saw any unwed mothers. A pregnant witch tended to marry the bloke who did it to her.*







“*Well, Fred…um…sometimes a pregnant woman’s hormones make her so emotional that she doesn’t
think as clearly as she might normally…I guess,” said Hermione, trying her best to be helpful. “I’m
sure that you and Angelina will work all of this out in no time. Besides, just think...there is a
baby on the way. That’s good, right? Congratulations!”*







*Fred didn't miss a beat. “Thanks, I’ll pass your well wishes on to Lee.”*







“*To Lee?” Hermione said, looking questioningly at Ron. “What would Lee have to do
with…nooooo!”*







*Ron nodded his head in affirmation of what Hermione suspected.*







“*Oh Fred!” she said, pulling him into a tight hug.*







“*She said she got tired of waiting for me to make a commitment,” Fred rambled. “That I would
never take anything serious and just settle down. I can take things seriously!” It sounded like he
was trying to convince himself.*







“*Hermione which theater are we going to, the Odeon or the Emp—hello!”*







*Glinda, having just came to the door to see what was holding Hermione up, spied Fred and was
instantly smitten.*







“*I’m Glinda and you are?” she said to Fred, practically pulling Hermione out of the way.
Hermione didn't know whether to be entertained or embarrassed by her friend's brazenness.
She decided to be both.*







“*Glinda, this is Fred Weasley, Ron’s brother. You remember Ron, don’t you?”*







*She barely wasted a nod on Ron, much to his annoyance. “So what’s with all of the dour
faces?” she asked.*







“*Well you see…”*







“*Fred’s ex-girlfriend is a whoring slag, that’s what!” Ron finished for Hermione, though that
was not what she had in mind to say.*







“*Ron!”*







“*What?!”*







*Glinda's eyes sparkled. She had heard the magic word, ex-girlfriend. “Well Hermione,
don't you think you should let your friends in?”*









*Against her better judgment Hermione ended up doing just that.*







*The four of them wound up in the small kitchen. They were all seated at the breakfast nook,
Hermione and Glinda on one side, Fred and Ron on the other. Glinda made sure she sat next to Fred.
They were all drinking tea and listening to Fred pour out the whole story for close to an
hour.*









“…*so there it is,” he said as he finally began to wrap it up. “I tried to do everything
Angelina wanted me to do and she still chucked me. I even stopped spending so much time with George
since according to her he was a bad influence. Fat lot of good that did! My own twin won't have
anything to do with me because of her now. I make all of these changes and for what? My best girl
cheats on me with my best mate!”*









“*Well if I were you Fred I’d never speak to Lee and Angelina again,” said Ron hotly. “They
both betrayed you! What kind of friends are they, going behind your back like that? They should
have known that they were off-limits to each other. I don’t see how you could ever forgive
them!”*







“*Well you never know Ron; there might have been other factors at work,” argued Hermione,
weakly. To say that the subject was hitting a little too close to home would have been putting it
mildly. “I’m sure that Angelina didn’t set out purposely to hurt Fred. It...it probably just
happened. She probably couldn’t control it.”*







*Ron looked at her in disbelief. “Whose side are you on anyway Hermione?” he asked harshly.
When she couldn't answer he said, “All I know is that if the girl I loved told me that she was
in love with my best mate…well…I just don’t see how things could ever be right again!”*







*All Hermione could do was cast her eyes down dismally.*







“*Maybe because I don’t know this Johnson woman I’m more of an impartial party,” said Glinda
interjecting.*

“*But Fred, if you felt that you had to change who you were to make this person happy maybe
she isn’t the right one for you. You know that it's real when you are loved simply for being
who you are. If someone doesn't love you like that I say fuck 'em!”*







“*But she was my first real girlfriend, my first love, the first girl I…well…ya know.” It was
a sight to see Fred, usually so self assured, stumbling over his own words.*







“*Look luv, there’s always other fish in the sea,” said Glinda expertly. “And if you know how
to use your pole correctly you're sure to catch another one, if you know what I mean.” She
batted her dark eyes at Fred.*







*Even Ron knew what she meant. Fred's neck actually began to flush red. Hermione dropped
her head into her hands in utter mortification. Subtlety was a dead art form in Glinda's
book.*







“*You know what you need—”*







“*Glinda!” Hermione was fearful of just what Glinda would say.*







*Glinda looked at Hermione innocently and said, “Break up music. Jesus ducks, remove the stick
out of your arse, why don't you.”*







*Hermione let out the breath she was holding. Surely Glinda had to see the folly in moving in
on a man who had just got his heartbroken. Then again Hermione wouldn't put it past her to
flirt with a widower at a wake.*







“*Break up music?” asked Fred uncertainly.*







“*Yes. See, the trick is you listen to sad, torturous, ‘my baby done left me’ music and your
own love life starts to look tons better in comparison. Then you follow that with a few ‘I’m moving
on, fuck you and the horse you rode in on' tunes. Trust me, it works! You can even borrow some
of my cds if you would like. Of course that would mean that you would have to come back over to
return them.”*







“*Sure. But what’s a—”*







*Hermione cut him off. “That’s a great idea Glinda! Why don’t you go get them, hmm?” She got
up so Glinda could slide out.*







“*Ok. Let’s see, you’ll need some Gloria Gaynor definitely, a little Phil Collins...Ooh, I
know!” Glinda's eyes brightened. “Barry Manilow! You have to have Manilow! Me and my mum have
been listening to him since I was a kid. The man’s voice is magical, I swear. I’ll be right
back!”*







“*Who is this Barry bloke? Is he a wizard?” Fred asked Hermione as soon as Glinda left the
room.*







“*No, but there are times when I hear the maudlin strains of Mandy pouring out of her bedroom
at three in the morning I’m almost inclined to believe that he is Satan,” she said drolly. “Listen,
just take the cds and pretend that you know what they are and what to do with them. I don’t want
her becoming suspicious about you two.” For some reason Hermione had failed to notice that Ron had
his wand out and was pointing it towards the cabinets behind her head.*







“*Relax Hermione,” he said assuredly, “why would Glinda become suspicious of us? She probably
doesn’t even suspect a thin—”*







*A clattering sound coupled with a shocked gasp came from the doorway of the kitchen. Glinda
stood there, frozen, eyes focused on some spot behind Hermione and to the left. At her feet lay
over a dozen cd jewel cases. Glinda paid them no heed just pointed at something across the kitchen
from her. Confusion muddled Hermione's mind until her eyes looked back and saw what held
Glinda's attention. Bobbing up and down in the air, drifting towards the table was the ceramic
canister that the flat mates kept all of their tea in. Ron, wanting another cup had decided to
summon the container instead of getting off his lazy arse to get it!*







“*Ooops,” he said dumbly right before the canister fell to the tiled floor and broke in a
hundred pieces spilling Earl Grey, Ceylon, and English Breakfast everywhere.*







“*I can explain!” Hermione shouted anxiously as she jumped up from her seat. Fred and Ron
joined her.*







*Glinda was actually trembling. “I sure as hell hope so!” The three of them all looked at each
other frantically. Hermione didn't know what she was going to tell her, but she knew one thing
for certain.*







I am going to KILL Ron Weasley!!!







“*Well, any day now people!” said Glinda testily. She looked from face to face. “Why was my
mum's old tea cubby just floating in mid-air like that?”*







“*Well um…”*







“*I…uh…”*







*Neither Fred or Ron seemed capable of putting more than two words together. Ron eventually
gave up. Hermione saw it plain on his face when a decision finally snapped in place. He raised his
wand in Glinda's direction.*







“*Oblivi—”*







“*NO!”*







*Hermione threw herself in Ron's line of fire “No Ron! I won't let you! I won't
let you do that to Glinda!”*









“*Hermione, we have to,” he told her. “You know the rules.”*







*Actually Hermione could recite the International Statute of Secrecy by heart, but that
didn't mean that she was going to let Ron alter her friend's memory.*









“*Hang the rules!”*







*Ron and Fred both inhaled sharply. One would think she had said that Godric Gryffindor wore
dirty doublets.*







*Hermione turned around to face the bewildered woman. Glinda had been standing quietly by, but
she looked like she was ready to fall to pieces at any given moment.*







“*Glin, I have to tell you something,” Hermione said shakily.*







“*Am I going to need to sit down to hear it?”*





“*Yes,” Hermione said, taking her hand and leading her back to the table. Once Glinda was
seated again, this time on the end in case she wanted to run, she looked at all three of
them.*







“*Ok, so tell me.”*





“*I’m taking a real big chance telling you all of this, but maybe you should know. I trust
you,” Hermione told her.*







*That much was true. In the short time they had known each other the two women had grown very
close. Hermione, having spent years thinking of herself as an only child, had grown to see Glinda
as somewhat of an adoptive big sister. A big sister who teased and tormented her, but who also told
her hard truths when she needed to hear them and who had the uncanny ability of loosening her up
and making her enjoy life a little more. Glinda was a part of that life now. That's why
Hermione had finally decided that this was as good a time as any to come clean to her.*







“*You see Glinda, I'm not exactly like you.”*







“*You're an alien.” The sad part was that Glinda was dead serious. It would have been
funny any other time.*







*Hermione shook her head gravely. “No, I'm human!”*







“*You’re not a serial killer, are you?”*







“*Glinda, how do you go from one extreme to another without even blinking an eye?” Hermione
asked, exasperated.*







“*You still haven't answered the fucking question.”*







“*I'm not a serial killer,” began Hermione calmly before saying, “I’m a witch.”*







*There was the briefest of pauses before Glinda looked at Ron and Fred. She eyed them
suspiciously. “And you two...are you witches too?”*







“*No!” exclaimed Ron sounding almost offended.*





“*No, I'm not,” answered Fred.*







“*We're wizards,” Ron said with a proud lift of his chin.*







“*Oh, is that all?” said Glinda, not without a hint of sarcasm. Then she got very
quiet.*







“*Glin, say something.”*







*She seemed to labor over something for a moment before saying what was on her mind.*







“*Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”*







*A relieved, jagged laugh actually popped out of Hermione's mouth. “A good one, trust me.
And the two of them are good wizards.”*







“*Are there bad ones?”*







*Hermione's face grew very somber as she said yes. “Real bad ones too. But the worst one
ever Harry, you know Harry, he took care of him. So magical people and Muggles are pretty safe for
now because of him.”*







“*Muggles?”*







“*That’s what we call non-magical people.”*







“*Oh.”*







*Hermione hesitantly took her hand. “You are taking this really well Glin.”*







“*Well, to tell you the truth, a lot of real weird shite started happening when you moved in.
But I guess I just sort of, I don’t know, shrugged it all off. But this, this explains a lot. It’s
better that what I originally thought. Sanity has never been in large supplies in my family. I just
figured I was going crazy! You know, I once had an uncle who thought he was Vishnu.”*







“*What does he think he is now?” asked Ron doltishly.*







“*A fucking cabbage! He's a bloody lunatic, what do you think?!” she retorted, looking at
him in disgust. Hermione and Fred both roared with laughter at Ron's displeased face.*







“*So…so magic is real then?” All three of them assured Glinda that magic was indeed real.
“Well can you do something, do some magic or something?” she asked.*







*Hermione looked at Ron. “Well since you broke it…” she said mirthfully. He grinned before
pointing his wand at the broken canister and the forgotten cd cases on the floor. In no time at all
the cases were sitting on the table in a neat stack and the tea canister was whole, good as
new.*







“*Bleeding hell! That’s amazing!” Glinda looked as though someone had given her the keys to
the kingdom. “Do you have a wand too?” she asked Hermione excitedly.*





*Hermione smiled. “Yes, a very nice one actually. You have to have a wand. You see, magic is
sort of like…”*





*Hermione racked her brain, searching for some way to explain it all to her. She ended up
settling on something that Glinda would probably understand best. Hermione was always in her
element when she got to explain things to people.*







“*...a force,” she said. “An energy force that surrounds everything. Witches and wizards are
just genetically predisposed to be able to channel that force and use it. The wand works as a
conductor to draw that energy, harness it, and then expel it.”*







“*I’ve seen you move things without a wand. I mean, I would think that I just imagined it, but
now…”*







“*Well sometimes our emotions kind of make…dents in that magical energy. But it’s usually just
tiny bursts and spurts. It takes a really powerful wizard to do more complicated magic without a
wand.”*







“*Wow! This is just…wow!” Glinda was almost speechless. “But tell me, why are some people
magical and some people…what did you call us? Muggles?”*





*Now that was a hard one. Hermione looked towards Ron and Fred, hoping for assistance, but she
found none.*







“*Well,” she began slowly, “although there have been numerous studies done, no one has quite
figured that one out as of yet.”*







“*Oh,” Glinda replied, and then her eyes lit up.*







“*Ooh, do you suppose it has anything to do with midichlorians?”*









*Fred looked completely dumbfounded. Ron's freckled face was etched in bafflement.
“Midi-wha?!”*









“*Don’t ask!”*























“So I believe I’ve got everything,” said Harry as he made his descent down the stairs. Lizzie
came running past him and gamboled over to where Hermione was. Hermione got down on her hands and
knees and giggled as the dog licked her face.







“You have her bag?” she asked Harry as she smoothed he dog’s soft coat. Harry walked over to
them nodding his head affirmatively. On his shoulder was the large canvas bag she stored all of
Lizzie's things in. “Good. All of her toys, treats, and her water dish are in there.”







“You know, for someone who claims to have no mothering skills you sure don’t act like it,” he
said as he watched her play with the dog.









“So what are you two going to do today?” she asked, ignoring his last remark. She stood up and
Lizzie tried to jump up on her. Hermione gave her a no nonsense look that made the dog sit on her
hind legs obediently and pant happily.









“I haven’t given it much thought,” Harry said as he gave her a pat on the head. “What do you say
girl, a couple of houses of ill-repute, a few dens of iniquity?”









“Harry!”









Harry chuckled at her unpleased face. “Calm down. The Ferret and I are going under cover on
Oxford Street, that's why I'm out of uniform. A perp we’ve been looking for might have been
sighted there.”







Normally Hermione would have lectured him about calling Draco by that particular insult, but
since Lizzie would snarl every time she even heard the name Malfoy spoken Hermione let it slide for
the moment. She did suspect that Harry was somehow egging the dog on, the two of them were as thick
as thieves now, but since she had no proof she let that slide as well.







“You don’t have plans to go that way do you?” Harry asked concernedly.







“No,” Hermione said shaking her head, “I think we're just going to stay on Bond.”







Harry looked relieved. “Oh Good.”







“Are you going to floo into town? I don’t think Lizzie will like that very much.”







“That’s what I thought as well,” he replied. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a
long piece of dragon hide leather. It glowed red. Harry held it up proudly. “That’s why I came
prepared.”







“A leash?”







“A ministry issued leash,” he informed her. He bent over and fastened the collar around Lizzie’s
neck. Hermione was almost jealous, the dog would never allow her to put a leash on her, and
Hermione had tried numerous times. Harry just had a way with women, even the non-human kind she
thought, looking at him with esteem.





She also took a second to admire the bum.







“…use them for the albino bloodhounds,” he was saying, still explaining the leash to her as he
straightened. Hermione perked up so he wouldn’t think she hadn’t been paying attention. “As long as
she is wearing this and I’m holding the other end she goes where I go, even if I Apparate.”







“Well don’t you think of everything?”







“I do, that.” There was a proud lift to his chin. “I’ve even fixed the Bulwark.”







“Thank goodness. I popped a bag of popcorn last night and the poor thing nearly went into
hysterics,” she said, referring to the microwave. Thankfully she would be able to watch the telly
again as well. She had decided to leave it off until Harry figured out what to do about the spell.
There wasn’t enough brain bleach that would rid her of the image of the nice gentleman who owned
the village market walking around his house in his underwear. His women's underwear. There were
just some things you shouldn’t know about your neighbors!









“Well, I guess I’ll be going now.” Harry held on to the other end of the leash tightly yet he
made no effort to actually go anywhere.







“If you must,” she said softly. “Take good care of her for me. And don’t let her bite Draco,
please.”







“Ruin all my fun, why don’t you.”







Hermione shook her head indulgently. “Bye Harry.”







In a sing song voice from the direction of the kitchen, “BYE HARRY!” was hollered.









“Bye Glinda,” Harry called loudly so she could hear. He then turned back to her and in a voice
that was sad and gentle and heart achingly sweet he said, “Goodbye Hermione.”









And then he and Lizzie popped out of sight.









“Cor, wish I could do that,” a voice from behind Hermione said. At first Hermione had barely
heard Glinda. She was still staring at the spot where Harry had been standing a moment before.
There had been something…something in his eyes when he said goodbye to her. Something…







Hermione shook her head to clear it. Probably was nothing at all.







“You’d be a menace if you could do that,” Hermione said, turning to face Glinda. Glinda leaned
against the doorway frame as she ate out of a carton of ice cream, Hermione’s chocolate chip ice
cream, with a large ivory handled teaspoon.









“That's odd, I don’t quite remember storing the ice cream in the bottom left cabinet,”
Hermione said smartly.







Glinda continued to eat out of the carton. “That’s because you didn’t.”







Hermione rolled her eyes and Glinda walked over to the sofa and plopped down.







“Why are you putting all of that junk food in the cabinet by the way?” she asked as she
resiliently continued her assault on the carton, even licking the spoon. For a moment Hermione
contemplated going into the kitchen, getting a spoon, and digging in with her, but she fought off
the compulsion.







“Because if I put it in the cupboard that’s the first place I’ll look for it,” she said as she
came to the couch. Glinda scooted over so Hermione could sit in the spot she had been
occupying.









“So let me see if I have this right,” began Glinda said slowly, trying to piece together the
complicated puzzle. “You bought the food…”







“Yes.”







“And then you hid the food from yourself?”







Hermione scowled at her. “Well when you say it like that it makes no sense.”







Glinda merely raised a thin black eyebrow at her and kept eating.







“Look, I’m a little food fixated at the moment. At the time I thought it was a good solution,”
Hermione tried to explain. “You just don’t understand Glinda, it’s like…it’s like I have a monster
in my chest.”







“A monster?”







“Yes, in my chest. And it will not be denied.”







“That has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said in awe.







“Fine then,” Hermione said in a snippy tone, “I’m the bloody monster. And all I want are bowls
brimming over with grits topped off with big fat pats of butter...and chimichangas.”







“What the hell is a grit?”







“Or huevos rancheros, or bar-b-que, fried chicken, oooh chili con queso, or…”







Hermione had been going through a list of what were some of her favorite foods now when Glinda’s
devilish grin gave her pause.







“What’s so funny?”







“You are,” she said as she pointed her spoon at Hermione. “You do realize what you’re doing,
don’t you?”







Hermione’s blank stare only served to further amuse the woman.







“My dear girl, you are substituting food for sex,” she said.







“What?!”







“You’re overdosing on the pleasure you get from one to replace the pleasure you aren’t getting
from the other. Trust me, I know about these things.”







“Stuff and nonsense!”







“Listen to Auntie Glinda,” she said superiorly as she moved closer to Hermione and gave her a
playful nudge. “All you need is one good fuck and you’ll be as right as rain.”









Hermione huffed disgustedly.







“Oh god, I forgot who I was talking to,” Glinda muttered. “All you have to do is make love…or
some shite like that. Better?” she said sarcastically.









“Please,” Hermione scoffed, “I’ve never been as over sentimental as all that. Sex is just sex,
no need to dress it up. It's fun and enjoyable...mostly, but certainly nothing worthy of such
flowery mawkish embellishments. Sex is nothing more then a few rushed kisses and fumbling hands
just to reach that penultimate moment where your brain goes sideways and you don't have to
think for a few blessed seconds. Then afterwards you clean up the mess.”









Glinda looked disturbed at such a lack luster description of one of her favorite topics. “Have
you been doing it right?!!” she asked, face screwed up sourly.







Brushing off the insult, Hermione crossed her legs and loftily said, “I’ve never had any
complaints.”







Glinda waggled her eyebrows. “And don’t I know it. I did sleep in a room right next to yours
once.”









“Ha! Shows you what you know Miss Smartie. At the old flat I put Silencing Charms on all of the
walls in my bedroom. You wouldn’t have heard a thing.”









“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” she said as she scooped up another dollop and swallowed it down. “But
you kind of neglected to put one on the door to the bathroom.”









Hermione was horrified at the implication. Glinda continued to smile mischievously.







“I’m going upstairs to change now,” Hermione squeaked as she jumped up from the sofa and dashed
towards the staircase. Glinda laughed at her discomfort.







“I’ll just turn on the telly and see what your good neighbors are getting up to,” Hermione heard
her say. Hermione was only a few steps up as she turned back to see Glinda get up from the couch,
walk over to the television set, and grab the remote control that was sitting on top of it. She
then settled herself back on the couch. “I wonder if the burly bobby and that naughty French maid
are at it again.”







“You do know that the bloke is the minister for that Anglican church down the way and the maid
is the wife slash organist?”







Glinda turned in her seat to look at Hermione. “Who cares?! They sure do know a thing or two
about a thing or two, if you catch my meaning.” She then winked for good measure.







“Glinda, a blind deaf mute living in a log cabin amidst the Ozarks would catch your
meaning.”







Glinda gave her a disinterested wave and turned back around to the set. She pointed the remote
at it and suddenly a half starved model was on the screen pretending that some over priced designer
perfume had changed her life somehow. Glinda let out a disheartened cry. She stood up and began
switching the channels lightening quick. Hermione leaned against the banister and tried not to
smile too much at her friend's dismay.







“I hate to burst your bubble Glin, but Harry fixed the charms on the house,” she told her.







“No!” Glinda exclaimed as she turned towards the staircase again.





Hermione nodded her head as her eyes twinkled. “I guess you’ll just have to make do with
Coronation Street or something.”







Glinda didn't seem to like that suggestion at all. She actually pouted.







“Damn. And it was better than Footballers’ Wives too!”















**~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~** 







Four or five hours later they were being seated at a sidewalk table at an Italian restaurant
near Oxford. Hermione had preferred they sit inside, there had been a few instances all day where
she thought she felt eyes on her and had sworn that someone was watching her…following her even,
but Glinda had declared that it was too fine a day to be cooped up. Despite her unease, Hermione
agreed with her. She just wrote off her near crippling paranoia as the after effects of running
into Bertina and her husband a few days ago. She felt confident that it had just been a fluke, an
unhappy coincidence seeing someone from Texas all the way here in London, and that she needn’t
worry about it happening again. Besides after sending Harry on his way, she had taken care of the
Beauregards. They wouldn’t be an issue anymore.







Under their table they shoved all of their bags and purses. It was a huge haul and Hermione
should have felt embarrassed that she had spent so much, but with Glinda going into near rapture at
every store they stopped at and dragging them further then they had planed to go, Hermione couldn’t
help but play along. Their arms were tired, their feet were sore, but Hermione and Glinda were both
in high spirits. It had been a fun day.









“So the Signora will be having the bruschetta and the olive ascolane, a bowl of minestrone and
for her main course the gnocchi with mushrooms and tomatoes. Sí?”







“Sí,” said Glinda as she closed her menu and smiled brightly at the young waiter who was taking
their order. “Ooh, do you have gelato?”







“Glinda!” The woman could eat like nothing else. Sometimes Hermione wondered where it all
went.







“What?”







The waiter barely could contain his smile as he said, “Yes Signora.”







“Good, I might decide to have that for later then,” Glinda said, right before she made a face at
Hermione and placed her menu back down on the table.







“And for you Signorina?” he asked as he turned towards Hermione.





“It all looks so good…” she said as her eyes ran back and forth over the selections. “And so
fattening,” she added fretfully. “I could really go for a Waldorf salad right now.”







Glinda made a gagging sound.







“What? I like Waldorf salad.”







“Oh please, even Waldorf salad doesn’t like its self. Let’s see…” Glinda said, opening her menu
again and taking a quick glance. “She’ll have the rigatoni Bolognese,” she told the waiter as she
closed the menu again. Hermione stared in wonder of her nerve.









“Excellent selection,” he said, taking both of their menus as Hermione huffed resentfully at
being ignored. “I’ll be back to freshen your glass in a second.”







After watching the waiter walk off, Hermione fixed her friend with a stern glare. “You know
Glinda, not everyone can eat like an elephant and not gain a pound like you.”







“I know! Don’t you just hate me?”







Prissily, Hermione said, “Yes, but that’s beside the point.”







“I think that waiter was making eyes at you,” said Glinda after taking a long sip out of her
wine glass and emptying it. Hermione gave her a puzzled look.







“And what makes you think that?”







She grinned naughtily. “I heard him offering you his bread stick.”







Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the remark. “He was asking both of us
if we would like to have a basket of bread sticks!”







“Obviously we both heard different things. I…oh shite, here he come again.”







The waiter came striding back to their table, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass pitcher
of water in the other. After setting the water down he began to refill Glinda’s glass. She held it
up for him and batted her eyes coquettishly. Though she had been married to Fred for close to six
years, their anniversary was fast approaching at the end of August, she had never seen a reason to
give up her flirty ways. Fred actually encouraged his own wife’s shamelessness from time to time.
He knew that no matter how outrageous Glinda got she would still come home to him.





“Have you been enjoying the Pinot?” asked the waiter as he righted the nose of the bottle.







“Yes I have. Fabulous suggestion...” Glinda glanced at his name tag and smiled even brighter,
“…Romeo.”







“And what about the Signorina?” He had turned to see Hermione shaking her head at Glinda
reprovingly.







“No, thanks,” she said quickly, sitting up straight in her chair. “I’m the designated driver for
the day.” She even took a swig out of her water to drive home the point.







Romeo flirtingly said, “That’s too bad. Maybe another time?”







“Maybe,” she said, smiling back charmingly. The man was good looking and he knew it. Both she
and Glinda watched as Romeo’s nice backside walked away from them. He was only a few tables away
when he turned back around and caught them at it. Even though Hermione was 25 and Glinda was 31
they both giggled like a couple of Primary school girls ogling the cutest boy in class. Romeo
seemed to take it all in stride. He even winked rakishly at Hermione.







“Told you!”







Hermione wasn't impressed. “Please, he probably took one look at that wedding band on your
finger and figured that I was the easier target. Either that or it’s the hair,” she said after
taking a drink from her glass.







She had decided to forgo the hat for the day. Instead her wild tresses was sitting on top of her
head as a soft, fluffy looking mass that curled and waved above her shoulders. Though she would
have normally been self-conscious about how it looked it didn't seem to bother her presently.
Harry had said such nice things about it. Such terribly, terribly nice things. Had said it once
looked like wildfire. Just thinking about it again would make her puddle right there at the table
if she didn't catch herself.







“I’ve found that you can put a blonde wig on an orangutan and it would still walk off with the
Miss Universe pageant.”









“Surely not ducks, first runner-up at the most. He’d fumble the question up and instead of
asking for world peace say he wanted a banana or something just as silly.”







“You are a terror!” Hermione said, laughingly.







“For someone who is so disparaging of blondes I still find it strange that you would make
yourself over into one. What happened, wanted to see how the other half lived?”







“I just did it as a lark really,” she effortlessly replied. *Besides, who would have ever
thought to look for her under a set of blonde locks*?







“The Hermione I knew didn’t lark. She did everything by the book.”







Hermione frowned at the description. “You make me sound so rigid and regimented. I knew how to
loosen up! I knew how to have a good time!”







“If you were stinking minced maybe,” said Glinda. “Any other time, not so much. Duckie, you once
wore a turtleneck and a tweed skirt to an all-nighter. Tweed!”







“Well when my flat mate suggested we meet for drinks after work she neglected to mention that we
were doing so at a nightclub.”







“I did?” Glinda's face wore a minxish expression.







“You did.”







She brushed the mild accusation off. “Well I’m glad your tastes have improved. That little
oriental number you picked up should set a few tongues wagging.”







“I'm not wearing that one,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she folded her arms on the
table. “It was a bit too tight and that slit…well…let’s just say if I'm not careful how I
uncross my legs when wearing it the whole wide world will be my gynecologist. I don’t know why I
let you talk me into buying it and the green one…and the red...and the blue.” Hermione sighed.
Glinda was such a bad influence. “I think I’m just going to go with the cocktail dress.”







“Well it does make sense to just buy the dresses you are going to need for everything that is
coming up, doesn’t it?” Glinda argued. “You needed a dress for the reception and the wedding as
well. But why wear that one to the Ball? It’s so sweet and ladylike.” She shivered as though those
two words were dirty.







“What’s wrong with that? I thought it was very pretty.”







“It’s just so…yellow.” Glinda was no fan of yellow. She always told Hermione that the color
would make anyone look jaundiced, even her.









“I like yellow,” Hermione said simply.









“Eww! You’ll probably wear a pair of matching knickers to go with it.”









“I just might. It doesn’t hurt to branch out from basic black you know. I mean, must every party
dress you own be black?”









“Yes. When you find something that works you stick with it. No need to go getting experimental.
Now take that Alexandra Davies for example,” she said as she leaned in closer to the table. “Did
you see her in that one store we stopped at?”







“Davies? Rodger’s wife? No, I don’t think I’ve met her yet. She’s a Muggle?” questioned
Hermione.







“No, she's like you,” she answered. “She was the one who came out of the fitting room
looking like a bagpiper exploded all over her dress.”







Hermione winced. “Oh, that one? Yes, that dress was rather...unfortunate looking.”







“I don’t care if it is haute couture, ugly is just plain ugly,” said Glinda as she shook her
head knowledgeably. “I suppose you’ll get to meet her tomorrow,” she added. “Speaking of which,
I’ve been handed an assignment for today. I’m supposed to weasel the name of the bloke who is
taking you to the party out of you.”







“Let me guess, Ron?” she asked smirking.







“Well I did say weasel, didn’t I? So tell who it is.”







“I don’t know why all of you are making such a big deal out of it.”







“Because you won’t bloody tell us who it is!” Glinda exasperatedly replied.







“Maybe I want it to be a surprise.”







“I hate surprises,” grumbled Glinda. “Alright, tell me if I at least know this person.”







“You...might,” said Hermione coyly. Hermione was having too much fun having a go at Glinda.
Usually it was the other way around.







“Evil, evil little thing, you!” she reprimanded, hitting her hand on the table to emphasize her
point. Hermione chuckled.







“Well I know it’s not Charlie.”







Hermione’s forehead wrinkled. “Why would it be Charlie?”









“Fred told me last night that Charlie is taking that assistant of Arthur’s,” Glinda said,
ignoring Hermione’s question. “What was her name again?” she asked. “You used to work with her.
Bernice…Bernadine…”







“Bernadette?” Arthur had told her that Bernadette had taken over her position in the MMBA office
when she left.







Glinda snapped her finger and nodded her head. “That’s the one. Charlie usually gives her roll
every time he comes to town. Poor girl, she’s like his vagina in a glass case, break in case of
emergency.”







“Charlie? I just can’t see him being like that.”







Glinda just shook her head at Hermione’s apparent naiveté. “He has a girl in every port and you
know it! Molly is just so happy that he’s finally going to settle down in England for a spell,
Bernadette too probably. Poor thing is probably already writing up the announcement for the Prophet
now, lot of good that will do her.”







“Bernadette is a sweetheart, Charlie could do far worse,” said Hermione approvingly.







“Yes…well…we know it’s not George. I had hoped he would finally take a look at that little
Verity who works at the store and realize that the poor girl is madly in love with him, but that
man is as thick as ever. Instead he’s going to have the lovely and demurring Miss Pristine Pringle
on his arm,” she said with a scowl.







Hermione’s eyes bugged at that. Hermione knew Pringle back when the bothersome redheaded dated
Draco. “George is dating Pringle?! You have to be kidding! She’ll eat him alive!”







“Don’t I know it!” remarked Glinda. “Daphne Greengrass ran a story not too long ago; 10 MOST UP
IN COMING BACHELORS. George was listed. Not one day later Pringle was sniffing around the Hogsmeade
store.”







“But George runs the Diagon property.”







“I know that, and you know that, but Pristine…” Glinda said the woman’s name like it was a
curse, “didn’t. Stupid bint got confused on which twin was which. After about a week of her
skulking around The Three Broomsticks during lunch hour I finally pulled her to the side and gave
her some friendly advice,” she said smiling darkly.









“What did you say?” Hermione asked, knowing it would be good.







“I told that little twit that unless she wanted that horse face of hers to wind up on a few
MISSING posters she better find another place to eat lunch.”







“Glinda!”







“I’ve got to protect what’s mine!” she insisted. Her wine glass was empty again and she was
searching the area for Romeo.







“You didn't think that Fred would actually cheat on you with Pringle?”







“He’d better not, she isn’t on the list!”







Hermione shook her head ruefully.







“I do believe that after a few years of marriage all men are susceptible to straying,” continued
Glinda.







“That's depressing,” Hermione said, rattling the ice cubes in her glass. “I would like to
believe that there are some husbands who take their vows seriously.”









“Oh, I'm sure there are,” she off-handedly said, “but even the most loyal husbands start to
wonder if the grass truly is greener. Now do I think Freddy would step out on me? I hope not. I
love him like crazy and I hope he feels the same. Before I met him I never imagined myself wanting
to settle down and play house with anybody. But he changed all of that. He changed me.”









The look on Glinda’s face as she talked about her husband was nothing short of adoring. It
gladdened Hermione to see her friend so happy. But at the same time she felt the usual twinge of
envy. It was hard to accept that she would never know the peace that Glinda had found.









“He's a good man and a good friend and there are times I think he's one of the reasons I
wake up every morning,” she continued with a sappy grin on her face. “Then there is the fact that
he has a willie that would make a grown woman weep for joy.”







“I swear I know more about Fred Weasley's anatomy then I have a natural right to.”







“Well it is a nice one,” Glinda quipped.







“I can’t say that I ever had the pleasure,” said Hermione dryly.









“And let’s keep it that way, shall we?” she joked as Romeo came back to their table. He placed
Glinda’s appetizers and soup on the table and refilled her glass. He then took the water pitcher
and poured its contents into Hermione’s glass. He told them that their meals would be out shortly
and left after they thanked him. Hermione ignored the interested looks he was giving her.









“Fred is such a good father too,” Glinda said, taking back up the conversation as though they
hadn’t left it. She nibbled on the bruschetta and slid the plate to Hermione. Hermione debated
whether or not to have just one, and then finally gave in. She also nicked two of the fried
olives.







“When I first told him that we were pregnant do you know he actually fainted? As soon as the
idea that he was going to be a dad started setting in he said how it was time to start thinking
about growing up. I told him if he did that I was out the door clear as a shot.”







They both laughed before Glinda’s mirthful smile faded.







“When Lish got really sick and they finally diagnosed her he took it pretty hard,” she said. “I
think that up until that moment he believed that the only thing that magic couldn't fix was
death. But he pulled through it. I don't think our daughter would have had it any other way.
Fred just adores his little girl,” said Glinda, beaming.







“I'm sorry Glinda.” Hermione had reached an arm across the table and took one of Glinda’s
hands in her own.







“For what?”







“For not being here when you had Felicity…and for everything after.”







Hermione had been told early on that her godchild Felicity had been born with a rare genetic
disorder. It caused her to have seizures while she was still an infant and had threatened her
developmental skills before it had been properly diagnosed. After years of medication and intensive
therapy the little girl hardly seemed to be affected by as much as a paper cut. According to Glinda
there were good days and there were bad days. The small family had been experiencing nothing but
good days for the last few years though.









“Well I won’t lie,” Glinda said as she twirled her spoon in her soup, “I was a bit miffed. But I
figured that you probably had some things to take care of. As long as you’ve finally worked them
out, all is forgiven. You are here to stay now, aren't you?” She took a spoonful into her
mouth.







After the tiniest of pauses Hermione answered, “Yes.”









“Good. Cause Felicity just loves her godmother to pieces. She even told the other children at
day school that she has two mummys now. I thought I was going to have to spray the little monkey
down from the walls the other day when she left your place.”







“She is a lively little thing. The Weasley is very strong in the young Padawan,” Hermione said,
lightening the mood.







Glinda groaned loudly. “Oh damn, I have missed you! It’s nice to be around someone who knows an
Obi-Wan from a hole in their arse. Fred just looks at me like I’m speaking gibberish.







“Well to him you are. It doesn’t surprise me. Trying to go to the cinema with Ron was always a
chore. I remember this one night we went to go see this movie that everyone was so crazy about.
Don’t give away the big secret ending, everyone said. The ending is so unbelievably amazing and
unpredictable, everyone said. Now I lectured him over and over again that if he talked to them the
people on the screen would not answer back, but what does Ron do?” she asked. “At the most pivotal
moment in the story he stands up and shouts ‘Eh you midget, can’t you see that nutter’s dead
too’.”







Glinda let out a peal of laughter.







“Well, after running from the theater for our lives, I decided that there just would be no more
movie dates for him!”







“Molly and Arthur go to the movies.”







“They do?”







“Yes,” Glinda responded. “They make it a weekly date.”







“Well isn’t that lovely,” said Hermione to which Glinda grinned.







“It is. Then, when they come home, the two of them are as randy as a couple of teenagers.”







“No,” Hermione said, eyes widening at the very idea.







Glinda’s smile only grew larger. “They’re so loud that Fleur has to tell the children that
grandma and grandpa are moving the furniture again.”







“Oh my goodness!” said Hermione, bubbling over with laughter. “Well…God bless them.”







She poured some more water into her glass and raised it in a toast. Glinda did the same.









“They are an inspiration to us all!” Glinda said before clinking their two glasses together.









Romeo came by not too long after with their meals. As he put their plates down Hermione couldn’t
tell which looked better, her rigatoni or Glinda’s gnocchi. Glinda obviously felt the same since
she began eating out of her and Hermione’s plate as soon as she pulled out her fork and unfurled
her cloth napkin in her lap. Hermione shrugged and did the same.







“Speaking of Molly,” said Glinda after swallowing a few bites, “did you know she’s been talking
you up to Charlie lately? Actually she's been pushing you hard at him since the day after both
of you got here.”









“Why would she do that?” asked Hermione dimly. When Glinda gave her an unbelieving eye roll
Hermione replied, “What?”









“Well Charlie didn’t look like he was too against the idea, is all I'm saying.”









“Charlie? You think Charlie is interested is me?” Hermione asked. “That’s rubbi—”







A brief image of her yawning, exhausted, while Charlie sat in her living room the night before,
chatting away as though he hadn't a care in the world, suddenly popped into her head. When she
had finally said that she was heading off to bed he did seem almost reluctant to leave. And just
why did Molly have to send Charlie over with that rolling pin again?







Hermione shook those thoughts off. “I’ve seen some of the women Charlie dated; I’m no where in
their league,” she argued. “We are just friends.”







“Since when?”







“We were in the Order together,” Hermione explained.







“And you’re telling me that he was your friend back then instead of just Ron’s older
brother?”







Hermione gave Glinda an annoyed look. “We’re friends now then! Just friends!”







“Please,” Glinda said sarcastically, “men and women can’t **just** be friends. It’s not
natural. One or both of them are always going to want it to be more. Eventually biology wins out
and you and your “just friend” are rutting on the living room floor.”







“Glinda!”







“It’s the truth! Take me and Fred for example.”







“Glinda, you slept with Fred the same night that you met him. I walked in on you two. You were
on my mum’s sofa. I had to have it reupholstered the next day. ”







“My point exactly!” she said, stabbing the air with her fork. “Men and women can’t **just**
be friends. Look at you and Ron…or you and Harry—”









“Hold on!” Hermione cut in, dropping her fork. She didn't like what Glinda might be
implying. “There has never been anything else between me and Harry.”









Glinda tilted her head and asked, “Are your arms tired?”







Hermione narrowed her eyes. “No, why?”









“Because it must get very tiring paddling down ‘de Nile’.”







“Cute.”







“You mean to tell me that you’ve never had an impure thought about Harry?”







“No,” Hermione answered without even blinking.







“Come on, look at the man. Sure he seems too good to be true, but he looks like he would be an
out and out terrific shag,” she impishly said.







“I don’t know what you mean.” Hermione’s chin jutted out. The turn of the conversation was
making her very uncomfortable.







“Every woman has done it, Hermione; thought about someone they maybe shouldn't be thinking
about.”







Glinda was practically the little devil sitting on her shoulder. All she needed was the tail and
pitchfork to go with her smile.









“I dreamt about George once,” Glinda admitted, encouraging Hermione to confide in her.







“You could tell the difference in a dream?” she asked, shocked and intrigued as well.









“Surprisingly yes,” she said. “So come on, tell Auntie Glinda.” She leaned n closer over the
table. “Have you ever fantasized about sleeping with your best friend?”









“I might have spared the idea a thought or two,” Hermione said stiffly, eyes never leaving her
plate.









Glinda’s smile got bigger. “Was he good? He was good, wasn’t he?”









“I don’t think we should be having this conversation. It isn’t proper,” she said as she picked
her fork back up and began practically shoveling the pasta down her throat.









“And he was fan-bloody-tastic!” she spluttered finally getting a mouthful of air.







“I knew it!” Glinda practically jumped up and down in her seat as she clapped her hands.







“Well I’m happy for you,” Hermione said as she scraped the last bits of food off of her plate,
“because we are never discussing this ever, ever again.”







Glinda chortled as she finished up her lunch.







“So where are we off to after this?” Hermione asked as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth
with her napkin. She watched as Glinda glanced down at her watch.







“It’s getting late,” she said as she looked back up. “I’m going to need to use the floo in
George’s store so I can collect Felicity from school. Then I have to run by Neville’s shop and pick
up a plant that Healer Davis said will help her sleep through the night better.” She wiped her
hands on her napkin and tossed it on her plate. “Want to come?” she asked.







Having no other plans other then returning to her empty house she said, “Sure, why not. I’ve
barely spoken to Neville since being back. It might be nice to catch up.”







“That Neville is a sweetheart,” Glinda said as she picked her wine glass up. “I sure hope he
finds a nice bloke one of these days and settles down.” She then threw her head back and finished
the glass.”







Hermione blinked. “Come again?”







“I said I hope he finds himself a man. He’s quite cute…and has very big feet.”







She stared at Glinda in awe before saying, “Neville’s not gay. He has a girlfriend now from what
I hear.”







“Oh, and I suppose next you’ll be telling me that there really is a Father Christmas.”







“Actually…”







Hermione decided not to go down that road.









“Never mind all of that,” she said, shaking her head. “Neville isn’t gay. Why would you think he
was gay?”









“Hullo, he owns a flower shop,” she said as though Hermione had asked the stupidest question
ever.







“I don’t even know where to begin. For starters your line of reasoning is highly disturbing.
Second, it’s a plant store not a flower shop. And last, but certainly not least, for someone who
hates being asked where the best places to eat curry in town are I would think that you would find
those kinds of stereotypes base.”







“You’re no fun. Why do you always have to be so logical?” asked Glinda, pouting.







“Genetic defect,” she said humorlessly. “Neville Longbottom is not gay.” Then as an aside she
said, “At least he wasn’t when I last knew him.”







That seemed to pique Glinda’s interest. “Ooooh, when you knew him. Are we speaking biblically
then?” She placed both of her elbows on the table, threaded the fingers of her hands together, and
dropped her chin on them.







Hermione glowered at her. “You know, contrary to popular belief I’m not the bloody Whore of
Babylon,” she said through clenched teeth. Glinda was not moved.









“No, cause that’s a girl who knew how to have a good time!”

















Once the bill had been paid and Romeo’s invitation for a cup of coffee at the end of his shift
had declined, Hermione and Glinda headed back to the truck with their bags and drove over to
Charing Cross. After searching for a nearby parking spot they made the trek over to The Leaky
Cauldron. Glinda was used to floo’ing between her husband’s WWW to the one in Diagon Alley. Often
times she would cut through The Cauldron to go into Muggle London, a convenience she adored
considering that she lived in tiny little Hogsmeade all the way in Scotland. The charms that
muddled most Muggles had slowly lost its effect on her after she had been it several times with
Fred. When she needed to get back across the barrier the old innkeeper, Tom, was always kind enough
to open the passage to let her through. After taking a moment to welcome Hermione back home, he did
just that.







As she stepped through the portal Hermione almost felt swept up in the energy that was Diagon;
wizards and witches bustled back and forth as far as the eye could see. A tidal wave of memories
came flooding back so strongly that she felt a need to slow down and process it all. There was the
Magical Menagerie where she had found Crookshanks and the old ice cream shop that had once been
owned by the late Mr. Fortescue and was now a glitzy looking beauty salon. She had practically
bought up the entire practical charms and runes section at Flourish and Botts. And off in the
distance she could see the old flat where she once lived with Harry and Ron. She would have liked
to have taken a moment to drink it all in but Glinda began pulling her, more like dragging her,
down the walk in the direction of the Weasley store. They were walking passed a wedding
planner's store near the entrance into Knockturn Alley when a voice called out to them.











“GLINDA!”







Both of their heads looked across the street to see who was calling Glinda. A few stores down in
front of Madame Malkin’s stood a short, olive toned woman with a short, choppy haircut wearing
glasses. She was dressed in a no frills business suit, hose, and pair pencil thin heels. Between
her lips was a thin cigarette she was puffing away on. She waved her hands wildly, trying to catch
Glinda’s attention.







“Amps?” Glinda called before the woman dashed across the street to their side of the
sidewalk.







“Amps! How have you been?” Glinda greeted the woman cheerfully. The woman removed the cigarette
from her mouth and tossed it on the ground before stomping it out.







“Good, thanks,” she said as she straightened the leather briefcase on her shoulder and leaned in
to air kiss Glinda’s cheek.







“Amps this is my dearest friend in the world, Hermione Granger,” Glinda said as she motioned
towards Hermione. “Hermione this is my friend Amparo Leon.”







Hermione held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”







“Hermione?” asked Amparo, giving her a firm handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”







Hermione frowned somewhat making Amparo shake her head.







“Oh no, good things really,” she assured her. “Glinda has talked about you often.”







“Don’t believe any of it,” said Hermione smartly a she glanced at Glinda next to her. Glinda
chuckled.







“So what are you doing on this side of town?” Glinda asked Amparo. The question seemed to make
Amparo miserable.







“Shopping at Malkin’s with my mother-in-law,” she said glumly. “She has so kindly decided to
help me pick out a respectable set of dress robes for the Ball.”







Going by the look on Glinda’s face one would have thought that the woman said she was going off
to Romania to star in existential puppet porn.







“Oh dear lord no!” she exclaimed, hand to chest.







Amparo nodded her head tiredly. “The hubby thought it would be a nice bonding experience. I keep
telling him that it’s a lost cause. The woman will always hate me for not being a witch.”







“Amparo’s mother-in-law is quite the blood bigot,” Glinda explained to Hermione.







Hermione gave Amparo an empathetic smile. “Oh, sorry.”







“It’s fine,” she said cheerlessly though her tone said different. “I love my husband so I guess
I can put up with it.”







“But robes?!” Glinda belted out.







“Ridiculous, I know, but if I want to try and fit in this is just something I have to do!”











Glinda absolutely abhorred robes. She said they were hot and itchy and made women look like
walking bed hangings. She tried to avoid wearing them as often as she could. She was unhappy over
the fact that she would have to wear a set of dress robes for Ron and Lavender’s nuptials and was
dreading what color they would turn out to be. Glinda was actively looking for some excuse not to
be one of Lavender’s attendants. When Harry and Ginny got married she had begged off being in the
wedding party citing that she was too far along in her pregnancy to stand for long periods of time.
The real reason was that she had gagged at the sight of Ginny’s pink bridesmaid’s robes and
confidentially told Hermione that her baby would be born having bad taste if she dared wear them.
Hermione felt confident in telling her that she was being silly, but it wasn’t as though she had
been all fired up to wear them either. Her reasons were just different from Glinda's.







Then again Hermione had stopped wearing robes long before she stopped being a witch. Back in
school she had felt the need to prove over and over again that she was a first rate witch through
and through. That was why she worked so hard to be the best at transfiguration, the best at
potions, the best at everything she tried. Did she tend to overcompensate because she was a
Muggleborn? In truth, yes; she just didn’t want there to ever be any excuse anyone could ever use
to say that she didn’t belong to the magical world. Since wearing robes was part and parcel of
being a proper witch Hermione always strove to look the part. Her school robes had always been
pressed and neat. Her work robes were always pinstripe perfection. And she wasn't above
splurging every now and then on the perfect set of dress robes if there was an important occasion
coming up.







She hated them though.







In her opinion wizarding fashion was stifling. Despite the array of colors robes came in, some
that couldn't even be found in the rainbow, and the various materials, cuts, and styles (the
micro mini robes of the 60's was an era in fashion that thankfully fizzled and died before it
even properly got started) that still didn't stop them from being little less then a uniform in
Hermione's eyes. Whenever you went to a function you could often tell who was a witch or wizard
and who their Muggle companions were. Of course every now and then folks mixed it up, a Muggle wife
would try to fit in and wear robes or a Muggleborn would proudly wear Muggle clothing but mostly
people followed the code. If you were a witch you dressed like a witch and you never deviated from
that. Hermione followed the code for a long time before she started questioning why it was so
important to her how other people perceived her. Why should she have to wear something to prove a
point about who she was? If she took off the robe, wasn't she still a witch?











*These were questions that filtered through her mind as she readied herself for the
Minister's All Hallow's Eve fête that was being held at The Cadabra House, a beautiful
16th century concert hall that looked like a old abandoned library to Muggles. She was
staring at her reflection in her long, standing mirror as she affixed tiny pearls in each of her
ears. She was wearing a set of baby blue robes. They were supposed to be very fashionable, but
Hermione felt uncomfortable in them. The cut of the sheer sleeves were too tight and the collar was
very high in the back. The neckline was a scoop that Hermione felt the need to adjust and pull up
every so often. The material had little specks of silver that winked as the light caught it.
Hermione thought it might be a little too showy for the likes of her, she wanted to throw on a
skirt and blouse and be done with it, but she lacked the wherewithal to just do it. It had been
impressed upon her that this was the perfect set of robes that the perfect witch would want to
wear.*











“*My life is over.”*







*Hermione's head turned in the direction of her bed. Laid out across it, an arm flung
dramatically over his eyes, was her best friend and flat mate. His glasses sat on her nightstand.
Hermione shook her head at Harry's prostrate form.*









“*Your life is not over,” she said as she turned back to her reflection.*







“*Yes it is. My life…” he let out an overwrought sigh, “...is over.”*







*Hermione picked at the back of her messy chignon. “Harry just because you didn’t catch the
Snitch that does not mean your life is over.”*







“*It does. I’m washed up, a has-been.” His words were a touch slurred. Hermione suspected that
he had tied one on a little too tightly after the game. But since this was the night that his
parents had been killed Hermione decided to make an allowance for it. She just needed to remember
to fix him up a proper Pepper-Up before she had to leave for the party. She didn't want him to
go over to the Cadabra House stumbling all over the place.*







“*Harry, you just played your first professional game. How can you be washed up already?
You’re too young to be a has-been.”*







“*Fine. Then I’m an eighteen year old ‘never was’,” he spluttered petulantly.*







*Hermione turned around so she could get a look at the back of the robes then drifted over to
the bed. “So what? So what if you didn’t catch the Snitch? Big bloody deal! It’s just Quidditch!”
One of her knees bent on the bed next to his waist and she loomed partially over him. The two-way
compact that Ginny had given him lay open on the bed, forgotten.*







“*Hermione, strangely you’re not making it better.”*







*She was starting to get tired of his little pity party. She had congratulated him, consoled
him, even baked a pie (ok, maybe that hadn't helped); she was at her wits end now. “All I’m
saying is that Puddlemere still won, so what’s the big deal?”*







“*The big deal is that I’ve never **not** caught the Snitch. I always catch the Snitch!
It’s sort of my thing Hermione.”*







“*Actually,” she began somewhat hesitantly, “if we are being technical you didn’t catch the
Snitch during that game with Hufflepuff back in third year.”*







*Harry drew back his arm and gave Hermione a truly outraged, owlish look.*







“*Not that it was your fault!” she quickly amended. “I know you would have caught it then too
if not for the Dementors. They were everywhere, those blasted Dementors!”*







“*Hundreds of them!”*







*She couldn't help but smile. “Thousands of them!”*







*Despite his depression he reluctantly grinned as well. Then his eyes squinted as though
trying to see her clearer, “You look nice.”*







*Hermione suddenly got very flustered and started patting down her hair again. She tended to
do this every time Harry gave her a compliment these days. She absolutely hated herself for it.
“Y-you think?”*







*He nodded. “Are those new robes?”*







“*They are in fact. I just bought them from Gladrags today.”*







“*Why are you getting so dressed up for this party?” he asked. “We’re only going to be there
for an hour before heading off to The Cauldron.”*







*This was the moment Hermione had been dreading all evening.*







“*Actually I’m not going to The Cauldron with all of you.” In one big breath she spit out,
“Ihaveadate.” She silently hoped that Harry didn't understand her and just assumed she was
speaking in some ancient language.*









“*A…a date?”*







Well, there went that prospect!







“*With Rodger Davies,” she began cautiously, “you remember him, yes?”*







“*Yes.” The frown lines on Harry's forehead were beginning to form frown lines.*







“*Well he asked if he could escort me to the party tonight and I sort of agreed,” she said.
She was picking at the fabric of her robes and her eyes were focused on that, fearful of meeting
Harry's surely displeased gaze.*







“*I see.”*







“*Asked me right there in the stands today. I was quite taken aback,” she continued on
rambling.*







“*But you still said yes.” His tone was chilly.*







“*Well, yes he’s…” she looked up tentatively to find his naked, almost dark forest green
looking eyes staring at her, “...nice.”*







*Harry hopped off the bed and practically stalked towards the door. “I think I’m just going to
stay in tonight.”*







“*Oh Harry, no,” she said following after him. “You really shouldn’t be alone tonight
considering…you really shouldn’t.” Then she tensely asked, “Is this…is this about my seeing
Rodger?”*







*Harry paused, hand on the door knob, but said nothing.*







“*Harry, please don’t be like this,” she pleaded, feeling the tears beginning to brim in her
eyes. “You didn’t say anything to Ron when he went to go fetch Lavender. You mean to tell me that
Ron can try to move on but I can’t?”*







*She understood that Harry was in a difficult position, being both her and Ron's best
friend, wanting to see both of them happy. She also understood that Harry would prefer that they be
happy together, but Hermione couldn't see that happening. How could she be with Ron when she
loved him? She didn't want to do that to Ron anymore, that's why she broke up with him,
that’s why she was trying to fix this mess. She was sort of hoping that this thing with Rodger
might help speed everything along. Maybe...maybe even with time she could actually grow to care for
Rodger and get over Harry. Maybe...*









“*I’m doing the best I can here Harry. I could really use my best friend's
support.”*







“*You’re right,” he said as he turned back to face her. “I’ll…I’ll do better. I’ll even try to
keep Ron in line for you.”*







*She wiped at her eyes but still smiled. “Thank you.”*







“*And I meant it before, those really are nice robes,” he said coming closer to her. “They
look a little funny on you but—”*







*Her smile dropped. “They look funny on me?”*







*Harry immediately knew he had made a faux pas. “No! I mean…not funny but—gah! Never mind
Hermione, they look just fine.”*







“*No, say what you were going to say,” she said, sounding hurt.*







*Harry looked as though he would give anything to just disappear in a puff of smoke, but he
bravely bit the bullet to answer her. “They just aren’t really you, are they? It kind of looks like
something Ginny would wear.”*







“*Ginny helped pick them out,” she said frowning, looking down at herself. “I met her after
the game in the village.” She looked back up. “What’s wrong with it?”*







“*I don’t know, it’s just not you,” he replied, soldiering on.*







“*What, am I too much of a dull little bookworm to pull off something like this?” She
couldn't help but feel bitter. Of course Ginny would be able to wear something perfect for the
perfect little witch. Ginny was beautiful, Ginny was flawless, Ginny was everything that she would
never be. Everything.*







“*Did I say that?” he asked her. Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and sniffed. He
hadn't said it but she still took it that way.*







“*It’s just…a bit overblown,” he continued. “Too much.”*







*Hermione wasn't placated. “Alright then, if I were going on a date with you what would
you prefer I wear?” She began to unzip the dress robes and without thinking took them off.
Underneath her clothes she wore a plain black dress slip and a pair of hose.*







*The question seemed to startle him. “Hermione!”*







“*No, I’m serious. I’m asking for your honest male opinion. You are a male, are you not?” she
asked baitingly, tossing the robes back on her bed.*







“*Fine!” he said, taking the challenge. He headed in the direction of her large closet. The
flat hadn't really come with one that big but she saw no reason not to fix it. She had even
offered to transfigure both Ron and Harry's closets for them, but Ron acted as though he were
just fine choosing his clothes from the leavings on his floor. At least Harry was a bit better, but
not by much. Men!*







“*Let’s see,” he murmured as he began to sort through the contents of the closet.*







*Her closet was immaculately organized. Robes to the left, everything else to the right. Her
shoes on the floor were matched up and lined in several perfectly measured rows.*







*Harry was searching on the left side. “No…no…no…oh Merlin no!”*







*He had come across a set of black robes she had bought for work. They were severe, but in her
opinion she didn't look that bad in them. She glared at him peevishly before his hands settled
on the very last ones to the back. He pulled the periwinkle blue robes out.*







“*You still kept this all these years?”*







*Hermione's face flushed. “Yes. Sentimental reasons.”*







“*You looked really nice in them,” he said, smiling gently.*







*She had to restrain herself from smiling stupidly at the compliment.*







“*Why don’t you wear them again?”*







“*Harry, the last time I put those robes on I was 15. I’ve grown several inches since then and
they don’t fit any longer,” she said bemusedly. “Especially across the…”*





*Harry's eyes followed as hers drifted down.*







“*Oh…” he said as his eyes landed on her bust. Then in a rushed, embarrassed voice he said,
“Oh…oh, yes right. I guess this won’t do then.” His eyes quickly cut away as he practically threw
the robes back into the closet.*







“*No, it won’t,” she said, a tender look on her face. He was the greatest wizard she knew, yet
could be so innocent at times that it tugged at her heart.*







“*Ok then, how about...” he began rummaging through the right side when he finally pulled out
a hanger that held a black dress made of jersey. “...this?”*







*Though her throat felt tight she managed to speak. “That was my mum’s dress.”*







*Seeing the tears that had once again sprung up in her eyes Harry tried to stuff the dress
back into the closet. “Sorry.”*







“*No, it’s alright. I always liked this dress.” She came closer to him and took the hanger
from his hands. “This was Mum's Holly Golightly dress, Breakfast at Tiffany's was her
favorite film,” she explained.*







“*That name sounds vaguely familiar.”*







“*It should, you and Ron have fallen asleep on it five times so far,” she said smirking. Harry
smiled, abashed.*







“*Mum loved this dress and only wore it for special occasions,” Hermione said as she fingered
the material lovingly. “She told me that every woman, by right, should own a little black dress.
She always looked so beautiful in it. When I cleaned out the house I…I gave all of her and
dad's clothes away to charity. But I couldn’t part with this dress for some reason. I guess I
just wanted to keep it to remember.”*







“*Have you ever tried it on?” Harry asked.*







*She shook her head quickly. “No. I don’t think it would look very good on me.” She tried to
put the dress back into the closet but Harry took it from her hand.*







“*I think it would look smashing on you. This dress was made for you,” he said
confidently.*







“*Oh really?” she asked, intrigued.*







*Taking her tone as a challenge he grabbed her hand and walked them over to the cheval mirror.
Harry stepped behind her and in his right hand held the dress in front of Hermione. As their
reflections stared out at them his left hand flattened the dress against her and his fingers
splayed across her stomach. She could feel his breath ruffle the short hairs on the back of her
neck. It was heaven and hell all tied up in one neat little package and Hermione fought desperately
against the urge to just let herself fall back against him.*







“*Let’s see,” he began, “it’s simple…”*







“*It’s plain,” Hermione said in a mock serious tone, squinting her eyes.*







*His hand smacked her hip lightly and stayed there. “Be serious, you!”*







*She laughed.*







“*It’s demure…”*







*Hermione made a bullish face and shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s boring.”*







*He only smiled as he ignored her attempts at self-deprecation.*







“*It’s sophisticated and elegant, yet subtly sexy. It says ‘I am Hermione Jane
Granger’.”*







“*It says all of that, does it?” she asked smilingly before she pulled her neck back, turned
her head to the side to look at him...and all of the air went out of the room.*







“*Yes,” he answered, his voice low and thick. His green eyes bored into hers as his hand
unhurriedly glided back across her midsection. “It does.”*









*Ever since she was a little girl Hermione had always thought of herself as a bit of a cynic
when it came to the topic of love. She just never really bought into the hyperbole that surrounded
it. Your heart didn't really flutter like butterfly wings, did it? You couldn't really walk
on air, could you? When she would read a book and get to the part in the story where the female
protagonist's legs would go all wobbly and she would feel near faint at a single smoky look
from the hero, Hermione always thought such nonsense was poppycock. How could a simple look have
that much power, cause that kind of an effect on a person? Now she knew the answer.*









Breathe Hermione*.*











BREATHE HERMIONE!











**BREATHE HERMIONE!!!!**











“*Harry?”*







*She had finally succeeded in forcing his name out of her throat as little more then a dry,
airless rasp when another voice suddenly entered the fray.*







“*Harry? Harry, are you there?”*







*Both Harry and Hermione's heads slowly pivoted towards the direction of the bed and found
Harry's opened two-way mirror sitting there.*







“*Harry?” Ginny's tiny voice said again. “Harry, are you there? Is that Hermione I hear?”
Somehow that voice managed to fill the entire room.*







“*Harry?!” Ginny could be heard calling again.*







“*That’s Ginny,” Hermione said side stepping away from Harry as she pulled the dress form his
hands. They both avoided each other’s eyes. “You better get that. I’m just going to go…in there,”
she said motioning towards her bathroom. Harry mutely shook his head.*







*Hermione sprinted into the bathroom and shut the door quickly, throwing her body against the
wood after locking it.*







“*Stupid, stupid, stupid...” she muttered over and over again quietly. She had actually fooled
herself into believing that Harry was about to kiss her. How ridiculous could she be?! How
pathetic?! How much longer would she allow herself to go through this?!*







“*Hermione, what’s that noise I hear?” Harry's voice asked from the other side of the
door.*







You, doing the Mexican Hat Dance all over my heart!







*In actuality she had been dazedly banging her head against the door.*







“*Nothing,” she squeaked meekly, stopping herself. “It’s just...my head,” she answered
lamely.*







“*Mmmkay,” came Harry's concerned, but mollified reply. Hermione could hear his footsteps
fading away from the door.*







*Sweet Circe! She understood that love made you crazy. But was it supposed to make her stupid
too?!*







*About 10 minutes later Hermione stepped out of the bathroom wearing the dress. The neckline
was high with a feminine necktie that knotted to the side and created a little peek-a-boo hole that
didn't show too much but still was enough to hold one's fascination. The back was daring
(for her) yet still respectable. The top of it could be found at mid-back leaving the upper half
and her shoulders bare. Its tulip hem stopped a few inches below her knees. The jersey material of
the dress felt wonderful and hugged her in all of the right places.*







“*Wow!”*







*Harry had been sitting up on the bed lackadaisically playing with the clasp of the two-way
mirror when she entered the room again, his call finished. He quickly threw the compact to the side
and jumped up as soon as he saw her.*







“*Hermione you look...wow!”*







*His eagerness to compliment her was sweet. He could be so kind that way. “Can you do me?” she
asked.*







*Harry's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “What?!”*







“*My zipper Harry, can you zip me up?” She turned around so he could see her hand holding the
two sides of the dress together.*







“*Oh…oh yeah,” he sheepishly said. Hermione turned her back to him and though his hands
trembled somewhat, he pulled the zipper up. She turned back to face him.*







“*There. You look…you look perfect Hermione.”*







*She wasn't as convinced. “I don't know, do you really think this is proper to wear to
a Ministry gathering?” she asked.*







*Harry took a moment to think the question over. “Do you want to wear it?” he finally asked
her.*







*Hermione had to admit the glance she had gotten of herself in the mirror above the sink
wasn't too shabby. “Yes. I-I want to wear it.”*







“*Then who cares what anyone says. Every woman there will probably wish they looked half as
gorgeous as you do.”*







*Hermione ducked her head down so he couldn't see how much of an affect his words had on
her.*







“*Rodger sure is a lucky bastard,” he added.*







“*It’s just one date,” she said looking back at him quickly. “It’s really not that big of a
deal. If…if you still just want to stay in I can cancel,” she told him as she reached out and
placed a hand on his arm.*







*She wanted Harry to take her up on her offer, was almost begging him to do so. Even if all
they did was lounge around the flat, a bunch of mates drinking beer and watching the telly she
would gladly trade in her dress for a pair of old worn sweats if it meant that she could be near
him, just the two of them, for a few hours.*







“*I’ll keep you company,” she said hopefully.*







*Harry had gently put his hand over hers and had begun to speak when the doorbell answered for
him. Her date had arrived early.*







“*That’s Rodger; you don’t want to keep him waiting,” he said inscrutably as he removed her
hand. If she stared hard enough Hermione could almost convince herself that she saw her own
lonesome expression reflected back to her.*







*She dropped her arm to the side. “No, I guess not.”*





















Hermione felt almost wrenched from her reverie.









*Someone is watching me.*







Her eyes darted back and forth as she tried to find the culprit. Who was watching her?! She knew
that she was probably just freaking out earlier when she thought that she was being watched, but
now the feeling was almost incapacitating. She could feel her skin running riot all over her bones.
The panic was starting to set in again. She felt as though she were being drowned, suffocated. All
she could think was leave...run...disappear. Leave...run...disappear.
LEAVE...RUN...DISAP*—*







“Hermione?”







Hermione nearly jumped a foot in the air when Glinda's hand came in contact with her
shoulder.







“DON'T TOUCH ME!” she yelled hostilely pulling back forcefully from her friend, nearly
knocking over a little witch pushing a cart in the process. A flashing light to the left of her
near the entrance to Knockturn went off and she saw a man jogging off with a camera tripod down
that shadowy alleyway. If Hermione wasn't mistaken it looked like the back of that photographer
Bozo who used to follow at Rita Skeeter's beck and call. Before Hermione could apologize to her
the little witch gave her a nasty once over and was on her way.







“Hermione, are you ok?” asked Glinda carefully, almost frightened of spooking her again.







Hermione felt incredibly foolish. It was as though she had completely forgotten where she was,
in the midst of Diagon Alley. Who would be after her here? It had only been some idiot with a
camera. Nothing else. Nothing to get worked up over. In fact no one else seemed to spare her a
look.







“I'm fine, I'm fine,” she said as she shook her head. She smiled as she tried to make
her excuses. “I guess I just zoned out there for a minute, that's all.”







Glinda still stared at her, disquieted, but Hermione's answer seemed to go over just fine
with Amparo. She was lighting a cigarette that was already hanging in her mouth.







“That's fine. Happens to the best of us,” she said before taking a slow drag off of it. She
then eyed Glinda. “So Mrs. Weasley, are we going to get to see you at the next P.O.W.W.
meeting?”







Wanting to draw Glinda's attention away from her Hermione asked, “Pow?”







“Partners of Witches and Wizards, P.O.W.W.,” said Amparo. “It’s a support group. No one can
quite understand the trials and tribulations a non-magical spouse or domestic partner goes through
like someone going through the same thing themselves. We meet at a different member’s house once a
month. It serves as a kind of a safe haven for some of us. It’s a forum where we can discuss the
various oddities of our new lives, the do’s and don’ts of navigating through a magic filled world…a
place where we can rant about our vile wicked witch mother-in-laws,” she said disdainfully causing
Glinda and Hermione to laugh. “For me it was a Godsend, especially when all of those murders
started happening.”







That caught Hermione's attention completely. “Excuse me, murders?”







“There was this lunatic that was killing half and half couples. You know, magical and
non-magical.”







“What?!”







Glinda nodded her had gravely. “Harry actually had us under some sort of security spell there
for quite some time. He was our Gate Keeper.”







“Secret Keeper,” Hermione corrected her. Why hadn't anyone mentioned any of this to her?







“After awhile it became clear that he was targeting only newly married couples,” Amparo said,
continuing the story. “The loon was even using The Prophet's Society page to do his hunting. I
had just gotten engaged at the time too. My husband and I ended up eloping just to keep everything
on the hush until all was clear.”







“Oh my goodness,” Hermione said laying a hand across her chest, “did they catch this
person?”







“No, but he hasn’t attacked anyone again for months,” said Amparo.







Glinda turned to her. “Do you think he’s left the country?”







“Here’s hoping. Still, now is the time that we all have to be vigilant about this. For some
reason this killer has decided that wizards and witches should only marry their own kind and if
they don't he should be their judge and executioner. If there is some other reasoning behind
this madness the Ministry isn’t letting up on it. Now there are some sectors in the community that
will use these murders as a touchstone to say ‘see, this is what happens when magical people and
Muggles mix’. My mother-in-law included. Well, I won’t stand for it. Intolerance in any form is
just unacceptable to me.”







“That’s our Amparo, she’s a little firecracker,” said Glinda approvingly. “She’s one of the best
damned solicitors in London too.”







That seemed to spark Hermione's interest. “You’re a lawyer?”







Amparo took Glinda's praise in stride. “You could say that.” She opened up her briefcase and
dug through it. “Here, take my card,” she said as she handed a gold embossed business card to
Hermione. Hermione took it gratefully, looking it over before slipping it into her purse.







“So, are we going to be seeing you at the meeting Glinda?”







“I can’t,” Glinda said disappointedly. “That night is my brother-in-law’s wedding reception. I
sort of have to be there.”







“Well, we’ll miss you.”







“Amparo, it’s not very polite to keep people waiting. I haven’t all day.”







Across the street in the door of Malkin's stood a blindingly beautiful witch dressed in a
set of immaculate robes. Though the beautiful black woman seemed as icy and removed from her
surroundings as one could get, her eyes practically spit fire in their direction.







“Coming Magnifika!” Amparo shouted back at her as she yanked the cigarette out of her mouth and
threw it to the ground. As she smashed it with her heel she muttered, “I'm probably just
holding that viper up from the hunt for husband number eight.” She then closed her eyes, took a
cleansing breath and looked back at the other two women. “Alright, wish me luck ladies,” she
said.







“Good luck!” both Hermione and Glinda told her.







Amparo smiled. “See you tomorrow night at the Ball. Nice to meet you again Hermione,” she called
over her shoulder as she raced back across the street.







When she was gone Hermione turned to Glinda and said, “Wow! That was someone’s mother?”







“She’s fucking gorgeous, isn’t she? Too bad she’s a hateful, hateful hag! You should see Amps’
husband though, lucky bitch. Actually I think you might know him. Fred said that you, Ron, and
Harry were in the same year with him. A Blaine…or Blake is it?”







“Funny, I don’t remember a Leon in any of the Houses in my year.”







Glinda shrugged. “I suppose Fred could have gotten it wrong.”







“I suppose.”







The two of them then began to stroll down the walk again, chatting and laughing. As they passed
by Knockturn Alley Hermione caught a quick glimpse of a tall, widely built man in her peripheral
vision. She turned her head, their eyes locked, and time literally stood on its head and came to a
halt for Hermione. Then, just as though nothing had even happened; the old man Apparated away in a
dramatic swirl of his cloak. Everything around her suddenly went at double the normal speed as time
tried to catch back up on its self. She felt woozy, dizzy almost. It had all happened so fast that
Hermione had barely gotten a look at the wizard's lined face before he pulled the hood of his
cloak over the top of his head; she did however note his long white hair and beard. She had started
to ask Glinda if she had seen the man too. Surely it would have been hard to miss such a hulking
specimen, especially one who so strongly resembled Father Christmas standing at a corner on such a
bright and sunny day in June, but her friend had distracted her thoughts with some wild, nonsense
comment and the question promptly flew out of Hermione's head.









As they finally reached George's store the strange looking man had become a distant memory
to her.









Before the door even closed behind them Hermione had already forgotten him.















Now all we have to do is something about the color of that hair, huh? ;)

As for the beginning, I said that Harry wouldn't have any more dreams, I never said anything
about Hermione. Heh. I’ve mentioned before that this is my first fic so this was my first stab at
smut (if you don’t count the prologue). Be gentle with me, I tried. Think of it more as a smut-let.
I wanted to capture the disorientation and vagueness of a dream and was purposely holding back. And
if that excuse doesn’t work try this one: I’ll get better, I promise. LOL!

Next up is Ginny’s POV (boo, hiss, I know, I know). Things to look forward to; the start of the
Victory Ball, Hermione’s mystery escort is revealed, and you get a look into the heart of Mrs.
Potter. I'm going to be honest with you, don't look for another update for July. It
ain't gonna happen. I'm exhausted and I need to take a break from this story, if that makes
sense. A rough estimate I give to getting the next chapter of **ARLB** out is the end of August,
at best. Please be patient! I'm tired y'all! :)

A few more points of interest:

1) The song is Them There Eyes as sung by Billie Holiday. It was originally going to be Honey
Suckle Rose, but I felt that this song worked better.

2) For an explanation of midichlorians you can read this http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midi-chlorian. To
this day me and my room mate will discuss at length just how much crack Lucas was smoking when he
came up with that one. Our conclusion? A.lot.

3) “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” is what Glinda the Good Witch's asks Dorothy when
she firsts meets her in the Wizard of Oz. Although I did name my Glinda after her it was a happy
coincidence that it was her line in the movie. Until I looked it up on the Wik I thought it was one
of the Munchkins' lines.

4) Amparo Leon and her husband were first mentioned back at the end of chapter 6.

*5*) And yes, Ptolemy Cadmus has finally entered the building.




No offense to blondes (I was one once) or Barry Manilow fans (I like him as a person, if not as
a singer). I did take a cheap shot at the monster in the chest, for that one I ain’t apologizing!
LOL! If you have any questions ask. By the way, I want to start posting the fixed version of the
story, anyone knows of a good site?







*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*



23. NOTE
--------

Howdy people!





A little birdie alerted me that I should check out my review page. Yikes! I’m sorry guys. I had
no idea that some of you were actually worried about me (or just worried about the fic). I know
that you would probably prefer a chapter in the place of this note (and as soon as I finish that
chapter I will take this down) but I just wanted to clear a few things up.




For once my computer actually has been behaving. No crash *knock on wood*. For the last two
weeks I have been sick however. Reeeeealy sick. The kind of sick that I rather not go into details
about because it’s slightly embarrassing. I am feeling loads better now though.





The muse aint lost. In fact she has had me up until 2 in the morning the last two nights hacking
away. I really do mean it when I say that I have no plans to abandon this story.





You will get an update for September that much is for certain. Beyond that I’m not making any
more promises. That way if you get more this month…YAY! If not…such is life. As I’ve mentioned many
times I type slow. Please be patient.





I’m sorry for not answering the latest responses. I’ve been trying to stay away from portkey so
I won’t get distracted by new fics and read, thus I’ve missed all of the new reviews. I don’t get
review alerts on my main email address so I don’t know I have a review unless I actually look at
that page. I wasn’t being rude; I just have the attention span of a four year old and was doing
what I needed to do to keep focused on the typing.





If this A/N comes off rude, please forgive me. I’m in the middle of finishing this Ginny chap,
she is cranky and slightly b*tchy and thus it’s rubbing off on me. Thankfully I chose to wait to do
this chapter once I started feeling better cause other wise I would have killed myself. :)






Don’t hate me,

pandie



24. Chapter 18.A
----------------

***Title**: All Roads Lead Back*

***Keywords**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a whole lot of ships that just might piss some people off. Post-HBP.*

***Summary**: Harry Potter always figured that once he had fulfilled his destiny he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell. A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told thru multiple
canon character perspective. Set 7 years after the final battle.*

***Spoilers**: All six books.*

***A/N:** Happy September! Sorry for taking so long to get this out for you guys. For those
of you who don’t like excuses *snerk* cover your eyes…I procrastinated, I got sick, I trashed the
first version of this chap. I’m nervous how this one will go over since it is soooo Ginny-centric,
but I personally like it. My betas do too…or they’ve been lying to me. :) If you are a Ginny fan
this chapter is not for you. For those who love a bitchy Ginny or love to hate a bitchy Ginny you
should have a field day. I personally find her sympathetic as well; then again I just like bitchy
people. LOL!*

*Thank you for your reviews (YAY to over 1000 on Portkey! YAY to 200 on Fanfiction.net!), your
concern, and your snark. I appreciate all of it. And thanks to **Padfoot** for his excellent
editing skills and **murphsmine** for helping me flesh out the rough patches. Any mistakes you
find are mine.*

***Warning:** One more time for the people in the back this chapter is a Ginny-palooza. I
don’t think this one is as funny as the Lav chapter, I’m pretty sure it isn’t, but what do I know.
I didn’t think the Lav chapter was funny. I hope you still can find something to like. Enjoy!
Re-loading for a mistake that was going to drive me crazy until I fixed it.*

***Disclaimer:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.*

*Saturday, 06/11/05*





**You are three years old the first time you hear his name.**



**You haven't learned your letters yet, but you are bright and you know instantly that it
is a name that should be remembered.**



**Mum fixes all of their favorites because Bill and Charlie are home from school. Everyone is
pleased except for Ron. He refuses to eat his carrots. He says that they are dangerously too close
to the peas for his liking. Mum ignores this and instead reaches across the table to fix the mended
table napkin under his chin. She clucks her tongue and confidently states that Little Harry would
probably eat all of his carrots. *Don't you want to grow up and be just like him
Ronnie*.**



**A tear quickly escapes her eye. *Poor Little Harry.***



**Ron scowls down at his plate and sullenly folds his reed thin arms across his chest. George
(or perhaps it’s Fred) starts in on his baby brother calling him 'The Boy Who Bibbed' as
mashed potatoes dribble slovenly down his chin. At the other end of the table your two older
brothers laugh, dad hides his smile behind his napkin, while you hear a disdainful sniff to the
right of you. Percy finds the whole thing dreadfully beneath him. By this point it has occurred to
you that you are the only Weasley who does not know who this 'Little Harry' is. You are the
baby though so it's really no surprise that everything comes to you last. Still you wonder who
he is, would he like to play with you, does he like pepper imps too. In that babyish voice of yours
you ask all of the above.**



*Who is Harry Potter?*



**Although he is only 8 Percy is already a git.**



***Don't you know anything*, he asks with a sneer.**



**You get sent to bed early for throwing peas at your brother's nose. And to make matters
worse no one even bothers to answer your question. So as mum puts you down for the night you take a
chance to ask it again.**



*Who is Harry Potter?*



**Mum purses her lips thinly deciding whether or not to say. Giving in, she finally begins to
tell a tale about a young boy, barely older than you.**



***Dad was brave and handsome*, she says. *Mum's hair as red as yours*, she
sighs. J*ust a babe when he saved us all. A little hero.***



***Now go to sleep*, you are told.**



**And you do. And that night you dream of that tiny prince.**







**You are six when you first hear the story.**



**You have a nightmare. Dad comes in and shakes you awake. After a glass of warm milk
doesn't do the job, he decides to read to you. He takes down a beaten copy of Olde Fables that
has Bill's baby teeth marks still on it, but you don't want to hear the same dusty stories
again. You want to hear about someone brave. You want to hear about someone strong. You want to
hear about someone almost bigger then life. You ask your dad to tell you about Harry Potter. After
craning his neck to make sure mum isn't standing just outside the door, he does.**



***There was a wizard*. *A terrible wizard*. Dad won't even say his name, he was
so bad. He says You Know Who. You don't, but you don't let dad know. You fear that he will
stop talking if you do that, so he continues on. He mentions the Potters and says that they are
both dead now. He doesn't say how, but somehow you know it's bad. Lily and James. James and
Lily. You think about Lily's hair. Red, just like yours.**



**Dad tells you about the fear. He tells you about the terror. He tells you not to tell your
mum that he’s been telling you all of this. You promise that you won't. Then he tells you about
Harry. Dad's eyes smile as he does, so you smile too. Everything is better now because of
Harry. The bad wizard went away because Harry made him. *Someday* *he is going to be a great
and powerful wizard when he grows up, that Harry*, dad says. *He'll go off to Hogwarts and
someday so will you.***



**Even in the dark you still smile. The rest of the house hums with sleep long after dad has
tucked you back in, but you lay awake and think about that far off fairy tale land called
'Someday'.**







**You are ten when you first see his face.**



**Of course you have read every book you could find about him in the Little Witch Reader
section. And of course your ears perk at the mere whisper of his name. You know all there is to
know about your hero, your prince. He's become “yours” by this point. You are devoted to that
image inside your head. You know that his eyes are like glittering emeralds. You know that his hair
is the shade of the darkest hour of night. And the scar, of course you know about that too. In
every fantasy he has held your hand a thousand times. You would know him anywhere, of this you are
certain.**



**You also know that this is the year he will be getting on the Express.**



**Your mum has your hand in a death grip as she hustles the twins, Ron, and Percy towards
platform nine and three-quarters. For the tenth time that day you beg to go on the train too, but
you are told no. You are told that you are not old enough. You are told that it is not your time
yet. Just before you throw yourself on the ground to have a good cry a little boy comes up and asks
for your mum's help. You barely notice his knobby knees, his jutting elbows, his unkempt black
hair, or his timid green eyes. You fear that Harry Potter has already gotten on the Express without
you even saying hello. The boy is far from sight when the twins come back with mischief brimming in
their eyes.**



***Guess who we just met on the train*, Fred (or is it George) teases.**



**You small heart clenches in anguish when they say the name. Tears trail down your face as you
wave goodbye to your brothers and chase after their train, watching as it pulls far out of sight.
They promise you letters and treats, but your tears aren't meant for them. No; not for
them.**



**You cry yourself to sleep for two days straight.**



**Then on that third day a letter comes winging its way from Ron. *As if there was any
doubt*, dad chuckles proudly after hearing the news. Gryffindor.**



***And isn't this nice*, adds your mum as she continues to read the note, *so is
Harry Potter.***



**It is in that very moment that you realize that Ron knows him and with that thought in mind
you can barely control your glee at the wonderfulness of it all. Because what it means is that you
will know him and finally...FINALLY he will know you.**



**And that night you cry yourself to sleep once again. But they are tears of joy now.**







**You are eleven when you realize that you will love him until the day you die.**



**You open your eyes. At first you fear that you have woken up in Hell. You are almost
right.**



**The pitch black of the Chamber almost rivals that darkness that has invaded your mind all
these months. But there is light now. There is Harry.**



**Your eyes fall on the dead basilisk, they widen in fear, but then you see him marching your
way. He looks as though he stepped right out of the pages of a storybook. He has saved your life,
but that doesn't really come as a surprise to you. In fairy tales the hero always saves the
day. And he is your hero after all. Yours. And now you know it's meant to be.**





**The years go on from there...**



**You are twelve when a grin is shared betwixt you. The first of many to come you hope.**



**You are thirteen when your heart almost cracks in two. Your jealous eyes watch his watch
someone else.**



**You are fourteen when you decide that one day he'll come around.**



**You are fifteen when that day finally does.**



**You are sixteen when he leaves you behind so he can go off and save the world.**



**You are seventeen when you get to tell him what you’ve known all along for years; that you
love him. It's always been him. It will only be him.**



**You are eighteen when he makes you his wife.**







**You are twenty-three years old now. Two decades of your life has passed where Harry Potter
has been the center of your universe, the sun that your world has revolved around. But after all is
said and done is that all there is? Is there nothing more?**



**The dragon has been slain, the princess saved, the evil sorcerer dispatched but the books
never say what’s supposed to happen after.**



**What’s supposed to happen after?**



**You don't know. You didn't think to plan that far ahead. Blindly you made your white
knight a suit of armor never noticing that it didn't fit. So now what? Your castle tower has
imprisoned you. Your diamond dreams are made of glass. The fairy dust was only quicksand and you
are falling...falling...falling fast. Isn't it time now that you admit it? There is no pot of
gold waiting after the rainbow. There will be no ride into a blazing sun. Instead of enchanted
kisses only reality can rouse you from your sleep. There is only this. *This* is how it all
ends. And now you know.**



**And they all lived...**



“Ginny?”



**And they all lived...**



“Ginny?”



**And they all lived...**



“GINNY?!!”



*Happily ever after?*







She stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror for a fraction of a second before bringing
her blue eyes to the spot where her husband stood.



“If we don't hurry we're going to be late getting to Fred's,” said Harry as he
advanced slowly from his place in the bedroom doorway.



Ginny regarded him with an air of mute dispassion before turning back to the mirror that hung on
the open wardrobe door. She had been checking to make sure that her make-up was just right and that
her ivory robes weren't cut too low when the sound of Harry calling her name pulled her from
her troubled thoughts. Having zoned back in, Ginny began to fuss with the stray hairs that had
escaped her pin-up hairdo. It was merely a distraction tactic though. It was a ruse to ignore the
awkwardness she felt between herself and Harry as he came to stand behind her. She pretended not to
notice the way that he avoided looking her in the eye. She acted as though the tentative manner in
which Harry placed his hands on her shoulders and quickly dropped them was normal. Everything about
their interaction was painfully forced. Then again this was how it had been between them for
days...weeks...



Years?



“Fred and George have been bragging that they've hired a carriage drawn by a team of the
best thoroughbred aethonon in Britain.” A tiny smile crossed Harry's face but he averted his
eyes when they met hers in the glass. “Of course I think it's rather pointless to bother with
some fancy rig to fly from the village over to the ball. We could just Apparate to Hogwarts. Still,
Fleur and Lavender seemed very excited about the whole thing. Even Percy and Penelope are going to
ride with us. Should be fun, don’t you think?”



Ginny could barely control her grimacing expression. It was a painful experience to watch nearly
six years of a marriage reduced to small talk. She didn't even bother to answer Harry, just
checked to make sure that there wasn't any lipstick on her teeth.



“Ginny,” Harry began uneasily. Ginny turned around and soberly noted the worried look on her
husband's face. Something in her demeanor must have alerted him that Ginny wasn't as
excited about attending this Victory Ball as she had been in years past. “Are you alright?
Gin…”



Disdain flared within her for only a second before dying down. She hated that name. She hated it
when he called her by it. She only wished she could hate him.



“Don’t call me that,” she muttered sourly under her breath, just loud enough to hear. Harry’s
eyes finally made contact with hers in the glass, surprise creasing his features, and Ginny almost
brayed out loud.



Ha! That got your attention, she contemptuously thought.



“I'm fine,” she then said as a phony smile tightened her glossy pink lips. She turned fully
around to face him. “I'm just hoping that I don't run into another woman at the ball
wearing my robes.”



She smoothed the front of the empire fitted garment and posed so that her husband could admire
the alluring figure she cut in them. Of course she was being disingenuous with her reply. Ginny
only bought the best; she was Harry Potter’s wife after all. She had to look the part. There
wasn't the slightest chance of any other woman wearing robes as fine as hers at the ball, not
even Leontyne Scrimgeour.



Ginny's breezy answer caused Harry's agitation to lessen and he smiled tentatively. It
was the friendliest she had spoken to him in the last few days and it seemed to set him at
ease.



“Well even if you do spot one I doubt the witch would look half as good as you,” said Harry as
he bent forward and laid a smacking kiss on her forehead. Ginny, caught off guard for a moment at
the first bit of genuine affection Harry had shown her in a long time, actually smiled brightly
until he continued speaking.



“You look like a princess,” he said sweetly, then turned his back to her and headed out the door
and towards the stairs. He completely missed the stricken look on Ginny's face.



“I'm going to see if Dobby has anymore of those tea sandwiches left before we leave,” he
called over his shoulder. “Knowing Scrimgeour he'll talk and congratulate himself for hours
before we'll get anything decent to eat.”



Ginny watched as Harry's dark head disappeared down the curving staircase while her stomach
bubbled with unhappiness. Sighing bitterly, she scooped up the silk purse that perfectly matched
her robes off the bed. She exited out the door to meet Harry downstairs. Their plan was to tandem
Apparate over to Fred’s house in Hogsmeade Village. Waiting for them there would be her parents,
her brothers, their spouses, girlfriends, and in George and Charlie's case, their dates. From
there six winged horses pulling a luxury carriage charmed large enough to fit their whole party
would fly them over to Hogwarts. It would be the official start of what would possibly be a very
eventful evening. As Ginny trudged down the steps that led into the entrance hall she wondered just
what the night would entail. Would Ludo Bagman get drunk, naked, and end up in the lake with the
giant squid again, like last year? Would the Hogwarts house-elves make that mouth watering baked
quail that Dobby never seemed to get just right? Ginny wondered just how long the Minister's
opening speech would last this time around. The all time record to beat was the Victory Ball of
'03 that clocked in at well over 139.5 minutes and only came to a close after Millicent Crabbe
thankfully went into labor 5 weeks prematurely. Just about everyone in attendance that night gave
her a standing ovation for her impeccable timing alone.



All of this and more drifted in and out of Ginny's head as she reached the bottom step.
Harry was already waiting there, holding her light weight cloak open for her. Ginny slipped the
cloak on over her shoulders and turned back to give Harry a grateful smile which he returned. As
she buttoned up she acknowledged to herself that Harry was being the perfect husband for the
evening. More then likely she would be the envy of almost every woman inside of the Great Hall that
night. Ginny wondered if their picture might even make the morning papers the next day.



She also wondered if her husband's mistress would have the gall to show up at the Victory
Ball as well.



With that final thought Ginny placed her hand in his and waited for Harry to Disapparate them
away.







*No one would ever mistake Ginny for being a stupid woman; she was after all a former Hogwarts
Head Girl for Merlin's sake. She had also some how managed to receive a higher score on her
Potions and Charm N.E.W.T. then the self proclaimed star pupil of the Weasley family himself,
Percy. The fact still rankled the berk's pride to this day. Ginny fancied herself a pretty
brilliant tactician too, far more skilled then Ron ever thought himself to be. Sure Ron could plan
excellent moves and strategies in front of a chess board, but it was his baby sister who knew how
to execute a maneuver and manipulate a situation to get what she wanted in real life, where it
really counted. After finishing Hogwarts Ginny had even been secretly courted to become an
Unspeakable, a truly prestigious honor. She didn't accept of course, Ginny had already mapped
out her future next to Harry's and thought that such a career would take up time better spent
keeping a home and raising a family, but she was still proud of the accomplishment. By no stretch
of the imagination could Ginny ever be considered an idiot that's why when the signs started to
point to her husband having an affair she could no longer ignore her suspicions. The pounding
headaches she was suffering from wouldn't allow her to, nor would the ceaseless nausea. She had
experienced an attack that was so violent one day while visiting at the Burrow that her mother had
gotten teary eyed thinking that a new little Weasley was on the way. It had broken Ginny's
heart to lie to her mum and tell her that she had only eaten some bad shellfish and that was the
only cause of her upset stomach. Sure Ginny thought that something was amiss in her marriage when
Harry started having his dreams and the thought that Harry might no longer be attracted to her did
cross her mind once they stopped having sex, but Ginny never really believed that Harry would ever
be unfaithful to her. That was an idea too terrible to comprehend. The evidence was mounting though
and she could no longer turn a blind eye to it. Her sudden and fleeting bouts of illness were
becoming stronger with each passing day. Harry had become very pensive of late, even more so then
usual. He looked as though he had too many thoughts for his head to carry. There were times where
it looked like he was just this close to saying something to her before he would change his mind,
shake his head, and walk away. He was also keeping secrets. It had been days since Hedwig had last
been home yet Harry acted as though nothing was odd about that. Ginny wasn’t sure how this tied
into her affair theory, but she was almost positive that somehow it did. Then there were the late
nights Harry blamed on work or claimed he was with Ron and Hermione, but Ginny wasn’t dumb. She
knew what was really going on.*



*The straw that really broke the hippogriffs back came about the very morning of the Victory
Ball. For the past few days Ginny had been getting up early and floo’ing over to the Burrow at the
crack of dawn. Her goal was to avoid Harry because she just couldn’t deal with the crumbling
failure her marriage had become. She figured that if she ignored the problem it would go away on
its own. This morning however she had overslept and Harry had awoken before her. When Ginny
stumbled into the kitchen she found her husband already there, sitting at the table, brooding over
a cup of black coffee and reading the morning edition of The Prophet with a look of disgust on his
face. She also spied a strange object lying on the breakfast table in front of him. It looked like
one of those small Muggle tellfones she had seen Glinda and Penelope with a time or two. Although
she was vaguely aware that it served a function similar to a two-way mirror Ginny was unfamiliar
with the device. She and Harry led a lifestyle free of most Muggle conveniences. The Potters didn’t
even have one of those telly boxes in the manor because Ginny thought that they should have a
traditional magical household as befitting an old and venerable family name such as theirs. As with
most decisions that had to do with the way they led their daily lives Harry had deferred to Ginny
on this point. That’s why Ginny was so surprised to see the mobile, as Harry called it, in the
house. She also became suspicious when she saw Harry quickly shove the thing into his work robe
pocket as soon as she asked him what it was and why he had it. Though she didn’t voice it aloud,
she wondered if that was how he and his lover arranged their clandestine meetings. Unfortunately
the evasive way Harry answered the questions she did ask him didn’t quell any of Ginny’s distrust.
According to him he had bought the mobile the day before while he was working in London. Hermione
owned one and he was only curious about the contraption, he said. For more then one reason this
answer bothered the hell out of Ginny. Before Ginny could probe further Harry threw the paper to
the side, abruptly stood up from the table, and declared that he had to go to the Ministry to see
about some paperwork that had to be finished just that very minute.*



*On a Saturday.*



*At eight o'clock in the morning.*



*The day of the Victory Ball.*



*As Harry floo’ed out of the house Ginny entertained the notion of following him to see if he
was really going into the office or if that was just a ruse to go see his whore. Ginny was close to
doing it too; she even had a handful of floo powder in her palm before she quickly discarded the
idea. She still had her pride. There was also the off chance that Harry was actually telling the
truth. But she couldn’t just stand by and watch some other woman walk off with Harry as their prize
could she? No! He was the first thing that hadn’t come to her as a hand me down. He was the first
thing that belonged to her that was first rate. She had worked too hard for him. Ginny Potter would
not be made a fool! That’s why Ginny came up with a better solution to her problem. She wanted some
tangible, viable proof that Harry was having an affair before she decided what to do about it. If
she wanted answers to what her husband was really up to there was really only one person she could
get them from, there was only one place she need go. Godric’s Hollow.*









*Ginny ended up landing quite a bit shy of her mark. When the decision to confront Hermione
came to her she tried to Apparate into the cottage but something odd happened. As usual she had
felt the pressurized sensation of her magic trying to transport her to her intended goal, but just
as quickly she felt herself being wrenched back to the spot in her kitchen where she started from.
Thinking that she might have actually misjudged where she was trying to get to (she had really only
been inside the cottage once or twice so she wasn't all that familiar with it) Ginny tried
three more times to get to the Hollow before realizing that there was an Anti-App on the house.
Fighting off the irritation at being locked out, Ginny decided to try the floo. That plan went
nowhere as well. By that point Ginny had become incensed that she was being intentionally kept out
of the old Potter home. But forcing that emotion to the side she focused all of her attention on
trying to get as near to the house as she could. After a few more failed attempts and a near
splinching, she eventually ended up just out side of the cottage near the back.*



“*I know I left a message last night, but I just wanted to call today and touch bases with you
again this morning you see...”*



*When Ginny landed the first thing she heard was someone speaking nearby. Ginny followed the
sound of the voice to find its owner in the yard behind the cottage.*



“*You are probably dreadfully busy today, I'm sure, but if you could spare me even a
moment of your time I would be eternally grateful...”*



*Ginny peeked around the corner of the house. Sitting on a lounge chair facing the opposite
direction was a woman dressed in a modest black swimming costume and wearing an enormous white sun
hat on her head. The hat was so big that it would have been hard to guess who was under it except
for one thing; the voice was without a doubt Hermione's. She was talking to someone that Ginny
couldn't see. At first Ginny thought that the hat might actually be blocking from view her
companion but there didn't appear to be anyone else in the yard except the sleeping dog near
the patio door. It was when Hermione removed the hat from her head and dropped it on the ground
that Ginny saw that Hermione was holding an object up to her ear. It was a mobile.*



*In her head Ginny could hear Neville's voice telling her that this wasn't such a good
idea. Usually Neville was the voice of reason in her life, her rock, but for the moment Ginny
didn't want to listen to reason. She hated the thought of him being disappointed in her, but
Neville wasn’t here now. Besides, since taking up with his little girlfriend, Neville seemed to
have less and less time for her. Whereas Ginny had once been confident that she was the most
important person in his life, now she felt herself being steadily edged out of the way. That
bothered her. And the fact that it bothered her bothered her even more. Ginny didn't even know
why she was even spending so much thought on this Candy Lee...ugh! She'd be gone soon enough
just like all the rest. Neville would come to his senses eventually.*



“*I really should have seen someone about this sooner…I know I am probably being such a bother
but...hello? Hello? Missus Leon?”*



*Ginny's attention was pulled back to Hermione. Hermione was so engrossed in what she was
doing that Ginny felt free to observe her without fear of calling attention to herself.*



“*Oh,” Hermione said sounding disheartened, “this is her assistant?”*



*Ginny very carefully creeped further down the wall so she could better hear what was being
said. She stooped down beside the wild rose bush next to her and continued to eavesdrop on the
conversation. Whoever she was talking to Hermione was becoming increasingly exasperated by
them.*



“*Yes, I understand that Missus Leon...oh, sorry...Ms. Leon is very busy, but all I really
need is a moment of her time to...”*



*Whatever the person on the other end said must have irritated Hermione because she exhaled
loudly and fell back on the lounge chair in a limp heap.*



“*If you don't mind I rather not discuss it over the phone. It's private. It's a
legal matter of a very...delicate nature...” Her other hand sought the large yellow stone around
her neck and began to worry it between her fingers.*



*Ginny was intrigued by these words. She really couldn't see the other woman's face, a
pair of large white sunglasses were obscuring whatever expression was there, but judging by the
tone of Hermione's voice she wasn't very happy with what she was being told. Just who is
Hermione trying to get in contact with and why is she so desperate to speak with them, Ginny
wondered. She was stumped. One thing seemed certain though, Hermione was at the Hollow alone. It
looked like she had been in the middle of getting a bit of sun in the yard. There was a pitcher of
water and a glass filled with ice on the ground next to the long folding chair as well as a few
books, a notepad, a bottle of sun tan lotion, a towel, and a tote bag. The patio door was open, but
there didn't seem to be anyone else in the house.*



*With Hermione so distracted, Ginny took a moment to give her a thorough once over. Ginny
wasn't so insecure in her own good looks to not concede the fact that, as Molly Weasley once
predicted, the former brunette had managed to mature into an attractive woman. Sure her hair looked
like it was regressing back to the bushy mess that it had once been and Ginny wasn't above
gloating that her bathing suit (a two piece actually, now that she got a better look at it)
didn't do much to hide the little protruding belly that plagued most women other then herself,
but besides that and a few other noticeable flaws (her eyes were set too close together, her chin
was too sharp for her face, the upturned tip of her nose always gave off the impression that she
thought she was better then everyone else breathing) Hermione looked like her time away from
England hadn't hurt her at all. She even looked better then she had the day she showed up from
out of nowhere on the Burrow's doorstep just at the close of Ron's engagement party. There
was a rosy bloom about her that glowed through, even past her healthy tan.*



*Ginny simply hated her.*



*No. That wasn't exactly right.*



*Hate was too modest a word to describe the complicated emotion that pumped in Ginny's
blood stream whenever someone as much as mentioned the name Hermione Granger. If it was possible to
both like and loathe, abhor and admire someone so completely that at times you didn't know
whether you wanted to spit in their face or cry on their shoulder that was closer to what Ginny
really felt. All these years Ginny had assumed that these tangled up feelings had simply dampened
out on their own. Out of sight, out of mind as they say, but now all she had to do was look at her
girlhood friend and see that it had merely been dormant, biding its time to rise up like a tidal
wave and crash down, drowning all else. But as usual Ginny's single mindedness wouldn't
allow herself to think too hard on such matters. Ginny needed Hermione once again and that was what
was important now.*



*Ginny could still remember when she first came to realize that Hermione Granger could
be...useful. It was at the Quidditch World Cup. The Bulgarian mascots were doing their mating
dance, whipping all of the men in the stadium into a near frenzy. Ginny had hoped that Harry was
powerful enough to be immune to the veela thrall, but he succumbed just like all the rest. In fact
Ginny looked on in terror as it appeared that Harry was prepared to hurl himself from the top of
the stands to get to them. Then a strange and wondrous thing happened. Hermione, who had been
studiously watching the strange display on the field thus missing Harry and Ron's antics, took
one look at both of her best friend's enraptured expressions and rolled her eyes in
disgust.*



“*Harry, what **are** you doing?” she asked in that snooty little voice of hers.*



*Just like that Harry suddenly seemed to revert back to his good senses. Before the
veela's singing had stopped. Before everyone else had started to shake the veela enchantment
off. Harry looked at Hermione with a mixture of chagrin and appreciation after she pulled him back
into his seat screeching “honestly” at him and Ron. No one had seemed to think that this scene was
anything special, but Ginny was awed by it. Although Harry was without argument the leader of the
little gang Ginny saw that Hermione wielded a bit of power in the group as well. Both boys seemed
to defer to her at times, most interestingly Harry. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad getting to know
Hermione better, Ginny began to think. Until that moment she hadn't thought of the girl as
anything but an annoyance.*



*Ginny first became aware that she existed in a letter that Ron had written home his first
year at Hogwarts. The name Hermione wasn't mentioned in the parchment, but Ron did carry on and
on about a girl in his year who was a Gryffindor too and, judging by Ron's rants, the very bane
of his existence. But by Ron's next owl the mystery girl had not only gained a name but had
also been rescued from the clutches of an evil troll by Harry and himself. After that each
subsequent letter home was filled with tales of the scrapes and adventures the three new found
friends had gotten into and a few scattered complaints of all of the nagging Ron had to endure from
this Hermione person. Ginny didn't like the sound of it one bit! Who, by Godric, was this girl
who had taken the place next to Harry that rightfully belonged to her?!! Ron was her brother! Harry
was his friend! To Ginny's mind that was as good a claim as any. She was the person that was
supposed to be sharing in all of their grand escapades. Ginny disliked the girl on principle alone.
Ginny also found herself being jealous of the intruder. Ginny wouldn't be able to get to
Hogwarts until the next school year, had she already lost her place? How would Ginny ever get close
to Harry if this stranger was standing in her way? She was supposed to be the girl by Harry's
side; she had dreamed of it, planned for it, set her heart on it for years. Most of Ginny's
fears were alleviated though once she got a look at her “rival”. After Harry had been rescued from
his Muggle relatives he had come to stay with her family for a few days at the Burrow before
starting the new term. On the day the family headed into Diagon Alley to get the children's
school supplies Harry had gotten separated from their group. When the Weasleys eventually caught up
to him he was standing on the steps of Gringotts with the burly Hogwarts gamekeeper and a girl
whose hair was so big and frizzy that it defied all natural convention, even by wizarding
standards. When the girl smiled warmly at Ginny the redhead instantly noticed the enormous buck
teeth that nearly took up the girl's whole face. This was the infamous Hermione Granger?!! This
was the young witch that Ron called “scary” in that almost worshipful and envious fashion of his?
This plain little thing?!! She was no competition at all! Ginny's mind was at peace. That is
until the three young friends separated away from the rest of the group, trudged up the stairs into
the bank, and began to whisper amongst each other shutting everyone (most importantly Ginny) out.
Ginny hadn’t known then that it wouldn't be the last time.*



*Ginny learned the real meaning of the word envy that day. She envied the older girl's
brand new books that she didn't have to buy second hand and all of the expensive school
uniforms and robes that she treated as insignificant. Hermione’s parents were well off but she
didn't flaunt this fact like most of the wealthier students in the school. Even though
Ginny's grades were pretty good she found herself being jealous of Hermione's far more
excellent scores. But more than anything, Ginny coveted Hermione's position in the Trio. Her
presence made Ginny nothing more then an outsider. How could Ginny hope to compete with the
'greatest witch of her age', when she was nothing more then a poor little Weasley? Ginny
found it hard to be very chummy with the girl, even when Hermione tried to make friends. But by the
time Ginny turned 13 she had changed her mind.*



*That summer Ginny began to cultivate a relationship with Hermione, to ingratiate herself with
the girl. It was surprisingly easy. Hermione might have been book smart and clever but even she had
difficulty navigating her way through the perilous jungle of Hogwarts' teen aged girls.
Hermione longed for a female friend she could relate to and Ginny worked herself into the role. The
way Ginny saw it, getting close to Hermione meant getting closer to Harry. In her opinion it was a
fair trade off. By the sneaking glances the brunette would often pay Ron, Ginny began to get the
impression that Hermione might actually fancy her nitwit big brother. This made a friendship
between the two of them more likely since she didn't have to worry about Hermione being a rival
for Harry's affection. Ginny figured that she could help Hermione with Ron; encourage her, be a
sounding board for when her brother acted like a stupid git, and most importantly ensure that
Hermione didn't get any ideas in her head about the green eyed member of their little group. In
a way their alliance was mutually beneficial for both of them really. At least that's how Ginny
rationalized it. Did she feel any guilt over basically using Hermione? Not really. Weren't they
both getting something out of the deal? Besides, though Ginny never intended for it to happen, she
eventually came to appreciate and rely on Hermione. Over the years Ginny grew to care for Hermione
in her own way. One might have even called the sentiment love...*



*...edged with just the faintest hint of contempt.*







“*Just please have Ms. Leon call me when she gets a chance. Please!” Hermione begged the
person on the other end of the phone as she sat up and straddled the folding chair placing both
bare feet on either side of it. “You wrote down my number? Good. I'll be waiting for her call
then. Thank you.”*



*Ginny watched as Hermione pressed a button on the mobile, presumably to turn it off, and then
dismally tossed the gadget in front of her. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, just
gazing straight ahead, before she lowered her head into her hands.*



“*Dammit Hermione! What are you going to do, what are you going to do...” she half sobbed to
herself as her head rolled loosely back and forth in her palms. If Hermione was aware that she had
an audience she gave no sign of it. She just continued to incoherently babble on and on to herself
as Ginny watched, mesmerized.*



“*What are you going to do?!! Why did you wait so long?!! What are you going to do?!! What are
you going to do?!!”*



*Although Ginny had no idea what was upsetting Hermione, the wretchedness and misery in her
voice was evident. She could empathize with that kind of anguish. Ginny was surprised to feel a
long dormant urge to go up and sit next to her; shoulder some of Hermione’s pain, relieve herself
of a bit of her own heartache. One of her feet even stepped forward of its own accord as if to
boldly head in the direction of the other young woman. It was reminiscent of so many instances in
their girlhood where the two of them would lie together in some bed in the Burrow or sit in some
dark corner at Grimmauld Place and cry into each others hair when none of the boys were looking.
Whether it was love or loss or loneliness that fueled those tears, it didn't matter back then.
It was those times, right before the war fully kicked into gear and everything changed, that it had
almost felt like she had a real sister; someone who felt her pain and suffered it as though it were
her own. Some times she honestly found herself missing the relationship that she and Hermione had
shared. But those days had long since passed. Ginny had come to Godric's Hollow on a mission
and Hermione's sad display wasn't going to make her forget what was really
important.*



*SNAP!*



*Then again she would have rather not alerted Hermione of her presence just yet
either.*



*Ginny looked down at the rogue foot that she had absently stepped back on and silently cursed
at the twig it snapped in half. Her hopes that Hermione hadn't heard a thing were dashed as
soon as she heard the woman's agitated voice.*



“*Who’s there?!!”*



*Panicking, Ginny swiftly retreated to the side wall of the house to hide in its shadow. She
contemplated Apparating away before she was discovered, but before she could get her wits together
to do just that, 120 pounds of hair knocked her to the ground.*



“*Hermione, call your dog off! Call it off! Ahhhh!” Ginny hollered as she threw her hands in
front of her face and tossed her head from side to side to keep the animal from licking her face
clear off. She heard the sound of foot steps hastening in her direction. When Ginny was able to
look up she saw Hermione's surprised face peering down at her.*



“*Ginny?” Her voice was a mixture of concern and astonishment. “What are you doing down
there?”*



*With a roll of her eyes and an exasperated huff Ginny answered her.*



“*The backstroke. Now do you mind helping me up?!!”*









*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*







*Ginny's eyes roamed around the living room. Hermione was in the kitchen fixing coffee
leaving her guest ample time to inspect all of the changes that had been made to the place since
she had last been there. Ginny was still extremely irritated that Harry hadn't bothered to ask
her if it was alright to move Hermione into the cottage, she didn't even hear about it from
him, but Ginny had to admit that Hermione had done wonders with the place in the short time she had
been living there. The living room looked both lush and comfortable. It was decorated tastefully;
all dark browns and tans, mute greens, and pale rose colored furnishings. Vases overflowing with
wild flowers filled the room making it appear brighter and smell sweet. The new look was a sight
better then the out dated furniture and the unpleasant, dreary atmosphere that Ginny remembered
once lurking there. Scattered through out the room were items that clearly indicated who resided in
the house; a bookcase, a telly box, her tellfone was thrown carelessly on the sofa cushion next to
Ginny. There was a bag of yarn and knitting needles on the near by end table. Hermione mentioned in
passing that she had been unable to sleep the night before and had started knitting a cap for Dobby
to pass the time. There also were a few old photos of friends and family (some moving, some not) on
the fireplace mantle. Ginny didn't miss the fact that she wasn't in any of them. Every so
often a muffled bark would come from the dog upstairs. Yes, the place was warm and cozy. It felt
like a real home had once again been made out of the cottage which only led Ginny to wonder one
thing: Just how bloody long was Hermione planning on staying there?!!*



“*Two sugars, one cream right?”*



*Ginny looked up to find Hermione standing over her holding a small silver tray with two
porcelain cups and saucers. She made an interesting picture; the lady of the house entertaining
while looking as though she had just come home from a day at the beach. Hermione still had on the
black tank top with its matching boy cut shorts, but thrown over the ensemble was a gauzy cover up.
The only bit of jewelry that she wore beside the one around her neck was an elegant watch on her
wrist. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was pulled back from her face in a haphazard
ponytail as a few wiry looking tendrils escaped the leather barrette that was holding it in place.
She would have looked perfectly relaxed if not for the circumspect look of caution that shadowed
her eyes.*



“*Excuse me?” Ginny asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.*



“*You still take your coffee that way, don't you?”*



*Hermione set the tray down on the end table next to her. She then handed a cup with a saucer
over to Ginny.*



“*Two cubes of sugar and one tablespoon of cream, as I recall.” She smiled weakly as Ginny
took the cup from her hand.*



“*You still remember that?” asked Ginny, slightly surprised. She bent her head to take a whiff
of the brew, her cheeks turning rosy from the heat of it. It smelled of hazelnut. Ginny was pleased
to find that it tasted of it too.*



*Hermione turned to pick up her own cup blocking her face from Ginny's view.*



“*There's very little I forget,” she said before turning back, sitting down, and taking a
careful sip of the steaming hot liquid. After lowering the cup from her lips she turned her eyes
towards Ginny expectantly. “So Ginny, what do I owe the pleasure? Are you looking for
Harry?”*



*Ginny's head shot up from her cup and her eyes turned into slits. “I very well know where
my husband is,” she snapped then instantly regretted it. Ginny knew that she had a tendency of
letting her temper get the better of her. Seeing Hermione's eyes widen at her harsh sounding
words Ginny tittered nervously. It wouldn’t do to put Hermione off just yet.*



“*Harry had to stop in at the office,” Ginny said in a false light hearted manner.*



“*Oh. Then why...”*



“*I'm actually here to see you,” Ginny answered matter-of-factly. Ignoring the sight of
Hermione's gaping mouth, Ginny continued. “I was just thinking this morning that I've been
so rude, not stopping by before now to visit. So here I am.”*



“*So here you are,” Hermione cautiously replied.*



“*So...”*



“*So...”*



*Silence. Neither woman could find much to say to each other really. They both just sat there,
stewing in their own thoughts, each taking careful sips out of their cups to avoid looking at the
other. There was once a time when the two of them would have been able to prattle on endlessly
about one subject or another, but those days were long gone now. Even though Ginny knew that she
was partly responsible for this fact she couldn't help but miss the ease their relationship
once possessed. But there was no use crying over spilt potion, she believed.*



“*Oh,” Hermione said breaking the silence at last. She lowered her cup and crossed her ankles.
“I ran into Eloise in Hogsmeade yesterday.” Hermione smiled, obviously grateful to find something
to fill in the void.*



*At the mention of Eloise's name Ginny felt a mild twinge of annoyance. The last time she
had seen Midgen Ginny hadn't been that friendly to her. Eloise could be very clingy at times
and since very few people spoke to her these days she would often latch on to those that did like a
parasite, do anything and saying anything to curry some favor. Ginny tolerated her, but just
barely. This particular day however Ginny had been in far too grumpy a mood to bother with false
pretenses and blew her off. Saddened by Ginny's aloofness Eloise had asked Lavender if she had
somehow done something to offend Ginny. When Lavender brought the subject up with Ginny she had
scoffed at the idea. As if acne scarred, needy, destitue little Eloise could do anything to offend
her! That would suggest that they were actually equals or something. On the scale of things
Eloise's hurt feelings barely registered with Ginny. Neither did the fact that even Midgen had
a baby when she, herself, did not. Much.*



“*She was pushing her little Apollodorus down the street in his pram,” Hermione continued.
“He's such a cute little thing.”*



“*She never goes anywhere without that baby. It's nauseating really,” said Ginny, barely
hiding the note of jealousy in her voice. “Did you know she calls him Apple?” she asked. “Really,
what yahoo would name their child after a fruit?!!”*



*Hermione brought her cup up to her lips to hide the small smile there. “You'd be
surprised,” she said before tipping the cup back.*



*Ginny's lips spread in a brittle smile. She didn't get Hermione's little “joke”
but that was nothing new. Often times Hermione would make a comment that would go over her head and
Ginny would ignore it. She only hated it when Harry would get the sometimes vague Muggle references
and the two of them would share a grin or laugh over it. There were many moments such as those that
made Ginny feel as though she were being shut out. She even imagined that Hermione would do it on
purpose at times.*



“*I asked Eloise if she was coming to the V-Ball, but she said she had other plans.”*



*Ginny snickered at what she thought was an obvious joke. This seemed to puzzle
Hermione.*



“*What?” she asked.*



“*More then likely Eloise wasn't invited to the Ball.”*



*Hermione's back went rigidly straight. “Why not?” she asked stiffly. Of course she knew
why, she hadn't been gone that long. Still, she seemed almost unwilling to believe the answer.
Ginny saw no reason to sugar coat the issue.*



“*Well, she isn't married.”*



*It had been a mild scandal, and a slow news day, when it had been reported in The Daily
Prophet that Eloise had been let go from her position of two years with the Wizarding Examination
Authority because she was pregnant. Even though Eloise was responsible for only sending out and
filing the student's test scores the Ministry felt that her obviously lax morals left her as an
undesirable. Scrimgeour's administration had been getting increasingly conservative over the
years and most of polite society took their cues from it. The official reason given for
Eloise's dismissal was that she had changed test scores, but according to her that was an ugly
lie. Eloise loved her job and treated it with the proper respect and reverence it deserved. Problem
was Eloise was loose when it came to men. She could never keep a boyfriend for long and was known
to bounce from one relationship to the next. That could have been ignored. A baby with no husband
in sight could not. Her last boyfriend had been the pimple faced idiot who had been the conductor
on the Knight Bus. When Eloise told him about the baby he took off for parts unknown and hadn't
been heard from since. To make matters worse, according to Daphne's gossip column, it was
rumored that Shunpike might actually have been a Squib. Not only was she going to have a baby out
of wedlock but her child might not even grow up to become a full fledged wizard. Poor Eloise had
been left pregnant, jobless, and broke. She would have been almost friendless too if it hadn't
been for most of the Gryffindors that had all rallied around her. Gryffindors stuck together.
Lavender especially went out of her way to be kind to the young mother. She would often say that
she could understand how someone could get themselves in such a predicament. Lavender was usually a
follower; she adhered to public opinion stringently, so her sympathetic stance towards Eloise was
quite out of character. Her loyalty never wavered though. Despite being in the same year, Ginny and
Eloise had never been close, but Ginny did feel a modicum of pity for her and acted accordingly.
Most people however either treated her like a poor relation or disregarded her wholly. She was
neither rich nor famous nor beautiful enough for people to forgive (or at least ignore) her
transgressions. Eloise was nothing short of a social pariah.*





“*Is it a crime now to be unmarried? Ginny, plenty of women raise children on their own these
days. And do it quite well I might add.”*



*Ginny fought hard not to roll her eyes. Merlin, Hermione could be so damned condescending
sometimes!*



“*I'm sure Muggle women do,” she said dismissively. “Hermione, you may be perfectly happy
never marrying and remaining unattached, but do you really think Eloise would be a single mother if
given a choice? No. But Eloise was just so desperate for any male attention that she went and got
her self knocked up knowing that most wizards and witches aren't that tolerant of that kind of
thing. It was a bad judgment call. I feel sorry for her, but she was rather stupid. Any bad
treatment Eloise receives is her own fault.”*



“*Wow. That is harsh.”*



*Ginny, feeling as though Hermione's last remark was almost a swipe at her squared her
shoulders and dug into her argument.*



“*If a woman wants to sleep around more power to her, I won't judge. I just can't
relate. I suppose I'm just old fashioned that way. I waited until I was married, as was proper.
Harry was my one and only. Can I help it if I got lucky?” she added with a prideful grin.*



*Hermione's lips stretched thinly but she made no response. After a moment's pause she
said, “I guess you did,” as her eyes cut away from Ginny.*



*Silence then filled the room again. This time however it was a pregnant quiet. Judging by
Hermione's last stilted remark it was obvious that she was weighing her words carefully with
Ginny now. For her part, Ginny was doing the same thing. This brainless chatter was far from what
she really wanted to discuss with her but Ginny knew she couldn't rush things. If she did that
Hermione might shut down and Ginny might never get out of Hermione what she needed. Ginny had to
play this wisely; get Hermione to open up, loosen up. Maybe even butter her up if she had to. Then,
once Hermione was feeling comfortable in the conversation and speaking freely, Ginny would
blindside her.*



“*Did you know that Incantato Buchignani is going to be performing at the Ball tonight? I
think he's just fabulous, don't you? Doesn't hurt that he's very easy on the eyes,”
Ginny added impishly.*



“*I'm not all that familiar with him I'm afraid,” Hermione said after placing her cup
on the tray next to her.*



“*Oh really? You were always so knowledgeable about those kinds of things. People still ask me
about the band that you hired to play at the reception the night before my wedding.”*



*Hermione smiled. “Gavin Gibbons' Ghostly Troubadours were a nice find. They were rather
good, weren't they?”*



*Ginny nodded her head to agree. “They were fabulous! I've been trying to get Lavender to
book them for her reception, but her wedding planner keeps poo-poohing all of my ideas. That
Borghese person says that Big Band music isn't nearly sophisticated enough for the kind of
event she's putting together.”*



“*That's too bad. It would probably be loads of fun.”*



“*I think she's trying to get Incantato. Mum won't be pleased. You know that she's
one of Warbeck's most devoted fans. According to The Prophet she and Buchignani used to be
lovers but he was just using her to get access to all of her entertainment contacts. Now they are
the fiercest of rivals. Did you happen to read about that?”*



*Hermione grimaced. “No, I don't read The Prophet. Glinda however did floo in earlier to
warn me about today's front page.”*



*A look of apology crossed Ginny's face. “Oh, sorry.”*



*Ginny had only gotten a chance to give the morning's paper a passing glance but what she
did see was a photo taken the day before that made it out to look as though Hermione was assaulting
some poor elderly witch in the middle of the street. GRANGER GOES WILD IN DIAGON, read the title
caption in bold block lettering across the picture.*



*Hermione smiled dryly. “It's alright. I've gotten used to it. I won’t be sad however
when they move on to some new whipping boy. Rita must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to come
up with stories now. I can't wait until tomorrow's headline; 'Hermione Granger Eats
Live Puppy'.”*



*Genuine laughter bubbled forth from Ginny’s lips. Ginny laughed so hard that tears actually
welled in her eyes. Hearing her laughter, Hermione smiled and added her own small chuckle. The bit
of levity seemed to be just what was needed to lighten the mood in the room. She and Hermione were
starting to get cozy with one another and Ginny was starting to feel secure. If she played her
cards right she would have Hermione spilling all that she knew in no time, she felt assured in that
belief. Yes, Ginny's cocky grin was nearly a mile wide. She was this close to getting what she
wanted.*



*And then Hermione's tellfone made a loud buzzing noise and disrupted the easy-going
mood.*



*Both women looked down at the little Muggle device that Hermione was now holding up in her
hand. Ginny took a glance at Hermione and saw a look of uncertainty flicker across her face. The
mobile buzzed again.*



“*Expecting an important call?” Ginny asked. Hermione's brown eyes shot up and met
Ginny's. It was almost as if Hermione had forgotten she was there, she was so focused on the
mobile.*



“*Pardon?”*



*Ginny shrugged her shoulders innocently. “I heard you outside earlier. Sorry, I didn’t mean
to pry.”*



“*Oh,” Hermione said before smiling feebly. “I'm just seeking some legal advice on my
parents’ estate. Nothing too big. You don’t mind if I get this, do you?” she asked as she pushed a
button and lifted the mobile to her ear. She didn't bother to wait for Ginny's reply. The
redhead just sat back against the sofa and drank down the last drops of her coffee. She also tried
to look inconspicuous as she pretended not to listen to every word that was being said.*



“*Hello? Yes, this is Hermione Granger,” she answered, a nervous tremor in her voice. She
paused for a moment then closed her eyes as a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Her hand reached up,
as though to still her beating heart. As Hermione opened her eyes again a pleased grin went from
ear to ear. “Ms. Leon, I am so glad to hear from you.” Every word was punctuated as if to emphasize
her point. She then giggled. “Oh alright, Amparo. Yes, as I was telling your assistant earlier I
was hoping to uh…”*



*Hermione's eyes drifted towards Ginny. They then darted away as she quickly stood up and
proceeded to move behind the sofa padding back and forth.*



“*...discuss some things with you,” she finished in a lower, hushed tone. “Plans for this
afternoon?” she asked.*



*It was at this point that Ginny decided to give up all pretenses that she wasn't
listening in to the conversation. Ginny turned in her seat and watched Hermione walk from one
direction to another, but Hermione completely ignored her. Worry creased Ginny's brow. Her
almost haughty confidence from mere seconds ago shriveled into dread. The niggling feeling that her
window of opportunity was about to put up a closed for business sign began to set in.*



“*Well I am supposed to meet Glinda in London later. She made appointments for us at some
fancy spa in Mayfair.” Hermione nodded her head. “Yes, that’s the one. What a lovely coincidence!”
she said smiling brightly. “I would love to meet for brunch beforehand. Yes, I’m familiar with that
restaurant. My parents’ office wasn’t too far from there. 11:30? Brilliant! I’ll see you
then.”*



*As Hermione turned off her mobile she hugged it to her breast and exhaled. Though her head
was lowered Ginny could clearly see Hermione silently mouth the words “thank you”. She then turned
to Ginny, flashed a sparkling smile and said, “I hope you don’t mind Ginny but I’ve got to
run.”*



*Ginny nearly slid off the sofa. “What?!”*



*Hermione appeared to be completely oblivious to her guests' rattled demeanor. She just
gingerly walked up, plucked the cup and saucer out of Ginny's hand, and placed it on the
serving tray.*



“*Sorry I have to cut this short but I’ve got to go.” She headed in the direction of the
kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind seeing yourself out,” she called out from the other room.*



*For a moment Ginny almost believed someone had placed a sticking charm under her, she felt
glued to her seat. She watched helplessly as she realized that she was about to lose her chance to
pump Hermione for information as she had planned. If she didn’t act fast she might never get the
answers she so desperately needed. That thought is what finally spurred Ginny to action. She jumped
up and nearly ran for the kitchen. From the doorway she watched as Hermione dropped the dishes in
the sink and set the tray on the counter. She turned around and actually looked surprised to find
Ginny standing there.*



“*You're still here?”*



“*We haven’t finished talking yet,” Ginny said as she entered the room further.*



“*Oh. Well, I suppose I could always stop by Wiltshire sometime next week. We could visit
then. How does that sound?”*



*Hermione barely glanced at Ginny as she went back into the living room. Instead she was so
focused on her own plans for the rest of the day that she didn’t notice the meltdown Ginny appeared
to be having. Hermione was saying all of the polite, proper things that one was supposed to say to
company, but Ginny was so unnerved that she couldn’t be bothered with propriety(or duplicity for
that matter) any longer. She whirled around and watched Hermione walk out the room.*



“*Terrible! That’s not what I came all the way out here for,” she yelped. Even in her own ear
her voice sounded abnormally high and screechy.*



*After those last words left her lips all went still. Then Hermione slowly re-entered the door
frame of the kitchen. Her face was expressionless. After what felt like forever she finally
spoke.*



“*What you came here for?”*



“*I...That didn’t come out right.”*



*Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure. So tell me Ginevra,” she said as she leaned against the
doorway and folded her arms across her chest, “what exactly did you come out here for? And please
spare me the long version.”*



*Ginny wanted to plug her! She knew that she had to keep her cool though if she was going to
get Hermione to admit to what Ginny knew she was guilty of. Her mouth worked open and closed a few
times trying in vain to come up with something good to say, but Hermione became impatient waiting
for a reply.*



“*Well, why are you here?!”*



“*I’m here because…you see…what I’m trying to say…”*



“*I’m sort of pressed for time so if you don’t mind—“*



“*Dammit! I’m trying to explain myself,” Ginny yelled. Hermione looked less then pleased with
that response.*



“*Well perhaps it would serve your best interests speaking to Lavender or…or Luna or
somebody.” She was being very difficult and if the harassed expression on her face was any
indicator of her true feelings she wasn’t going to make this situation easy for Ginny at all. What
Ginny needed was some way to soften Hermione up.*



“*I don’t want to speak to either of them. I need you,” she said. If only she could find a way
to distract Hermione, she thought. She needed something that she could hold over Hermione’s head to
make her shut her gob and listen to her. What could do that, she desperately wondered.*



“*I don’t think—”*



“*This concerns Harry,” Ginny finally blurted out.*



*Hermione’s arms dropped to her side and the harsh lines of her face relaxed.*



“*Harry?” she asked softly, voice wavering.*



*Although not a muscle on her face even twitched, inside Ginny was beaming. Jackpot!*



“*Yes,” she said as she nodded her head, “Harry.”*



*The frown lines on Hermione’s forehead wrinkled. “What about Harry? Is something wrong with
him?”*



“*In a manner of speaking,” answered Ginny slyly as she glided pass Hermione and walked back
into the living room. Hermione followed after her.*



“*What does that mean? Is Harry hurt? Is he in trouble? Harry seemed just fine
yesterday.”*



*Ginny sat down on the sofa again and elegantly crossed her legs. “I’m sure he did,” she
muttered lowly. A confused Hermione came and sat next to her.*



“*Ginny you are scaring me. Now what is going on?”*



“*I have to do something. I don’t think I can keep quiet any longer. I think…I think…” Ginny’s
eyes moistened as she dropped them to her lap. She knew she had to play this just right. Her
marriage depended on this.*



“*Yes?” Hermione worriedly asked as she leaned in closer.*



“*Harry is cheating on me.”*



*She lifted her eyes to catch Hermione’s reaction to her this revelation. She expected to see
guilt there. She expected to see shock. She might have even expected to see shame on the woman’s
face. But the one thing she hadn’t counted on was the blind fury she found instead.*



“*You are unbelievable!” she snarled. Ginny was actually taken aback by Hermione’s anger and
even instinctually inched away from her without realizing it.*



“*Excuse m-me?” she stammered nervously.*



*Hermione stood up and towered over Ginny. Her hands were balled into fists. “If this is some
kind of a sick joke—”*



“*Do I appear to be laughing?” Ginny jumped up as well and by now was matching Hermione angry
glare for angry glare. Her patience was wearing thin and Hermione was this close to meeting the
business end of a bat bogey. Ginny even made a mental check of which pocket of her robes her wand
was in.*



“*Of all people…” Hermione shouted as she turned her back to Ginny. She marched across the
room as though trying to put as much space as she could between Ginny and herself. “Of all people…”
she said again stopping near the fireplace. “You have some nerve! To even suggest that Harry
would—”*



“*Do you think I want to believe it?” countered Ginny, eyes gleaming brightly with anger. The
sanctimony was rolling off of Hermione in thick waves and Ginny was choking on it. Just who in the
hell did Hermione think she was yelling at her like this, Ginny fumed. Here she was the poor
wronged victim and yet Hermione was talking to her as though she were the villain in all of
this.*



“*Do you think I want to come to you, especially given our history?” Ginny asked,
seething.*



“*Why did you come to me?”*



“*Because this concerns you too,” Ginny replied.*



*Hermione’s jaw dropped. Puffing herself up she self-righteously sneered, “If you mean to
accuse me of—”*



“*Accuse you? What?” Ginny paused to look at the woman, confused as to what she could have
possibly said to cause Hermione to react so indignantly. A little too indignantly if you ask me,
thought Ginny.*



“*All I said is that this concerns you too,” she repeated. Then, as though a lantern had
suddenly been lit over her head, she realized the conclusion Hermione had drawn from her
statement.*



“*You think that I mean that you and Harry…” Ginny couldn’t even continue the statement, it
was so absurd. “No, of course not!” she scoffed.*



“*Oh,” Hermione said meekly as color flooded her cheeks.*



*Feeling suddenly drained, Ginny dropped back down on the sofa. Taking a cue from her,
Hermione seated herself in the leather recliner nearby and eyed her warily.*



“*Months ago I started seeing the signs that Harry was possibly straying. I tried to pretend
that it wasn’t happening. For the sake of my marriage I can’t do that any longer,” Ginny told her.
She left out the more painful details; Harry's dreams, her lonely nights, the box she had
stashed under her bed filled with “personal aids” ordered from the Wanton Witch Emporium. It was
already embarrassing to have to tell Hermione this much, she saw no point in adding in all of the
more sordid details. Besides, she didn't want to give Hermione anything to lord over
her.*



“*Something is definitely going on,” she continued. She then looked Hermione straight in the
eye. “And I think you know something about it.” There! She had finally put it out in the open. She
wanted to see Hermione try to deny that! However once again Ginny didn’t get the response she was
quite expecting.*



*With a roll of her eyes Hermione leaned back in her chair. “What I know is that you are
probably paranoid over some creation of your own imagining,” a bored Hermione tutted.*



*That did it! Forget the wand, the condescending tone that Hermione took with her made Ginny
want to slash at her face with her own nails.*



“*I am not imagining this!” she snapped causing Hermione to sit up straight and really look at
Ginny. By now Ginny no longer cared about retaining a cool, calm façade. She was sick of being
belittled. She was sick of being lied too. She was just sick of it all! She no longer cared what
Hermione thought of her, she was getting desperate now.*



“*Harry barely is home anymore.”*



“*He’s working on a big case. He's Ron’s Best Man. He has been helping me around this old
place,” said Hermione as she counted each answer off on her fingers. “He’s busy Ginny, no cause for
alarm.”*



“*He's hiding something,” countered Ginny. That one made Hermione pause, but she scrambled
to cover it quickly.*



“*Harry has always been a little secretive.”*



“*I can practically smell the guilt on him,” Ginny said pressing on.*



“*Now that’s just absurd! I’ve never heard such groundless accusations in all my—”*



*Ginny sat up, spine straight as a board and slammed her small fist down on her thigh. “They
are not absurd! They are not groundless! They are not! They are not! They are not!” she yelled over
and over again at the top of her voice. Hermione was in awe of her.*



“*Do you know that there are times that my head pounds so bad that it makes me dizzy? I can
barely see straight. Oh, unless you count the toilet,” Ginny said smiling darkly. “I always have a
good view of that seeing as how I’m constantly bent over it these days.”*



*Hermione looked at Ginny askance. “And you think that it’s the Blood bond that is causing it,
don’t you?” she asked.*



*Ginny disgustedly answered back, “What else could it be?”*



“*Goodness Ginny, anything but that!” Hermione said admonishingly. Once again she left her
seat to pace back and forth. “I mean, did you ever stop to think th-that…that perhaps you and Harry
were going to have a baby? Wooziness, headaches, morning sickness…sounds like the early stages of a
pregnancy to me,” she said, purposefully avoiding Ginny’s eyes.*



*Ginny snorted as though Hermione had told the world’s biggest joke. Hermione stopped her
pacing and bewilderedly turned towards Ginny.*



“*Harry would actually have to touch me to make that one happen and he hasn’t done so in
months. Yes, months,” she responded to Hermione’s mute astonishment. “Satisfied now?” she asked.
“Is that enough proof for you now?” Ginny could tell that she had knocked Hermione for a loop but
she still bravely soldiered on. One thing Ginny would always give Hermione was that she was loyal,
almost to a fault.*



“*Harry would never do something like that,” she insisted. “I’m sure that there are reasonable
explanations for everything.”*



“*Other then the obvious ones? Stop patronizing me Hermione! And stop pretending that you
don’t know what I’m talking about. You know! I know you do! Now what I need from you is to tell me
who this woman is.”*



“*Who she is? Who she is? I don’t even think she exists!”*



“*Drop the act already! Stop covering for him.”*



“*What would make you think I would cover for Harry?” Hermione asked perplexedly.*



“*Because you would do anything to protect him, even lie if you had to. But mostly because it
would hurt me!”*



*Hermione raised her hands before her. “Whoa! Ginny, I’m not going to try to pretend that you
and I don’t have our issues. But believe me or not I would take no joy out of seeing your marriage
to Harry fail. And if Harry is cheating on you, and trust me I have a hard time believing that he
ever would, I swear to you that I know nothing about it!”*



*For a moment Ginny stared at the sincerity etched across Hermione’s face. Although she hated
to believe it, something in her tone told Ginny that Hermione just might be telling the truth.
“Honestly?” she asked.*



“*Yes.” Hermione steadfastly replied.*



*Ginny fell back against the sofa dejectedly. It was like the wind had been let out of her
sails. She had been so sure that Hermione knew what was going on. That was why she had come all the
way out to Godric’s Hollow. That was why she had coaxed and cajoled and nearly bullied Hermione
into this so called confrontation. She had been so sure…*



“*It wasn't supposed to be like this,” Ginny wailed pitifully to herself. She closed her
eyes hoping to halt any tears. “We were supposed to live happily ever after. That was how it was
supposed to be! And now something is trying to take it all away from me. I just know it! It’s like
the answer is staring me right in the face. I can practically touch it.”*



*A warm hand wrapped its self around one of hers. Ginny opened her watery eyes to find
Hermione sitting next to her.*



“*I’m sorry?” she offered kindly. “I know that sounds terribly inadequate, but I am. I wish
there was something more I could say, something I could do. Listen Ginny, this sounds like nothing
more then some misunderstanding that only needs to be cleared up. You and Harry have all of your
lives to work through whatever this is you two are going through. You just have to believe that
Harry loves you.”*



*Ginny petulantly sniffed. “Does he?”*



*Hermione looked at her in wonder. “Doesn’t he?”*



*Ginny honestly could not bring herself to answer the question. Instead she held on tighter to
Hermione’s hand. For some reason it felt comforting.*



“*This seems familiar,” she said looking down at their two clasped hands. Hermione needed no
explanation; she knew exactly what Ginny was talking about. Maybe she had been having similar
thoughts.*



“*It should,” she said smiling sadly. “We were friends once. At least…” The smile slowly
faded. “At least I thought we were friends. Then you started pushing me away. It felt like you
didn’t need me anymore. It felt like I had outlived my usefulness.”*



“*So it’s my fault then?” Ginny sniped angrily. She ignored the ring of truth in Hermione’s
words and the slight pang of guilt they caused.*



“*When you came back from the War Hermione you were a different person. You’re the one who
changed. And for the record you started pulling away from me.”*



*Ginny was speaking honestly, at least from her point of view. There were times Hermione acted
as though she didn’t want to be bothered with the younger girl anymore, as though it pained her to
even be near her. She started slowly withdrawing from Ginny. The rare times they were around each
other were if Harry or Ron were present or if Hermione came to the Burrow. They completely stopped
confiding in one another. At the time it had hurt a bit, Hermione had been the closest thing she
had to a sister, but Ginny chose to focus on what was important instead; Harry. She had gotten what
she wanted; Hermione had become superfluous by that point anyway.*



“*Perhaps…” began Hermione sounding uncertain, “perhaps we both share the blame.”*



“*Perhaps,” said Ginny sulkily although they continued to hold hands. “Do you think we could
ever be friends again?” she queried.*



*The question seemed to surprise Hermione. “I think we've both said and enough things to
each other that would make that pretty impossible.” Cocking her head to the side she asked, “Would
you even want to be friends again?”*



*Giving no clear indication how she felt on the subject Ginny answered a quick, “Maybe.” By
this point a new idea was starting to emerge in Ginny’s mind and the prospect of getting Hermione
to go along with it was looking promising to her. Ginny might be able to salvage something out of
this little heart to heart after all.*



“*Hermione, can I ask you something?” After Hermione nodded her head Ginny asked, “Has Harry
mentioned anything to you? About our marriage, I mean. Has he given you any indication that there
is something wrong between us?”*



*Hermione quickly dropped Ginny's hand.*



“*I think Harry is the person you should be discussing this with,” she answered noncommittally
while turning her whole body in order to avoid the redhead's eyes.*



*Dear Merlin, she does know something. And it's not good, Ginny fretted. If Ginny needed
any further proof to that line of reasoning the way that Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip was
answer enough. But Ginny refused to give up defeat just yet, especially now that it was clear that
despite their shared differences Hermione still cared for her. Maybe there was still enough
goodwill left between them that Hermione might grant Ginny a small favor, a kindness really. Why,
if she could only make Hermione see things her way, maybe the two of them could even be friends
again. All past hurts and slights could be glossed over.*



“*He said something, didn’t he?” Ginny asked. Hermione gave no answer just stared down at her
lap. “Sweet Circe, what am I going to do Hermione? Please tell me what to do.”*



“*I tried to give you advice once before, remember? You didn’t want it then,” Hermione said,
shaking her head.*



“*But I’m asking for it now!” she exclaimed. Yes, now Hermione could make all the difference.
Hermione could talk to Harry for her. Hermione could get Harry to confess. Hermione could make
Harry drop his slut and turn back to his loving wife. And Ginny would be loving, and kind, and
understanding and all of those things plus more. She would also be benevolent and forgive Harry for
everything that he had put her through these past few months; never let it be said that Ginny could
not be the bigger person. Then they would fix this mess. They had to fix it! Harry was bonded to
her for life, it was his only option.*



*Well, that and death.*



“*Ginny, have you listened to a word I said?”*



*At the far away sound of Hermione's voice the fog in Ginny's mind suddenly halted
it's swirling motion and seemed to stretch its self through ever nook and crevice it could
find. She shook her head as if to loosen it from its hiding places. Her clouded eyes turned to
Hermione and noted that the woman looked worried, disturbed even. Then again Ginny might have worn
the same troubled visage too if she had seen the eerie, dreamlike expression that Hermione had just
witnessed.*



*Stifling a shudder, Hermione tried again. “Ginny, you need to talk to Harry. You two can work
this out. All you have to do is talk to him.”*



“*Or you could talk to him,” Ginny suggested. The coy way in which she said it was meant to
hide the guile of her words.*



*Hermione's eyes bulged. “You can’t be serious?!”*



“*Harry would listen to you,” she continued. “Oh Hermione don’t you see, that would solve
everything. You could just—”*



“*No.” Her voice was just above a whisper.*



*Ginny reached for her hand. “But Hermione—”*



“*I said no!” Hermione said, drawing back from Ginny's grasp.*



*Ginny frowned at her. “But you said you wanted to help,” she whined.*



“*I said I wish I could help. But what you’re suggesting...No!”*



“*But I need you Hermione.” Didn't Hermione see that she needed her? Why was she being so
difficult?!*



“*Ginny, I don’t want to be in the middle of your marriage.”*



“*But you are!” Ginny barked viciously, finally losing her patience with her. “Even before
Harry and I got married you were in the middle! When Harry needed advice who did he turn to? You.
Whose opinion was he always after? Yours. I didn’t even know about the Prophesy until after the
fact. But he told you.”*



“*And Ron! He told me and Ron! You seem to have conveniently forgotten that part. Don’t try to
twist things just so you can have your way!” Ginny ignored the plea.*



“*Harry was my boyfriend, but the three of you decided to keep the fact that he might die from
me. You shut me out! You were always trying to shut me out Hermione!” Ginny didn't even care if
she wasn't being fair. Her confidence was shot, her nerves were frayed, and it was all
Hermione's fault as far as she was concerned. Everything was Hermione's fault!*



“*Are you even listening to yourself? Harry made the decision to keep you in the dark. You
know that,” Hermione said, trying to reason with her. Ginny was having none of it. She stood up
from her seat and glared down at Hermione.*



“*But you were supposed to be my friend. You should have told me. If you were really my friend
you would have told me. Just like if you were really my friend you would help me now.”*



“*My God! You are doing it again Ginny. I can’t believe you are trying to do this to me again.
You think if you twist things up enough you can get me to do whatever you want me to do, but not
this time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”*



“*What the bollocks does that mean?” she asked snidely.*



“*It means that you’re on your own Ginny. I can’t help you.”*



“*Do you mean you can’t help me or you won’t help me?”*



*Hermione studied Ginny's face; her glittering eyes, her mutinous chin, the flaring
nostrils and unhappily shook her head. “Ginny, even if I could help you I don’t think I would want
to,” she answered truthfully.*



“*I see,” Ginny said in a tight, strained voice. She then turned her back to Hermione. “You
selfish, controlling bitch,” she muttered nastily.*



*Hermione chuckled humorlessly at the insult. “And here I thought we were going to be the best
of friends again,” she said. Ginny refused to look at her but Hermione kept talking. “Although you
know what’s funny? The last time you and I talked it went a lot like this as well. You were so
cruel to me,” she added absently. Ginny wasn't sure if she was speaking for her benefit or if
she was babbling to herself. She did know that there was nothing more she wanted in that moment
then to strike back out at Hermione, hurt her like she was hurting.*



“*You deserved it,” Ginny replied, her voice hard and cruel. “You were being a selfish and
controlling bitch back then too.”*



“*And as I recall you said something to that effect as well,” Hermione snickered archly. “Just
tell me one thing Ginny...”*



*Ginny turned around and their eyes met.*



“*Was I just a means to an end for you? I mean after all is said and done, the two of us, was
that all I ever was...a means to an end?”*



*Ginny stared at Hermione, at this woman before her who Ginny had known for more then half her
life. Moments, flashes of memory invaded her mind nearly clouding all else.*





*Giggling over a surprising invitation to a dance...*



*Modeling dress robes for each other before the Ball...*



*Running to spill about finally being kissed...*



*Laughing together at the silly quiz in the back of Witch Weekly...*



*Crying on a shoulder after visiting dad at Mungoes...*



*Holding a hand as a secret crush remained hopelessly a secret...*





*If she tried hard enough Ginny could almost make herself believe that it had all been another
lifetime ago, another life ago.*





“*Yes,” Ginny said tilting her nose up superiorly at Hermione, “that's all you ever were,”
she lied coolly.*



*Hermione unflinchingly held Ginny's gaze. “Thank you.” she said. “I always thought that…I
just couldn’t be sure. But now I know.” Hermione's eyes fell on her intertwined fingers that
were resting in her lap. “Now I know,” she softly repeated. Hermione then stood up.*



“*Thank you.”*



*Hermione casually strolled to the front door, opened it, and then turned back to face
Ginny.*



“*Now get the hell out of my house!”*



*Ginny whirled around, shocked to hear Hermione speak to her in such a cold, unfeeling manner.
“Y-you’re house?” she stammered out.*



“*You heard me. I have things to do and I've wasted enough time that I'll never get
back on you already.”*



“*You can’t throw me out of here!” Ginny shouted, stomping over to the door. Even though
Hermione was a few inches taller, Ginny stood toe to toe with her.*



*Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Oddly enough I think I can.”*



“*This is my husband’s house therefore it belongs to me too,” Ginny yelled. “You’re lucky I
don’t toss you out on your ear.”*



“*I’d like to see you try.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest. She bent her head so
close to Ginny's that she could feel her warm breath tickle at her nose. The only thing Ginny
could see in her field of vision was wrathful brown eyes.*



“*You see Ginny, this house belongs to Harry. Harry. He’s the one who decides who stays and
who goes. Now it just so happens to be that Harry wants me here. As long as that’s the case I’m not
going anywhere and there is no one who can make me. That includes you.” Pointing outside, Hermione
gave Ginny a poisonous smile. “I would appreciate it if you left now.”*



*Fuming, Ginny turned to walk out the door, but her feet wouldn’t budge. Her pride would not
allow her to just leave Hermione looking so smug, so self-satisfied without trying to land at least
one last parting shot.*



“*I get it. I know the real reason why you won’t help me.”*



*Apprehension stole over Hermione's face so fast that Ginny would have missed it had she
blinked.*



*She didn't blink.*



*Before the neutral mask could fall in place Ginny saw the fear that had alighted in
Hermione's eyes. Saw it, savored it, and would have broken it open to drink the marrow from it
down if she could. If Hermione thought she could talk to her just any kind of way she had another
thing coming. She was better then that, she was better then her! She was Ginevra Potter.*



“*You are a sad, pathetic woman Hermione and you want everyone to be just as miserable as you
are. It won’t work though. Harry and I might be having some problems right now, but we’ll get
through them. And afterwards we’ll be better and stronger then before, I’ll make sure of it. So you
were right, I don’t need you anymore. Coming here was just a waste of my time. You were a waste of
my time. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not alone in that thought. Isn’t it ironic that Rodger
Davies, Oliver, and my brother all started to live happy lives once they got the hell away from
you? Davies has a wonderful wife and child. Ron and Oliver are both engaged. And where is Hermione?
All alone. You’re probably going to die that way too. I could almost pity you. Almost.”*



*She wanted to hurt Hermione. She wanted to maim her. Ginny wanted to tear her down, if only
with her words. She wanted Hermione to know just what it meant to be as unhappy as she was. But the
wench refused to take the bait.*



“*You must have been biting your tongue for weeks to keep from spewing all of that at me until
now,” Hermione replied in an unnaturally calm voice. It pricked at Ginny's skin; it was so hard
and brittle. It was as if Ginny's words had no effect on Hermione at all. They slid off her as
easily as oil. “So tell me something Gin, did it make you feel better?” she asked, a note of false
concern coloring her words. Ginny glared at her hatefully. She was boiling!*



“*Huh, did it? Did it?!” she continued to taunt vilely. When Ginny remained quiet Hermione
smirked haughtily. “I thought not. Now get out!” she ordered through clenched teeth, her voice only
trembling on the very last word.*





*Ginny stalked outside the house gnashing her teeth to stop herself from calling Hermione
every dirty name she knew. Just as she crossed the threshold she felt the swish of escaping air hit
her back as the door slammed shut. The shot gun crack sound startled her and made her seize up
rigidly as though she had been hit by a curse. Almost stumbling forward, Ginny whipped around to
see the closed door almost rock in its hinges from the force of Hermione’s rage. Ginny was
miserable. But worse then that, she felt defeated. The morning was a bust, nothing had been
accomplished, and now she had made an enemy of someone who had once been invaluable to her. Of this
Ginny was certain. She had just watched the last vestiges of their already fragile relationship go
through its final death throe. Did she feel remorse, any regret over the way things had turned out?
She wouldn’t have known. The bitterness blackened everything until that was all Ginny knew. If
there was any justice in this world Hermione would be sharing some of the same.*



*Ginny was about to Disapparate when her ears picked up a barely detectable sound in the still
morning air. Her head swiveled back and forth trying to tell where it was coming from but she
couldn’t see anything that could be causing it. Then her eyes fell back on the cottage door.
Instinct drove Ginny to tip toe closer to it and put her ear to the wood. Although there was very
little increase in volume Ginny realized that whatever was making the almost keening noise was on
the other side of the door. Ginny stepped back a few paces keeping her eyes trained forward. All
thoughts of leaving vanished as her curiosity got the better of her. Ginny reached into her pocket
and pulled out her wand. *



“*Roentgenesco,” she softly intoned.*



*The wooden, opaque material of the door instantly took on a translucent characteristic
revealing the inside of the house. It also revealed the figure of the person who had taught Ginny
so very long ago the very charm she was using. Hermione’s lower back was pressed up against the now
see-through door. She was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, arms encircling them. She
was hunched over so that her face was hidden in the small valley between her chest and lap. Her
desolate sobbing was muffled because of this but by the violent way her shoulders jerked and
trembled, it wouldn’t have been that difficult to figure out what she was doing. Her weeping
sounded like that of a wounded, beaten animal.*



“*Finite Incantatum,” Ginny whispered. The door returned to normal. She lowered her wand and
prepared to Apparate back to her home feeling at least a little less wretched then she had mere
minutes before.*



“*All better now,” she said to herself. Then winked out of sight.*













“Neesom?”



“Newsom.”



“No...no...that's not it. That's not it at all! It was Newman.”



“I don't think so. Oh! I've got it, Neiman!”



“Now that's just ridiculous. Who ever heard of such a ridiculous name? It was Needleman. It
was without a doubt Needleman.”



“I don't know Ron; I don't think that's quite it either.
Needleman...Needleman...Needleman...”



“I zink zat you boys mean Needlemeier.”



Ron and Harry looked at each other across Ginny and Lavender, both male sets of eyes growing
wide.



“Needlemeier!!!” they both exclaimed in a triumphant cry.



“Bernadette, I swear I would kiss you if I didn't think my wife would lean over and snap my
neck in two,” Harry said jokingly to the brown haired woman by Charlie's side.



“She'd do it too!” George helpfully added, eyes twinkling merrily.



“Mean little thing, she is. Ow!”



Everyone at the table laughed except for Fred. He was gaping at his little sister in shock and
rubbing at the tender spot on the back of his head she had reached over her husband and his wife to
smack him on. Ginny tittered along with everyone else although she was nowhere near in as jovial a
mood as the rest of the table's occupants. Especially after Charlie's date Bernadette
started to slaver all over her husband.



“Monsieur Potter, you are quite ze charmer,” she said in a sticky sweet voice. Ginny glared at
her, but the dumb bint didn't seem to translate the message; back off! Damned French women,
she’d drown the lot of them if she could.



“So Ron,” George said turning to look at his brother who was sitting next to him, “have you
finally decided on who you're placing your bet on?”



“I can't believe you two wankers are running a betting pool on who Hermione is going to show
up here with tonight,” remarked Charlie turning to look at him. He was smiling though so he seemed
to think the whole thing humorous.



“I don't see the harm in it,” Fred told him. “It's free enterprise.”



“It's unethical,” Charlie answered back.



“Oh, it's that too,” Fred said, grinning. Glinda, sitting to the right of him, began to
chuckle. “So ickle Ronniekins,” he continued, “is it going to be Needlemeier?”



Chewing his lip pensively, Ron looked at his best friend and asked, “What do you think Harry? I
always did suspect that Hermione fancied old Needledick from the Misuse Office.”



“Oh no, when Hermione finds out about this I want my hands to be clean,” said Harry. “And
fancied is an awful strong word in'it,” he countered tersely.



“She was always talking that berk up,” said Ron ignoring him. “It was Cyril, this and Mr.
Needlemeier, that.” Ron smacked his lips disdainfully. “'Cyril is on the Committee to Preserve
House-elf Historical Habitats',” Ron said mockingly in a high pitched, snooty voice. “And
'Cyril is going to tie himself to a tree until all non-human sentient beings can get hitched
the same as us, what are you planning to do productive with your day Ron?'” He even added a
little self-righteous sniff at the end.



The whole table laughed whole heartedly. Ron was pretty good at imitating Hermione.



“Blimey, was it so wrong that a bloke just wanted to stay in his boxers and listen to the
Wireless on a Sunday?” Lavender put her arms around Ron and adoringly cooed that of course there
was noting wrong with that.



“Well, I don't zink zat Cyril will be showing up here tonight,”



“Why,” asked Glinda, “still tied to that tree?” Charlie and Fred snickered.



“Mais non,” said Bernadette, “Cyril is...is a...how do you say,” she turned to Charlie,
“...est-un loup-garou.”



Ron's freckled face frowned at the woman. “A lu-lu wha--?”



“Werewolf, Ron,” answered Charlie raising his glass to his mouth.



Harry nodded his head. “Oh that's right,” he said.



“Well why didn't she just say that?!” said Ron argumentatively. No one paid attention to
him.



“There's a full moon out tonight. Tonks mentioned it to me when I ran into her earlier
today,” said Harry. “She said that Remus had been acting particularly feral that morning.” Harry
winced slightly. “I didn’t ask for too many details. She didn't seem too fussed that they were
going to miss out tonight though.”



“Well if Ron doesn't hurry it up he's going to miss out on his chance to get in on the
winnings,” muttered Fred. “We can't hold the window open much longer, the dancing is about to
begin. Blondie could show up any minute.”



Lavender whispered in Ginny's ear, “Maybe the hag will do us all a favor and stay home.”



Although Ginny didn’t say it aloud, she had the same hopes as Lavender. After their little
“visit” that day Ginny hoped never to lay eyes on the woman ever again, especially not tonight. As
the hours went by Ginny was starting to think that she might just be that lucky. It was nearing
nine o’clock, the dancing was about to start, and Hermione was nowhere in sight.



At least one good thing has come out of this night, thought Ginny sourly.



If anyone else had been able to hear Ginny’s bleak thoughts they would have had to disagree with
her. So far the Victory Ball had been a rousing success for its planners. Attendance looked to be
at an all time high, the wizarding elite were all decked out in their finest robes and
accouterments, and the mood in the room was gay and rollicking. Every year since the Ball's
inception the Hogwarts Head Boy and Girl, working along with a representative from the Ministry,
would organize the event and the Seventh Year class would decorate the Great Hall where it was
held. This year it was fixed up to resemble a lavish Henrician banquet fully equipped with
jugglers, ghostly jousters, and a court jester or two. There was also a strolling minstrel who
canvassed the floor singing songs in praise of any man’s bravery or any woman’s beauty as long as
he was tipped accordingly. The students had even arranged to put on a bugbear bating demonstration
but Headmistress McGonagall put a nix to that idea as soon as she found out about it. Nearly thirty
ornately decorated round tables, that sat ten guests a piece, faced a long table on one side of the
room where the Minister, his specially selected guests, and the Hogwarts faculty would dine. A
polished dance floor took up the other half of the room and ended in a grand bandstand where
Incantato Buchignani and his band would perform. Through out the evening murmurings that this was
the best the Great Hall had looked in years could be heard. All of the Seventh Years were pleased
to hear the compliments, the need to throw an excellent party was always important to the students
since they actually got to attend the party. It was sort of a coming out for the seventeen and
eighteen year olds so that they could mix and mingle with the adult society they would soon be
joining within a matter of weeks. Ginny knew just how much hard work went into planning the event.
The year after Voldemort's defeat it fell on her as Head Girl to orchestrate the very first
official Ball. It was an honor that Ginny took very seriously; Harry was her boyfriend and even if
he refused to acknowledge it, in her mind the Victory Ball was as much about Harry as it was about
Voldemort.



That night the Ball had gotten underway under embarrassing circumstances. Rufus Scrimgeour's
opening speech before dinner was cut short due to someone switching his goblet of meade for one
filled with Lancelot's Limerick Liqueur. Before he could come to the scandalous conclusion of
his story concerning a saucy sorceress from Kent, his Deputy Minister Tarquin Adair hustled him
from the lectern and back to his seat so he could not cause himself or the Ministry any further
damage. Luckily for the twins their mother had been sitting at a separate table with her husband,
Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Penelope as well as a few other Ministry personnel. Fred and George both
pretended not to notice the cross looks she was sending them across the room. After Adair took
Scrimgeour's place at the stand he proceeded to give a short, yet heartfelt speech of his own
that was so moving that almost every woman in the Hall wiped tears from their eyes during it and
five minutes of uninterrupted applause followed its conclusion. After that the food was served and
once the desert course was finished the guests began visiting back and forth between tables.
Ginny’s table was the most raucous. Between the twins antics, Glinda’s teasing, and the corny jokes
being told by Harry and Ron their section of the Hall was loud with laughter. Even Pristine,
George’s date, looked like she was having fun although she did appear to be overwhelmed by the
boisterous group from time to time. She probably would have liked it if George paid a little more
attention to her as well, but he was too busy. Due to Fred and George's betting pool there was
a steady stream of visitors to their table. Through out the evening Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot,
Katie Bell, amongst others stopped by to place a few last minute bets and Padma Thomas had to drag
Dean and Seamus away by their ears to get them to go back to their seats. Lavender had already
filled Ginny in on the scam the twins were running earlier when the two of them had gone to the
restroom together. Fred and George would get a thirty-five percent cut of the winner's take
from their pool, even if the pot was split amongst multiple winners. They deemed that only fair
since they organized it. What wasn't fair was the fact that if no one guessed who Hermione’s
escort was all of the money went into their pockets. The two of them were in line to make a
killing.



At one point Neville had stopped by on his way to his own table to say hello to everyone but
left soon after, barely acknowledging Ginny. He didn't even tell her how nice she looked before
he went. Neville always told her how nice she looked, but he acted as though he couldn't be
bothered with her for the evening. It had hurt Ginny but she had deserved the abuse. She had been
particularly rude when his little ballerina bonbon greeted her cordially. Slag! Besides that minor
unpleasantness everyone else was enjoying themselves. Everyone that is except for Ginny. She was
too busy glowering at every woman who had the nerve to speak to her husband in her presence and
wondering just which witch it was he was bedding behind her back. Ginny made sure she knew where
Cho Chang was in the room at any given moment and she nearly took a butter knife to Romilda Vane
when the silly woman stopped by their table with Harry's superior officer, Commander Hanes in
tow. To make matters worse Harry didn’t even have the decency to act guiltily in front of any of
the women so that Ginny could figure out who his mystery woman was. He just chuckled along with
everyone as though he hadn’t done a thing wrong. Bastard! Harry’s innocent act was driving her
batty, Neville was treating her as though she had come down with a case of disfiguring dragon pox,
and on top of all of that her quail had been dry. Ginny had enough troubles as it was, the last
thing she needed was Hermione showing up. Ginny worried that Hermione would actually tell Harry
about their conversation from that morning. But as the evening continued on its course the chances
that Hermione would actually show her face become slim. Once the band began warming up Ginny
started to think that Hermione Granger wouldn’t be a problem. Ginny decided to put the nuisance out
of her thoughts completely so she could enjoy the rest of her night.





She only wished that everyone else would shut the hell up about her too so that she could
actually do just that.





“She probably doesn't even have a date you know,” Lavender continued to say to Ginny, that
time a bit too loudly.



“Come again?” asked Harry looking between Ginny and Lavender. Ron's attention was also drawn
to them. Lavender looked back and forth between the two men as though she had stepped into a
chimaera trap and had no idea how to chew herself out of it. Poor dumb Lav! As always it fell to
Ginny to save the situation.



“Lavender was just saying that perhaps Hermione's date had to cancel at the last minute and
Hermione just decided to stay in,” Ginny answered smoothly as she ran her finger along the edge of
her empty wine glass. “If she isn't here by now I highly doubt that she will show at all.”



“She'll show,” said Ron knowingly. “I'm not falling for that one again. The last ball I
was sure that Hermione was bluffing about was the Yule. And we all know how that turned
ou...Merlin's Beard! That's it!”



Ron's eyes went big and he began bouncing around excitedly in his seat.



“Krum! It's got to be Krum!”



Harry looked at Ron skeptically. “Viktor Krum?”



“Of course that's it! Hermione would think it was a grand joke to pull on all of us--”



Lavender looked at her fiancé worriedly. “Uh...Ron--”



“Not now Lav.” he said. He was gaining steam now. “Has anyone put in for Krum?” he asked George.
Fred took out a list from his pocket that contained all of the names of those who were taking part
in the pool as well as the names they placed their bets on. After scanning the list quickly and
lowering the parchment Fred gave a brief nod of his head to his twin across the table.



“Looks like today is your lucky day baby brother,” George replied with a grin.



“You appear to be the first,” said Fred. Ron wore a broad, pleased smile. Meanwhile Charlie,
Bernadette, Pristine, and George who all had a good view of the door from where they were sitting,
seemed to be occupied by some sight in that direction.



“Ha! Ten galleons then on Viktor Krum,” Ron said as he pulled a money bag out of his robes and
threw some coins from it onto the table. Lavender looked alarmed at this.



“But Ron--” she tried again.



“Not now Lav!” he said brushing her off again. Lavender tried desperately to get Ron's
attention but he turned in his chair to look at George excitedly. George quickly brought his
attention to his brother. Ginny sighed loudly as she watched the events unfold before her. Knowing
her brothers, this wasn't going to end well.



“Is Krum your final answer?” asked George archly.



“Yes, yes you git! Now take my money!”



George flashed him a wicked smile. “It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said
as he scooped Ron's galleons off of the table. “Oh by the way, Viktor Krum just waved hello to
you lot from the door.”



“WHAT?!” Ron whipped around in his seat so forcefully that he almost fell out of it. Luckily
Lavender put out a steadying hand to catch him.



By now their whole table was looking towards the entrance. As each guest for the Ball entered
the Great Hall they would pause a moment at the door to allow their pictures to be taken by various
representatives from the press. Viktor Krum and the rather burly young woman next to him were
finishing up with them and making a beeline for their table.



“Who is that with him?” asked Harry aloud.



“His new girlfriend, Ljuba Emanuilova,” Pristine said as she flipped her auburn hair over her
shoulder and shamelessly batted her eyes coquettishly at him. Ginny shot her a nasty look that made
her gulp.



“Oh, I've heard of her,” piped in Charlie. “She's been hired to be the new Beater for
the Vultures right? She's uh...er...a very handsome woman,” he added diplomatically.



“Yes, and her mustache is very neatly trimmed,” quipped Glinda.



Ron wasn't too concerned with this. His mind was on his ten galleons. “Krum has a
girlfriend?!!” he yelled. “Krum has a girlfriend?!!” he bellowed even louder then before when no
one answered him the first time. He looked wildly at all of their faces. “Who here knew that Viktor
Krum had a girlfriend?!!” he demanded.



Ginny, Lavender, Pristine, Bernadette, and even Glinda raised their hands hesitantly. Ron seemed
to be most offended by Lavender's “betrayal”.



“Lav!”



“Luv, I tried to tell you but you wouldn't listen!”



“You prats!” Ron fumed looking back and forth between George and Fred. “You let me make that
sucker's bet when you knew I'd lose. I demand my money back!”



George shook his head. “Sorry, no refunds.”



“But I'm your brother!”



Fred wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye. “Breaks your heart, doesn't it?” Despite
Ron's furious indignation even Ginny couldn't help but laugh.



“Good effening Veasleys...Harry,” said a voice in a thick accent. Ginny turned to find Krum and
his girlfriend standing behind her. Everyone turned to look at them as well. “Ladies, you look
loffly,” he said as his eyes roved around the table and paused on each woman just long enough to
bring a faint blush to their cheeks. Pristine simpered like a little bitch in heat and even
Lavender and Glinda smiled broadly at him. Ginny had to admit it; Viktor Krum might walk like a
duck, have a uni-brow, and be unintelligible under the best of circumstances but he sure had sex
appeal to spare. Physical being indeed!



“But vere is Hermy-own-ninny?” he asked.



He also was dead annoying.



“Oh stuff a Beaters Bat up it!” snapped Ron, scowling at him. “C'mon Lav!” he barked,
grabbing her hand and yanking her out of her chair. The two of them marched on to the dance floor
that was starting to fill as Buchignani's Belltones began to play and Incantato began to sing.
Everyone stared after the retreating couple.



“Vas it something I said?”



Fred smiled into the confused looking Bulgarian's face. “Nah. Just a business transaction of
his went south,” he joked.



Viktor stayed and chatted with Harry and the other men for a few minutes before leading his date
towards the dancing. Charlie and Bernadette also went off in that direction. Pristine looked
longingly at all of the couples swaying about but George seemed content just sitting there and
joking around with Fred. Glinda wasn't too fond of their kind of music, it tended to give her a
head ache. She said that she preferred the low-key blarings of an Ozzy Osbourne concert to it,
whatever that meant. Glinda was happy to be sitting out. Ginny tapped her nails against the surface
of the table barely noticing that they were matching the beat of the waltz like music that was
being played. She knew better then to expect Harry to voluntarily dance in front of other people,
he was even embarrassed to dance with her the night of their wedding reception. She tried to be
satisfied with the fact that he at least hadn't moved from her side all evening long.



“Well would you look at that!”



Ginny brought her attention to George. Seeing that his eyes were drawn to something just over
her shoulder she turned to see what it was. Spotting a swath of yellow standing in the doorway
Ginny's bottom jaw nearly unhinged its self when she realized just who she was looking at.



“What the hell?!” exclaimed Harry. He was staring that way as well and had unconsciously risen
from his seat. Glinda was cackling madly.



“God love her, she sure knows how to make an entrance!” she beamed.



The subject of their attention was Hermione. She was dressed in a soft butter yellow cocktail
dress and her hair was pinned atop her head in an artfully messy pile. But that wasn't what was
causing stares and a near pile-up at the door. It was her date. Or rather dates, there was
apparently two of them. Draco Malfoy and Luna stood on either side of Hermione with an arm linked
through each of hers. He was wearing dapperly cut black robes trimmed in gray while Luna was
dressed in bottle green. The three of them looked fabulous and there was a crush of photographers
trying to snap their picture. Malfoy appeared to be eating it all up while Luna barely acknowledged
that the paparazzi were there at all. She waved at Ginny when she caught sight of her. Hermione was
the only one who looked uncomfortable. She smiled stiffly and her weight seemed to be sagging
against the other two. If Ginny didn't know any better, when the three of them started moving
across the floor, it almost looked like Malfoy was dragging her forward against her will. She
looked like she was trying to dig her high heels into the carpet.



“What the hell is she doing here with him?!” growled Harry glaring between Malfoy and Hermione
as they slowly worked their way across the room, pausing every few steps to greet friends, former
schoolmates, and acquaintances.



“Who cares?! All that matters is that the money is all ours!” cried Fred merrily. George made a
loud whooping sound that seemed to perk up Pristine. The girl could smell a big payday on the
air.





As Luna, Malfoy, and Hermione came near the table Harry motioned for Ginny to move over a few
seats. Ginny looked at him in disbelief for a moment before complying. She scooted over to where
Ron had been sitting next to George. Instead of thanking her though, Harry was too busy looking
expectantly at Hermione, motioning to the chair next to him as he moved into the next seat. Ginny
ground her teeth together so hard that she actually made her head throb. Her whole body tensed.
Hermione sitting next to Harry was not a good idea. That would give them a chance to talk. That
would give them a chance to talk about her. Thankfully Malfoy swooped in and took the offered
seat.



“Why thank you Potty,” he said smirkingly. Harry just scowled at him.



“Hello everyone,” Hermione said smiling nervously as she sat between Malfoy and Glinda and
nodded her head around the table. She stopped short of Ginny and acted as though the redhead
wasn't sitting there. Ginny returned the favor. Instead she watched Luna perch herself in
Malfoy's lap. The blond's arm wrapped around her hip possessively and Luna sighed into the
embrace. Ginny rolled her eyes. Luna and Malfoy could really be disgusting sometimes. By the look
on Pristine's face Ginny could tell that she felt the same. It was puckered up as though she
were sucking on a lemon, but she nodded her head at the new arrivals and greeted them as cordially
as she could.



“It looks like we almost missed the festivities,” said Luna dreamily. “Sorry we're
late.”



“Why are you so late?” Harry asked Hermione staring directly at her. Ginny noticed that she and
Malfoy shared a look before she turned to Harry and answered.



“I couldn't decide on what to wear,” she said with a jittery laugh.



Glinda frowned. “But ducks, I thought you had already planned to wear that dre—ow! Did you just
kick me?!”



Glinda was bent down rubbing at her ankle under the table and looking up at Hermione sorely.
Hermione looked at her angelically.



“Sorry, foot slipped.”



“Yes, we almost didn't make it,” said Malfoy in a silkily casual voice. “Hermione had to be
persuaded to come. For some reason or other she just couldn't be bothered showing up here
tonight.”



Ginny felt her skin crawl up her arms as pale gray eyes raked over her and away.



“Thankfully my Loony Love and I convinced her to change her mind.”



Harry, who hadn't moved his eyes away from Hermione since she had sat down reached a hand
out to hold hers as it rested on the table. “What's wrong?” he asked concernedly.



“Nothing,” said Hermione, pulling her hand out of his. Harry looked hurt at the action.



“So boys,” said Luna looking back and forth between Fred and George, “I believe that you two
have something for me.”



Fred chuckled humorously. “What, our condolences?” His eyes flickered over to Malfoy and back to
her. Malfoy glowered at him.



“No, my money,” she answered him simply. When the twins, and everyone else for that matter,
looked at her confusedly Luna continued by saying, “I won the pool.”



Fred and George sat up straight at that.



“What are you talking about?” asked Fred.



“You didn't place a bet,” added George.



“And Blondie didn't even come with a date!” they both said.



“Wait a minute, what pool?” asked Hermione curiously. Glinda leaned over and whispered something
in her ear. When she finished Hermione leaned forward in her chair and furiously glared at the
twins.



“You prats!”



“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fact still remains that you and Malfoy here don't count,” said George.
“Lovely though you both are.”



“By the way,” said Glinda turning to Hermione, “why did you tell me you had a date?”



“I never said I had a date, you said I had a date. When you offered to set me up with someone I
told you that you needn't bother because I already had plans,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.
“I had mentioned to Luna the day before that you lot were probably going to try and set me up on a
blind date. I told her that I didn't want to got to the Ball with some stuffed shirt I barely
knew. She suggested that I come with her and Draco. I took her up on the offer.”



“You see!” argued George turning to Luna, “Blondie doesn't have a date.”



“But we are her dates,” said Luna. “And I placed a ten galleon wager on us. I sent it
anonymously with lover's Pollux. Once you accepted my money the deal was made. Fair is fair
boys and lover needs a new pair of Horntail hide boots.”



“What name did you bet on?” asked Fred suspiciously.



“Roland Duanca,” she told him. Out of the corner of her eyes Ginny saw a curious expression form
on Hermione's face.



Fred scanned the parchment in front of him trailing his index finger down the list. As his
finger came to a stop his eyes bugged and he looked up at George helplessly.



“Brother, we've been had!”



Hermione reached over and took the parchment from Fred. She quietly studied it as George began
to bluster angrily.



“Well that means nothing! Neither of you is this Duanca bloke...whoever he his,” he trailed
off.



“Actually George they are.”



George and Fred's focused their attention on Hermione.



“It's an anagram.”



They both stared blankly at her. Hermione rolled her eyes.



“An anagram...you know? I am Lord Voldemort...Tom Marvolo Riddle.”



“The letters are mixed around!” Ginny said excitedly finally figuring the puzzling situation
out. She laughed out loud at Luna's ingeniousness.



“That's right!” said Hermione smiling brightly as she and Ginny's eyes met. Instantly
their smiles dropped and they both turned their bodies in opposite directions so they wouldn't
have to look at each other.



“Roland Duanca spells out Draco and Luna,” continued Hermione. The twins looked horrified at
this revelation.



“Very good Hermione,” said Luna. “I used Weasley Wheezes Mix Around Back Around Ink to write it
out.



Fred and George began riffling through their pockets looking for all of the bets that people had
sent by owl. They threw them onto the table and began going through the pile looking for
Luna's.



“What's this Mix Around thing?” asked Hermione.



“Freddy came up with it,” answered Glinda. “It's really big with the twelve to thirteen
witchlet set. They use it to write all of their little secrets in their diaries.”



“The letters mix up and spell something differently unless the person who wrote it is present,”
added Harry.



It was at this point that Fred came across the parchment in question. He stood up from his seat.
George also stood up.



“This thing has been fixed!” Fred shouted, throwing the paper at his twin.



“And not by us!” exclaimed George after taking a look at it.



Fred was so outraged that he could barely form a coherent sentence. “Of all of the low
down...rotten...underhanded...dirty dealing...” he spluttered crossly.



Glinda and Hermione giggled insanely. Harry looked equally amused.



“Luna played you two,” he told them.



A look of adoration crossed Malfoy's face as he looked at the woman in his lap. “Marry
me!”



Luna smiled at him lovingly. “In due time,” she said as she patted his cheek. Ginny felt
nauseated.



“Well would you consider me?” asked George looking at Luna admiringly. “I think I'm in
love.”



“Get your own Weasley!” Malfoy retorted hugging Luna tighter. Pristine, who had been quiet
through all of this, finally lost her patience. George had basically ignored her all night and now
to add insult to injury he was fawning all over Luna. Apparently when it came to men Pristine
Pringle was no competition for the spacey blonde.



“Not again!” she shrieked before overturning her seat and running for the door. Eight sets of
eyes watched her go.



“Is she on the rag?” asked Malfoy rudely. George only shrugged his shoulders before gamely
chasing after his date. Ginny went to turn back in her seat when she realized that Hermione had
been staring at her malevolently. Her dark brown eyes practically bored a hole straight through
Ginny's head. But the instant Harry went to say something to Hermione the look had disappeared
from off her face. Ginny almost wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But then she saw the
penetrating way Malfoy was watching Hermione and herself and Ginny knew she wasn't the only one
who caught the moment.



“I feel like dancing,” he suddenly said out of the blue. He gave Hermione a winning smile. “Pet,
I believe you promised me a dance.”



Hermione looked at him as though she didn't understand what he was saying. “Dance?”



“Cut a rug, do a jig, trip the light fandango. Come along.”



“But I don't want to dance,” she said.



“But I insist. You don't mind do you Loony Love?” he asked his girlfriend.



Luna got off Malfoy's lap so he could stand up. “Of course not lover, but be mindful if the
band plays a mazurka. You know how Polish music gives you gas.” She kissed his cheek and sat down
in his place.



“Yes dear,” he said as his pale cheeks turned pink. “Now come along Hermione,” he said pulling
Hermione to her feet.



“She doesn't want to dance with you Malfoy,” Harry said through gritted teeth as he stood up
as well.



“I don't believe I was talking to you Potter,” Malfoy said dismissively, not even bothering
to look at Harry.



“Listen Ferret—”



Malfoy was now facing Harry. “Look here Bangs Boy—”



“You two knock it off!” Hermione railed shrilly at both men, glaring irately at both of them.
“If it will shut you up Draco, let's go!” she yelled and stormed off towards the dance floor.
The blond smugly smiled at Harry before following.



As Ginny sighed in relief she watched Malfoy and Hermione disappear onto the crowded dance
floor. Some of the tension that had filled Ginny retreated. Ginny felt that she was finally free to
relax.



“Let's dance,” said Harry tensely as he offered her a hand.



Well, there went that quickly.



Not that Ginny didn't want to dance with her husband, she was always happy to show him off,
she just hated the aggravated look on his face as he took her hand and hustled her quickly into the
dancing throng. They stopped just short of where Hermione and Malfoy were as Harry took her in his
arm and began to sway awkwardly to the music. Under the best of circumstances Harry wasn't that
good a dancer. With him trying to keep an eye on both his best friend and his partner he was a
disaster. Not that Ginny noticed much. She also watched the twosome. The pair moved back and forth
across the floor elegantly and was actually pretty good. They were so good in fact that one could
almost ignore the pinched look on Hermione's face as Malfoy spoke to her in low tones. Some
kind of intense conversation was going on and by the hostile looks he would shoot her every so
often Ginny couldn't help but think they were talking about her. Although she and Harry were
just within earshot only a few snippets of what was being said could be heard over the music.



“I said...out of it!”



“Not until...tell m...what she...”



“Nothing, I...you that already...Stay out of...”



Hermione wrenched from his grasp. She gave Malfoy a dirty look in parting before stomping across
the floor. She passed by Ginny and Harry but didn't acknowledge them, just kept her face turned
towards the exit to the Entrance Hall. Without saying a word, Harry dropped Ginny's arms and
took off after her. For an instant Ginny could only stare after him, stunned. She quickly looked
around to see if anyone had seen what had just happened, but all those dancing around Ginny were
too busy to care. A very mild tension headache seemed to suddenly develop out of nowhere. She
figured it was due to the press of the crowd and the loud music. Ginny decided then that it was
probably best to beat a retreat, maybe get a breath of fresh air until Harry came back.



Ginny ended up in the rose garden. Fairy lights fluttered about in the air and the music coming
from the Hall sounded softer, dreamier to the ear. There were rose bushes, trees, and benches
scattered about and nearly everywhere she looked she could see the dark shadows of couples sitting
close together or pressed clandestinely against the trunk of a tree.



The feel of the night air on Ginny's skin felt refreshing though she was still bothered by
the dull throb in her head. She heard the splashing of water nearby and followed the sound of it
down a winding cobbled path passed an array of large stone statues. The sight of water had always
been soothing to Ginny, as a child she spent as much of her time as she could in the pond behind
the Burrow. When she was little Ginny used to think there was nothing more beautiful then the sight
of sunlight breaking across a glistening blue surface. Sometimes she would just sit in front of the
pond and dream the day away. After a short stroll the path came to an end near a white stone
fountain, but the sight of it brought Ginny no peace. The sound of a sultry giggle filled Ginny
with such an unwieldy disquiet that she felt almost as though the world had been ripped right from
under her feet. She felt paralyzed, like she couldn't move. But move she did. Ginny scampered
behind a large birch and only peeked from around it when she was sure that the couple hadn't
spotted her.



“See,” said Candide in a teasing voice, “I told you that you weren't hopeless.”



“You are entirely too kind,” answered Neville. “You aren't even familiar with the music and
yet you've gotten the hang of it easily. That doesn't say much for me I'm afraid.”



“That's because dancing is in my blood. I could dance to a pennywhistle and a spoon if I had
to. “ Neville laughed. “But you Neville Longbottom are definitely light on your feet.”



“That's only because I'm heavy on your toes.”



Candide cloyingly giggled.



Neville and the little ballerina bonbon were wrapped in each others arms dancing to the faint
strains of music coming from the Hall. They looked for the entire world like two people in
love.



In love?



No, thought Ginny savagely, it can't be! But those thoughts were useless really. Ginny had
been a witness to the sad conclusions of all of Neville's few affairs. She had also seen the
beginnings. Neville had never spoken to any of those women as tenderly as he was speaking to
Candide. He had never held any of those women in his arms so protectively. He had never brushed
their hair back and away from their face with such gentleness. He had never looked at another woman
that way since...



Ginny felt herself growing enraged. How dare Neville be out here enjoying himself with that slag
when her life was crumbling to bits. He was supposed to be her friend. He was supposed to care! But
instead he was wasting his time away on some dumb Muggle bint who would only break his heart in the
long run. Look at her, thought Ginny contemptuously as she eyed the kimono like dress robes Candide
was wearing, she barely knew a wand from a stick up her arse a few months ago and now she was
lapping this whole thing up! It was obvious that Candide was only using Neville, why else would she
be bothered with him?



“Look at you,” said Neville somehow managing to embrace the woman even tighter then before. “You
are so graceful and elegant,” he smiled bashfully, “and I look like some bumbling puppy next to
you.”



Candide grinned. She moved a hand of hers into the tuft of brown hair at the nape of
Neville's neck. “I like puppies,” she said sweetly. Ginny thought that she would gag. Neville
couldn't possibly be falling for this.



“I like you,” he said sheepishly. Ginny’s nails practically tore into the bark of the tree.



Candide moved to rest her head against Neville's shoulder. “I like you too. In fact, I think
I like you a little too much. Don't think I'm crazy if I tell you this but...I think I
might be falling in love with you.”



Ginny inhaled so sharply that it almost hurt. She actually felt like she had been physically
kicked in the stomach. She was surprised to look down and discover that her legs hadn't given
out under her. Leave! Go now! Run! She knew that she shouldn't be watching this, she knew that
she was about to see something that couldn't be taken back, but her limbs refused to move.



Neville pulled back tp gaze into Candide's face. The moonlight, playing across her alabaster
skin, made her look almost ethereal. He stared at her for what felt like an eternity.



“I don't think you crazy,” Ginny heard him say. Then, as she watched with dawning horror,
Neville began to lower his head...











*To Be Continued...*







*Yes, Ginny gets a two-fer. Her POV, especially the next chapter is essential to the plot. You
didn’t get the confrontation here that you wanted, but trust me when I say I’m holding back on that
baby for a reason. I know Ginny might have come off super bitchy but believe it or not I softened
her from the original version. If you feel she is too bitchy, well, I am wanking y’all! I stay as
essentially canon as I can but, for the benefit of my story, I do take liberties. I said this from
the very beginning.*

*Next up we get a clearer picture of the Ginny/Neville relationship, Candide shows herself to
be perhaps a more formidable force then Ginny gave her credit for, and Draco and Mrs. Potter share
a “special” dance. Look for fireworks and I don't mean the good kind. LOL!*



*If it makes you feel better, chapter19 is Harry all the way.*



*A few more points of interest:*

*1) I chose to open the chapter with a bit of free verse to really give a window into Ginny’s
mind. If it worked, yay! If it didn’t, oh well. It’s based off of a poem I wrote when I was 16 just
re-worked to fit the story. Call it my homage to Toni Morrison. :).*

*2) “Harry, what **are** you doing?” is taken from pg. of GoF. Just making sure no suits
come after me. LOL!*

*If you have questions ask.*














*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*




*And those who don’t like excuses can open their eyes now. *g**

























































25. Chapter 18.B
----------------

**TITLE:** All Roads Lead Back

**KEYWORDS**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

**SYNOPSIS**: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell! A very gradual, slow moving **H/Hr** love story told through
multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final
battle.

**SPOILERS**: All six books.

**WORD COUNT:** 15,757

**RATING:** NC17 for language and later sexual content.

**BETA:** *Padfoot* & *murphsmine.* Couldn't do it without them!

**WARNING:** Here it is finally! Keep in mind that this is a continuation from the last
chapter so expect TONS of **G/N**. Harry and Hermione don't make an appearance sadly (though
they are mentioned constantly through out), but if you can be patient you get a little of the
**D/G** “action” that **Izod** and a few of you other guys asked for some time ago.

The reviews from the last chapter were overwhelming (but in the BEST way). I think the best
received chapter so far. The fact that it was a Ginny chapter makes it all the more hilarious. You
guys RAWK! Hope this one goes over half as well.

By the way, thanks to **Schokki** at ff.net for telling me about the review block I had on
the story. I had no idea so now it's gone. Also thanks to **sartone** at portkey for the rec
and all of you guys who commented too. It meant a lot! Now on with the show!

**DISCLAIMER:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.







*As the door to her bedroom slowly crept open Ginny didn't give it or her guest any
thought. Instead her attention remained fixed on her two feet that were encased in a pair of satiny
off-white shoes. The open-toed sling backs were daringly high for her and if a good breeze were to
come through her window it might have toppled the diminutive young woman to the floor. But she was
so entranced by the sight of her ten little toes in the shoes that she didn't care if the
straps were sawing into the backs of her ankles or that the big toe on her right foot felt pinched
and was turning purple. She didn't even care that the shoes weren’t quite the same color as her
robes, although she was terribly prideful of the fact that she was one of the few brides that could
wear virginal white on her wedding day and actually mean it. The Italian silk shoes with the low
heels that she had carelessly tossed into a corner somewhere were a better fit and matched the
robes, but they hid her pedicure from sight and to Ginny's mind that was a small travesty. Her
toe nails were a fascinating color of red, Jungle Red as Glinda called it, and the shade made Ginny
feel sexy and daring. Although Ginny knew all about Muggle nail polish and that they came in a
rainbow of choices, Ginny had never worn anything on her nails other than the mawkish pink that her
mother liked for her to wear for fancy occasions. Ginny herself preferred them nicely buffed and
clean if any thing. But once Glinda started painting the crimson enamel on her toes Ginny had been
smitten. Glinda had also painted all of her brides maid's toes; Hermione, Luna, Angelina,
Alicia, Katie, and cousin Mafalda's along with every one of their female friends they could
manage to hold down long enough that evening. It had been her hen night. Hermione had come up with
the idea to have a “grown-up” slumber party at her flat complete with frosty drinks with little
umbrellas and naughty parlor games. At first Ginny had hated the idea, she had hoped for something
a little more sophisticated, but once the alcohol had seeped through her system, a feathery boa had
been wrapped around her neck, and Glinda had pulled out the bottle of Jungle Red her aversion
towards the idea had been flung aside. Of course her mother hadn't been pleased with her new
pedicure later on. Molly Weasley found it vulgar and said it made her look cheap. She made no bones
about her distaste and told Ginny, her daughters-in-law, Hermione and anyone else who would listen
that only “those kinds of women” would wear something so tawdry. Naturally Glinda Weasley took that
as a compliment. When Molly insisted that Ginny remove the nail polish she out and out refused to
have it taken off, but since the front of the ugly shoes that Hermione had picked out were enclosed
Ginny's father had settled the Weasley women standoff by deciding that little Ginny should have
her way on this one thing. Besides what difference would it all make if no one got to see the
offending toes, he argued. Well to Ginny it made a hell of a difference! It was her wedding and she
felt as though she had no say in any of the planning. Every suggestion she gave Hermione fell on
deaf ears and her mother and the brunette left her out of all of the important decision making.
Ginny had finally had enough. She was going to make a stand! Her feet were far too pretty to hide
in a pair of clunky old heels. She was determined to have her way on this and if that meant walking
down the aisle with whore red toe nails (to hear her mother tell it) and in shoes that were the
wrong color and didn't quite fit right, well...by Merlin she bloody well would walk down the
aisle with whore red toe nails and in too tight shoes!*







*If only the damned things matched.*









“*Hermione, I don't care what you or mum say. I like these shoes better than the other
ones. My feet have never looked so small and dainty, don't you think?” she asked her visitor
who had been oddly silent upon entering the room. Ginny hadn't pondered the strangeness of
this, nor did she bother to look up as she asked her question, she merely continued to admire her
feet. It was no surprise then that the answer she received nearly made her keel over face
first.*







“*To tell you the truth, I don't think I've ever seen a pair of feet half as lovely as
those.”*







*Ginny's red head snapped up at the sound of the familiar male voice.*









“*Nev?!”*









*For hours Ginny had been all alone in the house. Her mum was at Hogwarts supervising the
finishing touches for the wedding ceremony. The Great Hall was being enchanted to look like a
throne room fit for the Faerie Queen herself. Molly was determined to make sure that everything was
perfect for her only daughter's wedding day. Fleur, Bill, and her dad were all at work. Instead
of busying herself with important matters Ginny had been waiting around at the Burrow all day for
her Maid of Honour to show up. Hermione was supposed to leave work at noon then come over to the
house so that the two of them could go over the final seating chart for the Ending Party that next
night. By three o’clock, with no sign of the usually punctual swot in sight, Ginny's barely
sustained patience had snapped as easily as a cherry wood wand and her need to cure her boredom had
taken over. Littered all over the room were sheets of parchment that Ginny had been practicing her
future signature on. 'Ginny Potter' was easier on the ear than 'Ginevra
Weasley-Potter' and would look better on stationary she had come to decide. When she had grown
tired of that distraction she had gone downstairs and opened all of the wedding gifts that had
already arrived and were being stored in the front parlor. The only present she didn't touch
was the one with the holes in it that would rattle and make scratching noises every so often. She
knew that Hagrid's heart was in the right place, but she wasn’t barmy enough to see just where
it was. Once that bit of curiosity had been fulfilled she cast an Obvulvus spell on the packages
and trotted back upstairs as all of the gifts began to meticulously wrap themselves up again.
Finding herself still bored after that Ginny did the only logical thing she could think of next.
She put on her wedding robes.*







*Originally Ginny had wanted to go to Paris or some place as equally fabulous to pick out her
robes, but the same evening her mum had placed Auntie Muriel's tiara on her head Molly had
tearfully placed a box into her daughter's arms as well. Inside the box were Grandmum Prewett’s
wedding robes, the very same robes that Molly had worn when she got married. Now she was passing
them on to her little girl. Ginny had been so overcome by the sentimentality of the moment that she
had tried them on right on the spot. Although Molly had been taller and a few stones heavier than
Ginny at that age, a few quick alteration charms easily solved any problems. That night had been
the last time Ginny had worn them. Luckily she hadn't gained an ounce in the weeks since then
and they still fit perfectly. They had fit so well that Ginny didn't even want to take them
off. She swanned about her room tossing admiring glances at herself in her small mirror as the
looking glass paid her one compliment after another. The only criticism it did give was on the
pointy shoes that Hermione liked so damned much and that had promptly ended up in the corner. Ginny
had sided with the mirror. She had just slipped on the sling backs when she heard someone knocking
at the front door of the house.*







“*It's unlocked,” she had loudly called out. “I'm upstairs in my room. Just come in,”
she had invited her guest, her voice colored by only a hint of annoyance. Ginny had left her door
partially ajar to listen out for Hermione’s arrival and had naturally assumed that the footsteps on
the stairs were hers. Because it was only Hermione she didn't bother taking the robes off. She
figured that since Hermione had left her waiting with nothing to do for so long the bossy
know-it-all could stand around as Ginny took her sweet time to change. Seeing Neville's sunny
face in her doorway however made Ginny realize what an unwise decision that had been.*







“*NEVILLE!” Ginny shrieked. “What are you doing here?! Turn around! Turn around!” she yelled
repeatedly as she frantically waved her arms in front of her. “Don't you know that it's bad
luck to see the bride in her robes before the wedding?!”*







*Neville, taken aback for only a moment by Ginny's hysterics, couldn’t help but chuckle as
he gamely turned his back to the agitated little witch.*







“*Considering the fact that I'm not the lucky bloke who is marrying you I think your fate
is safe,” he said, barely concealing his amusement. “That only goes for the groom. Besides,
that's just some old Muggle superstition. When did you start believing in those?”*







“*Since Hermione started filling my head with all sorts of rubbish,” she grumbled, feeling
like a perfect idiot. She was blushing furiously from the embarrassment of being caught in the act
of playing dress-up. There was also some small part of her that wasn't too frazzled to
recognize that the way Neville had been looking at her earlier, while she was clad in her wedding
whites, might have had something to do with the state of her pink cheeks as well.*







*The second Neville turned to face the door Ginny summoned her wand and performed a switching
spell on her clothes. When she finally told Neville that he could turn around again her mum's
robes were laid out on her coverlet while she was dressed in a light cashmere dressing gown that
had been draped across the foot of the bed. Scattered about were other items of clothing that were
a part of her trousseau as well and were all waiting to be packed. Ginny didn't give a thought
to the impropriety of the situation since it was only Neville. He had been her closest friend for
so long after all.*









“*There, all better now,” she said as she dropped her wand on the bed. She didn't miss the
bolt of color that flashed in Neville's cheeks when he got a gander at what she was wearing,
but being the gentleman that he was Neville quickly recovered and gave her a warm, affable
smile.*







“*So what's this I'm hearing about a shoe?” he asked as he took a few confident steps
from the open doorway to come further into the room.*







“*Two shoes actually. See.” She lifted a foot and held out a slender leg towards him. “I was
just trying them on with my robes.”*









“*They are quite becoming indeed.”*









*Ginny's foot fell back glumly to the floor. “I think so too,” she said. “But I'm
supposed to be wearing those,” Ginny grumped as she motioned her head in the direction that the
ivory heels had been carelessly thrown.*







“*Uh...those are nice too,” Neville said as he glanced at them and back at her. The look on
his face said otherwise.*







“*What do you really think Nev?” Ginny asked with a knowing grin.*







“*They are nice,” he insisted. “That is if you go for the repressed school marm look.” Neville
smiled at his own joke and so did Ginny.*









“*Well I don't, but I don't think I'll really get a say one way or another.” There
was a pensive note to her voice as she said this. Ginny wandered over to the bed nearest to the
wall, the one that Hermione would sleep in when she used to spend the night, and plopped herself
gracelessly on the bed. Neville however found her melancholy mood perplexing.*







“*Why not?” He moved a few stray sheets of parchment and clothes out of the way and joined her
on the bed. “If you like those shoes,” he gestured towards her feet, “you should wear those shoes.”
Neville's eyes then brightened as though a delightful thought had just occurred to him. “In
fact,” he said as he sat up to draw his wand from the back pocket of his trousers, “there. That
should be about right.” He pointed his wand at her feet and magically the shoes were changed. Ginny
marveled at the transformation. Whereas they had been off-white before, almost egg shell in shade,
they now were the same ivory color of her robes. They even fit better, her big toe was returning to
its natural hue. That was just like Neville, knowing exactly what she needed without her even
having to say a word.*









“*Neville you're amazing! Why didn't I think of that?” She reached over and engulfed
him in a crushing hug. “They're perfect!”*









“*As are you,” he tenderly said. The heat from his breath tickled her neck and shot warring
measures of pleasure and chaos through her. It unsettled Ginny so much that she found herself
shooting off the bed as though she had been launched from it. She kicked off her shoes and they
rolled under her bed. She then sat on the bed, mindful of her dress robes, and cracked a wobbly
smile.*













“*It” had just come out to play again. She didn't know what else to call “it” or even what
it was. Just every so often it would rise up between her and Neville, some unmovable monolith that
couldn't be seen but would make its presence known all the same. At times Ginny wondered what
would happen if she simply acknowledged that it was there. Would that be so bad? Would that destroy
the natural order of things? Would the sun just forget itself and fall out of the sky if either she
or Neville admitted that it existed? Rather than find out the answers to these questions Ginny
would always chose to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there. Just as she was doing now.*







“*I thought you were Hermione,” said Ginny, her voice sounding strained at an octave much
higher than what was normal for her. She coughed to clear her throat and said again, “I thought you
were Hermione. That's why I said you could come up. For all I knew you could have been a
vampire. I could have given complete access of the Burrow to a vampire!”*









*She was rambling.*









*Finding her chatter cute Neville said, “This is true. But from what I understand most
vampires like to sleep in a bit later than this.”*







“*You know what I mean,” she said, holding up her bare feet to wriggle ten Jungle Red toes at
him. He was having fun with her and she deserved it, but she couldn't help but feel cross at
feeling so foolish. So she decided to vent her frustration on her usual target of late.*







“*Damn Hermione for making me sit around waiting for her! I've obviously gone mental. She
should have been here hours ago,” Ginny whinged petulantly as she folded her arms across her
chest.*









*That caught Neville's attention.*







“*You're waiting on Hermione?” he asked. When she nodded he replied, “Then you're
going to want to put a kettle on, she's going to be awhile.”*









*Ginny frowned as her arms fell to her lap. “What do you mean?”*









“*I just left her in town; she was having a bother of a time.”*







*This piece of information infuriated Ginny. “What was she doing?!” she shouted at Neville. He
merely stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. Ignoring that, Ginny jumped up
from the bed and began pacing back and forth in front of him. “Oh I just knew I shouldn't have
chosen her to be my Maid of Honour! I knew that Hermione would spoil everything!”*











*To be truthful, Ginny had never wanted Hermione as her Maid of Honour in the first place. The
two young women had barely been on speaking terms for a long while and sometimes Ginny got the
impression that Hermione would go out of her way just to avoid her. If Hermione thought she was too
good for her and her family that suited Ginny just fine. To hell with her! But when it came time to
select her wedding party Molly had tried to convince Ginny that having Hermione as her Maid of
Honour made perfect sense; efficient, dependable, trustworthy Hermione. According to Molly, though
Muggleborn, Hermione was meticulous enough to orchestrate the Rites exactly to protocol. Dragon
dung! Ginny was no fool. She knew that her mother was using her wedding as just another veiled
attempt to get Hermione and her prat of a brother married off. Molly figured that planning a
wedding would put ideas in the brunette's head and maybe soften her up enough to finally say
yes the next time Ron tried to propose. Of course Ginny had balked at the suggestion. Making
Hermione her Maid of Honour essentially meant putting the woman in charge of the whole show. No way
was Ginny going to give her that much control. But when her mum had mentioned the idea to Harry
before the Naming Tea he had thought the idea brilliant. Ginny felt forced to agree with him.
Everyone commented on what a fabulous selection Ginny had made in Hermione and how lucky she was to
have her taking care of every little thing for her. Ginny would just plaster on an insincere smile
at those times and concur readily with them, but inside she was seething. Harry would listen and
agree to every decision Hermione made leaving Ginny to feel like she was the odd man out every
time. Just like in school, he looked towards his best friend for the solution to almost every
problem. Ginny stood by and watched it all wondering if this was what her married life would be
like as well; would every important step in her and Harry's marriage have to be screened by
Hermione for her approval? That thought made Ginny's already burgeoning resentment towards her
so called “sister” grow and grow every day until the point that it would rear up and lash out at
the other girl almost without provocation. Nothing Hermione did was good enough for Ginny. She knew
that eventually Hermione would wreck everything. If anything went wrong with the wedding it would
all be Hermione's fault! In fact Ginny spouted off as much to Neville as he sat back in
amazement and listened to her rant away. Before Ginny could really get going though Neville grabbed
her hands to hold her firmly in place.*









“*I believe you would think differently if you saw what I saw,” said Neville, trying to settle
her nerves. “Hermione has been at The Cadabra House all day. Pomona sent me over with the floral
settings for the bridal party table. Well, when I got there none of the decorations for your
reception had been put up yet and Hermione and the manager were having words.”*







“*Words?”*







“*Well technically speaking she would only let the poor fellow get one word in at a time. You
know, she really is scary once you get her going,” he said smiling fondly. That didn't help
lighten Ginny's already rotten mood.*









“*Yes, yes Neville,” she said snidely, “but tell me what happened!” she demanded.*









“*The manager overbooked the banquet hall.”*







“*Oh no!” Ginny exclaimed fretfully.*







“*Oh yes,” Neville answered back. He then pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him again.
He hadn't bothered letting go of her hands. “The manager floo'ed Hermione at the Ministry
to tell her that there had been an oversight and that the reception wouldn't be able to start
until after ten tomorrow night. He claimed that some goblin club had already reserved the room for
an awards ceremony before her. I suspect the greedy guts was just trying to make another galleon
where he could.”*







“*That's not fair; we were supposed to have the hall the entire evening!”*







*Neville leaned in closer to her. “Hermione very politely explained this to the gentleman.
When that didn't do the trick she conjured up all of the receipts and paper work right into his
hands. When he still tried to argue with her she accused him of everything from out and out
chicanery to being the second coming of Grindelwald in the flesh. She then threatened to drag him
and his shady business doings through every court in the land, even all the way to the Wizengamot
if need be. That shut him up quickly. When I left he was fuming, she was making sure that the 12
foot anatomically correct goblin woman by the door was being deflated, and they were ironing out
the rest of the details for tomorrow. I wouldn't expect to see Hermione 'til well after
sundown if I were you.” Neville found the whole thing hysterical and expected her to laugh right
along with him. However his story did not have the desired effect on Ginny that he had hoped it
would.*







“*Great, just great. A whole day wasted thanks to her,” Ginny darkly muttered.*







*Neville tried to cheer her up. “Just think, with Hermione on the case yours and...” he paused
as an uncomfortable expression flickered quickly over his face then disappeared, “...and
Harry's Ending Party should be corking.”*







*It hadn't occurred to Ginny until that very moment that this was the first time she had
ever heard Neville acknowledge the fact that she was marrying Harry. Of course he had congratulated
her profusely when she had told him the news about the engagement and he had happily accepted
Harry's invitation to be one of his groomsmen. But whenever Neville talked about the
approaching ceremony he always referred to it as **her** wedding. Never hers and Harry's.
Just hers. Because Ginny had been mulling over this thought she almost missed the rest of what
Neville had been saying.*









“*...Luna and I will have a fine time tomorrow, I'm sure.”*









*Ginny blinked absently. “Luna?” she questioned distractedly.*









“*I asked her to be my date for the evening,” Neville replied.*









“*Oh?” Ginny tried her best not to sound too surprised at this news.*









“*Since I'm walking with her down the aisle it made sense. Besides, Luna is a great girl,
we have loads in common, and I really enjoy her company.”*







*Ginny jerked her hands away from Neville's as her face darkened. Her eyebrows turned
downward as her forehead wrinkled harshly. “Oh?!”*







“*Not like that. And you know how hung up she is on your brother,” he chided as he scooted
closer to Ginny and rested a surprisingly firm hand on her left thigh. He squeezed it and Ginny
felt her pulse quicken and the back of her kneecaps go sweaty. Her face remained unresponsive
however.*







“*It's just that Luna and I have always understood each other,” continued Neville. “Even
though you guys were nice enough to share a few of your adventures with us it wasn't always
easy standing on the outside looking in at you four; Ron and Hermione...Harry...you.” He removed
his hand and Ginny immediately missed its warmth. “But you probably don't know what I’m talking
about, do you?”*









*In Ginny's mind eye she could see her 11 year old self longingly watching three
retreating backs climb up the staircase at Gringotts. “You'd be surprised,” she said with a
wistful smile and a far off look in her eyes.*









“*Well the way I see it she's pining away over someone...I'm pining away over
someone...”*







*Ginny's head turned to face Neville so fast that it felt as though it would almost snap
off. She looked at him in astonishment, mouth hanging open at how forthright he was being. Was he
about to mention “it”? Was he going to touch that unmentionable obstacle? Instead he only chuckled
dryly.*







“*We both can get pissed and commiserate together,” he joked, shyly averting his eyes from
hers. Ginny wondered if maybe all Neville needed was a little careful prodding.*









“*Why are you here Neville?” she asked him, smiling reassuringly.*









*Neville blinked as though her question had confunded him. Then he slapped a hand to his
forehead. “How forgetful of me,” he said as he stood up and removed a small velvet box from out of
the front pocket of his trousers.*







“*I've been chatting away with you for so long that I almost forgot what brought me out
here. Seeing Hermione reminded me that I hadn't given you your present yet. I wanted to give it
to you before...well, just before.”*









*Ginny stood up. “But you already got me and Harry a Welcome mat,” she said sounding
bewildered. It wasn't until Neville raised an eyebrow at her gaffe that Ginny realized what she
had said. “Oops.”*









*Neville only grinned back at her. “I'm not going to ask how you already know about
that.”*









*Ginny giggled. “Good. I'm almost too ashamed to tell you.”*







“*I'm sorry about that though,” he said apologetically. “I know it's rather useless.
But when I was in the store I really couldn't settle on anything else and I sort
of...panicked.” Neville's hazel eyes looked at her sheepishly and Ginny thought to herself that
she had never seen a pair of eyes that were as sweet and thoughtful.*







“*Oh but it's a nice Welcome mat,” she said as she reached a hand out to squeeze one of
his. “It really is. Thank you. Harry and I will get a lot of use out of it.”*







*Although Neville's face retained its boyish smile, his eyes lost a measure of sparkle.
“You're welcome. But that gift is for Mr. and Mrs. Potter.”*







“*Oh?”*







*He nodded his head and held the small black box out to Ginny. “This...this present is for
Gin,” he said.*







*Her curiosity piqued, Ginny reached out a tentative hand to take the box from his palm, but
the uncertainty of what the tiny container could hold both excited her and held her in
check.*









“*Go on, open it,” he prodded.*







“*What is it?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.*







“*Well you'll never know unless you open it,” he affectionately teased. This made Ginny
blush and finally she opened the box.*









*In scarcely more than the wisp of a voice Ginny barely got out the words, “Oh Nev!”*







*Sitting in the case, on a small bed of velvet, was a large, startlingly blue pendant. It
looked as though it were made out of some crystal-like matter although Ginny didn't recognize
the gem. The beautiful bauble enthralled Ginny and she was spellbound by the swirling blue world
that seemed to be encased in it. When no further words would come from her Neville dropped the box
on one of the beds and held the pendant up by its thin silver chain.*









“*It's called a selkie stone,” he told her.*







“*Selkie? They're some sort of mermaid right?” Her eyes seemed to follow the dangling
pendant as it lazily swung back and forth before bringing her eyes back to him.*







“*A changeling more like,” Neville explained. “They can transform from seals to
humans.”*









“*I think I remember Hagrid talking about them in class once.” She caught up the stone between
her fingers to get a better look at it.*









“*My Uncle Algie swears that one rescued him once when he was vacationing in the Orkneys. He
fell out of his fishing boat. Aunt Enid says he was just sloshed. Anyhow this stone is like a
Remembrall, it caries a bit of the sea in it. When a selkie takes human shape it makes one of these
to remind itself that no matter how happy it is on land it will always be a part of the sea, it can
always go back to where it truly belongs.”*







*Ginny felt a tear form in the corner of her eye. “That's a beautiful thought.”*







“*I thought so too. That's why when I saw it at Borgin and Burkes...”*







*Ginny's startled eyes cut quickly to Neville. Her hand drew back from the stone. “You got
this in Knockturn Alley?!”*







*Realizing her concern Neville shook his head adamantly. “Oh it's not dark! I would never,
ever give you something that could...that might...”*









*Neville's woeful expression looked so determined, so resolute as he tried to assure her
that he would never do anything to hurt her that his dear troubled face settled any qualms she
might have had in accepting the gift.*







“*I know Neville. I know,” she told him, touching his shoulder to calm his fears. Her touch
seemed to comfort him.*







“*I had gone into Knockturn Alley to go to Shrivelfigg's. Old Man Shrivelfigg sells his
gurdyroot dirt cheap, you see,” he began as he tried to explain just how he had ended up in the
dark goods store.*







*Ginny held back her laughter. Neville could be almost as bad about his plants as Hagrid would
be about his wee beasties at times.*







“*Unluckily for me I ran into this drunken, hiccoughing hag who decided that I looked an awful
lot like her dearly departed husband Hildebrand. She chased me through the streets and tried to lay
one on me!” exclaimed Neville causing Ginny to outright snort at his plight. He smiled bashfully.
“I ran for my life! I took cover in Burkes. I was shocked to see a selkie stone in there; they have
very little magic in them once the selkie discards it and goes back to the water. But since Burke
got carted off to Azkaban Borgin has been collecting all sorts of stuff, most of it not evil at
all. Just between you and me, I think the poor old man might be a bit touched in the head,” Neville
shared. “He kept going on and on about how lonely life had gotten since his dear heart went away,
how much he dearly missed his other half. But he gave me a nice deal on this.”*







*Neville looked at the pendant.*









“*I hear that Muggle children sometimes find these washed ashore and take them home to use as
marbles, but wizards tend to leave them alone unless they want to call back the selkie it belonged
to and make it his bride. Still it’s very pretty,” he said finishing his tale. Ginny took the
pendant out of Neville's hand.*









“*It's as blue as the pond out back,” she said as she gazed once more into it, a small
smile curving her lips.*









*Although Ginny's attention was drawn to the pendant Neville's eyes never left her
enraptured face. “Funny, I saw it and all I could think of was your eyes.”*







*Ginny glanced up and was engulfed in a world of hazel. Suddenly her palms began to feel
clammy and she feared that they would become so slippery that the selkie stone would slip right out
of her grasp and shatter into a million pieces upon hitting the floor. And there “it” went again,
that thing that had no name but was as real as Neville and herself. Ginny had no idea how long it
had been standing between the two of them, but she recalled in great detail the very moment she
discovered it had been residing in that space. It was her last Hogsmeade visit as a student at
Hogwarts. Harry was at an away game in Ballycastle and couldn't come and see her, but after a
hastily sent owl, Neville had shown up at the gates to escort her around the village. They had
enjoyed themselves so much that afternoon. He told her all about his school work up at Aberdeen.
She confided in him how less lonely she felt whenever he came to visit. They both dared each other
to try an acid pop at Honeydukes and both giggled madly as they each magicked the hole in the
other's tongue away. Neville even let Ginny talk him into having tea at Madame Puddifoot's.
He even pretended not to be allergic to the pink confetti the little cherubs tossed on his brown
head. At the end of the day when it was almost time for her to go do her Head Girl duties he walked
her back towards the castle. On the way over a pebble had somehow gotten into one of Ginny's
thin slippers, almost hobbling her. Neville gallantly got her to the nearest bench and removed the
slipper from her foot to extract the jagged little rock. As he held it up for her to see he
laughingly kidded that he would hold on to it as a keepsake to always remember her by. The two of
them shared a laugh at the joke. But as their smiles slowly faded Ginny felt some entity shoehorn
itself right next to her and the young man she thought of as the closest friend she had ever
had.*







*And there it remained to this day.*











“*Put it on me?”*







*Ginny handed the chain back to Neville. She saw the apprehension alight in his eyes for a
moment, but he quickly bobbed his head to cover it up.*







“*It would be my pleasure,” he said as Ginny turned around and held her long hair up. Neville
stepped closer to her and dropped the selkie stone over her head bringing the chain around her neck
to fasten the clasp. The pendant felt cool as it rested against the pale freckled skin her dressing
gown didn't cover. When Neville was done his hands hesitated at the back of her neck, as though
not wanting to move from there, but eventually they fell to his sides. Ginny turned back to face
him.*







“*There,” said Neville as he smiled broadly down at her, “now if you are ever in doubt you can
look at this and remember where you are meant to be.”*









*Closing her eyes as the tears began to burn in them, Ginny threw herself into Neville's
arms. “Oh Nev! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she said over and over again as she stood on the
tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She held on tightly to Neville as though she
was sinking and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. She didn't understand why she
was feeling so weepy all of a sudden. As Neville rubbed comforting circles into her back she felt
an overwhelming sense of grief, as though she were about to lose something terribly dear to her. As
Ginny choked back a sob she turned her tear stained face up to look at Neville. She found him
staring back at her with such unrepentant yearning in his eyes that it almost made her knees knock
together. In all her young life she couldn't recall anyone ever looking at her like that before
and it terrified Ginny to think that maybe no one ever would again. That thought made her feel lost
and mixed up. She didn't know if she was coming or going. She didn't even know if her brain
was still in the same vicinity as the rest of her body. How else to explain the reason for her eyes
closing and her head slowly tilting back?*







“*I g-guess I'll see you tomorrow n-night then Gin,” Neville stammered nervously as he
pulled her arms from around his neck and hastily stepped back from her. Ginny opened her eyes and
stared back dumbly at him. Neville seemed determined to look at anything but her. His whole body
was shaking and he began staring at the opened doorway as though readying his escape.*









“*The party should be fun. I look forward to seeing you and Harry there...”*







*Ginny shivered at the mention of her fiancé's name. It was as though a bucket of ice
water had been thrown on her, pulling her from her stupor. Harry? Harry Potter? For a moment it was
almost as if she had forgotten that such a person existed. She chalked that up to having had no
contact with him since the week long Seclusion began. For seven days now she and her fiancé had
been separated, kept apart. They were supposed to use the time away from each other to decide
whether or not they really wanted to go through with the Rites. Ginny used the time harrying
Hermione into telling her the name of every witch who had tried to take advantage of the situation
and make the moves on Harry during the short time period. She wouldn't get to see her future
husband again until the Ending Party. But Ginny wasn't thinking about all that at the
moment.*







“*Neville...”*







“*I really should be going,” he said as he skirted past her to get to the door. “I need to pop
back over to school and drop off an assignment that’s due. I also have a study group to meet with
and...”*







*He was almost out the door when she caught hold of his arm.*







“*Neville...please don't go,” she pleaded.*







“*I can't Gin!” Neville said savagely as he tore his arm from her grip and whipped around
to face her. “I can't!” he stated again. His outburst was so violent that it momentarily
stunned Ginny into silence. She only held her tongue for a second though before carefully inching
her way to him. He was like a skittish unicorn foal she was scared she would shy away.*







“*Neville...”*







*She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Was he tired of not knowing
what truly lay between them as well? But the words died on her lips as soon as Ginny looked into
Neville's anguish filled eyes. They were begging her for something, but Ginny couldn't
figure out just what that something could be.*









“*Please don't do this to me! Just...don't,” he implored. “I love you.”*







*Ginny's heart leapt into her throat at those words...then came barreling back down into
her gut as he continued to speak.*







“*Merlin help me that I love you. That's why I can't. In fact it is because I love you
I know that I have to leave this room right now.”*







*The fact that she was getting married in only two days seemed to have held little concern for
her. “But why...”*







“**BECAUSE I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH GINNY**!” *Neville railed at her finally losing his
painfully maintained composure. Ginny merely gaped at him.*









“*That’s why! I'm trying my best to get through the next few days, but I'm really not
that strong!” he cried.*









*Ginny's brow furrowed. “Strong enough for what?”*







*Neville's frustration seemed to drain away from him all at once leaving him looking
deflated and defeated. He looked at her miserably. “I'm not strong enough to kiss you then
watch you marry someone who isn't me. You see,” he took a step close to her and Ginny felt
herself tense in giddy anticipation, “if I started kissing you I might never stop.”*









*Ginny never knew what possessed her to say what she did. “What if I didn't want you
to?”*











*The question positively floored Neville. An emotion that almost resembled hope spread across
his face.*









“*Do you love me?”*







“*I...”*







*Ginny paused, then blinked. It was like her brain and her lips had gone momentarily out of
sync. She had started to speak when all of a sudden her mind drew a complete blank. The next thing
she knew she heard a small voice in the back of her head warning her that she was about to ruin
everything. It almost sounded like herself but younger, somehow more desperate. Ginny tried to
ignore it, tried to answer Neville as best as she could, but the almost hopeful expression had
already died from his face before she could say anything.*









“*I don't know,” was what finally came out. Neville watched her face for only a second
before shaking his head and turning for the door again. Ginny was desperate to make him stay with
her until they figured this all out. She quickly placed herself between him and the exit.*







“*No, wait! I know it's different than what I feel for Harry,” she tried to explain. “You
understand me Neville. And you make me smile.” At this she gave him her prettiest grin but he
remained unmoved by her charm. Not letting that deter her she continued on. “Then there is the fact
that you know just about every little thing about the real me and yet you still remain my
friend.”*







*The corner of Neville's mouth just barely turned upwards but that small victory gave
Ginny the courage to say what she said next.*







“*And just now, when you were holding me in your arms, I know that I wanted you to kiss me.”
She lowered her eyes demurely to the floor and awaited a response.*









“*You don't know what you want, do you?”*









*Ginny surprised eyes darted back to Neville's stony face.*









“*You want to test drive me. Try me out for kicks then throw me back on the pile after you are
done.”*









“*What?! No! That's not it at all!” Ginny vehemently denied.*









“*Or maybe you're just bored.”*









*Ginny was dumbfounded by Neville's harsh words. It was as if he was purposely trying to
wound her.*









“*Ginny, what have you wanted since you were a little girl?”*







*She felt dizzied by the quick change in topic. What did that have to do with anything, she
stubbornly wondered. She found herself growing irritated that he would even ask her such a stupid
question. “Neville...”*







“*Answer the question Ginny. What have you wanted since you were a little girl?”*









“*Harry, but...”*









“*Doesn’t it seem odd that just when you are about to get him you pull a stunt like this? Why
now Ginny? And why use me? Merlin! I know you have a heart in there somewhere; I just wish you
would show it more often.”*









“*I’m not using you!”*









“*No you’re not.” He then squared his shoulders and resolutely said, “Because I won’t let you.
I’m not going to let you mess up your life just because suddenly you developed a case of cold feet
at the eleventh hour. Tomorrow you'll be over it and then where will that leave me?”*









“*But that's not what this is!” she protested. “I never said that I didn’t want to marry
Harry. I still want to be Mrs. Harry Potter; that has never changed. But you and me...”*









*Ginny wracked her mind trying to find the right words to make him understand her.*









“*Aren't you even at least a little curious? Haven't you ever wondered? Don't you
want to see?” she temptingly asked as she boldly pressed her body closer to his and turned her blue
eyes up at him. Ginny saw the desire arise instantly in Neville's eyes. She was so close to him
that she felt his desire rise up elsewhere as well. She was playing with fire now and she knew it
judging by Neville's reaction, but Ginny had always been the type of girl to take what she
wanted by any means. Her tactics generally never failed her. But then again there was always a
first time for everything.*







*Neville clamped his hands on both of her shoulders. She had almost declared victory until he
forcefully pulled her away from him. “No,” he finally replied, a firm set to his jaw. “I don't
want to see. You are my friend Ginny. And Harry, Harry is my friend,” he said as his hands still
held her stiffly in place. “Nothing should blemish your big day. You earned it. And I think I
deserve a little better than being just someone's second choice, some event you'll only end
up regretting eventually,” Neville added with a proud lift to his chin. “You see, if you had said
that you loved me too maybe...”*







*Neville shook his head.*









“*But you can't see anything past Harry. You probably never will. And I guess somehow
I'll have to find a way to live with that.”*









*Ginny looked at him disbelievingly. “So you mean to tell me that you are in love with me, but
you aren't going to do anything about it?”*









“*No, I'm not. It's for the best.”*









*She stared at him in mute horror as the ramifications of what had just happened dawned on
her. In two days she would be marrying Harry Potter...and she had just thrown herself at Neville
Longbottom. And he rejected her!*









“***OH SPARE ME**!” Ginny barked hatefully as she shook him off and her hands found their
way to her hips. She was enraged! The room started to hum with her magic. The sheets of parchment
she had been writing on earlier all sparked into flames and disappeared in puffs of smoke. Her
pride was hurt and all she could think of was striking back out as viciously as she could.*









“*You're nothing but a jelly spined coward Neville Longbottom! And I could never want a
coward,” she said nastily. “You claim to be in love with me, yet you are perfectly happy to sit
back and let someone else claim me?! How pitiful is that?! What kind of sorry excuse for a man are
you?! What's wrong Neville, scared that you just can't compare? I bet if Harry was in the
same situation he would have just taken what he wanted by now,” she berated him.*









*Neville shrugged. “Perhaps. But I'm not Harry, only Neville.”*









*She flinched at his words while her abuse didn't appear to have any effect on him at all.
This only made Ginny more furious than she had already been. But before she could hurl any more
vengeful insults at him Neville's next statement stopped her cold.*









“*Ginny, do you think that you could ever be satisfied with bumbling, doltish, forgetful old
Neville?” he asked.*











*And there was the 25 galleon question. There was the intangible “it” in a nutshell. It had
finally shown itself for what it was. The question Neville was asking was simple. Could she love
someone who wasn't some fantasy, some childhood dream? Could she love someone who wasn't
Harry? For all the world Ginny didn't know how to even begin to respond to it, even if she
wanted to. She simply didn’t know and that was all the answer Neville needed.*









“*No?” he asked with an unnaturally cynical snicker. It didn't suit him. The sound of it
almost made her want to cry. “I didn't think so either.”*









*His words bruised, but Ginny refused to let him see that. Instead of sorrow Ginny chose
anger. There was shelter in anger. Her thin, pale arms reached up to unhook the chain around her
neck. She practically yanked it off and nearly threw it at his feet. “Here,” she said as she held
the pendant out towards Neville.*









“*That's yours,” he said, unfazed by her cruel treatment.*









“*Don't you want it back?” she asked sourly, holding the chain by the tips of her fingers
as if it were trash to be discarded.*









“*No,” Neville said as he turned her palm over, placed the stone in it, and wrapped one of his
mitts around hers to close her hand over it. “Like I said, this is for Gin. My Gin.”*









*Neville squeezed her hand and Ginny screwed her eyes tightly shut, willing herself not to
wail like some spoiled child. She had made a fool of herself and even she couldn't blame
Hermione for this one; she was responsible for her own bad behavior. Her pride was battered, but
more than that her heart ached and she didn't know what to do about it. She didn't know how
to fix it. As she felt a pair of lips brush gently against her forehead her resistance finally
broke. Twin trails of tears began to slide down her face. She pretended that the kiss would absolve
her of all her past and future sins and she sought solace in that childish wish, but she didn't
bother to hope for forgiveness for any of her transgressions that day. She knew that she would
carry the burden of her foolish actions for all the days of her lives. And maybe that was just the
punishment she deserved. She had almost thrown away years of dreams and careful planning on
something that wasn't real. Her and Neville? That was just the faulty imaginings one would find
in bad romance novels. Her and Harry was what was right. It had to be right. She had waited for him
for so long!*









*Ginny continued to cry softly. Neville, barely wanting to let her go, couldn't stop
himself from planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. His lips wandered dangerously close to her
fragrant neck, but his resolve remained strong. Instead they grazed her ear.*









“*Goodbye Ginny,” he whispered in it.*









*And then Neville walked out of the room.*





























She was running. She was running so fast that her legs burned as though every muscle and sinew
were coated in acid and her limbs had never been put to their proper use before. She was running so
fast that her lungs ached from the quick, sharp pants of air that tore their way out of her
windpipe. Ginny ran so fast that her heart felt like just simply giving out. But she couldn't
stop running. Even as the front of her shoes caught the material of her robes causing her to lurch
forward wildly before regaining her footing, even as tears seared her eyes, making the world around
her a watery blur; she had to keep running. She had to get away from Neville and Candide.









If ever her thoughts turned to that afternoon at the Burrow and Neville confessing his heart to
her (and really for her sanity she didn't do too much of that) Ginny always chose to blame
premarital jitters for her out of character behavior that day. She had come to the conclusion that
Neville had been right, she had been nervous about the wedding and she had simply been using him as
some sort of distraction. How else to explain her stupidity? She had been stressed because she
couldn’t get her Maid of Honour to do what she wanted, she had been lonely due to missing her
fiancé, and she had been scared now that she was finally going to get everything she ever wanted.
So when Neville had shown up at her door she had sought comfort in him, and nothing more. She had
almost been fool enough to throw away her chance to finally have Harry for that comfort too.
Really, how preposterous could one get? The little girl inside her would have never forgiven her
for such a heinous act. Harry was gorgeous, rich, famous, heroic and Neville was...not. Sure there
was a certain puppy dog cuteness to him, but on every other score he just didn’t measure up. It
didn't matter that he was the person who understood her more than anyone else in the world or
that his shy smile was sometimes the best cure for her raging temper. It didn't even matter
that he was the gentlest soul that she knew, he was no Harry Potter! And she would have been made a
laughing stock if she had actually left Harry to pursue something with Neville. Really there was
nothing even there in the first place, just a passing interest. She wasn’t giving up Harry over
some misguided curiosity. So in the end she made what she felt was the smartest choice. She never
told a soul what happened between them that day and as far as she knew neither did Neville. She
buried the selkie stone at the bottom of her bureau and never looked at it again. If Neville ever
wondered what happened to it he didn't mention it. She married Harry and despite the initial
awkwardness, Neville remained nothing more than a good friend to her. Time marched on, as it was
want to do, and now so was Neville. It wasn't as though she had presumed that Neville would
never get over her, she just hadn't counted on it hurting as much. It was clear though that he
was moving on with his life and Ginny would no longer be the most important thing in it. She should
have been happy that her friend had finally found some much deserved happiness, but she just
didn't have that kind of selflessness in her. No, all she wanted to do was go somewhere and
mourn for something that she had convinced herself never existed; and so she ran.



















“Oof!”









Ginny stumbled backward as the person she ran into caught her by the wrists to keep her upright.
Ginny had been in such a hurry to get away from the sight of Neville snogging Candide that she
barely noticed where she had been heading. Without realizing it she had followed the same footpath
she had taken earlier to the fountain and had ended up in the rose garden again. Her head had been
lowered so she couldn't see anyone and they hopefully couldn't see her.









“Oh I'm so sorry. How clumsy of me,” she said as the pair of sturdy arms steadied her. Eyes
still cast downward, she tried to get her emotions under control so that her rescuer wouldn't
see the troubled state she was in. “I...I didn't see where I was going. Please, please forgive
me,” she mumbled out.







“No, no Mrs. Potter, pardon me,” came the venom laced reply.







“You?!” Ginny looked up to find before her the pale, pointed face of one of her least favorite
people. Satan himself would have been preferable. “Out of my way Malfoy!” she ordered as she jerked
her arms back and forth to free herself from his grip. Of all people to run into while in this
condition! Malfoy?! Could this night get any worse?!







As if answer to her question, Malfoy sneered obnoxiously at her. “Not so fast She Weasel.
They're playing our song.”







Well yes. Yes it could get worse.







“Let me go, I need to go find my husband,” she said snarling at him. She strained her neck to
look behind him hoping that the mere mention of him would bring Harry racing to her aid. She had no
such luck. She had left her purse, along with the wand inside it, at the table. She couldn't
slap the git because of his unyielding restraint of her wrists. She was completely at Malfoy's
mercy as he dragged her from the garden and back into the school, kicking and cursing all the
way.







Malfoy ignored her protests. “Your husband is busy,” he said nastily. “I'm sure he won't
mind if I borrow his charming wife for a dance though.”







They entered the Great Hall. The band was playing some crazed mishmash of a Celtic reel combined
with a tango played at 3 times its normal rhythm. The boisterous music mixed with the droning
chatter from the crowd created a ringing sensation in Ginny’s ear. She couldn't think straight
and felt helpless as Malfoy hauled her towards the dance floor. She looked back and forth madly
expecting someone to step in and pull the arrogant prick off of her, but the Ball was still raging
and from the looks of it all of the party goers crowding the dance floor were either too drunk or
engrossed in their own merry making to pay her or her tormentor any notice. She was going to have
to battle the wanker on her own.







Ginny puffed herself up like a peacock and gave him her most withering look. There was no way
she was going to allow Draco Malfoy to push her around. “I don’t want to dance with you. I'm
not in the mood,” she said haughtily.







“Fake it. You're pretty good at being a phony; this should come natural to you.”







Ginny's lips curled maliciously. “What happened Malfoy, Hermione get tired of you?”







He twisted her wrist as he yanked her close to him and clamped a claw like hand around her
waist.







“**OW**! THAT HURT!” she yelled.







His self-satisfied expression never changed. “Good.” He began to move them across the floor in
time to the music. Even though she put up a valiant fight and tried to drag her feet, the rat faced
bastard was too strong of an opponent. He tossed her around as though she were a rag doll. Her only
option was to play along with his twisted game to find out what he wanted. The sooner he had his
say, the sooner this torture could be over.







“What do you want Malfoy?”







“I want you to back off!” he said through gritted teeth. “I know that you were at the Hollow
today. And I know that you said a few things that were so vile Hermione didn't even want to
come here and stare at your freckled mug all night. Luna and I had to practically force her out the
house.”







She rolled her eyes. “What are you, Hermione's grand savior now, her great protector? My how
noble.”







That seemed to amuse the arse. “So sorry to disappoint you my lovely little fire crotch, but I
am no one's hero. I am a bastard. And you are one narsty li'l bitch.” He twirled her around
then dipped her.







Her outraged gasp at the slur seemed to puzzle him.







“Oh no, that I respect,” he said matter-of-factly. He jerked her back up. “What I don't like
is the sneaky little way you go weaseling about it,” he continued. “But I'm giving you fair
warning now Weasley. If you hurt my friend again so help me—”







His arm tightened around her as though it were a boa constrictor. Air was starting to become a
luxury. For the first time since this whole encounter started Ginny felt her first real twinge of
fear. His words however made no sense.







“Again?!” Ginny asked shakily.







Malfoy's head lowered closer to her and Ginny felt herself shrink back internally from his
menacing expression. The sweetness of his hot cinnamon breath on her face did nothing to quell the
rising tide of alarm inside of her. This man despised her, and though she wasn't too keen on
him herself, she couldn't figure out just what she had ever done to foster such contempt. And
on top of that he was accusing her of harming Hermione somehow. What was that about?







“Hermione denies it, but I know that you are partly responsible for her leaving the country all
those years ago.”







For some strange reason Ginny felt the need to defend herself against such a baseless
accusation. Back then she had been just as shocked as everyone else when they all realized that
Hermione might have left England for good. It's not like she shed a tear over it, but she
certainly wasn't the root behind it. She tried to say as much but Malfoy wouldn't hear
it.







“Deny it all you like,” he said contemptuously, “but I recognize your grubby little finger
prints all over it. I've yet to figure out how is all. But I know one thing for sure
Weasel-bitch; if you ever provoke another fight with her like you did today you will live to regret
it.”







The words meant for intimidation made Ginny's hackles rise. How dare he try to browbeat her!
He was trying to push her around but she was too much of a little bully herself to just roll over
and take it. “Are you threatening me?”







He gave her a mocking smile. “Yes. Yes I am. I will make your life such a living hell that after
awhile you'll be begging me to just get on with it.”







“I'll…I’ll tell Harry,” she said trying to shake him up as badly as he was rattling her. She
failed.







Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly. “I want you to tell him. Then Saint Potter will start asking some
sticky questions. But we don't want that, now do we?”







The thought of Harry hearing about the fight at the Hollow sent chills through Ginny. Malfoy had
her right where he wanted her and he reveled in the knowledge. She shook her head in wonder. He was
positively diabolical. “You are evil,” she feebly told him.







“No,” he said with a pompous smirk as the music vamped to an end, “I'm a Slytherin.” The air
was then filled with the sound of applause as the dancers gave their appreciation to the band's
performance.







“May I cut it?”







As the Belltones went into a slow, melancholy ballad Ginny and Malfoy turned at the sound of the
voice. Neville was standing behind the blond. Just the sight of his concern lined face nearly made
Ginny weak with relief.







“Oh look, the cavalry,” drolled Malfoy. He dropped her arm and turned to face the other man.
“Hello there Dumbottom**.** Where's that delicious little dish you had on your arms earlier?
Finally decide to trade up the food chain, did she?”







Neville's eyes never left Ginny. “Are you ok?” he asked.







“Well of course she is!” Malfoy declared impudently. “Isn't that right Weaselette?”







Ginny's eyes cut away from Neville to give the bastard the most hateful look she could.







“Now if you don't mind Mrs. Potter,” he twisted her name as though it were something dirty,
“I need to go collect my girlfriend.”




His eyes had drifted towards the direction of the bandstand and Ginny's followed them. In a
shadowy corner near it stood Luna and her brother Percy, heads drawn close together in what looked
like deep conversation. Now wasn’t that peculiar, thought Ginny. She couldn’t remember Percy and
Luna ever saying more than five words to each other during the entire time the blonde was with Ron.
Before she could think on it any further Malfoy’s incessant yapping drew her focus away from the
pair.




“Looks like I’m going to have to rescue her from out the clutches of yet another one of your
idiot brothers. I best be quick about it. I wouldn't want the poor thing getting Weasley all
over her,” he drawled as he looked at her, looked at his hand, then wiped it on his robes as though
it were soiled. Getting the desired reaction from her (she tried to kick him) he swaggered off in
the direction of his girlfriend; head thrown back cackling wickedly.













“I hate him!” wailed Ginny as she and Neville watched him go. “I don't see how Luna can
stand him!”







Shrugging his shoulders Neville said, “He's different with her I suppose.”







Ginny shook her head in marvel at his naiveté. Neville would give just about anyone the benefit
of the doubt, even those as slimy as Malfoy who didn’t merit it. “Well she deserves better than
Hermione's lapdog,” she muttered as she rubbed at her aching wrist. “I wonder if she realizes
just how far that ponce is buried up Hermione's arse?”







Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched Malfoy walk up behind Luna. Without even glancing
behind her, Luna leaned back against him. Sickening! She didn’t know what Luna saw in him. She
didn’t care what anybody said; nothing would ever convince Ginny that Draco Malfoy was really and
truly one of the good guys. She didn’t believe it now, especially after he had just terrorized her,
and she didn’t believe it back then when Hermione was almost his only supporter. Then again she had
always found Hermione and Malfoy’s so-called “friendship” unnatural. She still did. He was awfully
protective of her. It made one wonder…







“As a friend maybe I should say something to Luna—”







“No.”







Ginny gave Neville a queer look. “Excuse me?”







“I said no,” Neville replied again. “I won't allow you to make someone else miserable just
because you are.”







She scoffed at the remark. “I'm not miserable.”







“Liar.” The faint ghost of a smile shadowed the corners of his mouth. Ginny felt her cheeks
straining not to smile as well. She then looked around and noticed that the two of them were just
casually standing in the midst of a sea of slowly swaying couples. They stuck out like a couple of
sore thumbs, the non-dancing variety. Neville must have observed this too because without further
prompting he gently took her hand, pulled her towards him, and wrapped his arm around her. Ginny
melted into the embrace. The two of them began to dance to the achingly sad melody. Ginny tried as
best she could not to lose herself in the moment.







“I’m surprised you would know how I felt one way or the other,” she said pertly with a pout.
“It's not like you've said two words to me before now.”







Neville went from looking at her face to staring at some fixed point behind her head. “I've
been watching you. Sometimes I can't help but watch you.”







The tenderness of his words mixed with the weariness of his tone saddened her. Her eyes roved
his face looking for any sign of what he was thinking. Finding nothing there Ginny decided to try
and provoke a reaction out of him. Any reaction would do.







“Where is Candice?”









He chuckled amusedly as he looked down at her again. “Her name is Candide.”









“Candice, Candide, Candelabra…whatever. So where is your little ballerina?” she asked.









“Talking to your father. He was asking her opinion on the Charles and Camilla wedding.” Ginny’s
face must have registered some confusion because he added, “Don’t worry; I don’t know who they are
either. But since Candide seemed to have loads to say I left them to it. That’s when I saw you
dancing with Malfoy. You looked…well, let’s just say you didn’t look too happy about the whole
thing. I decided to come over and see if there was anything I could do to help.”









Ginny’s heart skipped. When she had been in need of someone to save her it had been Neville who
had come to her rescue. But that was really no surprise to Ginny. Neville had always been there for
her in his own thoughtful and unassuming way. And she had taken it all for granted.









She smiled sweetly at him. “You always look out for me, don’t you Nev?”









Neville looked pained at the remark. His eyebrows knitted together in consternation. His mouth
opened and closed several times to speak before finally settling on something. Instead of answering
her question he said, “I had been outside earlier. Candide thought she saw you.”











Ginny’s smile dropped. She didn’t want to talk about *her*. “She must have been mistaken,”
she said tonelessly before laying her head on his shoulder and snuggling nearer to him. She felt so
at ease, so calmed.











Neville shrewdly studied her, taking in account everything from the expectant expression on
Ginny’s face to the way that she pressed herself so closely to him. All she could think of was how
truly secure she felt at that moment, like she hadn't a care in the world. All he could think
of was how it was all too little too late.









“Ginny…” Neville began as he took a moment to find the right words to say what he needed her to
know. “I’m going to ask Candy to move in with me tonight.”









Ginny’s head came off his shoulder and she pulled away from him slightly. Her eyes widened and
she stared at him in incredulity.









“I’ve been looking at some flats in London closer to the new store and…well, I’m hoping that she
says yes,” he finished.











A physical blow wouldn’t have hurt as much. When she had taken enough time to regain her
self-possession Ginny asked in a fragile voice, “Are you in love with her Neville?”











Neville cast his eyes to his shoes. “I could fall in love with her.”









“What about…” us she had started to ask, but couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. She
realized that she had no right to. “Is that what you really want?” is what she questioned
instead.











Neville looked back up at her evenly. “I want to be happy Gin.”









Tears sprang in her eyes as Ginny nodded her head in understanding. She slumped against him as
though she couldn't support herself on her own. She rested her head on his shoulder again and
he held her tighter.











“Nev, if you could do it all over again, any of it, would you do anything different?” her
muffled voice asked him.











There was no hesitation on his part. “Yes. I wouldn’t have told you that I loved you…”









Ginny’s shoulder’s sagged.











“…then walked away so easily,” he finished.











Ginny smiled sadly at the answer. “I think…I think I might have done things differently too,”
she said wistfully as their song came to an end.















*~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~~~**~~*



















After leaving Neville on the dance floor Ginny went back to the table hoping to find her husband
there. There was no sign of him. She couldn't find him anywhere in the Great Hall. For a second
the thought of where he might be, or worse, who he might be with entered her mind. Thoughts of all
of the dark secluded nooks and crannies comfy enough for two played through her head; Filch's
supply closet just off the Great Hall, the shadowy corridor that led into the abandoned classroom
on the fourth floor, the Room of Requirement. That last thought almost made her sick to her
stomach. Rather than investigating any of these possible haunts Ginny found herself grabbing her
purse and running to the nearest girl's toilet to empty the contents of her stomach. She had
hoped there would be no audience in the bathroom as she vomited her unhappiness away, that was the
sort of thing you didn't like company for. But of course life hadn't finished kicking her
around as though she were its personal plaything. Candide was there, standing in front of a sink,
attention drawn away from the mirror in front of her to the doorway as Ginny walked in. The sight
of her made Ginny stop short.











“Oh! It’s you.” Ginny barely tried to conceal her distaste as she acknowledged the comely dark
haired woman. Ginny just didn’t like her. In her opinion she wasn’t right for Neville. She was just
too…“too”! Too tall, too thin, too young, too pretty, and as sweet as cane sugar as far as Neville
was concerned. In other words, too good to be true. She was also a little too friendly, Ginny
decided as she sized her up carefully. Probably a pushover too. If Candide had read anything into
Ginny’s quiet appraisal she gave nothing away.









“Yes, just me,” she said giving Ginny a pleasant smile before turning back to the mirror.
“Make-up needed a little retouching.” She raised the small tube between her fingers and carefully
spread a bit of pink color over her lips. After preening at her image for what Ginny considered an
unseemly amount of time (but really was barely more than a second), and making sure that her
lipstick had been applied correctly, Candide capped the tube and dropped it into the little clutch
purse in her hand.









Although her stomach was still churning, Ginny refused to look weak in front of Candide. It
wouldn't do to look helpless and haggard next to Candide's freshness and polish. Ginny
walked further into the bathroom and went around Candide to take up a space before the sink to her
right. She turned the spigot for the cold water and ran her fingers under the tap.







“The hall was getting stuffy,” she said in explanation for her absence from the party. She
turned off the water and sprinkled a few droplets on her face. In truth her skin was feeling heated
and prickly but Ginny suspected that the woman next to her and not the temperature had something to
do with her feelings of agitation.











“It is a bit warm in there isn’t it?” came Candide's response. “Nev and I had to step out
for a second just to catch a breeze,” she said conversationally. Although Ginny's face remained
impassive, she bristled at the sound of Candide's casual reference to “Nev”. Only she called
Neville “Nev”. And he was the only person she could stand to let call her “Gin”. This woman
didn't seem to understand that she was stepping on toes here. Perhaps she should put the poor
clueless tart in her place? Every other woman Neville had dated had had to pass Ginny’s inspection,
why should this one be any different? Even to this day Susan Bones still sighted Ginny’s meddling
for ruining her very short-lived relationship with him. It wasn’t her fault that all those other
girls had essentially let Ginny run them off, she always thought self-righteously.







“You haven't by chance seen my boyfriend around, have you?” Candide asked Ginny.









“No.” She didn't even blink. “So, are you enjoying yourself?” Ginny asked, pretending as
though she was interested in the answer. She began to play with the loose tendrils of hair that
capped her face as she looked at her reflection in the large wall mirror. Really she was using the
looking glass as a means to stare indirectly at the other woman.











Candide's face lit up in pleasure. “Immensely! All of this is just so…so…I can’t even begin
to put it all in words. It’s all too fantastical! Tonight I’ve seen little elves and paintings that
talked...and a real live vampire even asked me to dance!” she exclaimed proudly.











Ginny wasn't all that impressed. Sanguini tried to make the moves on just about any warm and
unsuspecting neck at these functions. Even Ron once!









“You know at first when Neville told me about all of this I didn’t think I could ever fit in his
world,” confided Candide. “But I'm glad that I tried. It's all been worth the effort. Then
again Neville is well worth the effort.” She grinned sappily.











Ginny put on a false smile. “Yes, Neville is great.”









Candide's dark eyes twinkled. “He certainly is. Any woman would be a fool to pass him up.
Wouldn’t you agree?”











Ginny's lips thinned into a straight line. There was a quality of artificiality to the
question that irked Ginny somehow. Was Candide...was she goading her. “I…I suppose.”











“Luckily I’m no fool. He's all mine. And not for nothing,” she began as she leaned into
Ginny conspiratorially, her eyes meeting the redhead's in the glass, “he’s the best damned
lover I’ve ever had.”











Ginny felt the blood drain from her face.











“Like an eager little bunny rabbit, he is. He never gets enough. I mean three...sometimes four
times a night...”











Ginny's left eye began to twitch.











“And don't even get me started on that tongue of his. Damned thing should be in a museum.
Every time he—”











“**STOP**! **JUST STOP IT**!” shrieked Ginny as she whirled to face the taller woman dead
on. A young girl dressed in fuchsia, most likely a Seventh Year by the look of her, had been
entering the bathroom at that very moment. The frightened teenager fled from the scene in terror
upon hearing Ginny’s enraged outburst. Both women ignored her escape.











“Why are you telling me this?! What, by Godric, would make you think that I would even want to
hear any of this from you?!” Ginny was panting heavily and taking her breaths as deep gulps of air.
Her hands were balled into fists. Ginny was livid. The thought of Neville touching this woman...of
Neville and this...doing that...











All pretense of friendliness was totally void from Candide's arrogant smirk now. “Oh, I know
you don’t. I just wanted to make sure that **you** knew that I know.”









Ginny was silenced by the implication of what she was saying. The message came across loud and
clear; back off! Candide saw that Ginny had received the subtle warning and was pleased. For all
intensive purposes, Ginny Potter had just met her match.











“Well, now that we understand each other a little better, I should be going. Neville is probably
looking for me.” Candide tucked her purse securely under her arm. “By the way I saw your husband
earlier; he was wandering around and looked distracted. Maybe you should spend more time worrying
about him than spying on me and my boyfriend.”











**THAT WAS IT!** All day long Ginny had been taking it in the teeth; first from Hermione at
the Hollow, then Malfoy on the dance floor, and now this vile beanpole was trying to intimidate her
too. She had finally reached her limit. She wasn’t taking any more lip from the harpy! Ginny began
to roll up her sleeves. There was a Bat Bogey waiting with this bitch's name on it and the
petite redhead wasn’t afraid to make sure *Candy Lee* got it along with a heaping helping of
shut the fuck up on the side!









Ginny's fingers had been curled around her wand and had almost gotten it out of her purse
when Lavender spoiled the moment (and more importantly Ginny’s clear shot) by flouncing into the
bathroom. She walked right up to her bypassing Candide.











“Well there you are!” she said throwing her hands in the air and looking exasperatedly at Ginny.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. I wanted to say goodbye before Ron and I left. He’s had one
too many and I have an early morning tomorrow.”











Taking this as her cue to go Candide said, “I’ll just leave you two then. Goodnight.” She then
gave Lavender a courteous nod, turned on her high heels and walked out the bathroom.











Lavender, waiting a moment to make sure that Candide had really gone, turned to Ginny and said,
“I don’t like her. Her tits are too perky. My mother says that you should never trust any woman
whose breasts sit up abnormally high.”











Ginny cracked a smile though she was feeling less than humorous. “Your mum just might be on to
something,” she said dryly.









Lavender grinned. “And isn’t that a scary thought.” When Ginny didn’t respond to the quip
Lavender gave her friend a careful once over. Not liking what she saw, she reached out a hand to
her. “Ginny, what’s wrong? You’ve been moody all night. And you look all pale and sweaty.”











Ginny took a look at herself in the mirror. Lavender was right, she looked like shite. She felt
like it too. And although she had forgotten about it during her “friendly” chat with Candide, her
nausea had never ceased.











Ginny ignored Lavender’s concerned inquiry. “Have you seen Harry?”











“Yes,” Lav answered. “Just before I came in here. Why?”











“Was he with anyone?” Ginny asked dreading the answer.









Lavender was puzzled by Ginny’s distress. “No. Just Hermione.”









“Oh,” Ginny muttered apathetically, unconcerned. Then she felt her throat go dry. “Oh,” she
groaned out again as the insides of her stomach began to swirl and bubble like murtlap essence that
had been left out for too long. “Sweet Circe, I’m about to be sick!” she hollered right before
pushing her purse into Lavender’s hands and running for the nearest toilet.









When she was done heaving her internal organs out, she wiped the back of her hand across her
mouth, got off of her knees, and exited the stall. She found Lavender leaning back against the sink
directly facing her. The expression on the blonde’s face was unease. Ginny pretended not to notice
it. Straightening her robes, Ginny strolled over to the sink next to her friend as though nothing
were amiss. She ran some water over her hands and pressed her fingers to her cheek and temple to
cool them.









“Ginny, I’m worried about you,” Lavender said cautiously as she watched her friend closely.









Ginny gave her a tight smile. “I’m alright.” Neither of them believed her.









“I don't think so. You haven’t been yourself lately. Something isn’t right with you and I
think…I think it has something to do with Harry.” Lavender paused to gauge Ginny’s reaction.
Ginny’s hand trembled slightly as she turned the water off. Getting nothing much from that Lavender
asked, “Am I right?”









In answer Ginny folded her arms across her chest and gave Lavender a mulish look. It was the
very same face that Lavender got from Violet each time she tried to tell the four year old that
pink ribbons just did not go with black polka dotted socks. In the same wheedling tone that she
would use on the little girl to get her to change said socks, Lavender tried to get Ginny to open
up to her.









“Listen sweetie, you don't have to be ashamed. Ron and I have talked about it and…”









Humiliation swept through Ginny. Merlin! What did Lavender know?! “You and Ron have been talking
about me and my husband?!”









Lavender nodded her head. “We're your family Ginny. At least I will be soon. All of us have
been concerned.”









Her whole family thought that her marriage was in trouble?! Did they think that Harry was having
an affair too? Ginny shuddered at the idea of that. She looked fearfully towards the door. Anyone
could just be standing there eavesdropping. Would all of the revelers in the Great Hall know soon
as well? Would the news then spread through Hogsmeade and into Diagon next? Would every wizard and
witch in England eventually find out that she had failed to hold the interest of the great Harry
Potter?











Seeing Ginny’s attention drawn to the bathroom door Lavender said, “Don’t worry, no one is going
to come in. While you were occupied I made the place imperturbable and charmed an ‘Out of Order’
sign next to the door. No one will bother us. No one is going to hear us.”











Ginny gave a relieved sigh. Lavender took this as a chance to gently press Ginny again.











“Sweetie, I’m your friend. Can't you tell me what’s wrong?”











Ginny looked at her guardedly. “What do you know?”











“Nothing much,” Lavender answered truthfully. “But I know that you’ve been pretty temperamental
as of late. And Fleur mentioned to me that you’ve been real sick lately.” She placed her hand on
Ginny’s arm and gave it a comforting rub. “What’s the matter Ginny?”









Lavender’s caring blue eyes and compassionate smile settled Ginny’s fears. Lavender knew
nothing! Ginny could have cried over the reprieve. Although she meant well and it was obvious that
Lavender was genuinely concerned, the blonde busybody was only fishing for information. Because she
and Ron were all lovey-dovey and the Potters weren’t so much anymore, Lav probably had just assumed
that something was wrong with Harry and her. Ginny resented the hell out of Lavender in that moment
for that. But this also made Ginny realize that if she didn’t do something soon to fix her
crumbling marriage it was going to become more evident over time that Lavender had indeed been
right. What if Harry found a way to leave her for his mystery woman? Everyone would know then. She
needed to act soon. She had to find a way to make sure that Harry couldn't leave her. He was
all she had now.











And then suddenly it came to Ginny, something that would shut Lavender up, make her think that
the Potter union was just as strong as ever and at the same time make all of Ginny’s problems go
away. In fact, no one would doubt that her marriage wasn’t stable ever again.











Ginny placed her hand over Lav’s and squeezed it. Really she just wanted Lavender to stop pawing
at her like she was some fussy prized pet poodle. She arranged her face into the semblance of an
earnest expression and batted her eyes prettily at her friend. Ginny knew that she had to make this
good.









“I guess I can’t keep anything from you, can I now Lav?” she said in a syrupy tone, lathering it
on good and thick for her audience. Lavender did her best to smile modestly at that. Ginny did her
best not to roll her eyes.









“Alright, I’ll tell you what’s going on. But you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,”
she said giving Lavender a stern look.











Lavender took the hint. She vigorously bobbed her head up and down in answer to Ginny’s
understated directive.









With that settled Ginny continued with her feigned confession. “You're right Lavender; I
haven't quite been myself lately and there is a very good reason for that. You see…” Ginny
paused to make sure she had Lavender’s complete attention, “I’m going to have a baby.”











One would have thought a thunder clap had gone off, the silence that followed those words was
just that deafening. Lavender gawked at Ginny in disbelief at them. Her eyes were practically the
size of large platters.











“**YOU'RE PREGNANT**?!” she shrilled.













Ginny gave her a vexed look as she snatched her purse back from Lavender. Lav could be so damned
dramatic. Thank Merlin for sound proofing charms.











“B-buh ...b-buh...b-but you and Harry don’t…I mean, that is to say that the two of you
haven’t…”











Lavender swallowed thickly to stop the babbling. To say that she was bowled over by Ginny's
news would be the understatement of the year. But she didn't want to tell Ginny that. Lavender
instinctually knew that her friend wouldn't appreciate Lavender knowing all about her and
Harry's separate sleeping arrangements. Lavender yanked the foot right out of her mouth before
she could say too much. But now Ginny's strange behavior, especially these last few weeks, made
a little more sense. The Potters were expecting. Lavender felt ridiculous for blowing things out of
proportion. If you thought about, it really wasn't that shocking. It's not like you
necessarily needed a bed to make a baby.









“Never mind,” began Lavender wondrously, “I suppose Ron and I just got it all wrong,” she said,
almost apologetically. Then she brightened. She was going to be an aunt soon. Possibly even a
Godmother, if she didn’t presume too much. She couldn't wait to tell Ron!









“Congratulations!” she squealed as she gathered Ginny up in a hug. Ginny suffered the
embrace.









“Thank you,” she said before quickly pulling away.









“But why didn’t you tell any of us?”











The lie rolled easily off of Ginny's tongue. “I didn’t want to steal your thunder.
You're the little bride. You deserve all of the attention right now.”











Lavender was overwhelmed by Ginny’s supposed generosity. “Aww, that’s so sweet!” she simpered in
a sugary fashion, moved almost to tears by Ginny's thoughtfulness. She took one of Ginny's
hands. “You are the best sister-in-law a witch could ask for!”











Ginny felt a short-lived moment of guilt over Lavender’s praise. Lavender really was a good
person who truly cared about her. She was thrilled for Ginny over the good news. She didn't
deserve being lied to. But in regards to the big picture, Lavender's feelings were disposable
at this point.











“Just wait until everyone finds out!”









“**NO**!” shouted Ginny feverishly as she practically clawed at Lavender’s sleeves. It was
too soon for all of that. Much, much too soon!











Picking up on Ginny’s panic, Lavender looked at her uncomfortably. The redhead was acting so
weird. All of this ballyhoo over having a baby? Ginny could practically see the reservation in the
other woman’s eyes so she chuckled airily to wave Lavender's concern away.











“All in due time Lav,” she said quickly to appease her friend’s apprehension. “I'm not that
far along yet so you'll have to keep quiet about this for a little while. You can’t tell
anyone, **especially** Ron.”









Lavender's face fell at the request and Ginny didn't have to think hard on why. Knowing
Lavender she probably had been chomping at the bit to run off and tell Ron the good news the second
she heard it. Ginny had to nip that right in the bud. She needed a little time to put all her plans
into motion.









“You see, I haven’t even told Harry yet,” Ginny said in explanation. She wrapped an arm around
Lavender's waist. “I want it to be a surprise.”









And boy was it going to be!











Lavender seemed to find that explanation reasonable. Of course the father should hear the good
news first. She was nodding her head in agreement to it.











“Of course, of course,” she told Ginny. “Charging centaurs wouldn't be able to get it out of
me!” The declaration sounded heartfelt. Once again Ginny beat the guilt back.









“Good,” she said in deep thought. “Good.”













The way to fix her marriage was quite clear to Ginny now. She needed to have a baby. It was a
stroke of genius and Ginny didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before. That was the
solution to this whole mess. Even if Harry was cheating on her he was still her husband, she had to
hold on to him by any means. If that meant getting pregnant against his wishes then that was what
she was going to have to do. Ginny had done worse things before; this barely broke the top three.
Once the baby arrived Ginny was certain Harry would change his tune. That would surely make him
turn back to her. Their family would be complete then. Harry would be bonded to her for life.









By having a baby Ginny would be able to solidify her marriage, stop any gossiping tongues that
might be wagging, and put all residual thoughts of Neville out of her head for good.







For a moment Ginny considered how disappointed Neville would be in her if he had an inkling of
what she was up to, but Ginny banished those thoughts as quickly as they came. Whatever she did was
none of Neville's concern now. She had her own life to live and so did he. Ginny wasn't
going to spend the rest of her life obsessing over the matter; she had bigger fish to fry. She was
about to do everything she could to ensure a little happiness for herself and she hoped that if
Candide was what Neville wanted then that made him happy too. In fact, Ginny hoped that the slag
made Neville so happy he choked on it!



















“Well I think I’ll be going.”











Ginny’s vengeful thoughts turned away from Neville at the sound of Lavender’s voice.









“I need to be up at the crack tomorrow. I still have a few more things to buy for my
trousseau.”











“Would you like some company?” asked Ginny. “I still have to pick up a few more party favors for
the bachelorette party. The two of us could make a day out of it.”











Lavender adored the idea. “I’d just love that!” she beamed. Her joy then faltered. “Oh…but I
don’t want to tire you out,” she said as she nervously glanced at Ginny’s flat stomach.









Ginny caught on fast. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said exaggeratedly with a big counterfeit
smile. “I’m barely showing.” Her hand went protectively to her belly.











The answer seemed to placate Lavender.









“Besides, I’m your Matron of Honour. I’m going to make sure that the hen night Wednesday is a
success.” She gave Lavender a squeeze. “We have to keep our bride happy, now don’t we?”









That pleased Lavender. “You are so good to me Ginny,” she said appreciatively.











Ginny benevolently nodded her head. “I’m only doing for you what I would have had done for me.
Now come on, I’ll walk out with you,” she said as she steered Lavender in the direction of the
exit. “I think I’m going to go find my husband and head home early myself.”















As the two women walked towards the exit, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, Ginny began to
do a mental checklist of all of the ingredients she had stashed in her cupboards at home. They were
fully stocked. She could put her plans into action that very night she realized with increasing
determination. Ginny was very skilled at potion making, had been since that summer before her fifth
year. She had been the twins' very first test subject back when they were first developing all
of their “Wheezes” and had practically studied at their feet. There was no potion she could not
brew perfectly; Invigoration Draught, Strengthening Solution, Wolfsbane, Amortentia. Ginny was sure
she could come up with something strong enough to get her husband on his back but still responsive
with little trouble. She needed him incapacitated but parts of him still functioning for what she
had planned for him. Then after that all nature would have to do was run its natural course. Why if
Ginny played her cards right, she could be putting Harry's infant son into his arms in time for
their anniversary next year. That mental image made Ginny rub her abdomen in anticipation.

















They were almost to the door when Lavender suddenly let out a theatrical sigh of regret.











“It’s almost a shame that we have to leave the Ball so early though. The party looks like it was
just starting to become interesting. Pansy and Greengrass have been eyeing each other across the
room all night. It could get real good,” she said animatedly.









Ginny smiled at her friend’s zeal. “Well, while I don’t doubt that, I don’t mind much. Been to
one V-Ball, been to them all I always say. Plus I’ve danced enough tonight to last a lifetime.
Several in fact,” she added with a slight grimace. Her wrist was still sore from Malfoy’s abuse. Or
she could have been thinking about Neville’s haunting eyes.









Ginny shook both men from her thoughts.









“Besides, I am going to have to give up these late nights eventually.”









Lavender’s blue eyes twinkled at that. “That’s right!” she exclaimed as she put a hand on
Ginny’s barely there belly. “You’re going to be someone’s mummy soon,” she said excitedly.









Rather than enthusiasm, Ginny’s eyes shined with resolve. “That’s right,” she said as they
walked out the door, “I’m going to be someone’s mother soon.”



























And our little Ginny Potter has just taken a turn for the pathological. LOL! Some of you wanted
to see a more Voldemortian side to Gin, there you go. Now before you hit send on the hate mail
consider this, do you really think I'm going to write a H/G baby? No, really? Heh.











**A/N:** Next up is Harry's POV! Yay! LOL. Things to look forward to; Harry plays a
spirited game of “find the wand” with Hermione, the tale of Boadicea DuManoir comes to an end, and
our favorite couple decide to go out for a little dirty dancing.









A few more points of interest...



1) The Jungle Red nail polish is a shout out to one of my favorite movies The Women. In a way I
think these characters would fit right in that movie.



2) selkies are Irish and Scottish mythological seal changelings that can transform themselves
into humans. Now according to the HP Lexicon there are a couple of different varieties of mermaids.
The ones in the Great Lake are supposed to be selkies but in my opinion they do not fit the
description. Thus for the purposes of this story those are not selkies. Also the selkie stone is my
own creation.



3) A “fire crotch” is a red haired person whose carpets match their drapes if you catch my
meaning. Lindsay Lohan would be considered a fire crotch, or so the gossip says. Don't look at
me that way, I didn't come up with it. LOL!



4) The Olde Rites is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 7. To review, after the wizard
proposes the couple has thirty days to complete the cycle for the Rites to take effect. Five days
after the proposal is the engagement party called the Commencement where the blood bonding ritual
first starts. Five days after that the wedding party is named at the Naming Tea. Most importantly
the Maid of Honour is chosen who orchestrates the rest of the Rites. After that several other
smaller rituals take place. On the 12th day is the Temptation Day, usually only a
bachelor/bachelorette party. The next day begins the Seclusion (which lasts 7 days) during which
time the engaged couple can have no contact. The Ending Party (reception) is the night after the
Seclusion ends where everyone gathers to celebrate the impending marriage and wish it well. On the
thirtieth day is the wedding. The couple must be joined on that last day to complete the cycle or
they can't be married. Why am I telling you all of this? Because it's good to know. :)



5) One of my betas suggested that I remind you guys that I said from the beginning that I would
take a liberty or two with the canon. I know that Ginny has brown eyes. But I want her to have blue
eyes. I think blue eyes looks gorgeous with red hair (no disrespect to those who don't have
that combination). I'm shallow by the way. :) Plus I like the play of the green eyes, brown
eyes, blue eyes in regards to the Trio. So for the record all of my Weasleys are red haired, blue
eyed folks.











I am so sorry for how long it took to get this out. I won't bother you with reasons why, but
if it's within my power, I promise that it won't take that long again. I'm reluctant to
give a ballpark figure for when the next update happens because something always goes wrong when I
do (I had hoped to have something Sunday but my video card decided to disagree with me) but late
Jan early Feb looks good at this point. But the next chap is a long one so give me some wriggle
room. Thanks!

























*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*



26. Chapter 19.A
----------------

**TITLE:** All Roads Lead Back

**KEYWORDS**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

**SYNOPSIS**: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell! A very gradual, slow moving **H/Hr** love story told through
multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final
battle.

**SPOILERS**: All six books.

**WORD COUNT:** 28,878

**RATING:** NC17 for language and later sexual content.

**BETA:** *murphsmine.* She's a peach! Any mistakes you find are mines.

**WARNING:** None. Lot’s o’ angst, a dash of action(I hope), with a fun moment sprinkled here
and there.

Thanks for the great reviews for the last chapter, especially the ones that offered
**constructive criticism**. I heard what some of y'all had to say and tried to improve. For
those of you who wanted a little more action...I gave it my best even though it's not my forte.
For those of you who felt that Harry needed some work...I tried! I hope some of you are still out
there and are still reading. Here's hoping you like this one as much as I do!

**DISCLAIMER:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.







**Saturday, 6/11/05**




1953 was a good year. England crowned its second Elizabeth, the Kinsey Report made bedtime
reading fun again, and George Jorgensen became Christine. The year came with many strides and
successes; a polio vaccination, color television, and Churchill won a Nobel Prize. James Bond was
born! Alas, so was Michael Bolton.

In the Wizarding world 1953 was a banner year as well. VoodooWop was the hottest sound on the
Wireless and The Erl Kings sent many a teen aged witch's heart aflutter with their hit tune
“You Conjured up My Heart, Now You Won't Give It Back”. The Crucible opened on Broadway to
appreciative applause, though through out the audience could be heard grumblings here and there
detailing its many factual inaccuracies. And after seven long days in June, the generally
acknowledged greatest Quidditch match ever played finally came to an exciting close when the
Heidelberg Harriers' captain Rudolf Brand proposed marriage to the Harpies' Gwendolyn
Morag. She in turn smacked him over the head with her broom.

1953 was indeed one for the record books. But the year held one other smaller distinction of
note. In 1953 a Romnichal wizard named Tabor Joles opened The Three Broomsticks for business. The
gypsy and his pregnant wife had come to the town of Hogsmeade only a year prior to settle roots for
the small family they had been planning. Sadly his beloved Vadoma died in childbed, but not before
giving Tabor a little girl. Tabor put all of his grief aside to raise his infant daughter and make
The Three Broomsticks a success. Considering that Tabor's only real competition in town was The
Hog's Head, this was not that hard of a feat to accomplish. Tabor was savvy enough to provide
his patrons with clean glasses. He also served up a tasty pork pie and his self-made red currant
rum was legendary. For nearly fifty years The Three Broomsticks served as the heart of Hogsmeade
Village. It was the place to get a warm meal, a stiff stout, and hear the news of the day. Within
that time The Broomsticks only closed its doors twice. When Tabor went missing in 1970, more than
likely one of the countless victims of Voldemort and his Death Eaters' first campaign of
terror, the pub remained empty for nearly three months. Then that summer Tabor's daughter left
Hogwarts and reopened the well missed watering hole to the delight of all. Calling herself Madam
Rosmerta, the young witch was pretty and pert and so popular amongst the town's denizens that
the place was always filled to the rafters from lunch time to close. Ironically nearly thirty years
later Tabor's child would become infamous for the part she unwillingly played during the Dark
Lord's second reign. Due to her nearly year long exposure to the Imperius Curse, Madame
Rosmerta never fully recovered her mental health. After the war ended, upon finally being
discharged from St. Mungo's, Rosmerta became a recluse living out the rest of her lonely
subsistence in a hovel in Mitcham Common.

The Three Broomsticks stood vacant for years. It suffered very little damage from the Battle of
Hogsmeade, but even after the war ended no one stepped forward to try and restore the pub to its
former glory. That is until the MacMillans bought out the title, renovated the building, and
reopened it to the public in 2002. Hannah and Ernie had always been fond of The Broomsticks; it was
where they went on their first date. They both thought it was a shame that such a valuable piece of
Hogsmeade history should pass from existence. After pooling all of their resources together the
young couple decided that they were just the ones to try and make a go of the business. Their
friends as well as the whole town cheered on their effort. The Three Broomsticks was too vital to
the survival of the last Wizarding village in the British Isles to just be allowed to fall to rack
and ruin so easily. It also held a myriad of warm recollections for many of those who had attended
Hogwarts in their youth. Within its walls lived the memories of the thousands of school children
who had passed through the inn during its umpteen years in operation; not an inch of the bar
hadn't been covered by dueling elbows, not a booth in the room hadn't played host to some
small triumph or heartache. A barely of age Arthur Weasley and his young bride spent their
Honeymoon night in one of the top floor rooms, both too poor to afford a longer stay. In the little
wizards' room to the right, in the stall nearest the door was still scrawled the legend “for a
good time floo Snivellus”. And in a comfy booth near the kitchen, in a cozy little darkened corner
James Potter first held the hand of the Head Girl as they shared a soda and ice with cherry syrup
on top between them.

It was in this very same booth that their son now sat as he kept careful watch of his unwitting
quarry in the enormous mirror above the bar.

“You're staring.”

“Excuse me?”

Harry's head slowly came forward to find the form of a poker faced Blaise Zabini occupying
the seat across from him. In his left hand was a snifter that contained a few drabbles of a light
brown liquid, honey wine most like. His right hand rested casually on the table top as his
immaculately buffed white fingernails drummed against its surface. The Slytherin's slanting
dark eyes insolently stared out from his walnut shell colored face at the displeased
Gryffindor.

“You're staring,” said Zabini again as he set his glass down. “You've been staring at
her for nearly fifteen minutes now.”

Harry immediately felt his defenses go up. He had chosen the little out of the way booth for
strategic purposes. The handful of stragglers still left in The Broomsticks was gathered either
around the bar or nearer to the front and hardly anyone paid him or his corner much notice. Harry
preferred it this way. His position point gave him the perfect unhampered view of his surroundings.
He could see Ron and the twins downing shots of Ironbelly's Vodka at a table on the far side of
the establishment. Harry nearly chuckled at the harried expression on Glinda's face as Pansy
McLaggen caught her outside the restrooms and proceeded to monopolize her time. And the woman he
was monitoring at the bar had yet to realize that Harry hadn't let her out of his sight since
entering the pub. Harry thought his surveillance had been pretty inconspicuous. Then Zabini had to
go and sit his unwelcomed arse in his booth and blow the Auror’s well orchestrated cover to
smithereens.

“No I haven't. I don’t know what you are talking about Zabini,” Harry said coolly as he
raised his mug of ale to his lips and took a measured sip. He didn't want to tip his hand to
his unwanted guest and let him know that he was indeed guilty as charged. All he needed was another
damned Slytherin in his business. Especially this one! Harry detested the man.

Zabini snickered at the shaky ruse easily calling Harry’s bluff.

“Yes you have,” he said as he foppishly plucked at the sleeves of his finely tailored robes and
superiorly turned his nose up at Harry. “You've been staring at her for the last twenty
minutes. And what I would like to know is why.”

Harry set his mug down and gave Zabini a supremely vexed glare. Harry's opinion of the
Slytherin had never really been high. Back in school their paths had rarely crossed, Harry could
scarcely recall ever hearing the tall black boy speak until that train ride in Sixth Year when he
had gotten himself roped into attending Slughorn's little gathering. But the ever burning
enmity between their two houses had ruled out any association they might have ever had right from
the start. This continued into their adulthoods. As far as Harry knew, Blaise and his mother
Magnifika Zabini had sat on their hands throughout the duration of the war preferring to, as he was
oft-heard saying, let the riffraff sort everything out. In Harry's opinion that made Zabini
almost as bad as a Death Eater, maybe even a little worse. At least the Death Eaters believed in
some cause, no matter how wrongheaded it was. But what Harry eventually came to realize was that
Zabini did believe in something wholeheartedly, the power of the mighty galleon. By time Blaise
turned seventeen he already held stock in two broom companies, sat on the board of a major potion
medicament corporation, and shared ownership of the Tutshill Tornadoes. He owned a large tract of
land out in Wales as well. That didn't even include the two vaults at Gringotts that his other
“fathers” had left him in their wills. Magnifika's last husband had also bequeathed to his
adopted son (and sole heir) a controlling interest in a publishing company called WizzHard Books.
Under Blaise's direction WizzHard became notorious for producing salacious unauthorized
biographies of the celebrities of the day. Naturally Harry had received the WizzHard treatment.
Just a few of the sordid goodies it contained was a detailed, and wholly embarrassing account of
the one kiss he shared with Cho, a truly ridiculous claim that he was Godric Gryffindor’s heir, and
a fuzzy photograph that was supposedly him practicing Quidditch in the buff. The book was a
National bestseller of course.

Yes, Zabini was no friend of Harry Potter's. That was why Harry could not understand what
would make the wanker invite himself to his table and chat with him as though they were old
acquaintances. Harry wanted to make him leave as quickly as possible so he could get back to more
pressing concerns. Besides, why should Zabini care what Harry was up to?

“And what business is it of yours anyway Zabini?” Harry inquired as he tried to deflect the
question back at the man. There was just the barest hint of irritation in his voice. From the
corner of his eye he nonchalantly glanced back up at the mirror to make sure the small swatch of
yellow he could see was still standing in the same spot as before.

It was.

“Well the woman is my wife, so it's really not that surprising that I would be concerned, is
all,” replied Zabini as he leaned against the back of the booth and folded his arms over his
chest.

“**WIFE**?!”

Harry's head had swung back around to face the man. His eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Zabini gave him the most arrogant of smirks possible as he nodded his head.

“That's right, wife; the woman that's standing over by the bar there talking to that
mousy bint Granger. The very same woman you've been ogling for the last half hour. That is my
wife.”

Harry took another glance back at the bar and for the first time really looked at the shorter,
olive complected female that was standing next to his best friend. The two women had been huddled
up near the counter for the better part of an hour. Of course Harry had wondered who the woman was
and just how Hermione knew her, but he would have never figured her for being Blaise Zabini's
wife. Who would have guessed? She looked a little too stiff and all business for the likes of him,
what with her glasses and her matronly robes. Harry hadn't even been aware that the spoiled
pretty boy had gotten himself hitched.

He turned back to Zabini.

“Fifteen minutes,” Harry jokingly corrected him as he quirked a dazed smile. “And you say
that's your wife Zabini?”

“Indeed. Now what I would like to know *Auror Potter*,” said the Slytherin as he
contemptuously eyed him up and down, “is just what is it about my wife that has you so
fascinated.”

Harry dryly chuckled as he turned his attention back to the bar. He watched as the woman he had
been chasing after all evening began to distractedly gaze about the room. Her companion continued
to prattle away to her as though nothing was amiss.

“Oh, nothing too sinister Zabini,” Harry assured the other wizard as Hermione looked over her
shoulder and her eyes fell on him. Instantly color dotted her cheeks and she anxiously turned her
attention back to Zabini's wife.

“I’m just a bloke admiring a beautiful woman.”




Since following her off the dance floor at the Ball, Harry and Hermione had been playing an
exhausting game of cat and mouse. Something had her agitated and out of sorts and naturally Harry
wanted to know what was wrong. But as what was quickly becoming the norm, she wasn't being
forthcoming. This only helped to spur on Harry's desire to find out what she was hiding by any
means. It was starting to become an arduous cycle.

In the beginning though he hadn’t been aware that anything was amiss. When he first laid eyes on
Hermione as she walked through the doors of the Great Hall it was all he could do not to drool onto
his serviette at the sight of her, all dressed in yellow, as she made her grand entrance. But
almost immediately Harry had realized that something was off. That is after he got over his initial
jealous reaction of seeing Malfoy draped all over her, the straw headed ponce! But definitely once
the envy subsided he had been left with an all encompassing sense that something just wasn’t right.
Despite her cheery façade Hermione’s eyes had been lightly red tinged and glossy, as though she had
been crying recently. She had troweled on the make-up to conceal any puffiness or dark shadows
underneath them, but her voice had easily given her away. It sounded like she had been gargling
gravel, like she had wailed herself horse. She had fooled everyone else but Harry knew her too well
not to know that something was up. Problem was that when he went to ask her about it she rebuffed
him. That hurt. What had nearly killed him though were the covert glances that she and Malfoy
shared when no one had been looking. When they thought no one had been looking, that is. It had
been easy enough to figure out that Malfoy knew, or at least had an inkling of what was going on.
Malfoy was apparently her new grand confidant. Malfoy was the one with whom she shared secret looks
with now. Malfoy! Harry had wanted to yell and break things, preferably Malfoy’s scrawny neck.

It was a good thing that he didn't give into his initial urge to make mincemeat out of the
pasty prat the moment he parked his arse at the table though or Harry might never have witnessed
the truly malicious glare that the blond git leveled at Ginny while he had been casually explaining
the reason behind Hermione, Luna, and his late arrival to the Ball. It had been such a minuscule,
imperceptible flash of an instant that it would have been insignificant to anyone else if they had
caught it. Malfoy’s gray eyes had barely cut to Ginny and away as he arrogantly jabbered on and on
to the assembled group. But Harry, having spent years as a (sometime) captive audience to Malfoy’s
infinite idiosyncrasies, knew his partner’s mannerisms quite well.

When Malfoy wanted to grandstand and over-inflate his already bloated sense of self-importance,
he yelled and caterwauled like a banshee in heat to make sure he had the attention of anyone within
listening distance. But when he wanted to put the honest to goodness fear of a Slytherin into a
person, he was almost methodical about his approach. First he would give them just the slightest
hint that they had somehow managed to cross him; a look, a tip of the head, a well aimed aside that
would slice his intended victim just right. No one else would have a clue as to what had just
happened except Malfoy and his target. That was the genius behind it. Until he decided to strike,
his prey would have to sit and wait for him to make his move. Then, right when the poor hapless sap
was at his most vulnerable, Malfoy would go for the jugular.

Yes, Harry knew all of the signs. But for the life of him he had been unable to figure out just
why Malfoy had chosen to set his sights on his wife. There was no worry that his partner would
actually do anything to harm Ginny, Malfoy wasn’t that much of an idiot after all, but Harry was
left wondering what was going on with Hermione and just what in the hell Ginny had to do with it.
He had connected the two dots; he had yet to figure out exactly how the puzzle pieces fit.

When Malfoy and Hermione excused themselves from the table to go dance, Harry and Ginny had
followed after them. He was a horrible dancer but he had been determined to stick close to the two
of them so he could figure out what was going on. Although he wasn't able to make out much of
what they said to each other, it had been evident that Malfoy was badgering her about something. It
had been petty of him, but Harry felt an immense sense of pleasure knowing that Hermione seemed
just as unwilling to answer the Slytherin's questions as she was reluctant to respond to his.
What displeased him however was Ginny's apparent interest in the pair. She had tried not to
look so obvious about it, but from what Harry could tell, Ginny was as distracted by Malfoy and
Hermione's presence nearby as he was. That was when Harry began to suspect that Ginny was
somehow tied into all of it. He had even started to question her when Hermione chose that exact
moment to storm past them. Later on Harry wouldn't remember if he had even said a word to Ginny
at the time; he just took off in the direction that his best friend had gone at once.

He had been determined to get her to stand still and talk to him, if only for a moment. He was
even prepared to petrify Hermione if it came to it. With determined strides he had followed her out
into the hall. He had called out her name once, twice, but she acted as though she hadn't heard
him. When she went to pick up her pace, he did as well. That was when she gave up all pretenses and
broke into a hasty trot. Harry's surprise at the sudden switch only lasted a second before he
was in hot pursuit. In no time he gained on Hermione, her legs being no match for his. But when he
went to reach out a hand to seize her by the shoulder, Hermione made a quick and sudden turn into
one of the ground floor toilets leaving him standing out in the hallway all alone and
emptyhanded.

Cleaver girl.

But Harry hadn't been above waiting her out. She had to come out of the loo eventually, was
how he saw it. He posted himself against the wall directly across from the lavatory to await her
exit. He'd hoped that she would talk to him once they were away from all of the fuss and bustle
of the Hall, that she would finally feel safe to start opening up to him. Although he had already
sent Hedwig to get the Harmony Darlington file from his contact in the States, he had yet to tip
Hermione to the fact that he knew that she was hiding things from him. For one, he wanted to have
solid evidence that she couldn't explain away like she did when they encountered that Yank
couple in town; the Beauregards. But mainly he didn't want to give her the impression that he
was spying on her, even if he was. Harry wanted her to come to him for help when she felt
comfortable doing it. He only prayed that she didn't wait until it was too late. Until then he
would continue to surreptitiously gather whatever information he could; he wasn't an Auror for
nothing. For the time being he would have been satisfied if she simply stopped with the games, told
him why she had been late to the Ball, shared what had her so wound up, and explained why her and
Ginny were acting as though they could barely stand to be in the same room with one another, even
more so than usual. It was a tall order, he knew.

But he must have stood out in that hall for nearly thirty minutes without seeing a single sign
of Hermione emerging from the lavatory. After a while he began to restlessly pace back and forth in
front of it. Without warning his head had begun to suddenly throb and he had broke out into a
sweat; he figured the fear that someone might mistake him for some perv who got his jollies hanging
around girls' toilets had begun to get to him. He had been at his wit's end and he
couldn't think straight. But right when Harry had been ready to say the hell with it, march
inside, and haul Hermione out of the bathroom himself, Neville's girlfriend walked up and saved
him from making an arse of himself. She was even kind enough to not look at him too oddly when he
asked her if she could check to see if there was anyone inside the stalls; no one else had gone in
for some time and he had been standing alone in the corridor for quite a while by this point. After
being told that the bathroom was empty, he thanked Candide profusely and went on his way.

At first Harry honestly couldn't figure out how Hermione had gotten out of that bathroom.
His eyes had barely left the doorway, even when acknowledging the few colleagues of his who had
passed by. The gaggle of Seventh Year Pottermates who had begged for his autograph hadn't
distracted him much. A few of them had left with napkins signed by “Barry Trotter” though. Harry
had kept his focus trained straight ahead, never even glancing down for a moment as far as he could
recall. Hermione couldn’t have given him the slip. It would have been impossible for her to have
tip-toed by him without noticing her.

But then he remembered that he was a wizard, that he was intimately acquainted with both a
werewolf and a half giant, and that he lived in a magic filled world where virtually anything under
the sun was imaginable.

Hermione had without a doubt gotten out of the restroom without him knowing it, he came to
realize.

Right away apparition had been ruled out. The last few weeks he had often wondered if she could
still Apparate, but for some reason or another he had never fully broached the subject. When
Hermione needed to go somewhere she either drove that petrol guzzler that they all jokingly called
“Big Ben”, or if she needed to get to her destination in a hurry she simply floo'ed.
Theoretically Hermione should have still been able to Apparate; it was an innate form of wandless
magic that any witch or wizard could perform effortlessly once properly trained. She had been one
of the first in their group to master it in school. But regardless if she still remembered the
mechanics, Harry knew that it was impossible to Apparate within the walls of Hogwarts. You just
don't stay best friends with someone who had read Hogwarts: A History well over 100 times and
not remember such a sticky detail, especially one that had been drummed into your head over and
over throughout the years. There was no question about it; Hermione wouldn't have been able to
Apparate out of that restroom.

But a self-proclaimed former witch with access to a wand could have easily cast a
Disillusionment Charm on herself.

*Very* clever girl.

Hermione was using the wand he gave her! Why was Hermione using the wand that he gave her? And
more importantly, just how long had she been using it, he had wondered. Not that Harry hadn't
been pleased, he had given her the wand in the first place. But Hermione had been so adamant about
not needing spells and charms anymore that the idea that she could have been secretly practicing
magic all that time had actually saddened him. He wondered, wasn't there anything that she was
being straight about these days? If he did a Priori Incantatem on his mum's old willow just
what spells would come out? And just where could she be hiding the damned thing anyhow? She
hadn't been carrying a handbag, she had no visible pockets; where on earth could the wand be,
down her dress?!

Past images of Hermione slipping her vine wood down the front of a dress or blouse invaded his
thoughts. It was a bad habit she had picked up during the war and continued after. Back then he had
tried not to think too hard on where she would put it because of, well, where she would put it. But
now...

That thought process didn't take very long to get away from him. Like a shot, Harry's
mind had been claimed by an obsession that was so intense it almost overpowered him. He had been
filled suddenly with a fervent desire to track down Hermione and settle his burning curiosity
straightaway. He could be tolerant and wait for her to disclose most of her secrets, but somehow
the wand was different. For his own sanity he needed to know if his hunch was correct and that she
had been hiding it on her all the while. It overruled all else. He might have his suspicions and
doubts to what Hermione was or might be hiding from him, but the wand was one thing he could prove
right away. It was the principle of the matter, or so he had told himself.

Of course the fun of trying to locate the precious willow would have been only a side
benefit.

Figuring that Hermione would probably try to avoid the Great Hall, Harry had tried to think of
just where she might sneak off to hide out for a while. At first his thoughts had turned to the
library, but he had dismissed that idea right away. The library would have been where Hermione
would have gone if she had wanted to be found. No, she wasn't in the library, he had told
himself. Gryffindor Tower? That would have been highly unlikely as well. With school still in
session all of the younger children were tucked tight in their dorms. He was positive that Hermione
wouldn't have been hiding out there. The Astronomy Tower, perhaps? As soon as that one entered
his head Harry had remembered a particularly memorable dream he had once had that centered around
Hermione. The fantasy had taken place on the very parapet floor underneath the stars. Well, it
wouldn't hurt to just look, he had tried to innocently convince himself.

When he hadn't found her there, Harry hadn't known whether to be disappointed or
relieved.

Deciding to take the search outside, Harry had pulled his trusty Firebolt out of his pocket and
placed an Engorgement Charm on it. After kicking off from the tower he scanned the grounds looking
for her. He hadn't been looking long before he located Hermione standing by the lake staring
out moodily across the water. The moonlight off its surface had cast her in an eerie, almost
unearthly luminescence and despite the darkness of the night the tears on her cheeks had glistened
like trails of silver. The scene had tugged at Harry's heart, especially after realizing just
where Hermione was standing. It had been on that very spot, where the grass still refused to grow,
that one of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes had been destroyed.




*The Ravenclaw relic had been in their possession for weeks. Well technically speaking,
DuManoir had been in the castle for that long, holding on to the disguised Pensieve like a
lifeline. Hogwarts was deemed the securest place to stash her although there was usually an Order
member or two patrolling the grounds whenever they could be spared. Most in the Order didn't
know why she was so important to their side, all knowledge of Riddle’s Horcruxes was limited to
only a select group of people, but many had their suspicions. It was believed that before he died
Dumbledore had set Harry on some cloak-and-dagger quest and they figured that the girl somehow tied
into it. That was all they needed to know; Harry was Dumbledore's man after all. If the wise
old wizard believed in Potter that strongly maybe he truly was The Chosen One.*

*The prisoners captured at Boussac were mostly lower level Death Eaters and none had much
information that was of help to the Order. Those were quickly turned over to the Ministry. The
mission's leaders, the Carrows, were believed to have escaped the botched assignment. Macnair
had gotten a hold of a wand and killed two Aurors before turning the Killing Curse on himself and
taking all he knew to the grave. That left Lestrange. Auror Shacklebolt handled his interrogation
personally. Under the influence of Veritaserum, Rodolphus spilled the reason behind them traveling
all the way to the French monastery to retrieve DuManoir for their master. Readying himself to
ascend to his greatest moment of triumph, Riddle had decided that he would like a pet. Although
everyone else had a hard time believing the story Harry knew that it wasn’t that farfetched.
Dumbledore had once told him just how much Riddle enjoyed collecting his trophies.*

*After memory wiping the captive, Shacklebolt released Lestrange to his department superiors
informing them that the Battle of Boussac had been a bust. The Ministry never learned of Boadicea
DuManoir's miraculous reemergence into their world.*

*From the start it became apparent that some powerful magic had been employed to halt the
aging process on the girl; some even believed dark magic was involved. How else to explain the fact
that she didn't look a day over seventeen years old? All Madame Pomfrey could deduce was that
some enchantment or potion had been used on her, but the old school nurse could tell no more.
Several failed revealing spells ruled out the possibility of a glamor. Slughorn was brought in to
brew a Retexilaxo serum that could reverse the effects of almost any potion she might have imbibed,
but given the amount of time she would have had such a substance in her system, or probably due to
its strength, it wasn't really surprising that it didn't work either. After a while it was
just decided to leave her be until they could get her to tell them exactly what Riddle had done to
her.*

*That was as easy as pulling teeth from a basilisk. DuManoir no longer spoke English and the
only ones who could understand her crazed ramblings were Hermione, Malfoy, McGonagall, and
Sinistra, and for a couple of reasons the last three had to be kept at a distance.*

*Although both women had aged considerably, McGonagall and Sinistra still looked enough like
their younger selves that the girl was horrified at their aged appearances. Hermione was the only
one who she would let near her, at times Tonks. Professor Sinistra was heartbroken over the
rejection.*

*DuManoir was also wary of most men. For Ron that was no problem. According to him she was
creepy and just the sight of her oftentimes blank expression made his skin crawl. Hermione had
bawled him out good and proper one morning when he had said just that aloud. DuManoir had still
been asleep in the South Tower bedroom she was sharing with Hermione, but it was the Gryffindor
girl's belief that they needed to be careful of what came out of their mouths because the
frightened girl could understand everything that the four teens said amongst each other. There had
been no evidence to back up her theory though.*

*As usual Malfoy had learned the hard way to stay away from DuManoir. Bragging one night that
he could charm the ornament away from her in a snap, the blond had come slinking back down the
stairs from the girls' room only a few minutes later sporting two rather impressive black eyes.
She was clearly nutters, he had muttered sourly to no one in particular. Ron and Harry had laughed
and laughed. Hermione had fumed silently at the lot of them.*

*The one exception to this rule however was Harry. She didn't fear him. In fact he seemed
to hold some queer fascination for the girl. It unsettled him, though at first Harry couldn't
put his finger on the reason why. Every now and then, having fallen asleep on the couch in the
Common Room, he would awaken to find her cloudy purple eyes staring at him from between the bars of
the staircase banister. Or he would be walking down a hallway in the castle and feel the gooseflesh
tickle at the back of his neck. Turning around, he would see her form scamper away, wraith-like,
into some dimly lit corner to hide.*

“*She's just confused, is all,” Hermione eventually explained to him one night when it was
just the two of them alone by the fireplace.*

*The brunette had taken to DuManoir right from the start and seemed to be the only person who
could get through to her. It had been Hermione’s idea to have the girl bunk with her; to make the
former Head Girl more comfortable, she had said. She took charge of DuManoir almost exclusively
making sure the girl ate, slept, and dressed properly; DuManoir became a new project to occupy
Hermione's time. Sometimes Harry worried that his friend was becoming too attached, but he
figured that in a way they all needed something to distract them from the uncertainty and
oppression they constantly lived under. Hermione just wasn't Hermione unless she was worrying
after someone. First him and Ron, then Malfoy after his injury, and now DuManoir. Harry would often
find the two girls sitting next to each other by the hearth as they conversed together in a
language of whispers and simple hand gestures. At times Hermione could even coax a dimpled smile
out of her company.*

“*She knows you're not him. She understands that you can't be him,” Hermione told him.
“She sees the green eyes, the glasses, the scar...”*

*Her hand had reached up to tenderly caress his forehead.*

“*Her mind isn't completely broken you see,” she continued on. “Not really. But there
isn't one moment that she doesn't look up to see you standing there and for a second
think...hope, 'Tom'.”*

*Harry had hated the sound of that. Not just the unwanted comparison to Riddle yet again, but
also the idea that DuManoir could still love the fiend after all he had done to her. Harry knew
that he could never be that forgiving if someone who claimed to love him betrayed him so
heartlessly.*

“*She's mad!”*

*Hermione had only shrugged her shoulders at the pronouncement.*

“*She's in love. Sometimes that's almost as bad.”*

*The four teens knew that they had to get the Pensieve away from DuManoir and figure out some
way to destroy it; they just didn't know how to accomplish either feat. Hermione had cautioned
the three boys that they had to be gentle with how they approached the girl, but every day they
were reminded that they didn’t have much time to spare. Although they were all safely ensconced
inside Hogwarts, beyond the castle's confines the war raged on fiercely. What the Muggle media
was calling terrorist attacks, were in actuality Riddle's attempts to cause mass hysteria among
both the magical and non-magical populace. The Order, working independently from the Ministry, was
doing their part to preserve as many lives as they could, but they all knew that the war would only
end once Harry and Lord Voldemort did battle. Doing away with the Ravenclaw Horcrux would put them
one step closer to that day.*

*Everything came to a head not too long after Bonfire Night. Harry and Ron had set up a
friendly game of chess in their tower for after dinner and were battling it out. Malfoy, having
nothing better to do and no one to listen to him complain, tried reading out of a book he held with
his unbandaged arm while laying sprawled out on the Common Room couch. His other arm was taking
longer to heal and rested lamely against his chest wrapped tight inside its dressing. Hermione and
DuManoir, having had their usual evening tea, had long retired for the evening. Or so Harry had
thought.*

“*So what happened Sleeping Beauty?” drawled Malfoy indolently from his spot on the couch,
“Someone put a pea under your mattress or something?”*

*Malfoy's archly delivered greeting alerted Harry and Ron to Hermione's presence. As
Harry looked up from the board he watched as she cautiously crept down the stairs. Instead of
holding on to the handrail, she awkwardly held her arms behind her. Curiously she was still fully
dressed despite having supposedly been in bed for over an hour.*

“*Somehow Malfoy seems just the type to be into **fairy** tales,” said Ron studying the
board in front of him and contemplating his next move. “Eh, Harry?”*

*As he and Ron exchanged brotherly smiles Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling. When
Malfoy threw his book at Ron’s head Harry laughed outright. Missing its mark the book bounced
against the wall, plopped down on the table knocking over Ron's queen, and sent the irascible
little monarch into a tizzy.*

“*Is it too much to ask for you three to act like adults for a change?” asked Hermione dully,
clearly fed to the gills with their ceaseless bickering.*

*She left the bottom step and approached them. By the way her hands were still concealed from
view Harry wondered if she was hiding something behind her.*

“*Hermione, what's wrong?” he asked concernedly as he stood up and met her in the center
of the room. “Did we wake you? I thought you said you were tired.”*

“*I...I just said that. I needed Boadicea to follow my lead, drink her tea, and go to
bed.”*

*She nervously began to tap her foot. It was like she couldn't keep still. She was a ball
of wired energy. She even snuck a quick peek back up the stairs as if making sure no one had
followed her down. Harry found her behavior peculiar.*

“*But why?” he asked.*

*She was so fidgety that he was beginning to get worried that something terrible had happened.
It took a bit of hemming and hawing before Hermione finally put his worries to rest.*

“*So I could get this.”*

*She held out her two closed fists and opened them, palms turned upwards, for his inspection.
Cradled in her hands laid an object that was decked out in tiny jewels and carvings and which
looked deceivingly like a fancy hair ornament. But Harry knew better. He was awe-struck by the
find.*

“*Hermione!”*

*By this time both Ron and Malfoy had ambled over to get a better look at the surprising
acquisition. All three boys crowded around her as they looked down at the miniaturized Ravenclaw
Pensieve. Ron even reached out to touch it but thought better of it at the last second.*

“*How did you manage it Hermione? I thought you already tried taking it from her while she was
conked out,” Ron wondered aloud as he pulled back his hand. “You said she freaked out pretty
badly.”*

“*She did. I had a devil of a time convincing her that I was merely adjusting her
blankets.”*

*Her overly breezy tone caught Harry's attention. It was a little too forced.*

“*So then how did you do it?” he worriedly asked.*

“*Oh isn't it obvious Potter?!” smarmed Malfoy condescendingly. “Granger there drugged
that deranged simp.”*

*Harry looked back and forth between the two of them. Although the guilt was plainly evident
on Hermione's face, Harry still felt the need to hear it from her.*

“*Hermione, is that true?”*

*When she averted her eyes he had his answer.*

“*What did you give her?” he sharply questioned. It didn't sit well with him that the
blond pest had been right. It also bugged the hell out of him that the bastard was probably
gloating over the fact.*

“*Draught of Living Death,” she said briskly as she held her head high. She looked directly at
him. When Harry's nettled expression morphed into one of disappointment she grew defensive.
“Don't look at me that way; I just gave her a half dose. Look, I'm not proud of it, and I
know that she's never going to trust me again, but I did what I thought was best. We've
reached the point where all of us are going to have to make some tough choices. This was mines,”
she said resolutely.*

*She walked towards the table that Harry and Ron had been sitting at and placed the ornament
right in the center of the chessboard. It was no bigger than a large fig. All of the miniature
moving pieces circled around it in wonder as though it were some fallen idol. One of the little
bishops even gave it a sound whacking with his staff before Hermione reprovingly confiscated it
from him. She began to carefully put away Ron's chess set as Harry sadly looked on.*

“*I just wish there had been a better way,” he said bleakly.*

*It wasn't that he didn't understand why Hermione had gone to such drastic measures to
get the Pensieve for them; he just wished she would have come to him first before doing it. It
almost felt like she was somehow going behind his and Ron's back; like she was keeping them out
of the loop. There was also something ignoble about the whole sordid scheme. It wasn’t like this
was the first time Hermione had stooped to drugging someone to get a desired result, the memory of
a couple of laced chocolate cakes she had whipped up extra-special for Crabbe and Goyle during
Second Year sprang to mind. But this instance felt a little too sneaky for his tastes, a little too
Slytherin-y. Why, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Hermione had gotten the idea from the
blond git himself. Not for the first time did he regret the decision of bringing Malfoy into the
fold. The bastard was like some bad infection neither potion nor liberal dousing of penicillin
could get rid of.*

*Needless to say the resident snake in the grass found nothing wrong at all with
Hermione's underhanded maneuvering. He opened up the gaping head wound he called his mouth and
began to spew.*

“*Oh please! She's the only one of you three that has a decent set of stones on her,” said
Malfoy crudely, forcing Harry's attention away from the girl.*

*There was just something about Chosen Wanker's holier-than-thou attitude that rubbed the
Slytherin the wrong way. He had no problem telling him as much.*

“*Granger should be commended for taking some initiative, not belittled. There's no point
in trying to make her feel bad about what she did.”*

*Harry seethed silently. If he didn't know that the creep was only trying to score points
with Hermione he might have felt as though he were being called on the carpet. And by Malfoy of all
people! He held his tongue though. As long as Malfoy continued to act like a neutered pet rodent in
front of Hermione, the brunette would defend the bastard to her last breath. It had been that way
ever since Malfoy had saved his life in Boussac and Harry couldn't stand it! All the same he
tried his best not to mix it up with the Slytherin if the Gryffindor girl was around. The few times
he had Hermione had accused him of being ungrateful. Ron however felt no sense of obligation
towards the wanker to hold anything back.*

“*Gee Malfoy, you must be getting really soft in your old age.”*

*Malfoy looked at him impassively.*

“*Soft? Care to explain Weasel?”*

“*Your fangs, they're starting to dull Ferret Breath. You must be losing your edge,”
taunted Ron with unrestrained relish. “You almost sounded sincere there.” He folded his arms over
his chest and wrinkled his nose. “We all know that can't be right.”*

*Harry smiled to himself. Good old Ron!*

*Hermione's piercing voice sliced right through the impending Weasley/Malfoy grudge match,
nipping it in the bud before it could fully get underway.*

“*If you all are quite done maybe you three would like to join me over here and....oh, I
don't know, thwart Voldemort, foil the dark forces, rid the world of evil or something like
that.”*

*Her fearsome expression made the three young wizards shuffle over to where she was standing
like well behaved choirboys. Ron took his place next to his girlfriend on one side of the table
while Harry and Malfoy stood across from them. As soon as he reached the table Harry saw what
Hermione had been up to while the rest of them had been otherwise occupied. The chess set was gone
and so was the ornament. In its place was a pewter-like basin that had unusual stones, peculiar
markings, and funny looking runes, all completely unfamiliar to Harry, etched into its curved rim.
In many ways it looked nothing like Dumbledore's old Pensieve. It was fancier; more feminine
for lack of a better word. What Harry found most remarkable however was the silvery contents that
swirled inside of it. Now that, that was familiar to him.*

“*It looks like light made liquid,” murmured Ron.*

“*More like wind made solid,” Malfoy doggedly insisted.*

“*It's a memory,” stated Harry plainly.*

*Neither of them contradicted him.*

“*So this is it, Ravenclaw's Pensieve?” asked the Slytherin bending forward over the table
while studying the relic with marked interest. Although the senior Malfoy had once owned a rather
flashy one that he kept for the sole purpose of showing off to company, he had never allowed his
son near it for fear the boy would ultimately ruin it. This was actually the first time that Malfoy
had been close enough to a Pensieve to actually touch it. And did he ever want to touch it! Its
whirling, bottomless depths called out to him it seemed.*

*Ron, who had also been fighting a similar compulsion, said harmlessly, “It doesn't look
like it's filled with evil.”*

*At his best mate's remark Harry looked up and tossed Malfoy a loaded glance.*

“*Some things rarely do.”*

*Hermione huffed in aggravation while Malfoy stood up straight and looked at Harry
hatefully.*

“*So what are we thinking,” cut in Ron as he pulled his wand out of his pants pocket. “A
Dissendium, a little Incendio perhaps?”*

*Focusing back on the matter at hand, Harry followed his lead. “I'm feeling quite partial
to a Reductor, myself.” He held his wand aloft.*

“*Ah, a fine choice if I might say,” said Ron lightly. “I think I'll be going with a good
old fashion Blasting Curse. It might be simple, but gets the job done.”*

*Harry snickered. “Then let's do this.”*

“*Let's. On the count of three.”*

*Harry extended his firing arm and took careful aim at the Pensieve sitting before
him.*

“*One...”*

*Ron pointed his wand as Harry continued the count down.*

“*Two...”*

*Blue eyes sought out the green ones across from him and awaited the signal.*

“*Thr―”*

“***WAIT**!”*

*Hermione seized the Pensieve and ran towards the other side of the room with it. The
unexpected move took all of the boys by surprise. Malfoy, Ron, and Harry whirled around to look at
the girl as though she were some sideshow attraction. She in turn stared back at them defiantly.
She held the relic to her bosom like a mama griffin protecting its young.*

“*Um...Hermione, luv, you're acting all mental again. Be a good girl and bring that back
here, would you.”*

*Harry cringed. He knew straightaway that Ron had stepped in it, and by the looks of her
molten face, Hermione wasn't about to let him get off easy.*

“*You listen here Ronald Weasley, you have no right to try and boss me around!” she yelled.
“I'm the one who discovered that Boadicea existed. And I'm the one who got the Pensieve!
I'm not some little Quidditch groupie you can just push to the side whenever you feel like it.
I am a vital part of this team, just as much as you are and don't you ever forget
that!”*

*Ron was taken aback by the onrush.*

“*S-s-sorry Hermione,” he stammered as he put his wand away. As an aside he mumbled, “Blimey,
I can't say a thing these days without setting her off.”*

*Malfoy sniggered to himself.*

*Hermione eased down onto the bottom step of the staircase as she fastidiously began to plead
her case.*

“*Look, you two can go and blow this Pensieve to Kingdom come if you like, but I think we just
might be making a mistake,” she said, trying to explain her strange behavior. “I mean, this is
history that we'd be destroying. The Society for Preserving Artifacts of Mythos hasn't had
a find like this in ages!”*

*Malfoy chortled meanly.*

“*That's because those pansies at SPAM couldn't find their own arses if you handed it
to them.”*

*They all ignored him. As Harry brushed past the blond idiot he said, “Hermione, it's a
Horcrux. Horcrux bad, remember?”*

“*But what if it isn't Harry?” she asked as she stood up. “What if we are wrong?”*

“*But we know that it is!” he replied. “The genealogist that McGonagall contacted was able to
confirm that DuManoir is a direct descendant of the Ravenclaw line. All evidence points to the
Pensieve once belonging to the Founder. What more do we need? The Pensieve has to be a Horcrux! And
what's more, we destroy Horcruxes. So what am I missing?”*

“*I just...it just seems a bit obvious, doesn't it?” Hermione brought the Pensieve back to
the table and sat it down. “Blasting things to bits is all a little too easy if you ask me. Plus
where is the sacrifice in that? Remember, there has to be a sacrifice,” she reminded them.*

*Ron's freckled face frowned as he asked, “What have you got against easy?”*

“*Nothing. I just don't like lazy. I think we owe it to ourselves to see every possible
avenue through.”*

*Harry had to admit that what she said made a hell of a lot of sense.*

“*So what do you suggest we do then?” he asked.*

“*Well...uh, I have an idea. Let's call it an experiment. Mind you it is a bit out
there.”*

*Harry stepped closer to her. “We're listening.”*

*With a shy smile Hermione proceeded to lay out her plan.*

“*So I was thinking, so little is really known about Rowena Ravenclaw. I mean, sure there are
dozens upon dozens of biographies, but sometimes you don't get the whole story from a
book.”*

“*Now that's the second time I've heard her insult a book,” said Ron as he reached
over to feel her head. “I think you might be running a temperat―OW! THAT HURT HERMIONE!”*

*She had delivered a swift rap to his hand. Ron cradled the injured appendage to his chest
while Hermione paid his bruised hand little heed. His bruised ego got the shaft as well.*

“*We now have a chance, an opportunity if you will, to get some information first hand,” she
continued. “We have a chance to look through Rowena Ravenclaw's eyes. We have a chance to see
history being made.”*

“*You think we should go into Ravenclaw's Pensieve, don't you?” came Harry's
response.*

“*Just think Harry, therein lies her final memories. We could see it. If the Pensieve
isn't really the Horcrux we might even find a clue to what we really should be looking
for.”*

“*And what if all we find is old Rowena making out her apothecary shopping list?” he
countered. “There's no guarantee that we'll find anything of use in there Hermione.
Dumbledore used his to store excess memories. Snape used it to hide what he didn't want me to
see. Who knows, maybe all Rowena put in hers were the things she'd rather forget.”*

“*It can't hurt to try, can it?” she asked with hope burning bright in her eyes.*

*In the face of such optimism Harry began to feel his resolve weaken. Matter of fact, he
tumbled like a stacked deck of Exploding Snap cards. He couldn't help but give in and in the
end he decided that maybe Hermione was on to something. Had she ever led him wrong?*

“*No, it can't,” he said with a smile. “You're right. Let's do it.”*

*She stared at him for a moment, almost shocked into speechlessness.*

“*Really?!” she asked with some wavering.*

*Harry nodded his head. “Yeah! Brilliant idea there Hermione. I―oof!”*

*She practically tackled his midsection in a back breaking hug.*

“*Thank you Harry! Thank you so much! You won't regret this, I promise!”*

*Harry's arms wrapped around her as he gently patted her back. He even dropped a small
kiss on her head to seal the deal. He felt his heart swell with some fuzzy emotion that warmed him
from the insides. If given the time he might have placed it, but the sound of someone clearing
their throat spoiled his concentration. Harry looked up in time to see his best friend's
inscrutable face before him. His other best friend, that is.*

*Harry quickly let go of Hermione.*

“*So what are we doing then?” asked Ron tersely.*

“*We're going in,” Harry bluntly said. “You, me, and Hermi―”*

*Harry paused in mid-thought as his green eyes flew to the top of the stairs. Although
Hermione had extinguished most of the lights on the first floor earlier to complete her ruse, Harry
still leaned forward as if to peer into the shadowed darkness of the landing.*

*Both Ron and Hermione looked at their dark haired friend with concern.*

*Hermione took one of his hands in hers and asked, “Harry what's wrong?”*

*The contact brought him back to them. He turned to face her.*

“*I thought I just saw...”*

*Harry’s forehead slowly creased. He paused, thinking hard on what exactly he had seen, then
gnashed his teeth in frustration when nothing came to him. He quickly looked back to the stairs,
eyes having finally adjusted to the lack of light, and saw nothing there.*

*Maybe he just needed to clean his glasses.*

“*Never mind,” said Harry shaking his head. “It was nothing. Back to the Pensieve,” he said as
he tried to get them all back on course. “We'll go in, see if we find anything that might be of
some use and if not...”*

“*Bye, bye Pensieve,” finished Ron.*

*Harry smiled at his best mate. “Exactly.”*

“*Anyone mind telling me what I'll be doing while you three are out enjoying Ravenclaw:
The Early Years?” asked Malfoy snidely. Harry had almost forgotten the pest was still in the
room.*

“*Well I would suggest you just **DIE** already, but we both know that you're shite at
following directions,” came Ron’s mean-spirited response.*

“*You'll stay here and watch our guest,” Harry answered simply before Malfoy and Ron could
get going.*

*Malfoy balked at the order.*

“*You're leaving me with her?!” He motioned up the stairs. “She's worse than that
Lovegood kook! No way am I staying here with her, she’s completely hatstand! If all of you go,
I'm going too!” he petulantly whinged.*

*Harry had started to tell him just where he could go when Hermione stopped him.*

“*If we don't he'll never shut up about it,” she advised him.*

*Harry reluctantly agreed. They had already wasted enough time. It was time for some
action.*

“*Fine!”*

“*So we really are going to do this?” asked Ron tensely, glancing from Harry to the bowl in
trepidation.*

“*We are. I'll go first. Ron, you and Hermione follow right after. Then you Malfoy;
understand?”*

*Harry turned around to face the bowl. The other three teenagers followed suit and surrounded
the table; Ron and Hermione on either side of him. They all gazed down into the silvery depths of
the memory before them and contemplated the enormity of what they were about to do. Malfoy
nervously coughed.*

“*What's with you?” Hermione asked him.*

“*I've...well if you must know,” he began stiffly, “I've never done this before. It
won't hurt or anything, will it?”*

*His scowling face did little to hide his apprehension.*

“*Don't worry; Harry is an old hand at this,” she told him reassuringly while turning
towards Harry. The admiration with which she looked up at him gave Harry all the confidence he
needed.*

“*Well, here we go then,” he said as he lowered his face to the ebbing and undulating surface
inside the Pensieve. “Hang on.”*




∞∞∞ ∞∞∞ ∞∞∞

*The first thing Harry noticed after exiting the cold black nothingness that he had grown
accustomed to was that his grim, depressing surroundings were familiar. The mildewed stone floor
his face was squashed into was easily recognizable. He knew that he was still in the castle, one of
the toilets, from what he could tell. The second thing that caught his attention was the throbbing
ache in his neck.*

“*Ron?”*

“*Yeah mate?”*

“*If you don't mind, you're sitting on my head.”*

*The redhead jumped off of Harry and hurriedly helped his friend to his feet.*

“*Sorry Harry.”*

*As Harry stood up, working his neck from side to side to get the kink out, he found that he
and Ron had landed in a restroom stall together. He also found that Hermione was missing.*

*With rising alarm he called out, “Where's Hermione?!”*

*A phantom voice in the stall next door to him responded at once.*

“*On top of me,” it croaked.*

*The crass statement was then followed by a scuffling sound and an enraged howl of
pain.*

“***FUCK**!”*

*Harry opened the door in time to see Malfoy sail clean across the dimly lit room and bang
into the sink facing the end toilet he had just been thrown out of. He crumpled to the
floor.*

“*Be mindful of where you put that hand!” shouted Hermione as she emerged from where the git
had just been, wand pointed straight ahead. “Or next time I'll personally make you the last of
your line Draco Malfoy!”*

*Always beaten but never bowed, Malfoy jumped up and threateningly pointed a finger at the
girl.*

“*All I know Granger is that when I do a careful accounting later all my bits better be where
I last left them!”*

“***SHUT UP MALFOY**!” yelled Harry and Ron as they both exited their compact
compartment.*

*Hermione conspicuously said nothing.*

*Both boys turned on her as though she had committed some treasonable offense.*

“*HERMIONE?!” they exclaimed in disbelief.*

*The girl looked up from wiping the imaginary muck off of her jumper and gave them both a
perplexed look.*

“*What?” she asked, oblivious to what her crime could be.*

*When Ron and Harry continued to stare at her as though she were some pod person she became
indignant.*

“*Ooh stop being so stupid!” she yelled then paused as she looked between the sink in front of
her and the toilet in back. “Why are we in the girls' loo?”*

*Harry slowly turned around and took in his environs. He came to a halt as he faced the
door.*

“*I'm not sure,” he said, eyes glued to the ceiling, “but if I were to wager a guess I
would say that this is not Rowena Ravenclaw's memory. I'm pretty confident that they
didn't have indoor plumbing in the medieval ages. Also she wouldn't be here,” he said
directing their attention up towards the translucent bespeckled girl hovering idly near the
exit.*

*Ron staggered back at the sight of her. “MYRTLE?!”*

*All four teens gawked at the spirit known to them all as Moaning Myrtle. The ghost didn't
acknowledge them whatsoever. She floated on her back laxly as she quietly sang to herself in a
watery, warbling voice.*





“*Yesterday upon the stair*

*I met a man who wasn't there*

*He wasn't there again today*

*I wish, I wish he'd go away..."*





*Over and over again she repeated the meaningless rhyme.*

“*Whose memory do you think this is Harry?” asked Hermione as she came up beside him. She was
dumbfounded by Moaning Myrtle's presence.*

“*I don't know, but we're about to find out,” he said as he looked back at the row of
chipped sinks. He walked over to the one nearest the wall and studied it closely. As he expected he
found the tiny snake scratched into one of the pipes. “I think I hear something coming,” he said
casually despite the funny feeling that he knew exactly what was heading their way.*

*Unfortunately his calmly spoken words had an adverse effect on Malfoy. They freaked him
out.*

“*SHITE! HIDE!” he shouted as he somehow shoved Hermione, Ron, and Harry into the end toilet,
slamming the door behind him and locking it. The tiny space was so cramped that Ron was relegated
to standing on the seat of the bowl to fit. Harry somehow ended up crushed into the side wall while
Hermione and Malfoy's limbs flailed all over the place. Harry was not a happy camper.*

“*You know Malfoy, the memories, they can't hear us. We're not really here,” Harry
gritted out from between clenched teeth.*

“*Oh....right. I...uh...forgot,” the blond mumbled humbly.*

*Ron growled in annoyance.*

“*Ponce!” he shouted down at the idiot.*

“*Arseface!” Malfoy yelled back at him.*

“*Limp di―”*

“*Knock it off!” shrieked Hermione calling them off.*

*The two boys continued to glare, but obeyed her. The ensuing ceasefire provided just enough
quiet for them to hear Myrtle trilling on. They were also able to hear the padding of hard soled
shoes across the stone floor. Harry looked down and watched as a faint shadow drifted by each stall
and came to a halt in front of theirs.*





“*...I met a man who wasn't there*

*He wasn't there again today...”*




“*Do you hear that?” asked Hermione as a hushed, sibilant sound began to fill Harry's
ears, mind...waking nightmares. “It sounds like―”*

“*Parseltongue,” came his dull-toned response as he pushed his way to the door. Brilliant
white light poured over and under it.*

“*I wish, I wish he'd go away...”*

*Harry's response seemed to make the tension in the crowded toilet ratchet into high gear.
He could feel Malfoy's shallow breathing on his neck. The sound of Ron grinding his teeth
together was like sandpaper being rubbed across his raw nerves. Hermione trembled against him like
a terrorized child awaiting the boogeyman outside the door.*

“*What's it saying Harry?” her small, quivering voice whispered.*

*With little emotion, Harry answered her.*

“*'Open for the Heir of Slytherin'.”*

*It was a testament to the insanity of the nail-biting scene that someone as knowledgeable as
Hermione could lose her head so easily. Ron and Malfoy forgot that no one could see or hear them as
well. Harry had to admit that even he was ruffled a bit by the experience. He didn't know what
he had expected to find in Ravenclaw's Pensieve, but this wasn't it.*

*Trying to maintain his composure, Harry decided to put on his game face. He was supposed to
be their leader; it was time for him to lead. He needed to show them that there was nothing to
fear.*

*Not bothering to lower his voice he said, “Someone is trying to open the Chamber of Secrets.
Three guesses who and the first two don't count.”*

*He placed his hand on the sliding lock of the door and prepared to pull it back.*

“*Who is here?” asked a cunningly sly voice that punctuated each word. Ron, Hermione, and
Malfoy weren’t familiar with it. Harry was.*

*His hand jerked away from the lock as if a bolt of electricity had been dispatched through
him. Had...had they been heard? How could they have been heard?!*

*Outside the stalls Myrtle paused long enough to dourly say, “I am, as if you cared.”*

*She then continued her “singing”.*

“*...I met a man who wasn't there...”*

“*I wasn't talking to you Mayhugh,” the intruder said rudely. “Go bother Hornby and get
out!”*





“*He wasn't there again today*

*I wish, I wish he'd go away..."*




“***LEAVE**!” ordered the voice imperiously.*

*Bursting into a rattling, anguished sob, Myrtle flung herself all the way inside the stall
the four teens were hiding in and threw herself into the toilet headfirst. Water splashed up
everywhere causing Hermione to scream at the unexpected action. Ron swore loudly as his foot
slipped and went into the bowl.*

*All went still then. Malfoy had slapped a hand across Hermione's mouth to quiet her and
Ron had swallowed back the rest of his angry curses. They all had lost their minds. Harry had even
begun to believe that the person on the other side of the door knew that they were huddled there.
Common sense had done a runner.*

“*Come on, don't be so shy,” the cajoling voice called out to them. The silver-tongued
tone was strangely compelling, yet awful to the ear. There was an unsated hunger underneath it. “I
know someone is in here. I can hear you. I can smell you,” it said. “You're dripping in fear.
You stink of it. Do you know who you are dealing with? Do you even know who I am?”*

*Harry angled his head to peek through the crack of the door. All he could see was the
swishing of black school robes and the glint of what he thought might be a Prefect or Head's
badge. As the intruder moved out of the way Harry saw the exposed pipe that led into the Chamber.
When he looked up into the cracked mirror over the sinks all he could see was a splintered image of
the person walking over to the very first stall before heading down the line. Theirs would be the
last. Tonelessly the voice began to recite Myrtle's rhyme.*

“*Yesterday upon the stairs...”*

*Ron began to hiccough hysterically. He did his best to surpress them.*

“*I met a man who wasn't there...”*

*Hermione's nails dug into the thin material of Harry's jumper and sank into his
skin.*

“*He wasn't there again today...”*

*Harry closed his eyes, wishing only that this was all just some bad dream.*

**BOOM**

*Harry, Hermione, Malfoy, and Ron jolted backwards, pressing themselves as far away as they
could get, as the wood panel in front of them was blasted off its hinges. They clung to one another
mindlessly in their fright.*

“**AHHHHHHHH!!!!!”**

*Their screams of terror were cut short by the sound of the door banging to the ground. All
four sets of eyes stared out at the tall young man standing in the doorway.*

*Tom Riddle blankly stared back at them.*

*It was the Riddle that Harry first encountered when he was a Second Year. This Riddle was
just a couple of years older and thinner than Harry remembered. His cheeks had already begun to
become sunken giving him a deathly serious countenance, but as Harry recalled, it did not detract
from his good looks. There was however something unnatural about his appearance. Harry likened it
to meeting a mannequin that could walk and talk and looked just like you. But you never forgot that
you were looking at a mannequin no matter how good it was at pretending to be human.*

*Cocking his head, Riddle furrowed his brow as his eyes remained devoid of any reaction. The
dark pupils scanned back and forth but nothing seemed to leave an imprint on him. His wand remained
pointed outward but had no target.*

“*Either that blind sonofabitch can't see us,” muttered Ron, “or he has no clue that
we're even here to begin with.”*

*Harry had started to agree when the sound of squeaking hinges stilled his tongue. Riddle
stepped back from their doorway and looked off to his right. He walked away from them without even
glancing back.*

“*What are you doing here?” he asked someone impersonally.*

*The four teenagers looked between them in confusion. Who could he be talking to?*

*The question was answered shortly when a soft-spoken voice responded.*

“*I was looking for you Tom.”*

*Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy silently filed out of their hiding place and discovered the
owner of the second voice. DuManoir stood outside the first toilet where she had apparently been
concealed during the whole ordeal. Dressed in her crisp white shirt, her yellow and black tie, and
her standard issue black robes with the Head Girl badge proudly pinned and displayed on it, the
girl was visibly different from the one they had just left alone in the South Tower. It was the
eyes that gave it away. Instead of scarily vacant, her purple eyes were filled with worry as she
stared at Riddle.*

“*You found me,” said the Head Boy as he walked over to DuManoir and ran his fingers down the
side of her face. “Didn't I tell you never to come in here? Mayhugh learned the hard way the
price of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't you know I care about you? I would
just hate it if anything ever happened to you.”*

*He had all of the warmth of a brown recluse. The way he brushed a lock of long black hair
behind her ear sickened Harry. Knowing what the monster would eventually do to the girl, his
stomach churned with revulsion.*

“*Come along. Now,” Riddle commanded as he turned towards the entrance to the Chamber fully
expecting her to trail behind him without objection. She did not disappoint.*

“*So that’s the boy who would be Voldemort,” said an awed Hermione as she watched Riddle with
fascination. “He looks so...so...”*

“*Normal,” provided Ron.*

*With the lines of his face set grimly Harry shook his head.*

“*He was never normal.”*

*Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy then turned to him to see what their next move would be. Riddle and
DuManoir had already disappeared from sight and the entrance was closing. But Harry didn't want
to follow after them. The choice however was taken out of his hands in the next second when the
world dropped out from under him. The bathroom dissolved away as if it had been only a mirage. He
could hear the muted sound of Hermione calling his name but he couldn't find her. He
couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. There was nothing but darkness...*

*And then everything came into focus again. He was laid out on a hard floor, feeling as though
he had just been put through the spin cycle. Myrtle's bathroom was gone, replaced with the one
place in the world Harry had hoped never to see again.*

“***RONNIE**?! **RONNIE**?!”*

*Hermione's frightened voice cut through Harry’s consciousness. As he sat up he looked
over to find her and Ron huddled together behind him. The dumbstruck look on Ron's face told
Harry that he knew exactly where they were as well. He was almost as green as the gloom that hung
over them. Hermione kept looking to Harry for some explanation for Ron's near catatonia, but he
gave her none. He found Malfoy standing right next to them. The monkey faced statue of Salazar
Slytherin against the back wall had him transfixed. The young blond wizard reverently gazed up at
it, ensnared by its sheer grandeur.*

“*This is the Chamber of Secrets, isn't it?” he asked solemnly. It was the way a person
would speak when walking on hallowed ground.*

*Harry saw no reason to answer a question that the arse damn well knew the answer to. So he
didn't. For the time being he also chose to look away from the young lovers that sat on
Slytherin's enormous left foot. He was feeling discouraged. And crabby. He had let Hermione
talk him into this wild goose chase, had been scared nearly witless(literally), and instead of
catching a glimpse of the revered Founder's memories he had been subjected to one from Tom
Riddle. This whole experiment had been a waste of time!*

*Then again, how could they have been seeing one of Riddle's memories if they were already
standing in the lavatory when the future dark lord walked in, Harry wondered.*

*Before he could think on it further he caught the shape of some shadowy form scuttle past the
dimly lit exit that led out of the main chamber. It was too big to be a rat, far too small to be
the basilisk. Harry whipped his glasses from his face and blinked into the looming
darkness.*

“*Are you going to tell me why you were spying on me, dear heart?”*

*Tom Riddle's flat, emotionless voice ended up pulling Harry's attention back to
him.*

*With her head bowed as though awaiting some form of punishment, DuManoir mumbled, “Professor
Dumbledore came up to see us. 'E wished to speak to ze 'ead Girl and Boy. I told 'im
zat you were not feeling well and ‘ad gone to bed.”*

“*What did the old conjurer want?”*

*He began to play with her hair.*

“*'E wanted to notify us zat Saturday's 'ogsmeade visit ‘as been canceled,”
DuManoir told him.*

“*Oh?”*

“*Oiu. All of ze 'eads of 'ouse 'ave been informed. Someone was killed in ze
village. Monsieur Gingold was found dead in 'is store zis evening.”*

*A slick smirk creased Riddle's face. “How sad.”*

“*You said you were going to see 'im today, non?” DuManoir asked carefully. “You said you
were going into town during your free period to Gingold's Gallery. Did you Tom?”*

*He slowly nodded. “I did. The peddler even closed his curiosity shoppe for me after
some...persuading. And do you know what happened?”*

*DuManoir shook her head.*

*Riddle reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the jeweled hair ornament.*

“*He confirmed what I already knew,” he said in an exaggerated honeyed voice as he affixed the
transfigured Pensieve into her hair. He pulled back his hand to admire his handiwork. “Your family
heirloom is priceless my dear. It once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. You're special.”*

“*Does zat mean...am I good enough for you now Tom?” she anticipatively asked. Her eyes shined
bright with worship as she smiled.*

“*Not quite. But soon. Soon.” Riddle patted her head and stood up. DuManoir grabbed for one of
his hands to stop him from walking away.*

“*Tom, did you...you did not do something to Monsieur Gingold, did you?” she hesitantly
asked.*

*Riddle's facile smile hardened.*

“*Why would you ask a thing like that?”*

*Despite the warning signs that she should stop, DuManoir continued on.*

“*You were probably ze last person to see 'im alive.”*

*Riddle grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her up to her feet.*

“*Did you tell your precious Dumbledore that?! Did you?!”*

*Riddle's well maintained mask had fallen revealing the sleeping demon inside him. His
face was contorted with outrage. The girl should have broken apart from the force with which he
shook her. Her head snapped back and forth violently. The fear that it would come off if he kept at
it surfaced in Harry's head until the fiend finally stopped.*

“*NO! No Tom! Je t'aime! Je t'aime! I would never betray you! NEVER!” she pitifully
swore as she stumbled back from him.*

“*I did what I had to do!” proclaimed Riddle. “Gingold threatened to tell everyone about the
Pensieve. He said he wanted to write papers about it; take it to museums. Then everyone would find
out just how important you are. I couldn't let that happen. It would spoil all of my
plans.”*

“*What plans?” she asked.*

*The question caught him off guard. A blank look passed across his face before being replaced
by a deceptively charming smile.*

“*For us. All of my plans for us,” he told her as he pinched one of her cherubic
cheeks.*

“*Us? Oh Tom!” she blissfully cried as she circled her arms around him and squeezed.*

*Riddle looked like he could barely stomach her touch. He weakly laid a hand on her
back.*

“’*Ow can I prove to you just ‘ow much I love you?” she asked as she snuggled closer to the
Head Boy. “I only want to make you 'appy Tom. Eet is what I was born for.”*

*The heartfelt admittance seemed to overwhelm Riddle. It was like he didn't know how to
handle the unconditional love that the girl so blindly offered, didn't know what to do with it.
His arms went around her unwillingly it seemed. DuManoir sunk further into the embrace.*

“*I’m scared Tom. Ever since you...you...'urt Myrtle you just 'ave not been ze same.
But I know zat eet was not your fault; an accident. I'm scared for you. I'm scared for what
you might become,” she said.*

*Riddle's arms slowly lowered from her.*

*In a crisp tone he asked, “And what might that be?”*

*DuManoir knew right away that she had said the wrong thing.*

“*I...I do not know,” she stammered trying to recover. She cupped his chin lovingly. “But if
you will let me, I will save you. We can both go to Professor Dumbledore and―”*

“*Dumbledore?!”*

“*Or...or...ze ‘eadmaster and tell ‘im―”*

*Riddle wrapped his two hands around DuManoir's delicate neck and began to squeeze. Harry,
Ron, and surprisingly enough Malfoy all seemed to come to attention at the sight of the appalling
abuse. The three young wizards looked on at the scene helplessly knowing that there wasn't a
thing they could do about it. Hermione just stared at Riddle and DuManoir with a look of dawning
horror on her face.*

“*Tell him what?” asked Riddle forebodingly.*

*DuManoir clawed at his hands to free her.*

“*You're 'urting me,” she struggled to say.*

*He gave her a good shake.*

“*Tell him what?” he asked once again. His eyes glowed sinisterly as he tightened his grip.
She began to beat at his arms and face as she fought for air. “Just what have you been telling dear
Dumbledore?”*

“*Nothing!”*

“*Just what do you tell him? Do you tell him all of my secrets?”*

“*I can't breathe Tom!” she cried weakly.*

“*Do you lie on your back for him like the dirty little whore that you are? Do you open your
legs for him? While the two of you are rutting, just what sweet nothings do you whisper in his
ears? Do you tell him about me? Do you? Do You?!”*

*The robotic way in which his inflectionless voice never went up, nor down made the scene that
much more horrific.*

*When he removed his fingers from her throat she seemed to just collapse to the ground,
wheezing and gasping for air. Harry could see the fingerprints stamped into her pale white skin. He
thought he would lose his gorge when the miserable creature clutched at the hem of his pants leg.
The sick fuck just shook her off.*

“*Know your place,” he told her.*

*Still trying to fill air into her lungs, DuManoir deflated into a pathetic heap and began to
cry.*

“*I love you so much Tom,” she tearfully said. Her voice sounded feeble and waterlogged. “I
would do anything for you. Anything!” she insisted. “Why do you not believe me? What can I do to
make you believe me?”*

*She rose to her knees and lifted her purple eyes to look at him.*

“*Dans tes bras c'est mon destin. Don't you know I belong to you?”*

*A pleased look seemed to smooth the features of Riddle’s face.*

“*Yes,” he began. “Yes you do, oh Daughter of Rowena. On that we can agree.” He leaned forward
and petted her. “I told you that you were special, didn't I? Soon I'm going to make you
into something that defies all words. I'm going to bestow a great and powerful honor upon
you.”*

*Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop.*

*Oh no...Merlin please, no...*

“*Really? Pour moi?” DuManoir asked adoringly. She stood up.*

*Riddle nodded his head.*

“*You are going to have a piece of me forever. Doesn't that sound nice?”*

*An anguished scream tore from Hermione's throat.*

*DuManoir wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. She pressed her face into
his chest.*

“*Oh I love you so much Tom!”*

*Riddle's falsely benevolent smile warped into something truly terrible to behold.
Unfortunately for DuManoir, she would never get to see it.*

“*Show me.”*

*DuManoir stood back from him and obediently sunk to her knees.*

*At the sound of a zipper being pulled down, Hermione scrambled over to Harry and grabbed at
him frantically.*

“*Make it stop Harry! We've seen enough. MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!”*

“*I'm not sure how to. I don't know how...” he had begun to say when the room began to
fade away again. With Hermione holding on to him they seemed to rise out of the abyss of the
Chamber.*

*The next thing Harry knew they were all back in the South Tower of Hogwarts once more. He
opened his eyes to find Hermione crying onto his chest as he held her. They were sitting on the
Common Room couch. For a second Harry thought that they had just entered another memory, Riddle and
DuManoir had lived here once during their final year at Hogwarts, but the sight of the book Malfoy
had been reading out of before their adventure had begun settled his fears.*

“*Is it just me,” began Ron who was sitting in the same chair that he had been playing chess
in earlier, “or does anyone else here think that the Pensieve isn't what we've been looking
for all of this time?” He looked wiped. He leaned against the stone wall and stared listlessly at
Harry and Hermione.*

*Hermione began to sniffle.*

“*Oh well spotted Wesley, bravo. It's good to see that you've caught up with the rest
of the class,” Malfoy sniped from the chair across from the redhead. The Pensieve sat innocuously
between the two wizards.*

“*Fuck you Malfoy!” barked Ron.*

*Malfoy gave him the finger. The Pureblood had been picking up such lovely Muggle habits since
taking up with them.*

*Ron tried to explain himself. “I mean who would have thought that a person could be a
Horcrux?”*

*Harry felt Hermione's whole body become rigid. She looked up at him with such
heartbreaking intensity, then looked away. She pulled out of his hold and scooted over to the far
side of the couch.*

“*Ron, what's your point?” Harry asked impatiently turning back to him.*

*Ron's freckled face frowned.*

“*Dunno. Guess I'm just trying to make conversation.*

“*Well don't,” snapped Harry. He didn't like how upset Hermione was getting. Ron
however just wouldn't give it up.*

“*So um...what do we do now? I mean, about the Horcrux. What do we do?” Ron asked fretfully as
he looked at the two people who usually had all of the answers.*

*If he hadn't been so heartsick Harry probably would have laughed at the expectant
expression on his friend's face. Truth was he had no answers to give. None that he wanted to
talk about at the moment.*

*Naturally Malfoy would be the one to push the issue.*

“*Oh I think it's quite obvious to everyone in this room just what has to be done with the
Ravenclaw Horcrux,” he sneeringly said.*

*He looked from face to face saving Harry's for last.*

“*We get rid of it.”*




Harry hadn’t needed to alert Hermione to his presence when he finally flew down to her; it was
like she instinctually knew that he was there. She just turned her tear streaked face towards him
and watched silently as he landed his broom and approached her. No words were spoken, he just
opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. Any questions about wands and what have you were
shelved for the time being. All he thought of was comforting his friend. The lake had obviously
brought back some painful memories. He simply turned her away from the water and they made the long
trek back up to the castle in silence.

When they reached the doors near the courtyard they ran into Lavender. She walked with them back
to the Entrance Hall where they eventually met up with Ron, Charlie, George, and their two dates;
Bernadette and Pristine. Lavender had excused herself to the loo when the three brothers began to
complain about the watered down drinks they had been knocking back all night. According to
Ron's questionable accounting he had swilled at least eight glasses of champagne that evening
and wasn't nearly as pissed as he would like to be. At the time Harry had been tentatively
broaching the subject of Apparating Hermione home since Luna and Draco were nowhere to be seen, but
when Ron opened up his big mouth he ended up spoiling all of Harry's prospects. Ron was bored
with the Ball and wanted to go whoop it up somewhere else. He wasn’t ready to call it a night yet.
Charlie and George (both only slightly as buzzed as their brother) had agreed, as did Glinda and
Fred when they finally sauntered up together. Hannah and Ernie, who had been passing by, overheard
the conversation and suggested that they move the festivities over to their pub and close it for a
private get together. The Weasleys had all thought it was a capital idea. Although Harry had been
hoping that Hermione would beg off so he could take her home, she instead seemed receptive to the
whole thing. Dismayed at being thwarted yet again, Harry had ended up reluctantly agreeing along
with everyone else.

In all, nearly fifty or so of their “closest” friends had stumbled their way drunkenly in the
dark towards The Three Broomsticks for a V-Ball after party. Once there, almost all of the late
night revelers commenced to getting rat-arsed drunk for the next couple of hours. Harry chose
instead to deposit himself into a booth in the back and there he had remained for the rest of the
night.




“So your wife Zabini...”

“Amparo,” the wizard said as he tilted his head back and sneered at Harry haughtily. Zabini
probably figured that the nauseating way he looked down his nose while flaring his nostrils out at
people was intimidating and lordly. In Harry's opinion it made the prat share a rather
unflattering resemblance with a Komodo dragon.

“Amparo, yes, um...she went to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, trying to make polite conversation. Well,
if one wanted to be technical about it, he was fishing.

“No actually. Amparo attended an all girls' boarding school in Nova Scotia. They all read
Sappho for kicks and diddled each other in the dark after lights out,” he answered with a
infuriatingly straight face. “Why are you so curious to know *Auror Potter*?”

Harry forced himself not to swear at him. Merlin was Zabini a humorless twat! But Harry
swallowed his irritation and tried to be civil.

“I was just wondering how Hermione knew her is all,” he answered truthfully.

Zabini raised his glass to his mouth and took a painfully long pause to drink the rest of his
cordial down. Harry was sure that the bastard was just drawing out the action as long as he could
to purposely wind him up.

“Well, from what I've been able to ascertain, my wife made your dear little Granger's
acquaintance only yesterday in Diagon,” he finally said after placing his glass back on the
table.

This was news to Harry. He sat up straight in his seat as he leaned forward.

“Hermione was in Diagon Alley yesterday?” he asked, brow furrowed. She hadn’t told him that she
had plans to do any of her shopping there.

“Yes, her and that hellcat the Weasley twin married. The vulgar woman made the
introductions.”

“Glinda you mean?”

Harry didn't particularly care for how Zabini spoke of Glinda. Sure she could be a
bit...brash, maybe even slightly obnoxious at times, but she was still family. Besides Glinda was
rather fun to have around for a few laughs as long as that acerbic wit and tart tongue of hers
wasn't turned against you. But Glinda was a Muggle so it wasn't all that surprising that
Zabini would look down his nose on her, pure blooded snot that he was.

“Oh, is that her name?” the Slytherin disdainfully asked. “I just know she's wrapped up in
the POWW alongside Amparo.”

For a second Harry didn't quite make the connection. In his work with the Cadmus case he had
become quite familiar with the Muggle support group as well as some of its smaller offshoots, but
what the POWW had to do with Zabini's wife was beyond his―

“WAIT!” shouted Harry as comprehension suddenly hit him like a brick to the head. “YOUR
WIFE'S A MUGGLE?!”

Unfairly taking Harry’s shock as disparagement, Zabini's eyes nearly turned into slits as he
glowered at him.

“Merlin, you **are** sharp *Auror Potter*. Can't get anything past you, now can
we?”

The dig rolled off of Harry's back. In truth he was still too shocked by the revelation to
be bothered with it. Blaise Zabini was married to a Muggle?! Just how in the hell did that
happen?!

Swallowing his surprise, Harry decided to probe further.

“So in other words Hermione and Amparo have only just met then? They never knew each other
before yesterday.”

Harry's eyes strayed towards the two women again. For strangers that had just been
introduced they were acting awfully chummy.

Zabini stiffly nodded.

“Correct, though they seem to have become fast friends already. Amparo even met your dear little
Granger in town for lunch today. Of course she called it a working lunch but―”

“Working lunch?” Now that caught Harry's attention.

“Amparo is a solicitor,” explained Zabini, a genuine smile forming on his face for the first
time since he had sat down. He looked towards his wife. “A highly paid one, at that. She charges
through the teeth for everything,” he added with more than a hint of pride.

Having caught his wife's eye across the room, Amparo slyly winked at her husband and waggled
her fingers at him. The spouses shared a private look with one another before Hermione said
something that drew Amparo's interest back to her. To Harry, for perhaps the first time since
knowing the man, Zabini had almost appeared...human in that moment. Of course that promptly
vanished once the prig turned back around to face him.

“I'll tell you one thing, if your dear little Granger is seeing Amparo for something
she's paying a hippogriff's ransom for it. Of that you can be assured. Now if you don't
mind, I believe I see some business associates of mines I'd rather be conversing with.”

Zabini rose from his seat and straightened his robes. Then, after giving Harry an annoyingly
jeering look, reached into one of his pockets and tossed a galleon on the table

“Here, *Auror Potter*, why don't you treat yourself to something on me,” he gibingly
said before turning and walking away.

Twat-face!

Harry watched as the man crossed over to the bar and stopped at his wife's side, barely
acknowledging Hermione. He whispered something in the woman's ear, dropped a quick kiss on her
cheek, and sauntered away to join a table filled with a few quiffy looking characters playing a
round of wizard's faro. Harry's eyes only lingered on them for a moment before they came
back to rest on Hermione and her new friend again. She appeared to be completely absorbed in
whatever Zabini's wife was saying to her. Deciding that he was a bit curious as to what had his
best friend's rapt attention, Harry decided to discover the answer for himself. After quaffing
down the rest of his ale in one swallow and dropping his mug, Harry got up and turned towards the
bar. Stealthily edging his way around the counter, he slowly crept up near where Hermione was
standing. Zabini's wife, who had just removed her oval framed glasses and was wiping at their
lenses, was speaking to her in muted tones. Neither of them noticed Harry hovering nearby at
first.

“...so first thing Monday morning I'll file the petition and we'll officially get the
ball rolling.” Harry heard Zabini's wife say as she mole-ishly squinted up at Hermione. He had
an unobstructed view of the unremarkable looking, stern faced young woman but had to settle for
staring at the back of Hermione’s head or glimpsing her through the mirror. “I'll make a few
calls to all of the concerned parties and in a few months time...”

Hermione lowered the pumpkin juice in her hand quickly. Her grim reflection in the glass shook
its head wildly at the woman.

“Months?! Oh no, no, no. This thing needs to be over now!” she almost shrilled before becoming
mindful of her volume. “Whatever it takes, however much it takes, you have to make it all go away
as if it never happened Amparo.”

Make it all go away? What was it that Hermione needed the other women to make “go away”, Harry
wondered. Was Hermione really a client of Zabini's wife as the wizard had intimated earlier?
Harry had already come to the conclusion that his best friend was in some sort of trouble, but now
things were becoming thornier. Just what in the world was Hermione seeing a solicitor for? Or was
it instead Harmony Darlington who needed the legal advice?

Sliding her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose, Zabini's wife reached out her other
hand to rest over Hermione's as it rigidly gripped the bar. Slowly the tension in it eased and
she reached for her beaker of juice again. Hermione greedily began to drink from it as her
companion looked on, genuinely concerned.

“I'm good at what I do Hermione,” the woman said confidently in a well practiced, reassuring
voice that sought to soothe its listener. “Sure the circumstances are a bit twisty and I’ve never
handled something quite like this before, but I know that any judgment would fall in our favor. The
fact that you are an expat doesn't hurt us either. However it will take time. Rome wasn't
built in a day after all.”

She smiled at Hermione encouragingly and it lightened up her appearance considerably.

“Look, Blaise's grate in his office is open access. Why don't you stop by the house
tomorrow for Low tea? We can discuss this further and—”

Harry hadn't been able to turn his back fast enough. Amparo's brown eyes had simply been
focused on Hermione intently one second and in the next had shifted ever so slightly to land on
him.

“Auror Potter?”

Pumpkin juice shot out of Hermione's mouth like a geyser. The empty ceramic cup fell from
her hand. Because of the many charms Hannah was shrewd enough to have on all of the pub's
drinkware, it didn't shatter. It simply hit the counter and rolled, none the worse for wear as
the bartender came and reclaimed it. The same could not be said for Hermione. She was bent forward,
gasping and wheezing desperately to catch her breath. At a loss for what to do, Amparo gingerly hit
her across her back and shoulders.

“Anapneo.”

As soon as Harry's spell hit Hermione, she straightened and took in a lungful of air like a
woman who had been drowning.

“Oh Amparo! Oh, oh I'm s-so s-sorry,” she stammered frantically as soon as she had caught
her breath. She reached across the bar to retrieve a napkin and began to wipe at the pumpkin juice
that she had hosed all over the front of Zabini's wife's austere robes. She made sure to
avoid all eye contact with Harry and concentrated all her attention on the task.

“It's alright. Don't trouble yourself too much over it,” said Amparo, unconcerned over
the soaking.

Hermione was so wound up that she didn't notice that her intentions made the mess worse. She
only succeeded in blotting the juice into the material causing a large stain to form.

“Oh, oh I'm so terribly, terribly sorry! I didn't mean to!” cried Hermione as she
continued her fruitless efforts.

“Don't worry about it Hermione. I'm not mad,” Amparo tried to convince her.

“But your robes!”

Harry stepped between them. “Ladies, maybe I can be of some assistance,” he said as he pointed
his still drawn wand at the ruined robes. “Evanesco.”

Once the spots faded away, Harry returned his wand to its holster.

“That should do,” he said as he looked at his work.

Amparo smiled brightly at him.

“Auror Potter, how chivalrous of you!”

From the corner of his eyes he could see Hermione's ill at ease expression. It was quite
obvious to Harry that she didn't want him anywhere near Amparo, probably fearing what the woman
might say in his presence. Zabini's wife however didn't appear to notice the air of tension
that had suddenly descended down upon them all.

“Thank you so much,” she continued, “but as I tried to explain to Hermione all the fuss
wasn't necessary. I had every intention of burning these damned robes as soon as I got home
tonight. Although I have no complaint against her skill, I think I’m a little more Stella McCartney
than Madam Malkin if you understand me,” she said with a good-natured smile.

He didn’t, but since Hermione woodenly tittered along with her at the apparent joke, Harry
forced a smile in the name of politeness.

“Amparo Leon by the way,” she said as she reached out a hand.

Hermione dolefully shook her head.

“Apparently my nerves as well as my manners are shot. Amparo, I'm sure you have heard of
Harry Potter,” she said looking between them. Harry took the proffered hand.

“Scads. It's a pleasure to finally meet the famous hero behind the name,” said Amparo as
Harry blushed at the flattery. She gave his hand a firm shake and Harry couldn't help but note
a certain weightiness to the woman’s character. She was regal without being arrogant, dignified
without being overbearing. It was all so very appealing and made Harry rethink his initial
lackluster impression.

“Harry this is Amparo Leon. You remember Blaise Zabini from Hogwarts don't you? Well this is
his—”

“Wife, yes I know. We shared a drink earlier. He told me all about his brilliant bride.”

The news seemed to please Amparo; Hermione...not so much.

“Did he now?” asked a delighted Amparo as she let go his hand.

“Yes,” Harry said as he purposely reached over Hermione to take a few cashews out of the bowl on
the other side of her. “He also happened to mention the fact that you were a solicitor.”

He gave Hermione an off-handed glance that was anything but, before shuffling the slightly stale
nuts into his mouth. By the way that Hermione's hands began nervously fluttering about it was
obvious that she had found the news disconcerting.

“And all this time I thought that you and Blaise didn't get along,” Amparo said as she
curiously looked to where her husband was and turned back to face Harry. “Are you and Blaise
friends?”

Harry briefly wondered if there was ever a polite way of telling a person that they were married
to a pompous prat.

Instead he gravely answered, “Your husband and I aren’t even acquaintances I'm afraid Ms.
Leon.” He somehow managed to sound disappointed over the fact. “Never were unfortunately. We barely
even knew each other in school, to be honest.”

“Harry and I were in a different house from Blaise's,” chimed Hermione.

“Oh, right. Blaise explained to me all of this house business once. Sounded rather silly,”
Amparo said dismissively with a wave of a hand. “You can just call me Amparo, by the way. I
certainly hope that no old schoolyard grudges between you and my husband will deter us from getting
to know each other better Auror Potter,” she told him as she looked directly into his eyes. “After
all we do share a person of common interest.”

Harry didn't miss Hermione's quick intake of breath. Harry nonchalantly turned to look
at her as she willed herself to stay calm, nearly biting her bottom lip off in the process. Her
eyes bounced from Amparo to Harry as though she was waiting in fear of what might be said next.

“Is that so?” Harry asked with a smug little smile on his face as he kept his focus on Hermione.
Merlin was she cute when she got all flustered.

He took a few more cashews, tipped back his head, and funneled them into his mouth.

Amparo nodded her head as she answered him.

“Yes, Ptolemy Cadmus.”

It was a shame that the pumpkin juice was gone, it would have gone well with the chewed up mush
that Harry spat out onto Amparo's clothes.

Looking down at the mess she dryly muttered, “This just doesn't appear to be my night, does
it?”

Harry smiled at Amparo apologetically as he vanished the stains. Hermione however frowned as she
looked confusedly between him and the other woman. Hermione's forehead was puckered in deep
thought and a clear query was stamped across her features.

Don't ask it; please don't ask it! Those thoughts screamed through out Harry's head
as he watched Hermione's mouth work open to form the question he was dreading to answer. All of
his effort to keep the details of his most troubling case from her had ultimately come to nothing
in the end.

“Who's Ptolemy Cadm−”

“Hermione!”

Harry instantly let out the breath he was holding. Saved by the witch!

Amparo, Harry, and Hermione all turned to watch a plump blonde with a scowling face march right
up to them.

“Merlin and Morrígan woman, how long does it take you to get a bloody drink?” asked Susan as she
came to a halt in front of Hermione. “You said you were only going to the bar to get another glass,
what has taken you so long?”

“I...I...”

Susan folded her arms across her chest imposingly.

“Don't you know I need you? It's bad enough that I'm surrounded by them all day at
Mungo's, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let a table of militant pregnant witches
push me around while I'm off the clock,” said Susan in a jocular, half-serious tone while
eyeing the table full of couples in the middle of the room where she had just been sitting. The
women in the group all laughed and catcalled after the blonde.

“Hannah, Padma, and Li are driving me insane! If I hear one more story about tender nipples
I'll go spare! Sorry Harry,” she added as an afterthought.

Harry chuckled. Susan Bones-Goldstein was a direct one.

“Quite alright Suze.”

After Harry took a moment to courteously inquire if Susan and Amparo had ever met before (they
had), Susan dramatically stated her reason for intruding on their conversation.

“I need someone else to tell those hormone heavy harpies that it's perfectly normal and
respectable for a woman our age to be content without having a couple of toddlers hanging about our
necks,” she said to the three of them as she forcibly latched onto Hermione's wrist. “Harry,
you don't mind if I borrow her do you?” Susan asked him.

Mind? Harry would have dropped down on one knee right then and there and professed his eternal
devotion to the good Healer if it wouldn’t have caused too much of a scene. Instead he smiled
inwardly. Not only had their old school mate distracted Hermione from asking anything further about
Ptolemy Cadmus, but with his best friend's attention diverted elsewhere, he would be free to
pump Zabini's wife for any information Hermione might have told her. Things were looking
up.

“Be my guest,” he happily told Susan. He tried to train his face not to look too smug as he said
it.

Hermione looked back at him and Amparo helplessly as Susan dragged her away.

Harry glanced back at Amparo. She had turned around to the bar and was signaling to Johannes,
The Broomstick’s barkeep. When Johannes came and took her request Harry decided to join her by
having another mug of ale himself. As the bartender set about preparing their orders, Harry racked
his brain for ways to engage Amparo in friendly discourse without it sounding like some sort of
interrogation. The woman was a solicitor after all; Harry knew that he had to be on his toes around
her. If Hermione was Amparo's client there wasn't much that she would (or for that matter
could) tell him. But if he was lucky, and she was juiced enough, she might just let a few things
slip.

“You know, until a few days ago I felt as similarly as your friend there does,” Amparo said,
effortlessly striking up conversation again and saving Harry the disgrace of trying to make idle
chit chat. Johannes came and placed a cocktail glass and mug in front of them along with the
checks. She smiled at the bartender in thanks and turned to look at Harry as she raised her drink.
“My career had been my primary focus," she said before taking a long sip from her glass. “And
then I found out I was pregnant.”

Harry realized right away that what he had mistook for wine was in actuality sparkling cider she
was drinking.



He hurriedly tried to offer a few kind words. “I guess congratulations are in order. You and
your husband must be so pleased.”





She set her glass down on the counter.





“Oh I haven't told Blaise yet. Actually Auror Potter, besides Healer Bones-Goldstein and my
own private physician, you are the only other person that knows my secret. In fact, I haven't
even told my parents.”





The information took Harry by surprise. Why was she telling him all of this? He wasn't so
sure where any of this was headed, but he decided to play it safe and hear her out.





Harry slowly nodded his head and said, “I see.”





Though he didn't really. The fact did not miss her attention.





“Do you?” she asked with a wan smile. When Harry offered no further response she asked him
another question. “Have you ever met my mother-in-law?”



“I can't say that I've ever had the pleasure,” he replied. He raised his mug to his lips
and proceeded to swallow the whiskey-like malt down. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth
as the brew burned inside his chest, Harry set the mug back on the counter.



“Well when Blaise told her that we were going to get married she threatened to disinherit him.
Sadly for her, she found out that everything was in his name and that he was the one who held the
purse strings. Even then she still told him that our marriage would be cursed and that any child
born from us would be a walking atrocity.”





Harry smiled bitterly. “Well isn't she a regular old softie."





Amparo chuckled lightly.





“Quite. But you see that kind of hatred comes with the territory. When Blaise and I decided to
marry I knew what I was in for. It wasn't an easy decision, but I still made it. I figured that
as long as I could see it coming, that kind of blatant prejudice, I could protect me and mines from
it. But do you know what my very first thought was when my doctor told me that I was expecting?”






Harry shook his head gravely. The candor in which she spoke was most captivating.





“Will my child live to take his first steps or say her first words; that was all I could think
about.”





With a furrowed brow, he concernedly asked, “But why? Is something the matter?”





Amparo smiled sadly. “Yes, something is the matter. I have a hard time thinking about baby names
or waiting lists for fancy schools when all I can wonder is am I next...are me and my husband
next.”





Harry immediately understood her.





“You're talking about Cadmus.”



“He is still out there and as long as that is the case there will be many couples such as Blaise
and myself who will be left to ponder that very question over and over again. That's no way to
live.”

“I understand your concern.”

“That's all very well and good, but what are you doing about it?" she asked. “Please
understand Auror Potter that my intention is not to sound condemnatory, but you should be aware
that there is a growing faction amongst the POWW membership that believes that the British Ministry
is purposely being negligent in its pursuit of the blood bigot Cadmus.”

This was news to Harry. He knew there were grumblings in certain sectors that it was taking far
too long to bring the suspect in, but he wasn't aware that relations between the Ministry and
the public had broken down so severely. He stared at her in outright shock.

“There's even been a rumor floated about that the exterminations of the Moon family, the
Pembrokes, and one or two of the other couples were in actuality part of an elaborate plot by your
government to weed out all possible Muggle 'taint' from some of the oldest English
wizarding lines.”

Harry was horrified at the revelation. His jaw went slack at the very idea. He started to offer
some form of protestation, but Amparo cut him off before he could speak the words.

“People are scared Auror Potter,” she said resignedly. “They are willing to believe almost
anything at this point. No matter how nonsensical it all may sound any explanation is far better
than none.”

“Amparo, nothing could be further from the truth,” Harry firmly told her. “Cadmus is my case and
apprehending him is one of the Ministry's top priorities. I would swear an oath by that. As
long as I am in charge his days are numbered. Personally I have my own reasons to want to put the
bastard away for good.”

Harry's eyes had drifted towards the table where Hermione sat laughing with some of their
old school friends, completely unaware of the longing look that Harry couldn't help but direct
towards her. She wasn't the only one who missed it.

“Of course you do,” said Amparo as he turned to look at her again, “your brother and
sister-in-law. How could I forget?”

For a moment, Harry was confused at her meaning.

“Oh...oh right, Fred and Glinda,” he said once catching on. He was ashamed that his wife's
brother and wife had been the furthest thing from his mind. “Please believe me Amparo when I say
that I will not rest until Ptolemy Cadmus has been apprehended and sentenced to the full extent of
our laws. You have my word,” he said earnestly.

A pleased smile graced her lips. “Funny, Blaise had always described you as some ineffectual
pretty boy. I guess I have to tell him that he got it all wrong.” She drank the rest of her glass
down.

Harry tried to scowl at the joke, but her jovial demeanor made it hard to. He might not like
Zabini, but his wife was alright.

“You know, you really should tell your husband the good news,” said Harry after finishing up his
ale.

“Oh I will. Blaise's birthday is in another week. Do you think he'll like his present
much?” she asked with an impish look.

“I'm sure he will love it,” said Harry sincerely smiling at her.

Amparo smiled back, then began rooting around in her handbag for money to pay for her drink.
Unsure of whether or not the Muggle woman carried any wizarding money on her, Harry took it upon
himself to pay both of their tabs. She smiled gratefully at him as he settled up the bill with
Johannes.

“Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “It's been a pleasure chatting with you Auror Potter.
I hope soon we'll be able to speak again under better circumstances.”

She reached into her purse and handed him a thick business card decorated in golden
filigree.

“Perhaps we could have you out to Carregbryn some day. The house is a bit ostentatious but I
think you would like Newcastle Emlyn. In my not so humble opinion, it quite possibly is some of the
most beautiful Welsh countryside to be had. Blaise and I would love to have you.”

When Harry quirked an eyebrow up at the declaration she laughed.

“Well I know that I would love to have you. You have my card. If you ever need to discuss
anything feel free to call. I would be happy to help in any way if I can.”

As Amparo walked away to join her husband, Harry studied the business card in his hand. Along
with a very sedate looking photo of the woman, it gave Amparo’s name, the name and location of her
firm in Vauxhall, as well as its offices in Belfast and Edinburgh. There was also two separate
contact numbers listed, one to her personal mobile. Harry placed the card in his robe pocket.
Although his brief conversation with the well-informed solicitor hadn't gone the way he had
hoped, he would definitely be calling on Amparo Leon in the near future.

A noise to his left caught Harry's attention. The group at the table that Hermione had been
sitting at had begun to gather their belongings and disband for the night. In the midst of the
throng headed towards the door was Hermione chatting away with Susan and her husband Anthony. Harry
had just begun to cross the floor to follow them when he ran into a two headed roadblock.

“Whoa there Harry!”

“Where's the fire mate?”

Harry looked between the Weasley twins and tried his damnedest not to look as anxious as he
felt.

“Fred, George, if you don't mind,” he said in a deceivingly calm manner as he tried to side
step the two of them. Instead of getting the message, Fred and George closed ranks around him.

“But that's just it Harry, we do mind,” said George.

Fred's head bobbed up and down in agreement.

“We have a few things to discuss with you,” he said. “I know you've had a lot on your mind
lately...”

Fred glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. Harry watched as Hermione passed through it.

“...but George and I figured that you might like to hear what we have to say.”

Harry felt his displeasure increase. If he didn't hurry up and catch her, Hermione would
disappear off any second. He had wasted so much time playing spy that he still hadn't found out
if she had his mum's wand with her for sure.

Harry gave George an impatient glare as he asked, “Can't it keep 'til later?”

George shook his head.

“Hmm, 'fraid not,” he said as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder and turned him
away from the door. “Our baby brother is about to be tied into knots.

Harry frowned. “Don’t you mean he’s tying the knot?”

“Considering who he's marrying the two are practically one in the same,” said Fred as he
took up the spot on the other side of his brother-in-law. “He deserves a proper stag night to
remember just what he's going to be giving up once he marries the shy and retiring Mrs.
Brown-Pye.”

“Stag night?”

Harry looked between the twins dazedly. What were they talking about a stag night for? Ron's
Seclusion was days awa—

“Oh fuck!”

Harry felt as low as a slug’s underbelly. And that was pretty low! With all the worrying he had
been doing running after Hermione these past few days he had unconscionably let a few things
slip.

“Forget that it was Wednesday, did you?” Fred asked him.

Harry looked down to the ground ashamedly. He was a lousy best mate and best man.

“Well take heart Harry! It's Fred and George to the rescue!”

“My brother and I are going to take everything out of your hands,” piped up George.

Harry looked at both of them gratefully.

“Wow, that's awful nice of you guys!” he exclaimed before he remembered who he was talking
to. “Wait, why are you two being so nice? What's in it for you?” he asked as he looked them
both over warily.

“Harry, that hurts! How could you think that me and my twin would stoop so low as to try and
turn a small profit by charging a reasonable admission to the festivities?” asked George with a
fake little pout on his face. It was strangely reminiscent of the look Ginny had been so fond of
giving him during the first few years of their marriage when she would try and wheedle him into
getting her way about something. Back then he had thought it cute. Harry almost shuddered at the
freaky comparison now. Last thing he wanted to picture was George Weasley in his bed.

Shaking the image off, Harry said straightforwardly, “I didn't.”

George was astounded.

“You didn't? And here I thought you were smarter than that Harry!”

Harry decided that the best thing to do was to humor Fred and George or he would never get shot
of them.

“So I take it that you two want to try and plan Ron's bachelor party?”

Fred and George looked across Harry at each other.

“TRY?!” they both bellowed at him.

“We've already come up with a theme!” cried George enthusiastically.

Despite himself, Harry was amused. “A theme?”

“Ever hear of a sleepy little berg called Vegas?” asked Fred grinning widely.

“It's in the States, right?”

“Aye,” he said. “The Muggles call it 'Sin City'. It's a marvelous, magical land of
wonder where the money is easy, the liquor flows freely, and the women are tops optional.” He
knavishly winked an eye at Harry.

Harry pulled himself away from the Weasley brothers and shook his head sternly.

“Sorry guys, no strippers,” he told them.

Fred and George looked at him as though he were an escaped patient from Mongo's fourth
floor.

“Wait...”

“What?”

“There can't be any strippers at Ron's party,” Harry said again. The twins looked at him
in shock for another second before they both hooted merrily at the obvious joke.

“Good one Har!” said George as he gave Harry a playful shove to the shoulder.

“No, I'm serious. No strippers allowed. Ron's orders,” Harry reiterated, this time with
a tad more conviction.

Having finally figured out that Harry was indeed telling them the truth, both freckled faces
broke out into outraged expressions.

“Why would he decide a pinheaded thing like that?!” Fred didn't appear to take the news well
at all.

Out of loyalty to his best friend, Harry tried his best not to take too much enjoyment out of
his poor henpecked pal's predicament.

“I believe it had something to do with Lavender threatening to make him sleep in the bathroom
for the duration of their Honeymoon unless he promised her that there wouldn't be any loose
women cavorting around naked at his party.”

“**AND HE AGREED**?!” they yelled wrathfully.

“You both know Ron; he hasn't had sex in two weeks. He was vulnerable.”

“But...but...we were going to get Naughty Ninotchka from the Lamia's Lair to perform,” said
Fred despairingly. “She was going to do her Dance of the Disappearing Python. She was only going to
charge us half-price. She was only going to charge us half-price!”

Fred dropped his head onto George’s shoulder in a hammy, overwrought move that hid his face from
view. George gave him a comforting pat as he threw their brother-in-law an aggrieved look.

“Are you happy Harry?! You made Fred cry!”

A momentary concern in just where Ninotchka’s python disappeared to nearly distracted Harry from
answering him.

“Sorry fellas, but we wouldn't want to upset Lavender, now would we?”

Fred’s head sprang up as though pulled by a string.

“Upset Lavender you say?”

A truly devilish expression unfurled itself on his face. He and George had barely glanced at
each other before they both turned their attention back to Harry.

“We wouldn't dream of it,” George swore in overdone innocence. He wore the same
trouble-making grin as his brother. Whatever plot the two had cooked up inside their heads, Harry
knew that no earthly good could possibly come of it.

“I don't even want to know,” he simply told them. “But if the two of you are serious about
putting together the party, just tell me where and what time and I'll make sure that Ron
shows.”

Fred smiled at him.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you Harry!”

Harry shook his head at the twins as they parted to allow him to pass between them. With hurried
steps he quickly made his way to the door, pretending not to see the various friendly and smiling
faces beckoning him towards their tables for a shared drink or laugh. Instead he plowed his way
straight towards the exit, practically hurling himself out onto the front walk as the door slammed
shut behind him swallowing the raucous noise of the pub.

“**HERMIONE**!” his voice boomed out in the quiet of the faintly lit street as he skidded to
a halt and looked frantically from left to right. Although the night air was cool, Harry could feel
perspiration sliding down the back of his neck and collecting in his pits.

“Harry?”

Harry swung around to find a shadowy shape leaning against the building. When it stepped
forward, the light of the full moon revealed Hermione's bewildered face to him. He found
himself staring into her large, Kohl rimmed dark eyes. Her hands had been clasped together tightly
in front of her and remained that way. She looked as though she had been catching a bit of air
until he had so rudely interrupted her. Harry supposed he should have felt some form of regret or
shame for disturbing her peace, but truthfully he was so happy to see her standing there that he
forgot all sense of decorum.

“Hermione you're...you're still here!” he shouted joyously after taking two wide strides
to stand directly in front of her. He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. “I thought you might have
Ap―gone home already.”

Apparently missing Harry's near slip of the tongue, Hermione smiled at him winsomely as
though he had told a whopper of a joke.

“In these shoes?” she asked grinning from ear to ear. She looked down at her silvery sandals
with their spindled heels and pretended to examine them carefully. “Hmm...I suppose they are
comfortable, but that would have been some walk all the way from here to the Hollow,” she added
teasingly as she brought her eyes back to his.

The two young people grinned stupidly at one another at length before Hermione's toothsome
smile made Harry suddenly feel all of fifteen years old again. Sometimes he had a hard time
remembering that he had grown into a pretty sure-footed adult when a simple gesture from her turned
him into a bumbling teenager. Now was not the time to act like some love struck schoolboy, he
strongly reminded himself.

Harry quickly drew his hands away from her before he could leave wet, clammy hand prints all
over her pretty sleeves.

“Right...right,” he embarrassedly mumbled as he glanced down at his own boots and rubbed at the
back of his neck. He turned away and stepped a few paces from her, never seeing the pained
expression that spoiled Hermione's cheerful visage. When he did finally look back at her she
was smiling once again, though Harry did take note that it wasn't half as easygoing and
carefree as it had been mere seconds before.

“So are you heading off home to Ginny now?” asked Hermione in a painfully chipper voice as she
edged closer to him.

Despite his best intentions, Harry couldn’t help but wince at the question. He wanted to talk to
Hermione about a great many things, but Ginny was a bit of a complicated subject to bring up in
their current surroundings. Just what could he say on the matter? There was one side of him that
wanted to sit down with his best friend, the person whose opinion he valued most in this world and
confess the details of his fruitless marriage, his failure at being a good husband. But the
Hermione that he knew would scoff at such a profession from him. Hadn't she once been his and
Ginny's biggest cheerleader. She would laughingly tell him that such a thing couldn't
possibly be true, that he loved Ginny and all he needed to do was try harder to make their
relationship work. She would probably offer him her advice and her encouragement, because she was
such a good friend. All the while Harry would smile weakly at her, neglecting to tell Hermione that
he was arse backwards in love with the very person he was pouring his heart out to.

No, he definitely did not want to have that conversation just now. Especially when the door to
the pub would occasionally swing open and they would be joined outside by other partygoers who
would wave goodnight before Apparating away. Besides, he had told himself over and over again that
the time just wasn't right to let her know that he loved her. No, not yet. Besides, knowing
that he had a tendency to bollocks things up when it came to his feeling, Harry wanted everything
to be perfect when he finally told her.

“Ginny? Oh no, no...I'm sure she got home just fine,” Harry replied as unconcernedly as he
could manage, searching for something else to distract Hermione with. “But I'm far more worried
about you. Malfoy was a ponce to have left you stranded like this,” he said as a brilliant idea
suddenly occurred to him. “Say, here's a thought, I'll take you home!”

The suggestion seemed to catch Hermione off guard. She wordlessly stared at him for a moment
before quickly saying, “You don't have to do that. I can find my own way. I don't want to
keep you from your wife.”

Although Harry had no reason to find anything odd in what she said, the rushed manner in which
the words were spoken did make him scratch at his head. It almost sounded like she was trying to
get rid of him.

“And just so you know I told Draco to head home with Luna,” she continued. “He would have come
here tonight if only to make sure I got back to the Hollow in one piece, but I didn't think it
fair to make him stay where he felt so uncomfortable. As you know, The Broomsticks holds rather bad
memories for him.”

Harry tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum.

“Well he did Imperio Rosmerta,” he cynically retorted.

“Yes, but only under duress,” Hermione primly stated which earned her an annoyed huff from
Harry. She ignored it however. “His family's safety was hanging in the balance. Still, he does
regret many of his actions early on during the war. I know you think him morally bankrupt, but
Draco does have a sense of right and wrong, however warped it might be.”

Harry knew that Hermione was right to an extent; he just hated it whenever she blathered on and
on extolling the many virtues of the Great Albino Ferret.

“It's hard to believe that Malfoy believes in anything other than making sure that his boots
are spit shined just right,” Harry griped sourly.

With a small shake of her head Hermione said, “Oh Draco Malfoy can care intensely. And when
hurt, can lash out just as viciously. Everything else is a well maintained veneer.”

“Well, I still think he was an arse for ditching you!” Harry testily stated. He had had enough
of talking about the git. However his partner had given him a valid excuse to get Hermione alone.
Malfoy was good for something it would seem. “But no matter, I'll just take you home and we can
talk,” Harry told her as he took a step forward.

Hermione took a shaky step back.

“Talk? What is there to talk about?” she asked sharply.

He would have been lying if he said that the distrusting note to her voice hadn't been
painful, but it really didn't surprise him. She had spent most of the evening avoiding him. But
now that he had the chance to get her alone he wouldn't allow it to pass. Someone was usually
always interrupting their time together, but at the house it would just be the two of them.

Harry took yet another step closer to Hermione. The good news was that she didn't make any
move to back away from him again. The bad news was that Harry couldn't help but feel that the
gulf between them had nothing to do with any physical distance.

Shaking that thought off, Harry said, “Anything. Nothing.” He took one of her hands in his. “I
just...I just want to spend some time with you Hermione, that's all.”

And maybe frisk you, he added cunningly in his head. Well, there was that too.

As though reading his heathen thoughts, Hermione pulled her hand from his grip.

“Maybe you should go home to Ginny. I'm sure she's expecting you. I'll be alright.
You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

If she had meant to make him feel better about leaving her to her own devices, her insistence on
brining up Ginny yet again had only helped to make Harry feel two things; guilty and cross. It had
also reminded him of how troubled she had seemed earlier.

“OK, THAT'S IT!” he angrily snapped. The corners of her mouth turned downward, obviously
taken aback by his out of the blue display of temper. “That's it,” he said again as he lowered
his voice.

A couple had just exited the pub and he didn't want him and Hermione to draw any unwanted
attention. He watched the man and woman disappear before speaking again.

“What is the deal with you and Ginny?! Pardon me for saying it Hermione, but the two of you have
hardly been what I would consider friendly in a long time. So why are you so concerned about her
now?”

“No reason. It just...she seemed a little disappointed when you decided to stay out, didn't
she?” Hermione perceptively asked, veering her eyes away from his.

A little? Hermione had a gift for the understatement. Ginny had looked like she was ready to hex
him to Hades and back again when he had told her that he was going into Hogsmeade instead of home
with her. Ginny wasn't pleased with the decision at all; she had been all wired up to get him
back to the house for some reason. She seemed almost manic in his opinion. Harry found it odd; all
of a sudden she was anxious to keep him tethered at her side when she had been only too glad to
avoid him the last few days. Her strange change of mood had almost made him relent and follow her
back to the Wiltshire estate to find out what was going on. Doing so would have meant leaving
Hermione though and Harry couldn't bring himself to do that. Of course that's not what he
told Ginny. Ron needed someone to make sure he didn't splinch himself in two, he had said.
Lavender, who had been eyeing Hermione distrustfully at the time, looked relieved over the news
that Harry would be playing chaperon for the night. She didn't mind leaving Ron with Hermione
as long as Harry was there to watch over them. It was Lavender who ended up persuading Ginny to
just “let the boys be boys” and Ginny, after a good twenty minutes of deliberating, had reluctantly
agreed. But Harry knew that as soon as he eventually made it back to the house there would be one
angry little red haired witch to contend with.

“She was a bit...irritated with me,” said Harry carefully, “but I'm sure she would
understand why I would feel the need to make sure that you were taken care of.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Hermione had turned her head away and muttered the words so quietly that Harry had almost missed
them.

“Doubt what?” he asked, clearly perplexed.

Hermione's face screwed up as though she were fighting off the urge to say something. Or not
say it. She crossed in front of him, away from the pub, and all Harry could see of her was her
back.

“Listen Harry; go home to your wife. I'll be fine. I can side-along with someone else.
Charlie offered a ride. When he gets back I'll just go with him.”

Unconsciously, Harry felt his back teeth grind together.

“Or Ron could take me home,” she said, finally turning back to him. Harry's face went from
mild annoyance to disbelief.

“Ron?!”

She would rather have Ron take her?! The same Ron who failed his first apparition test, that
Ron?

“But he's tanked!” Harry exclaimed bewilderedly as he marched right up to her and stopped.
“Sorry Hermione, I can't in good conscience allow you to side-along with Ron in his condition.
He's had too much to drink tonight! You would just be begging for a splinching. The night the
Cannons advanced to the finals I learned that the hard way.”

Harry almost shuddered from the memory of it.

Intrigued, Hermione asked, “What happened?”

“Well―and keep in mind I was pretty pissed myself―Ron got it into his head that he was sober
enough to get us both home. To make a short story even shorter, I ended up with his and he ended up
with mines.”

Hermione had tilted her head, the befuddled expression on her face confirming that she was
trying to puzzle out the strange tale, when suddenly her mouth popped open. Her eyes clamped shut
as though trying to ward off the mental image she could almost see before her.

“I'm scarred for life!” she yelped.

Harry tried not to smile at her queasy expression.

“Well you did ask. Don’t worry though; a quick wake-up call to Madame Pomfrey and two hours
later saw everything sorting itself to right. But let me tell you,” he said with a conspiratorial
chuckle, “those were two very long and confusing hours.”

The wide and gaping hole that Harry had imagined between them closed on its own. A loud and
unladylike snort escaped from her before Hermione could cover her mouth with her hands to stop it.
Before he knew it, she was bubbling over with laughter at his outrageous story. She laughed so hard
that tears welled in her eyes. Harry laughed along with her. Although at the time the situation had
been anything but, looking back now he could see how funny his and Ron's calamitous night
turned out to be. As an added bonus it had brought a smile to Hermione's lips which made it all
worth the while. She was still laughing, even as she tried to stifle a yawn.

“Hey, you really do look zonked,” he said smiling softly. “Why don't you just let me take
you home and—”

“**I SAID NO**!”

The easy laughter instantly died with Hermione's outcry. She had pulled back from him again
and was staring at the ground in embarrassment. Harry could barely see her red and splotchy
face.

“Why do you have to keep pushing at me Harry?!” came her question, although it was directed more
to his shoes than to him. She absolutely refused to look him in the eye. “I got along just fine
without you for five years. FIVE YEARS! Why do you think suddenly all of that has changed? I've
told you that everything is fine. I've told you that I can take care of myself. But you
won't listen! You chase me half way across the school grounds like I’m some wayward child you
have to keep track of. I had to take refuge in a restroom just so I could have a moment’s peace.
Thank goodness you looked away or I would have never gotten my chance to sneak out of the damned
lavatory. I know you care about my well being and that you're only trying to be a good friend,
but enough is enough. I don't need rescuing Harry!” she exasperatedly proclaimed.

“You won’t even look at me,” Harry said, trying to catch her eye. He knew that he was
essentially doing what she had just accused him of, pushing at her, but Harry had a feeling that if
he backed off at that precise moment something crucial would slip between the cracks. “It's
been like this all night,” he continued. “You've been keeping me at arm's length
practically. Are you mad at me? Did I do…or…or say something to offend you somehow?”

Hermione quickly lifted her head.

“What? No. No. I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

Harry couldn't help but scoff disbelievingly at that. Against her will it seemed, Hermione
smiled weakly.

“At least not for long,” she conceded. “I'm not mad at you. I'm just mad at myself
mostly.”

“I don't understand.”

Hermione sighed. “I knew this would happen. I knew that I would end up telling you. But I would
never want it to seem as if I was trying to purposely come between you and Ginny, cause a rift.
That would never be my intention. Never! You have to believe that Harry. You have to!”

It was like she was speaking gibberish. She spoke in such a harried stream of sound that it was
barely decipherable. When her emotions got in the way Hermione tended to get very excitable.
Usually at those times her voice would become strident, and her pitch would ratchet up steadily
every other word. Her eyes would grow so large that all one could see were the whites of her eyes,
like now. It looked like whatever it was she was holding on to was driving her around the bend. The
feeling that he might not like what he was about to hear crossed Harry's mind.

“Ginny should have just left me out of it. I don't know why she felt the need to involve me.
It’s not my business! It’s not my place. Never should have been my place...”

Desperate to find some understanding, Harry grabbed a hold of the one thing that made any sense
to him.

“Ginny?”

Hermione rambled on as though she hadn't heard him.

“...but then Ginny went and made it my place by accusing me...”

Hermione paused, too worked up to even continue her thought. The last few words had left her
lips as an indignant hiss.

“…but you should know!” she eventually continued finally looking at him evenly. “Ginny is your
wife now, you should know. You have every right to know; even if you might not like hearing
it.”

“Hermione you aren’t making a whit of sense!” he said when he could take no more. “What's
this about Ginny?”

“I...Ginny and I had a fight,” she finally spat out, exhaling heavily afterwards as though
throwing off some cumbersome burden.

“Ok, so now I know why the two of you were snarling at each other all night.” said Harry. The
explanation didn’t surprise him. Hermione and Ginny’s queer behavior finally made some real sense.
Now all that was left to find out was what the fight had been about.

“So you caught that then?” she asked shamefacedly. “I figured that you might.” A subtle smile
curved her lips and she ducked her head to hide it. “I knew that I couldn’t keep anything from you
for long. That’s why I tried so hard to stay away...”

Her eyes screwed up tightly for an instant before opening again.

“...tonight. That's why I tried to keep my distance at the Ball all evening. I knew that I
would eventually break and tell you everything, even if I didn't want to, even if it might hurt
you. I would never want to hurt you Harry.”

Harry only wished that what she said was completely true, there was so much that she was keeping
from him. He wanted her to keep talking though so he didn’t say a thing to contradict her. Not now
when she was finally opening up. He took both her hands in his to encourage her to go on.

“I’m so sorry; I never meant to get into it with Ginny. And I hate it that I have to be the one
to tell you this, but I just can’t keep quiet any longer when it might mean your marriage.”

She stepped closer to him, taking a moment to look around to make sure that there were no prying
ears nearby, and leaned forward. Harry barely heard the words; he had to steel himself not to lean
in to her. The exotic scent of her perfume was far more intoxicating then anything he had had to
drink that night and made him feel almost lightheaded. Impulsive. Reckless. If he were only to
lower his head...

“Harry,” began Hermione, a hushed and confiding tone to her voice, “you need to go home and talk
to your wife because right now she is operating under the scurrilous presupposition that you are
engaged in a most illicit liaison with some contemptible slattern!”

After a mouthful like that it wasn’t all that surprising that she was at a loss for breath. She
inhaled deeply and looked to Harry closely for his reaction. He merely stared blankly down at
her.

“Ok, now this time try it in English,” he dryly volleyed back.

Hermione didn't take kindly to the ill-timed remark. She threw his hands off her and smacked
his arm.

“NOT SO HARD HERMIONE!”

He drew back from her and rubbed at the sore spot. She could be so violent at times.

“This is no time for jokes Harry James! Ginny thinks you're screwing around on her!”

That was all it took to startle Harry into a near debilitating panic. How he ever found the
strength to form a coherent sentence, he never knew.

“G-Ginny th-thinks I'm...I'm having an affair?!” came the stammering question.

Hermione mutely nodded her head up and down.

Harry felt as though he were going to be sick. It didn't even matter that Hermione's
revelation wasn't true (technically speaking at least). The argument that he hadn't
physically cheated on Ginny was thin, but it was the one detail that enabled him to keep his head
high through all of this. But that would soon be coming to an end. Ginny knew! That was it; game
over. Quaffle blocked, Snitch caught; 150 points to the opposing team! He hadn't even gotten a
chance to get off the bench and the whistle was already being blown. One of his worse fears had
come true, Ginny had figured out that he was contemplating leaving her before he'd had a chance
to tell her himself. Maybe it was simple-minded of him to believe that he would have somehow made
it better, but he honestly thought that he might have been able to soften the blow if he was the
one that broke it to Ginny. He would have sat her down and gently explained his side of things. He
would have begged her for her forgiveness for not loving her the way she deserved, the way that she
loved him. If given the opportunity to do things his way he might have even convinced her that
ending their union was in both of their best interests. But now his impossible situation had been
made worse. He didn't know how she had figured it all out, and he certainly couldn't figure
out why she assumed that he had been physically unfaithful to her, but he knew one thing for
certain; his wife was a smart one. Whatever evidence of his disloyalty Ginny had managed to gather
had led her directly to the so-called other woman's door.

And now here was dear, sweet Hermione, completely clueless as to how she had gotten pulled into
this debacle.

Harry sighed hopelessly. Knowing Ginny, the whole situation had officially gone off the rails.
That's why Ginny had been so hell-bent on getting him home earlier; she had already chewed out
the competition and was now preparing to lay into him. No doubt Hermione would have vehemently
denied Ginny's accusations, but the way he had chased after her all evening had probably done
little to disprove the charge. Ginny was a very proud woman, of course she wouldn't take the
news that her husband wanted to be with another woman lightly. The fact that the woman just
happened to be Hermione only helped to add salt to the wound. The worst part was that Harry knew
that he had created this clusterfuck. If he had gone to Ginny the moment he first realized that
their marriage was over maybe all of this ugliness could have been quashed. But he had made the
decision to put other matters ahead of his own selfish desires and that gamble had ultimately blown
up in his face. If Ginny now knew that his feelings for Hermione were far more than filial in
nature, it was only a matter of time before everyone else found out as well. All of the Weasleys
would be caught in the crossfire, undoubtedly forced to choose sides, and there was no question
which would prevail in the end. He would lose his adoptive family. But even knowing all of that,
the one thought that weighed the heaviest on his mind was that Hermione would now find out his
feelings for her in the ugliest of ways. He was officially in Hell.

In a way though Harry was almost glad; maybe it was better to get everything out in the open
now, no more hidden agendas or mixed signals. Ginny had probably given Hermione an earful and now
it was time for him to do damage control. Maybe it was time to tell Hermione the truth. He was so
determined to get her to reveal all to him, but wasn't he being a hypocrite by keeping things
from her too? Sure he could say that he had done it in her best interest, and in the case of
Ptolemy Cadmus he fervently believed that to be the case, but Hermione had every right to know that
he was in love with her. His only wish was that he could tell her without screwing it all up.

“I'm so sorry that you had to find out this way Hermione…” Harry began anemically. He
bravely tried to meet her questioning gaze.

Hermione's hand jumped to her mouth as she gasped.

“You mean...you mean Ginny was right?!” She sounded wounded and her voice barely registered
higher than a whisper. “You...you aren't having an affair with some strange woman Harry, are
you?!”

Bemusedly, Harry stared at her. “Strange woman?”

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to sort out the oddity of the question.

“Strange woman? What are you on about?!” he almost demanded.

Hermione began to nervously chew on her lip.

“Ginny came to see me at the cottage today because she thinks that you've been cheating on
her. To make matters worse, she thinks that I've been playing your willing accomplice. She
thinks I know who your mystery woman is.”

She then turned big, mournful eyes up at him.

“Ginny isn't right, is she Harry?” She almost sounded hopeful to his muddled mind.

Her eyes seemed to search his face, intent on finding the answer for herself. Harry was so
stunned by the question that it took him a second to recover from it.

“NO!” he proclaimed forthrightly once he began to make sense of everything. “No. I'm not
having an affair! I have never cheated on Ginny.”

Harry ignored the pang of conscience that reminded him that he was being very generous in his
avowal of innocence, all things considered. He refused to feel guilty though, especially when his
answer produced such a beaming smile from Hermione. Sweet relief seemed to flood every inch of him
causing a giddy rush of blood to his head.

Ginny didn't know about Hermione!

Hell, Hermione didn't know about Hermione!

For the time being his secret was still safe!

Believing that Harry's gladdened smile was due to the ridiculousness of the situation, a
self-satisfied smirk played about Hermione's face.

“Ha! I knew it,” she crowed, her nose tipped upward grandly. “I told Ginny that she was just
being delusional. She had some nerve shoveling that garbage at me.”

“I'm so sorry Hermione that you're involved in this mess.”

“Why? You didn't do anything. Ginny is the one who's tried to pull me into
this...**this**,” she said gesturing between them. “And it's not like I haven't been on
the wrong end of one of Ginny's tirades before and lived to tell the tale. The only difference
between this time and the last is that I gave just as good as I got!” she said proudly, eyes
narrowed. “I mean the nerve to accuse you of...to even suggest that you would...**OF ALL
PEOPLE**!”

She punctuated her point with a stamp of her foot.

The elation that Harry had been feeling began to fizzle. Although he was relieved that Ginny
didn't think he was seeing Hermione behind her back, he had to now wonder what would make his
wife think he was carrying on with anyone in the first place. And if she did think he was cheating
on her, why wouldn't she assume it was Hermione? There was no other woman that he was closer
to, and goodness knows he had been shameless in how he acted around her since the very moment she
got back. Why wouldn't Ginny suspect his best friend? For that matter, Harry had to wonder why
no one in the family had become suspicious of his brazen behavior when it came to Hermione. Was he
really that good at hiding his true emotions or were they all just that thick? He personally sided
with the latter.

And what of the woman herself? When they were younger he and Hermione had such an uncanny
connection that she always seemed to be attuned to what he was thinking, feeling. There was a time
he couldn't hide anything from the insightful witch, why was now so different? Had the years
and distance caused their relationship that much disrepair? If anyone should have figured out what
was going on in his head it should have been her. She had been the first to know that he had
fancied Cho. She had figured out that he had feelings for Ginny almost before he had acknowledged
the fact to himself. Why was she being so dense now when the true object of his desire was her? Was
she just as oblivious as all the others? Or worse, was she acting dim on purpose? How could
Hermione not know how he felt about her, that he wanted her so desperately? He heard of love being
blind, he never counted on it being deaf and dumb as well.

Hermione, who had been practically frothing at the mouth still, ended up inadvertently answering
his question in that high and mighty tone of hers she was known to take from time to time. She was
so engrossed in her righteous wrath that she barely noticed that he had grown conspicuously
silent.

“Of course I was right; I knew that you weren’t some philanderer. I told Ginny that she
didn't know you at all if she could think so lowly of you! You would never do something like
that, forsake your vows. Harry Potter an adulterer; what rubbish! You have far too much nobility in
you to ever dishonor the commitment you made to her just to go chasing after some tramp! You would
never, never do that to Ginny! Not you, not my Harry! Hmph!”

Finally realizing that Harry hadn't uttered a single word throughout her impassioned speech,
Hermione spared him a glance. She nearly did a double take at Harry's sickly pallor. He looked
positively ashen.

“Gracious Harry, you went all gray all of a sudden!” she said, quickly wrapping an arm around
him to offer some form of comfort. “Are you alright?! Have you had too much to drink? Is it
heartburn, indigestion?”

With a dispirited shake of his head Harry feebly croaked the only words he could muster.

“No, irony.”

Harry absently reached out for her hand as though it were some cord to keep him connected to
this world. Earlier he had compared his situation to being relegated to the pits of perdition, but
this was oh so much worse. This was limbo. Of course Hermione was blinded to the fact that he had
fallen in love with her. In her mind the Harry Potter that she knew was above such indiscretions.
The Harry Potter she knew stood for all that was moral and right. The Harry Potter she knew was a
model husband, an upstanding citizen and not the lying, cheating bastard that he secretly felt
himself to be. How was he ever going to tell Hermione how wrong she was; that he had the same
faults and weaknesses as any man? How could he look her in the eye and watch the high regard she
had for him crumbled into dust?

He was screwed.

He couldn't even glean a bit of pleasure out of the possessive manner in which she had
called him “her Harry”. How could he even begin to tell her how accurate she was? He was hers, only
hers, if only she would claim him.

“Hermione I need to tell you someth―”

**bang**

Whatever he had been about to say was lost in the sound of the door to The Three Broomsticks
banging against the wall after being thrown open. The glow of numerous lanterns from inside the pub
poured out and bathed Harry and Hermione in a harsh, blinding beam of light. Out of that light
stepped Ron and Neville.

“Blimey Neville, you were righ'!” bellowed the redhead in a loud, trumpet-like voice as the
door slammed shut behind the two men. “Neville shaid we'd pro'lly find the two of you
ou' here together.”

The tense atmosphere slowly became undone as both Harry and Hermione grinned at their best
friend's exuberance and traded humored glances between them. Judging by his volume and his
somewhat slurred speech Ron, finding himself completely freed from under Lavender's thumb for
the evening, had bellied up to the bar all night. So much so that Neville seemed to be supporting
his substantial weight as they came staggering outside. Ron however threw him aside and came
tottering towards his two best mates once spying them. A loopy grin decorated his florid face.

Ron was what was commonly known as a happy drunk.

“Why're you ou' here when th' party ish in there?” he boisterously asked.

“And why are the two of you holding hands?”

That question was posed by Neville. In a daze, Harry looked down and was almost surprised to
find that Neville was right. Still entwined with his own fingers were Hermione's. Harry stared
at them, marveling at how perfectly well they seemed to fit together. He almost lost himself to the
feeling, in spite of the incriminatory tone that Neville had asked the question in. Forcing himself
to remember that the other wizard was practically his wife's best friend, Harry tried to work
his fingers from out of Hermione's grasp before his face gave too much away.

Hermione wouldn't let him. She held firmly to his hand and took it upon herself to
respond.

“Not that it's any of your concern Neville; Harry was just about to Apparate me home.
Isn't that right Harry?” Her words came out clipped, precise, and as sharp as a pickaxe.

Harry turned his head to get a good look at her. She was staring Neville down, chin jutting out
superiorly at him. Harry didn't know what surprised him more, her sudden one-eighty, or the
chilly delivery of the reply. He had never known Hermione to address Neville that harshly; she was
always so kind and patient with him when they were younger. What further disturbed him was how
quickly Neville seemed to back off, almost like a kicked dog.

“Harry, your offer to escort me back to the cottage is still good, is it not?”

Brown eyes met his as if daring him for defiance.

“I...YES!” he said without further delay before she could change her mind. He realized that he
simply didn't care why Hermione had suddenly decided to change her tune. He was only too happy
to reap the benefit of it. He had to remember to thank Neville later.

Neville, looking bashful and thoroughly upbraided mumbled out a meek, “Sorry. Didn't mean to
pry.”

“Well I do!” Ron blurted. “You can' go home yet. Ish shtill early! The night's shtill
young!” he whinged as he wedged himself between Harry and Hermione and threw an arm around both of
their shoulders.

“Eww Ron! If someone were to light a match to you, you would go up in flames,” she said
reproachfully, face pinched. She even covered her nose. Harry could tell that she was only
half-serious, even as she halfheartedly struggled to pull away from the hulking redhead.

Ron, holding to her tightly, looked down into her face and grinned dopily.

“Are you callin' me a poofter Mer-minee...”

Realizing his mistake, he paused as though in deep thought.

“...Her-mimi,” he slowly tried again. He then smiled brightly as he mangled her name nearly
beyond recognition.

“HERMA-MINI-ME!”

Harry doubled over from laughing so hard. Neville, probably still smarting from the earlier
dressing down, coughed to blanket any signs of mirth. Hermione still paid each of them a
disgruntled look.

“No, I'm saying that you smell like a distillery,” she primly told Ron while pursing her
lips cutely.

Ron took the insult in stride. He let go of Harry and wrapped her in a big bear hug, ignoring
her protests. He took it for a joke, rocking her from side to side.

“Aww Herms, I've sheen you drunker. And you've sheen me drunker. And I've sheen
you...”

She haughtily sniffed. “I believe we've covered this already.”

Harry couldn't help but smile. It almost felt like old times; Ron ribbing Hermione, Hermione
telling Ron off. If he listened hard he could almost hear a young girl and boy arguing over a
strange cat or a mysteriously gotten broom. Such thoughts made him smile wistfully.

Ever the mediator, Harry approached them.

“Mate, I think you should call it a night too,” he said lightheartedly with a pleasant
expression on his face. “You've had one too many and you know how your Lav-Lav hates it when
you get like this,” he teased.

Ron looked affronted at the seeming dig at his manhood.

“I'm not shcared of my w'man!” he declared.

“Oh?” asked Harry spotting Glinda and Neville's girlfriend emerging from the pub side by
side just in time to hear the conversation, especially Ron’s assertion. Glinda, eyes sparkling
bright with mirth, raised a finger to her lips as she caught Harry's eye.

Ron bobbed his head up and down.

“Yeah! Lav'nder knows who'sh bossh!”

“'Lo Lavender!”

For a man so large, Harry often wondered at Ron's agility under the proper motivation. While
he was whirling around looking for what he assumed would be his insanely enraged fiancée, Hermione
was lying back in Harry's open arms where Ron had tossed her like a toy broom.

“**THANKS A LOT RON**!” she yelled amidst the whooping laughter from Glinda and Neville, as
well as Fred and George who had just come outside and had witnessed it all. Candide shyly smiled at
the whole scene. It took Ron a moment to realize that Lavender was nowhere to be seen and that his
sister-in-law had been having a go at him.

Harry tried not to chuckle. Instead he deftly raised Hermione back to her feet and set her up
straight.

“Careful there Harry or Hermione will think you're trying to feel her up,” Glinda jested as
Fred came up next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. The twins both thought that was just
hilarious.

Harry laughed along with them, although with less levity. Harry had actually very subtly patted
Hermione down. He had never lost interest in finding the wand and he hadn't believed her for a
moment when she explained how she got out of the loo. When the opportunity to do a quick search had
presented itself he took it. Other than a slight tightening of the pants, Harry had come out with
zip. Short of pulling back the neckline of her bodice and looking down the damned dress it had been
the best he could do, although that was still a contingency plan as far as he was concerned. He was
almost positive that the wand was concealed on her, he just hadn't figured out how. But Harry
figured that he would get another chance to look once he took her home; he didn't want to risk
getting caught in the act again, especially with an audience. Fortunately Hermione had been none
the wiser the first time and had thought Glinda was simply making a joke at her expense. At least
Harry hoped Glinda had been kidding. The fact that Glinda was still smirking in his direction and
had suddenly taken a keen interest in him did not sit well. Harry casually tried to refrain from
making further eye contact with her.

“Oh stuff it Glinda!” barked Hermione to her friend, cheeks pink from the innocent sounding
joke. She wasn't the only one displeased with Glinda's mischief making.

“Oi Fred, you need t' tell tha’ wife of yoursh t' shtop pickin' on me!” groused Ron
as he looked crossly at the couple.

Ron was Glinda's usual target of mockery, mainly because he was so easy to provoke and she
was so easily amused. Harry found himself exhaling gladly as Glinda turned her interest from him
and on to her other brother-in-law.

Fred couldn't stop himself from laughing as he told her, “Stop picking on Ron.”

Glinda looked at him as though he were speaking in tongues.

“No,” she deadpanned.

Fred turned back to his baby brother and smiled gaily. “Well you can't say that I didn't
try.”

Everyone (save for Ron) hooted with laughter.

“So people, what is next on the agenda?” asked Glinda as she looked from face to face in the
assembled party. Neville had worked his way to his girlfriend's side and was holding her hand
while Harry, Hermione, and Ron huddled in closer to the group. The twins flanked Glinda. “I've
got a babysitter that's charging us a mint and the kid isn’t due home until morning. Freddy and
I are going to make the most of tonight.”

Instantly warning signals shot through Harry's head.

“Well I was just about to take Hermione home you see and...”

“But you can't go home!” Glinda said firmly turning to Hermione, cutting Harry off. “My new
BFF Candy here―you've met Candy haven't you Hermione―”

The two women smiled across at each other.

“―was just telling us about this lovely little disco on Central Street.”

Candide, smiling timidly as seven pairs of eyes fell on her, nodded.

“It's a Latin dance club called Bongos. I'm pretty friendly with the head doorman; his
niece is in my beginner's pointe class. He's always after me to come out and bring some
friends. I've only been a couple of times myself, but it's always loads of fun. They play
everything; mambo, merengue, samba, salsa...”

“Ooh, I just love salsa music!” gushed Hermione with enthusiasm.

This was all Glinda needed to hear.

“There you go, you have to come now! Come on Ducks, don't be a stick in the mud! You know
you want to; all the cool kids are doing it. One of us! One of us!” she chanted.

The twins, as well as Ron, looked on entertained. Harry could tell that they were all up for
trying out the Muggle nightclub that Candide was talking up. To his consternation, Hermione looked
equally open to the idea. Harry had a sinking feeling that he was about to lose out on getting his
alone time with her.

“How pathetically sad is it that at my age I can still be peer pressured by you,” Hermione said
in good humor, shaking her head.

“Yay!” Glinda said excitedly while clapping her hands together.

“Wait...wait! Hermione can't go!”

Although everyone was now looking at him as though he were a madman, Harry still pressed on. He
had almost had Hermione all to himself; he wasn't giving up on that so easily. He was prepared
to go down fighting if need be.

“She's tired and...and...it's high time that she went home!” he continued, arguing his
point. He pretended not to notice Ron's disappointed frown or Hermione's put out demeanor.
He couldn't ignore the highly fascinated and amused expression Glinda wore however. It was like
a kitten who had found a brand new cat toy to swat at.

Bloody fuck, thought Harry cheerlessly, all he needed now was Glinda Weasley heckling him for
kicks.

Hermione had started to say something, when Glinda held her hand up.

“Let me handle this Ducks,” she said first smiling wilily at Harry, then arranging her face into
a semblance of a pout as she batted her eyes. “Ooh, ooh Mr. Potter sir, please oh please can't
Hermione Jane come out to play with the rest of the gang; me, Freddy...the Beav?”

She motioned her head towards Ron, eliciting a chuckle from Hermione, a muttered curse from Ron,
and perplexed looks from the rest of them.

“All we want to do is go to the malt shoppe to split a soda pop.”

Harry could feel the color rising in his cheeks. He could empathize with Ron now; he felt
foolish under the weight of Glinda's incessant mockery. She was a real ball-buster, that one.
He knew that she was only trying to hector him, probably for being a stodgy old killjoy, but Harry
detected something else behind the friendly clowning.

“Stop teasing Harry,” said Hermione, trying her best not to enjoy his discomfort.

Harry gritted his teeth. “I'm not trying to be her father; I'm just looking out for
her,” he said in his defense.

Glinda waved him off. “Well I'm looking out for her too. A girl's got to have some fun!”
She turned to Hermione. “Come on Hermione, live a little! What do you say?”

Hermione looked around at the group. Other than Harry's moue of displeasure, everyone else
seemed to be agreeable to the idea.

“I say...sure, why not!” she giggled.

“Whoo-hoo!” shouted Ron, pumping his fist.

Glinda laughed merrily. “Yeah, what he said!”

Harry was beyond disappointed. Not only had he lost the chance for some precious one on one time
with Hermione, he was going to have to suffer it out at some smoky, overcrowded Muggle club. If
Hermione went, he went, though he could already see Ginny's livid face upon his arrival
home.

He had just let out a thankless sigh of resignation when the sound of a nearby apparition
cracked the air. Everyone turned to see who the new arrival was.

“**CHARLIE**!” chorused his three brothers merrily.

Under a lantern on the opposite side of the street stood Charlie Weasley.

“Oh good! I was hoping that you lot were still here,” he called out cheerfully as he quickly
jogged over to the group, settling in the space between Hermione and Ron.

“What are you doing back so soon?” asked Fred.

George grinned at Charlie lewdly.

“We figured you'd be spending the remains of the evening tucked snugly inside some lush
French territory,” he said while bawdily waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione tutted reprovingly. Glinda rolled her eyes at the two of them.

“Oh that’s just classy,” she snarkily drolled.

Charlie ignored the twins' lecherous innuendos.

“Get your minds out of the dust bin boys,” he said jokingly. “Sorry to disappoint, but I was
only seeing the lady home like any good **friend**,” he made sure to emphasize the word for
their benefit, “would. By the way, just whose bright idea was it to slip Bernadette the puking
pastille and tell her it was a cough drop?”

Fred and George found themselves the center of the majority of the group's condemning
attention.

“**OI**!” they both said taking umbrage at the unsaid accusation.

“A stunt like that is beneath me and George.”

“No finesse at all. Only a rank amateur would stoop so low.”

Chagrined, Glinda raised her hand and all eyes steered towards her.

“That would be me then. Sorry.” She sheepishly smiled at Charlie. “But I would just like to
state for the record that Bernadette was circumstantially the victim of friendly fire. My intended
target was that heinous horse faced shrew George forced on us,” she said heating up to the subject.
“What was that profound little chestnut she dusted off again? Oh yes, ‘If Muggles had any sense to
them they would be able to do magic just like the rest of us’,” mimicked Glinda in Pristine
Pringle's sugary, simpering inflection. “Bitch had it coming!” she added for good measure.

Hermione agreed.

“I always told Draco that Pringle was simply too stupid to live.”

“Luckily she was smart enough to realize that the vomit on her robes just did not match her
troll hide pumps,” Glinda said with a pleased sneer.

The fact that his date had had to call it an early evening didn't seem to faze George in the
slightest. His face broke out into an easy grin.

“That Bernadette does have good aim. She’s a keeper Charlie!”

“I’ll put in a good word for you then,” Charlie quipped with an indulging shake of his head. “So
is everyone heading home for the evening?” he asked looking from face to face.

“No, we’re all headed off to a hot little London spot to go shake our bon bons,” said Glinda
high-spiritedly, wiggling her bum. “Want to come?”

“How can I say no to that?”

“Great. Now that that's settled let's get going before we wake up old Aberforth down
there at The Hog's Head and he decides to come with, eh?” Fred stated taking charge of the
situation. “We’ll all Apparate over to George and Ron’s and from there Neville's friend can
show us the way.”

Everyone seemed to find no fault with the arrangement.

“Sounds like a plan to me. Need a lift?” Charlie asked as he turned to Hermione and offered her
his arm. Hermione slipped her arm through it.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she said while wearing a flirty smile.

With a ***pop*** they were gone.

It took Harry all of a full second to realize that Hermione and Charlie were no longer standing
in the spot he was gaping dumbly at.

Son of a bitch!

George let out a long whistle and shook his head in amazement.

“Blimey! Charlie sure doesn’t waste any time, does he?” he joked right before disapparating with
a still unsteady Ron hanging off of him. Next went Neville, his girlfriend holding tightly to his
hand.

“What…I…**BLOODY HELL**!”

Harry was nearly left dumbstruck. It had all happened so fast.

“What just happened?!” he thunderously asked. Just what in the hell was Charlie playing at, he
wondered.

Glinda, finding Harry's hacked off blustering comical, said with a smirk, “I’d say that
Charlie was just quickest to the snatch, that's what.”

Harry looked at her dubiously, not liking what she was implying.

Fred took his wife's hand in his and corrected her.

“That’s Snitch luv.”

Glinda winked at Harry.

“Tomato. To*mah*to.”

And then she was no longer standing there.

It was as he watched Fred and her go that Harry understood why it was never wise to assume
anything in life. Standing there, all alone in front of The Three Broomsticks with the sound of
Glinda's very keen and deliberate words still ringing in her wake, Harry realized that there
just might be one Weasley that wasn't all that thick.




Damn.







**To Be Continued...** 






I'm sorry that it took so long for this update but all kinds of stuff came up from second
jobs to boyfriend issues to funerals. The biggest one was that I just could not turn out a chapter
that I felt was good enough for y'all. As I've said I'll post an update that I'm
not crazy about, but I won't post one that just plain sucks. You guys deserve better than that.
Of course YMMV on how good this one actually is, but personally I couldn't love it or part B
more.




**A/N:** Next up is the conclusion to chapter 19. I ended up making it a two-fer in my
attempt to give Harry his due. Not to give too much away, a lot of stuff from this one (ie: the
wand & Boadicea) gets resolved in the next. Glinda has a little fun with the Pumpkins, Hermione
and Harry continue to dance around each other (literally and figuratively), and two startling
admissions cause **VERY** interesting results. As I've called A the angsty chapter with
sprinkles of fun, B is the fun chapter with its moments of angst. I hope you like it. And
here's hoping you liked this one.




A few more points of interest...

1) The coronation of Elizabeth II, the second Kinsey Report, Christine Jorgensen, the polio
vaccination, color television, the Nobel Prize for Churchill, the premier of the Crucible, the
first James Bond book published, and the birth of Michael Bolton are all events that took place in
1953.



2) The Three Broomsticks and Madam Rosmerta's back story is all my doing. When I started
writing this one I found that there wasn't much information about either so I simply made my
own. If you haven't learned by now I LOVE a good back story. LOL!

3) Romnichal is the name by which groups of Romany people(Gypsies) found in the UK call
themselves in their own language, Anglo-Romany.

4) Barry Trotter is the star of a series of Harry Potter parody books written by Michael
Gerber.

5) Retexilaxo is my invention although I've lost my notes on how I came up with the term.
More than likely it's just a pun on the word laxative.

6) “...light made liquid...wind made solid...” is Harry's impressions of what the memories
in Dumbledore's Pensieve look like. Chapter 30 of GoF.

7) “Yesterday upon the stairs...” is from the poem Antigonish written by William Hugh
Mearns.

8) French translations- Je t'aime=I love you, Dans tes bras c'est mon destin=My destiny
is in your arms, pour moi=for me

9) I had always intended the teens to go into the Pensieve and into the Chamber of Secrets but
upon my 1000th re-read of CoS I caught where Riddle tells Harry that he never went into
the Chamber again after Myrtle's death. Still I wanted to do the scene so let's all just
wank it that he lied ok? Hee. I relied heavily on GoF, OotP, and HBP to try to capture the Pensieve
experience, but I did take my own liberties here and there. If Harry can actually sit on the memory
of a chair he can damn well open a door. LOL!

10) Carregbryn, the Zabini/Leon estate in Newcastle Emlyn is taken from the welsh words for
stone(carreg) and hill(bryn).

11) “One of us! One of us!” is a quote from one of my favorite movies Freaks.

Since I don't want you guys to go blind reading close to 140 pages all in one pop, I'll
be posting part B in a few days. I also have a yahoo group where the story up to this point is
fully edited of all of the mistakes; insidepandiesbox. Check it out! :)



















*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.
*



27. Chapter 19.B
----------------

**TITLE:** All Roads Lead Back

**KEYWORDS**: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily
**H/Hr**, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

**SYNOPSIS**: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could
finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him he fell in love with his best friend...and
everything went straight to hell! A very gradual, slow moving **H/Hr** love story told through
multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final
battle.

**SPOILERS**: All six books.

**WORD COUNT:** 23,554 

**RATING:** NC17 for language and later sexual content.

**BETA:** *murphsmine.* Best snarky beta a girl could ask for. *g*

**WARNING:** A little green-eyed Harry and a minor character's death. You've been
warned.

As always thank you so much for the reviews. This second half is a little different than how I
normally do them. Chapter 19 was never intended to be a two-fer. In my opinion the two halves of 19
compliment each other heavily. Although the last one was only slightly more hit than miss with you
guys, here is hoping that you all get a little relief from this one. Be patient and ENJOY!

**DISCLAIMER:** If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is.
She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.







"I like it like that (yeah baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)
I like it like that (Por ti me quiero)
I like it like that (oh oh baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (Si aquí me quiero mi amour)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)"




“Merlin! It’s like one gigantic hedonistic orgy in here!” exclaimed Charlie, voice filled with
wonder as his eyes swept across the spacious interior of Bongos from the lobby's exit.

From where he was standing (right next to Hermione, thank you very much) Harry found himself
hard pressed not to agree with him. As far as the eye could see were bodies writhing and twisting
around each other in a tumultuous blur driven wild by blaring horns and a percussive throbbing that
could be felt rather than heard. The music came booming out of dozens of loudspeakers embedded in
the walls through out the venue. Across the darkened room shot laser light beams of red, green,
blue, and gold that made the partying crowd look like they were transplants sent from some distant
galaxy. Every so often a fog machine would pump out dry mist to add to the other worldly
atmosphere. The whirring of the aircon could be heard over the restless hubbub, but the body heat
of the dancers coupled with the sweat in the air made the temperature nearly sweltering and
somewhat reminiscent of some tropical den. Despite the heat, the party raged on. When things looked
like they were beginning to lull the DJ would flip a switch and a siren blast would incite the
crowd into frenzy. The dancers in turn openly worshiped him as though he were some living god,
calling out his name and shouting words of praise whenever he played a song that met their
approval. The adoration seemed fitting seeing as how he and his turntables were situated in a booth
perched several feet off the ground like an altar. The only way to reach it (and from what Candide
shared with them, many a pretty girl often kicked and scratched their way up) was via a narrow set
of rickety stairs. This left plenty of room for dancing as there was barely a piece of ground or
surface in the club that wasn't being used as a floor. Even the bar towards the back held
scantily clad women shimmying and shaking rhythmically on top of it. Bongos was a veritable feast
for all of the senses. The final, perfect touch was the two massive drums that hung from the
ceiling, suspended over the dancers, giving the nightclub its catchy name.

“Cor! Are they doing that there forbidden dance? Dad told me about it once,” shouted Ron who was
standing on the other side of Harry. He was gawking at a couple dancing nearby. There was hardly
room to squeeze a sheet of parchment between the pair; they were wound so tightly around each
other.

“That's right Ron, they’re doing the Lambada,” Glinda yelled back, barely suppressing an eye
roll. They all had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the volume of the music. “The year
also happens to be 1990 and Madonna still has her original accent. Ponce!”

Fred and George chortled hysterically as Ron glared at her.

“It’s called salsa dancing,” said Candide knowledgably as she and Neville came forward from the
back. Their small group crowded the doorway and had yet to enter Bongos fully. Other club goers had
to go around them to get in and out the entryway. “In English it means sauce; zesty,
sizzling...spicy,” she told them, tapping her foot to the beat.

George gave her an affable grin.

“Forgive us Candide, but I think this all might be a little too hot for the likes of us.”

Glinda snorted.

“Speak for yourselves!” she boldly proclaimed as she grabbed her husband by the arm and yanked
him into the mass with her.

Candide turned to Neville.

“Coming Nev?” she asked sweetly giving him a rather sexy, doe-eyed look. The poor young man was
powerless against it. Wearing a dreamy expression on his face, he followed her out onto the floor
without further prompting. The rest of them all smiled at each other as they watched the lovebirds
go.

“That just might be a little too much woman for our dear friend Neville to handle,” joked George
admiringly. The fancy oriental robes Candide had worn to the Ball, a hanbok as she referred to
them, had been transfigured by Neville into a rather fetching mod styled minidress that sent many
of the male tongues in the club wagging.

Charlie chuckled at his brother's observation.

“Oddly enough I don’t hear Longbottom complaining,” he said.

The two brothers shared a hearty chuckle as they wandered off into the pulsing mob leaving Ron,
Harry, and Hermione behind.




"Ella tiene fuego
Y tiene un ciclon en las piernas
Ella tiene fuego
Es la atracion de la fiesta
Ella tiene fuego

Y todo el mundo pregunta de que esta ella”

The three friends stuck close together as they too entered the fray. Although Harry had
originally been against coming, he had to admit that the club was ripping. The music was lively and
the crowd was spirited; some even singing along with the tunes the DJ was spinning. He only wished
that he wasn't such shite at dancing. He would have had a legitimate excuse then to take
Hermione out onto the floor and hold her tightly against him without a single worry of how it all
might look. Unfortunately he had two left feet and both of them were made of lead. Even Ron was a
better dancer than he was, though that wasn’t saying much. Hermione, probably resigned to being a
wallflower considering her present company, didn't appear to be too bothered missing out on all
the action. Besides, she was too reserved for this type of crowd, Harry surmised.

“I could do for something to drink, would you like anything?” he asked turning to her, trying to
catch her attention. The three of them had come to a halt near the DJ platform. “A pop...some
water?”

Hermione's hand rubbed at her throat as she nodded her head.

“I am a bit parched. Ooh a mojito would be nice,” she said as her eyes followed after a woman
sipping the very same drink.

Harry looked ambivalent at the request. A drink like that just might lay her out.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It's just one drink dad,” she said tartly.

With a twinkle in his eyes Harry conceded.

“Alright, but when you can't speak tomorrow morning because you've been singing Henery
the Eighth at the top of your lungs all night, just remember that I did warn you.”

She had the decency to blush at the valid jest. He and Ron traded amused grins over the top of
Hermione’s head at the sight of her pinkening cheeks.

“One mojito it is. I’ll be right back. Stay right here,” he told her.

She nodded her head and turned from him to look back at the dancing multitude. Before walking
away, Harry gave Ron a loaded look that he hoped his still bombed out pal understood; “keep an eye
on her”. He was entrusting Hermione’s safety to the redhead, a fact he thought should have been
transparently clear. Ron, having received the look, only wondered if Harry had a touch of gas
before his mind then flitted off to its next thought.

As Harry headed off towards the bar he was surprised to discover that he was in an unexpectedly
chipper mood. There was a pronounced pep to his step. His spirits were so high that he even hummed
along to the Latin ditty that was being played. Actually since leaving Hogsmeade and Apparating
into Diagon Alley the night had been going quite well, all things considered. Charlie's
questionable hijacking of Hermione had been long forgotten and Glinda hadn't made any further
salty remarks in his presence or around the others. Harry supposed that meant that his earlier
guess had been wrong and that his sister-in-law hadn't fallen under the impression that he was
lusting after his best friend. If she had, she had yet to give him any further sign. What's
more, she had practically ignored him since leaving Ron's flat. They had stopped there briefly
to allow the men to drop off their robes before crossing to the Muggle side of London. When all of
them began to walk over to Central Street she situated herself between Hermione and Candide and
stayed there as Harry, Ron, Neville, Charlie, and the twins followed up in the rear. She and
Hermione took the time to get to know Neville's girlfriend while the men admired the dazzling
view before them.

The walk to Bongos went by so quick, especially with the twins cracking jokes and teasing
Charlie about Bernadette and a few of his other noteworthy conquests, that before long they had
reached their destination. Once arriving at the club they had followed Candide to the front of the
queue where she whispered into the ear of a rather beefy looking fellow whose thick arms gave off
the impression that he bench pressed steel girders for fun. All nine of them were then ushered
through the doors after receiving a purple stamp on the hand that entitled them to unlimited access
at the bar.







“Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(hey)So shake your bambama, come on now mama
Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(la la la la la)”











The pulsating beat of the song sent the crowd into near rapture. So much so that Harry almost
had a hard time navigating his way back to his friends while trying not to spill the contents of
the two glasses he carried with him; Hermione's mojito and a whiskey neat for himself. He held
them high above his head to keep them from sloshing over as people bumped and banged into him from
all sides. After not finding his two best friends where he last left them, he finally located Ron,
George, and Charlie by their beacon-like hair off to the left. They were sitting in a booth on the
sidelines unashamedly watching two women who were grinding against each other. Before Harry could
even ask after Hermione, Fred and Glinda came staggering up to the table looking sweaty and
rumpled, yet exhilarated. Without asking, Glinda snatched the cocktail out of Harry's hand,
threw the tiny straw over her shoulder, and drank it all down in a single gulp. Harry could only
scowl at her nerve.





“It’s a madhouse out there!” she exclaimed breathlessly after tossing the glass aside.

Fred, wearing a huge grin on his face, agreed.

“All hands and arms and other assorted appendages,” he added breathing heavily.

“And groping. Don’t forget about the groping Freddie.”

“How could I? Put me in the mind of our first date.”

Glinda gave him a pinch to his bum. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Whoa!” said George pointing off to the side.

All of them turned to find Neville and Candide dancing up a storm. The wizard looked like he was
holding his own against his rather skilled partner.

“Would you just look at Neville go!” cheered Charlie.

“Would you just look at Neville fall? Oh…and he’s back up again!” zinged Glinda.

Ron, Charlie, and the twins all hooted with abandon as Neville popped up from the floor and
dusted himself off, the happy-go-lucky smile never leaving his lips. They could see Candide fall
into his arms giggling as they continued to dance.

Harry turned from the merry scene and looked expectantly at Ron.

“Where’s Hermione?” he asked, setting his drink down on the table.

Ron's face wore a puzzled frown. Even though the walk to the club had worked some of the
alcohol out of his system helping to straighten out his speech and wiping the drowsy look from his
bleary eyes, he was still half-pissed and his faculties were a trifle sluggish.

“Where's Hermione's what?”

Harry had to resist the urge to hex Ron into minuscule freckled bits.

“You were supposed to be looking after Hermione, remember?” he edgily queried, pushing his
glasses back up from where they had fallen down his nose.

Charlie, wearing a cheery grin, tried to help his younger brother out.

“Don’t be too hard on him Harry, something walked by and distracted Ron. You know how he likes
it when they walk.”

“Oh?” Harry peevishly looked between the two men. “Did that **something** just happen to have
blonde hair as well?”

“Yeah. And a skirt cut up to here!” answered George mirthfully as he held a hand over his head.
“You could practically see all of her–”

Harry fired a severe glare at him.

“Then again perhaps I'll tell you more about it later,” he hastily amended, busying himself
with the abandoned glass of whiskey and chugging it down to avoid Harry's stern gaze.

“Sod off George! I did not get distracted!” snapped Ron. “I very well know where Hermione
is!”

He then followed that implicit pronouncement with silence.

When it looked like he would provide no further information Harry practically hissed, “Well then
where is she Ron?!”

Ron gestured off in the distance.

“Over there humping that pipsqueak’s leg as far as I can tell,” he said with little to no
concern.

Five pairs of eyes quickly found what Ron was referring to. Near the center of the room,
illuminated by a spotlight of neon green, was Hermione. She was dancing (if what that obscene
gyrating and undulating of the hips she was doing could even be classified as such) with some
Mediterranean looking bloke who barely reached eye level with her. The lucky little maggot did have
a more than ample view of her cleavage however, that is whenever Hermione chose not to rub her arse
against the bastard's knob.

“**WHAT IS SHE DOING**?!”

It was at this point that George and Charlie chose to discreetly extract themselves from the
table and head for higher ground, each going in different directions. Glinda however barely batted
an eye at Harry.

“Dancing!” she answered him as her eyes sparked with gaiety. “Although I think the more apt turn
of phrase might be ‘flying her freak flag’. Go Hermione! **WHOO**!” she rooted
enthusiastically.

As if hearing her, Hermione looked towards them and gave a high spirited little wave before her
partner pulled her into a steamy clinch. Harry spun around angrily on the woman standing next to
him. That was not the Hermione Granger that he knew gallivanting about out there, dancing with
abandon, letting some strange man put his filthy mitts all over her. Harry practically seethed with
unrestrained resentment.

“Did someone give her something?! Glinda did you…”

Before he could even finish the question she cut him off with an exasperated huff.

“Slip one person a mickey and suddenly you develop a reputation,” she muttered, throwing her
hands in the air.

She then put a hand on her hip as though settling in for a row.

“Listen here Old Man Potter, that out there is not of my doing. And even if it was, would it be
so bad? Why are you getting so bent out of shape? If you haven't noticed Hermione could do for
a bit of fun! She's been wound up all evening. What she needs is a chance to just let her hair
down and kick her heels up for the night, preferably over the shoulders of some strapping piece of
man meat,” she saucily declared. “Ooh…like that one right there. Hullo!”

The retreating backside of some mincing nancy-boy trussed up in a skin tight muscle shirt had
suddenly captured her fancy. She even waved.

Fred nudged her hip.

“Stick to the topic,” he playfully warned his wife with an indulging look.

“Oh, sorry luv,” she said grinning back at him. “Topic…topic…what was my topic again?” she
flightily asked her husband.

“Hermione needs to get laid.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She turned back to Harry and narrowed her eyes at him. “Hermione needs to
get laid!”

Ron looked distressed at the turn of conversation. Harry was less than thrilled.

“Oh you two stop! You’re both worse than a pair of old maiden aunts,” Glinda chided them. “How
is that girl ever to enjoy herself if she’s too busy being the paragon of virtue that you two
wankers insists she be? Leave Hermione alone! Let her have some fun, dance 'til her feet fall
off, and kiss a few boys…or girls if she feels so inclined.”

“Here! Here!” Fred readily concurred.

Ron slid out of the booth. He stubbornly felt the need to stick up for himself against his
sister-in-law’s assault.

“Don’t go trying to pull me into this Glinda. I already have one sister and Hermione isn’t it.
Sure, I don’t want to see her get hurt, but if good old Herms wants to let some random bloke stick
his tongue halfway down her throat she has my blessings, provided the poor sod over there can reach
it. Besides, it’s Harry that’s having a fit, not me.”

Oh, oh.

“I've been properly toasted and keeping to myself all this time. Harry is the one whose been
acting like he's Hermione's keeper.”

Even as she addressed Ron, Glinda's eyes shifted over to Harry giving him a penetrating
look.

“You make a good point there my fine freckled friend,” she said. “I wonder why that is?”

Damn! Damn! Damn! It was apparent that Ron was finally sobering up because his ramblings were
starting to become lucid at last. Under the current situation this was not good seeing as how
Glinda was taking an almost predatory interest in all that he was divulging.

One of the oft-told family jokes was that the youngest Weasley boy tended to do his best
thinking while coming off a bender. Although Ron could be counted on to be generally oblivious to
the goings-on surrounding him, it was usually after a night of a few too many Screaming Banshees,
or pitchers after pitchers of Ye Olde Troll that he would suddenly come to some earth shattering
epiphany that had previously eluded him up to that point. It was on such a night that he realized
that he had been in love with Lavender without knowing it. Sure he was marrying Luna that next day,
but it was still better late than never. It was as if the alcohol vacating his system left him in
some reflective meditative state and with little fanfare the loud, happy drunk would turn into a
thoughtful, introspective young man. At such times he would think with more clarity than when he
was plotting one of his next chess moves. It was truly a wondering sight. That's why it came as
no surprise to Harry when Ron's hazy blue eyes started to brighten and become more focused, as
though he were seeing Harry for the first time in ages. While Glinda seamlessly prodded him to keep
talking, each second that his friend innocently jabbered away Harry could feel the pressure
building up inside his own head, dreading just what Ron might say next

“Well Harry thinks of himself as Hermione’s brother you see,” explained Ron, completely unaware
of the minefield he was stepping into. “He has to look after her,” he told Glinda.

“Is that right?”

Harry absolutely despised Glinda’s smirk and the insincere way she phrased the question. He
couldn’t help but squirm under her gaze.

“Yeah! Haven’t you ever noticed how protective Harry gets over Hermione?”

“Hmm…now that you mention it,” she began coyly, “There has been a time or two or **ten** that
he acted damned near territorial.”

Now she was being downright facetious. Harry could feel the sweat accumulating at his hairline.
Glinda was like a rabid dog with a meaty bone and yet Ron blathered on and on without end. If he
continued on his current track he was going to unwittingly open up a can of flobberworms in front
of his brother and sister-in-law that would make everyone uncomfortable, Harry most of all. And to
add to his suffering, George had just rejoined them as well. There was going to be an even larger
audience to witness the revelation Ron was about to inadvertently expose.

“You know, you're right Glinda. Harry would get so cranky just about any time Davies or the
little Scotsman would get near Hermione. Hell, he was even worse than me.”

And then Ron paused.

A peculiar look smoothed his features, as though he were just about to figure out the right
incantation or wand pattern to conjure something that had been eluding him for quite some time. He
stared at Harry for a moment, mouth open as if to ask a question then promptly popped it back shut.
When he finally began to speak again he did so pensively, as though measuring out the words to
examine each one carefully. It was as if he were reaching out for some intangible thought just
beyond his grasp that could fall into his hand at any moment.

“Looking back on it now I suppose the whole thing was sort of bizarre, don’t you agree Harry? If
anything, you acted more like a jealous boyfriend than a brother to Hermione. Until just this very
moment I guess I never thought about it that way. I wonder why you…**SON OF A BITCH**!”

Harry had cast the spell on Ron so fast that his wand was already back in his pocket by time
Ron's outraged cry notified George, Fred, and Glinda that something had happened. He wasn’t the
fastest draw in the Department for nothing. Harry hated to do it, but Ron just wouldn’t shut his
trap! Judging by the hodgepodge of swear words that his best friend began hurling, the non-verbal
spell had wasted little time doing its job.

At the sight of Ron’s twisted expression of agony, Glinda’s amusement swiftly turned to concern
for her brother-in-law.

“What happened Ron?!” she worriedly asked as she reached out to touch his arm. Fred and George
looked equally as alarmed.

Ron was bent over resting his hands on his thighs. He glared up at Harry and gave him an almost
threatening look

“**HARRY JUST HEXED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF MUGGLES, THAT'S WHAT**!” he crabbily howled. The
music was so loud though that his accusation barely carried beyond their little group.

Dear Merlin, I'm as bad as Draco Malfoy, thought Harry to himself.

“Stop being a jackarse Ron, I was only sobering you up. You were babbling. That wasn’t a jinx it
was a Temperatus,” said Harry effortlessly, shaking off the shame. Whatever guilt he felt was
extinguished by the sweet relief of knowing that Ron was so preoccupied with his own supposed
misery that he had completely lost track of whatever he had been about to say. Harry almost felt he
deserved a medal for that bit of on the spot thinking. The crisis had been averted.

Once hearing what spell Harry had thrown at Ron, both Fred and George’s worry seemed to diminish
at once. They even laughed at their brother's melodramatic cries of anguish. The explanation
did little to placate Glinda however.

“If you only sobered him up why is he acting that way?” she asked doubtingly.

“Because a fucking Temperare Charm only takes the liquor out of you. You know, the whazzit that
makes you effing ripped,” answered Ron as he slumped back down into the booth on wobbly legs.

“The ethanol,” said Glinda.

Ron nodded his head furiously.

“That's right, the ethy-hol. That's what I said. However it does little to help the
goddamned hangover!” he said between grinding teeth. “What in the hell did I ever do to you
Harry?!”

Seeing that their brother was in a bad way, the twins offered to help Ron to the bathroom so he
could get himself together.

“We’ll throw some water at his face,” suggested George as he slung one of Ron’s long arms over
his shoulder.

“What will that help?” Fred curiously asked while holding Ron up by the waist to try and steady
him.

“Nothing, but it should be loads fun,” said George beaming brightly as they both trooped off
with their younger brother slouched between them. Other club patrons paid them only a passing
glance as they wobbled by. Harry watched them go until he lost sight of them. It was only once they
passed his line of vision that he realized that their departure had left him alone with...

“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

...Glinda.

“What?!” he apprehensively asked turning to find her staring at him intently.

“Oh nothing…nothing,” she said lightly. “Just things are suddenly starting to make some sense
now, is all.”

Harry cringed at the remark. What did that mean?

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“And just what look might that be Harry?” she asked feigning ignorance. She was all wide eyed as
she brought her hand up to her chest in a phony looking gesture.

He was becoming weary of playing this game with her. If Glinda had something to say he wished
she’d just get on with it.

“You look like the cat that got the cream,” he told her.

Glinda scoffed at that.

“Don’t be silly Harry. By the way it might please you to hear that Hermione is no longer dancing
with that swarthy little chap from before.”

“Oh?”

He tried to sound disinterested, but the over eager manner in which he craned his neck to look
for Hermione out on the floor gave him away. He kept trying to locate her in the thick swarm. It
wasn’t until a couple stepped to the side that his eyes landed on her and the man she was with.

His jaw sagged ajar.

Glinda was all smiles. “Yes. Now she’s dancing with Charlie.”

Now had it been any other day, the sight of Hermione inside of Charlie Weasley's arms
grinning and laughing as though she were having the grandest time ever might have sent Harry's
already roaring temper blasting off into the stratosphere. During the most recent of Weasley Sunday
get-togethers Molly had spent most of the evening dropping little hints about Charlie to Hermione
and vice versa. Though it had grated like nothing else, Harry had done his best to ignore it. He
simply chalked it all up to Molly being Molly; the woman was known to show off pictures of her two
bachelor sons to complete strangers in the market hoping to reel in potential daughters-in-law. But
with Hermione being back home it looked like Molly had finally found in her the perfect prospect
for Charlie, never mind the fact that she had once had the young women practically betrothed to her
youngest boy. For Molly that was all inconsequential. On that particular evening she had arranged
it for the two of them to sit next to each other when dinner was served and monopolized the whole
meal talking non-stop of her precious boy's accomplishments. Charlie had laughed outright at
his mother's guerrilla matchmaking tactics while Hermione acted as if she were completely
clueless about the busybody woman's true intentions. George had simply looked relieved to be
left out of the entire affair. While most of the family treated the shameless exhibition as though
it was nothing out of the ordinary, Harry's face had clearly displayed his annoyance with the
whole state of affairs. In Harry’s not so unbiased opinion, Charlie hadn't looked as though he
wasn't open to the idea of dating Hermione. Not one bit! Since then Harry had caught Charlie
and Hermione in a handful of flirtatious exchanges. Add to it all the fact that Hermione was known
to go for redheads, Weasley redheads to be precise, and it wouldn't have been all that
surprising that Harry might have been a wee bit distressed to see the two of them so intimately
entwined.

His hand caressing her lower back. Her thigh lifted coyly over his hip. A turn. A pause.

But surprisingly that was not the source of Harry's astonishment as he watched Charlie
skillfully twirl Hermione around by the hand as though she were a dervish.

The whirling motion had sent the skirt of her dress flaring up and out revealing a tantalizing
stretch of skin that had been previously hidden. An undergarment had become visible for only a
second, a scrap of black lace and leather encircling her left thigh. To the casual observer it
would have easily been taken for a sexy little garter and nothing more. One probably would have
even been shocked to find that Hermione Granger owned such a naughty bit of lingerie, much less
wore it. But having seen Peggy O'shea, Doreen Dollanganger or any of the other women under his
command at the Department wearing one just as similar, Harry was quite confidant that he knew the
look of a loaded wand holster when he saw one.

Gotcha Granger!

“Wow, look at them. They're really going!”

Harry’s sense of vindication was short-lived. His intense concentration on Charlie and Hermione
was broken by Neville's voice. Harry turned to find him and Candide standing next to Glinda.
Glinda, who had been silently studying Harry all that time, turned her attention towards the bubbly
twosome.

“They do look like they’re having a ball. Who knew that Hermione could shake it like that?” she
joked.

Candide nodded. “She's not bad, but that brother-in-law of yours is fantastic! Where ever
did he learn to dance so well?” she asked looking between the three of them.

Neville scratched his head and smiled at Glinda. “Probably from that snotty Castilian witch he
brought home with him for Christmas that time, wouldn't you say?”

Glinda shook her head. “No, the Castilian was Primavera, remember? Freddie and George pretended
that they couldn't remember her name and kept calling her Pasta; Molly was terrified that the
family would scare the poor girl off,” she answered. “I mean we did, but that's neither here
nor there. I actually liked her. She was flaky, constantly nattering on about that sanctuary for
wayward cyclopes she ran out in Bath, but she was always willing to pick up the check at dinner.
The one you're thinking of Neville worked at some fancy zoo in Lisbon; Esperanza. She was
Muggle like you and me Candide. Oh Molly just loathed her! Charlie had to have her memory wiped
first thing after Boxing Day.”

Candide gulped.

“I...I...I don't right recall an Esperanza,” Neville hastily covered, probably hoping that
Glinda would lighten up on all the Memory Charms talk in front of his very young and impressionable
girlfriend.

“’Course you do,” said Glinda. “She was the aviation blonde with the fake cha-chas and the high
opinion of herself.”

“Oh.”

A blush rapidly stole over Neville's cheeks.

“Ohhhhhh.”

Though Harry had been paying the conversation only marginal attention at best, he had been
watching Charlie and Charlie's ever lowering hands at the time; he still heard enough that when
his and Neville's eyes met, Harry saw the same question that popped into his head reflected
back at him.

*Those weren't real?!*

Glinda smirked at the expressions on both men's faces.

“Charlie sounds like a bit of a ladies man,” said Candide smiling.

“Oh he is. He's quite the catch. Women can't keep their hands off of him.”

Harry could practically feel the might of Glinda’s piercing stare. He was sure that that was
what was causing the vein at the side of his head to pulsate painfully. Then again the fault could
lie with Hermione and Charlie. They were still wrapped up in each other, completely unaware of
Harry covetously watching them from afar. Against his will Harry found himself envying the ease and
confidence in which Charlie maneuvered Hermione around the floor. He spun her. He swung her back
and forth. Charlie dipped her like a real pro! And as the music started to slow and take on a
mellower, more sensual tempo, Charlie pulled Hermione so close that the space between them became
nonexistent. Hermione didn’t look like she minded the lack of personal space.

“Your friend looks like she can't keep her hands off him either,” replied a giggly Candide.
“I must say though, the two of them look rather good together. Don't you think Nev?”

“I...um...er...well...”

Neville looked appreciative when Glinda answered the question instead.

“You know Candide I think you might be right. Red does seem to suit Hermione. Wouldn’t you agree
Harry?”

The two of them sized each other up. She wore an impish grin while the look on Harry’s face left
little doubt as to where his personal opinion rested on the subject. It was like a mischievous
child poking at a slumbering hornet's nest with a stick, never realizing the true menace it was
rousing. Harry could feel the thin control he had been employing to keep himself from marching
right over to the pair and dragging Hermione off behind him like some low browed caveman become
taught and start to fray at the center. Any moment it would snap in twain.

“No,” he said decisively, eyes boring into Glinda, “I wouldn’t.”

And with very little explanation after that, Harry walked away.




"No quizo hacerte daño no le guardes rencor
Y sí ya el daño esta hecho pa que pedirle perdon
Es el que me hace sentir lo que contigo nunca sentí
(repitelo, actepatlo, comprendelo de una vez)"




He didn’t go very far however. Instead he circled the area where Hermione and Charlie were as
his exhausted mind circled round and round from one thought to another. He was tired of Glinda
taking the piss out of him and he didn't necessarily want to be around when Ron made his way
back from the toilets. What he really wanted was to be out there, out in the center or the room
with Hermione in his arms, but there was someone already taking up the space where he was supposed
to be; Charlie. Harry was jealous; he wasn't above admitting that to himself. Whereas he knew
his possessive posturing towards Ron or the Ferret was often uncalled for as well as unmerited,
Harry now realized that he actually regarded Charlie as a genuine threat. He didn't know for
sure if Charlie even fancied Hermione or if Hermione was interested in him in the least, but the
mere possibility made a new monster take up residence in Harry's chest; one whose eyes was just
as green as his. All the same, acknowledging this fact did nothing to solve matters. His best
friend had every right to date whomever she pleased and Charlie didn't have a wife waiting up
for him at home to complicate things. No, the redhead had a laid back temperament that most found
charming, a natural way with women, and knew how to dip a pretty girl in his arms without looking
like a gormless idiot. More important, Charlie was free to do so if he pleased, unlike Harry.
Glinda was right, Charlie was a catch. Harry only wished he could hate him for it. If it were any
other tosser practically mauling his best friend Harry would have had no problem jinxing the
bastard cross-eyed for daring to get that close to her. But it was Charlie. Harry liked Charlie,
had liked him since the day he first met him. He was a Weasley, filled with all the vigor and vim,
warmth and good humor that Harry always associated with the clan, save for Percy of course. Charlie
was a good guy. Charlie was his family. Charlie was a—**WAIT; DID HE JUST GRAB HER ARSE**?!

“Mind if I have the next dance?”

He hadn't realized he had moved until he was standing right behind the pair. Thankfully he
had only raised his hand to politely tap Charlie on the shoulder and not punch out his lights. It
had been close though.

A pleasant smile, far more relaxed than Harry's painfully fake grimace, formed on
Charlie's face once he saw who had interrupted him and Hermione.

“Hey Harry! Of course you can,” he said without pause, readily releasing Hermione's hand and
letting go of her waist as if to hand her over to his brother-in-law. Harry, ashamed of the unkind
thoughts he had just had about the man, nodded his head gratefully and took a step towards his
prize to claim her. Hermione however remained rooted in place.

“But...but...Harry can't dance!” she yelped, eyes bulging out at the both of them.

Charlie, probably made uncomfortable by the off-the-cuff remark, chuckled nervously while Harry
felt his face become hot. Sensing right away how tactless her comment must have sounded, Hermione
ineloquently tried to soften the blow.

“I mean...well...you can't dance Harry. Can you?”

Not that she did a good job of it.

Hermione looked to Charlie at once, as if hoping he might help her extract the foot currently
lodged inside her mouth. Charlie looked like he was very cautiously trying to ease his way from the
maddening duo. Probably from all of his years working with temperamental creatures he undoubtedly
recognized a tense situation for what it was and knew not to make any sudden movements.

“You know, I really don't mind,” he shakily said to her and Harry, still inching away. “I
was thinking of wetting my whistle anyhow. Can I get the two of you anything?”

Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads. Finally judging it safe to go, Charlie hurriedly made
his escape. Harry and Hermione watched him go.

“So what happened to my drink?” she asked when she finally turned to face Harry again.

Harry eked out an abashed smile. “It met with an unfortunate accident. Glinda.”

The right side of her mouth turned up. “That's alright.”

Agitatedly, Harry began to swing his arms back and forth.

Hermione, unsure of what else to say or do, shifted restlessly from side to side.

“So...”

“So...”

Dirty looks began to be flung at them from those nearby. Then again the two of them were
standing in the middle of a packed dance floor taking up valuable leg and elbow room. Hoping to
solve the problem, Harry decided to just take the Minotaur by the horns and get what he had come
out there for in the first place.

“So I was watching you...and Charlie,” he added quickly, “dancing and it looked like you two
were having so much fun that I figured I'd join in.” He hoped he sounded as smooth and cocksure
as he imagined Charlie might. “Ron's hands were too sweaty for my liking though so I thought
that you and I could give it a go,” he said gesturing to the couple dancing right next to them. It
took him only a moment to recognize the male as the same berk Hermione had been dancing with
previously. The sneer on Harry's face however vanished as the little fellow lifted his current
partner by the waist, flipped her over, and set her back down on her heels without ever breaking
his stride.

“Though I don't think we can do that,” Harry said, gawking in awe.

Hermione chuckled dryly. “Are you joking? I don't think Torvill and Dean can do that.”

A small smile played at Harry's lips. He was glad to hear the over strung tenor fade from
her voice.

“So tell me Harry; have you ever salsa danced before?” She looked at him skeptically as though
already knowing the answer.

“Honestly? No. I was kind of hoping that you would be willing to show me the ropes.” Harry gave
her the puppy dog eyes in hopes that she would agree.

“Oh no!” Hermione cried out in dismay.

“Then again if it's too much trouble...”

With hunched shoulders, Harry quickly tried to cover his embarrassment by looking anywhere but
at her. Her refusal sliced as swift as a switchblade.

Hermione, who had been staring at a spot just over Harry's shoulder, gave him a sharp,
baffled look.

“What?! Oh I'm sorry Harry; I wasn't listening to a word you said. I was too busy
looking at that!”

Harry turned to see what she was pointing at. His eyes landed on the DJ booth where two figures
stood close together; a man and woman. One of the figures, who looked fishily like his
sister-in-law, appeared to be speaking into the ear of the fellow at the turntables.

“Now what do you suppose she's up to?”

Harry stammered, “I...I'm n-not sure.” For some reason he felt the contents of his stomach
wriggle around each other. “I wonder how she got up there.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Well this is Glinda we are talking about here. She has all
of the impulse control of a sixteen year old boy. Knowing her she probably barreled her way up into
that booth for whatever ungodly purpose drove her.”

Harry thought the painted on, backless black dress the woman was wearing might have played its
own part as well. Glinda had herself practically draped all over the DJ and the poor sod looked
smitten from all the attention she was doling out. Harry had been about to make mention of this
when he suddenly realized that Glinda was staring directly at him. He did a double take, puzzled at
first by the thumbs-up signal she sent him, but as the DJ began to speak into his microphone,
Harry's bewilderment quickly changed into complete and utter mortification.




“**WE'RE GOING TO SLOW THINGS DOWN NOW FOR A SPECIAL REQUEST. THIS SONG GOES OUT TO H FROM
G. HERE’S HOPING YOU LIKE IT. *PERHAPS* THE REST OF YOU WILL TOO**.”




A soft, sultry tune began to slowly drift out from the speakers as the woman on the record began
to croon out the first verse of the song.




"You won't admit you love me
and so how am I ever to know
you always tell me
Perhaps perhaps perhaps”




Harry visibly blanched. Hermione groaned loudly.




"A million times I've asked you
And then I ask you over again
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps"




“She's a menace! A goddamned menace!”

Startled by the remark, Harry's green eyes found Hermione fuming in her friend's
direction.

“Pardon?”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glare as Glinda flounced her way out
of the DJ booth.

“She thinks she's so damned clever!” Hermione hotly cried.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck in uncertainty as he looked back and forth. Glinda's
little stunt had nearly knocked him on his arse but it was Hermione's indignant grumblings that
made him long for another stiff drink. He was utterly confused.

“I...I...I don't understand,” he dazedly said.

Hermione paid him a patronizing glance.

“Come on Harry; to H from G? Don’t you get it?” she asked, looking at him as though he were the
daftest git alive. She rested a hand on her chest.

“Hermione...”

She pointed across the room.

“...Glinda. She's being a smartarse. I should have never told her—”

“Wait, told her what?” Harry tersely cut her off.

Hermione opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled cough as her words collided
together at the back of her throat. Her lips clamped together and she cast her eyes away from him
furtively, almost as if rethinking what she had been about to say.

Now Harry was really befuddled. When the DJ had made the announcement Harry had naturally
assumed that he was the “H” that Glinda's snarky little dedication had been directed at. She
had been riding him all night and when the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense had
presented itself, she had taken advantage of it full tilt. The question of whether or not Glinda
knew that his aspirations towards Hermione were more than friendly was now moot, at least by his
reckoning. But from the sound of it, Hermione had thought that the gag had been meant for her. What
exactly was going on? Just who was being played here?

With a sigh, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him behind her to the other side of
the club, hoping to put as much distance between them and Glinda's mocking presence as she
could. When they reached a spot that was less populated she stopped and turned to him.

“Look, at lunch yesterday Glinda made this outrageous claim that it was impossible for a man and
a woman to share a strictly platonic relationship,” she said while chuckling lightly. “She even
tried to use you and me as an example to prove her convoluted theory.”

“SHE DID WHAT?!”

Hermione held up her hands as if to slow him down.

“Don’t worry; I cut her to the quick. I told her that we were only friends and that we would
only ever be friends.”

Harry felt his jaw stiffen.

“I mean for God's sake, you're married! What kind of scarlet woman does she take me
for?”

She looked at him expectantly, smiling faintly at her own quip. When she got no response she
gave him a funny look.

“That was called a joke Harry. You were supposed to laugh.”

With vacant eyes, he forced a mirthless snickering sound from his throat. The breezy tone
remained in her voice as she continued to speak.

“Well I guess I might have said something that made her think that I had proved her right. Add
that to the rather compromising position she found us in earlier that day and it’s not all that
surprising that her imagination simply ran away from her. She's pretty confidant that I'm
lusting after you now. She said as much.”

Hermione let out a jaunty laugh to underscore the absurdity of the notion. Harry didn't find
it nearly as entertaining as she did though. In fact it almost made him anxious. There was
something about the way her eyes had guiltily shifted away from him as she spoke.

“Oh? And what was it you said Hermione?” he asked, really interested in hearing the answer. It
looked like he wasn't the only person whose cage Glinda had been rattling lately. The thing was
he knew that Glinda had hit the mark with him.

The question caught Hermione off guard.

“I said...look, it doesn't matter what I said.” Her forehead furrowed. “The point is you and
I have never seen each other that way. Glinda obviously doesn't buy it hence the public
humiliation. Well I for one will not give her the satisfaction of thinking that her infantile prank
unnerved me in any way. Put your hand on my waist,” she ordered.

Harry's mind had been picking over what Glinda had said earlier, something about things
suddenly making sense, when Hermione’s bossy command cut through his thoughts. It had come out of
nowhere.

“Put my what on your what now?”

Hermione puffed herself up with impatience.

“You wanted to dance, let's dance! There is nothing unseemly about an innocent rumba between
two friends. Come along.”

She raised her right hand and placed her left on his shoulder while Harry's arms hung
floppily at his sides. He was still working through everything she had told him about her chat with
Glinda and his brain had failed to send out the correct signals to the appropriate parts. Then
again she was standing so close to him all of a sudden.

“R-rumba? W-what happened to the s-s-salsa?

“Oh Harry, do keep up!” she said frowning. “This music isn’t appropriate for salsa dancing.”

She roughly took one of his hands and slapped it to her waist.

Harry felt like a proper clod; completely ham-fisted and nearly pigeon-toed. He was unsure of
just where to place his other hand or even where he should look. All of his instinctive authority
during basic maneuvers or natural grace while flying on his broom seemed lacking. He was made
impotent by her nearness.

“I...I don't know what I'm supposed to do Hermione. I'm rubbish at this,” he bleakly
admitted as he turned his face from her.

Hermione grabbed his chin, moving his head so that he could look at her straight on.

“Nonsense. There isn't a thing that Harry Potter can not do.” And she meant it.

He smiled. “You think?”

“I know, because I'm going to teach you how,” she said pertly pulling a chuckle out of
him.

She dropped her hands and pulled away from him. She began to move back and forth, suggestively
swaying her hips with each step.

“Are you looking at my feet?” she asked.

Harry almost snorted aloud. Instead he densely nodded his head as his eyes lingered considerably
higher. In comparison to the various states of dress, or rather undress of most of the women in the
club, the simple yellow gown that Hermione wore might have seemed demure, plain even. But as the
delicate material pulled, and stretched fluidly against her body with her every movement, Harry
thought of another word that best described it. Distracting.

“This is what a rumba looks like; it's often called the Love Dance. This and the bolero are
the slowest of the Latin dances, also the easiest. If you can waltz, you can rumba. Anyone can
rumba,” she said assuredly.

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Harry cocking a disbelieving smirk.

“It's true!”

Her face broke out into an effervescent smile as she moved close to him. From the energetic
dancing she had been doing earlier most of the pins in her hair had fallen out haphazardly and the
humidity in the room had helped to make her already unruly mane frizz out wildly about her head. It
was all over the place, and coupled with her flushed and glowing skin, gave her a disheveled,
almost debauched appearance; like she had just been caught doing naughty things in some secluded
niche somewhere and didn't care if everyone knew about it. Harry thought it made her look sexy
as hell.

“Now one of the most important factors in dancing is the timing. If you can follow the beat, you
can pick up the steps easily.”

Hermione placed both of her palms on Harry's chest and splayed her fingers out, gently
giving one of his pectoral muscles a light squeeze. At the rather intimate touch, Harry felt
pleasure lick through him and flame his blood. The pace of his pumping heart heightened.

“Am I too close?” She tipped her large, chocolaty eyes up at him.

At a loss for anything better to say he roughly grunted, “No.”

Hermione tilted her head. She seemed to find his slightly flustered state terribly
intriguing.

“Am I making you nervous?” Her eyes twinkled at him.

Goofily, he smiled. “A little.”

She grinned at his apparent silliness. She then began to tap out the rhythm of the rumba on his
shirtfront. Their eyes met and held.

“You feel that?” she breathily asked him.

Merlin!

Harry nodded his head. If she kept that up she would feel it too.

“Slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick...”

She continued to rap gently on him.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

He swallowed.

“A-yup.”

Hermione giggled in amusement.

“Now as the man it's your job to lead,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Harry placed both of his hands over hers, stilling her actions for a moment. The pattering
sensations had become harder to handle elsewhere. To hide this from her he jokingly asked,
“Doesn't that go against your feminist leanings?”

Hermione's perfect, Cupid’s bow mouth stretched itself coquettishly.

“Au contraire,” she said moving even closer to him. Harry wanted to shrink back as much as
possible. He didn't want her to find out just how turned on he was, but her dark, smoky eyes
were hypnotic. He couldn’t look away or move.

“You see the rumba is considered a woman's dance. The man might lead, but it is the woman
who teases, who seduces.”

She pressed herself against his arousal.

“The woman holds all of the power.”

If she was toying with him, and Harry wasn’t so sure that she wasn’t, she was doing a corking
job of it. She had him fully under her spell.

“Now when the man advances, she steps back as if to say 'ah, ah, ah you can not touch'.
But then she goes back to him, tempting him over and over again. She pulls all of the strings and
all her partner can do is endlessly chase after her.”

“Story of my life.”

Hermione removed a hand from his grip and teasingly ruffled the shaggy hair against his neck,
lightening the suggestive mood that had just begun to simmer between them. For a while there the
music had become nothing but background noise and they had been the only two people inside the
cavernous room, in the entire world almost. For Harry, all there had been was the bewitching sound
of her voice and the acute awareness of where her body and his touched, but now a bit of reality
had seeped back in.

“Be serious, you!” she said.

For the next few minutes Hermione set about walking Harry through the uncomplicated footwork of
the rumba, still beating out the meter on him. His hands had found their way to her waist and there
they stayed, unconsciously stroking her side and back, as he watched his feet to make sure he
didn't step on hers. Surprisingly Harry caught on to the simple box-step in little time, just
like Hermione told him he would.









"Other dancers may be on the floor dear

But my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak."




“See, you're getting it,” she said proudly. She moved one hand to his shoulder and reached
for his left hand with the other, holding it in the proper position. “Once you get the rhythm it
begins to feel good, yes?”

Harry looked up. There was a scampish luster in his eyes.

“We are still talking about dancing, aren't we?”

Hermione's mouth hung open as she laughed outright at the daring of his remark.

“Harry!”

He chuckled at his own bit of boldness.

Deciding to play along, Hermione's eyes glinted minxishly.

“You know, dancing is the most fun you can have without taking your clothes off. Or so they
say.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“Now who are 'they' and just what sort of baseless propaganda have they been filling
your head with?”

Her head fell back as she emitted a throaty laugh, exposing all of her well formed neck for his
eyes very appreciative consumption.

“You know, I'm not sure. I never met 'them',” she said before both of them began to
shake from the force of their merriment.

Without forethought, Harry pulled her even closer to him. She rested her head against his
shoulder and sighed while burrowing into his warmth.

“You're pretty good at this,” he said just above her ear. “That flat mate of yours teach
you?”

He felt her head move up and down.

“Everything he knew. Benitez's mum had a dance studio in Havana before she fled the island.
He was born dancing, or so he claims.”

She reared back from him slightly, beaming with approval.

“You're not doing too shabbily yourself. Before long we'll have you doing a Texas
Two-Step.”

Harry pulled her back and held her tightly. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“Then again you've always been a quick study,” she continued. “Look how fast you learned how
to do a summoning spell.”

“I had a good coach then too,” he said, the tenderness in his voice ringing true and
heartfelt.

Though he couldn’t see it, Hermione’s cheeks burned warm and pink and ached so blissfully
good.

“So is this all there is to the rumba?” asked Harry after about the third...fourth...fifth song.
Harry wasn't sure, he had long lost count. “This was easy!” he boasted, filled full with
confidence.

“Don't get ahead of yourself Mr. Cockypants,” she said making Harry guffaw loudly. She
looked up at him. “This is just the basic framework. From here you add on breaks and turns
and...”

“Dips?”

An image of Charlie lowering Hermione to the floor had popped up in his head suddenly. Harry’s
muscles began to quicken with some nameless anticipation.

Hermione shook her head at him prudishly.

“That is considered a trick and can be a tad difficult to pick up right off. I'm not so sure
that you're ready for it.”

Feeling a mite rebellious, Harry abruptly plunged Hermione back into a low sweeping incline. He
supported her weight firmly on his arm. Hermione’s eyes rounded like coins and her bottom lip began
to weakly quiver as he held her there.

“I'm ready for anything,” he said as his face hung just over hers. He noticed the gold
flecks in her eyes.

In answer, all Hermione could do was blink at him.

Harry gently eased her up. Even when he resumed steering her around as though nothing out of the
ordinary had just happened, she still uttered not a single peep, just continued to stare at him
wordlessly. Her entire body became malleable to his direction and there was little doubt who was
leading whom now. She had virtually become putty in his hands.

Why yes, Mr. Cockypants was feeling quite sure of himself.

“Your heart is beating fast,” Harry murmured seductively against her ear, taking note of the
faint shiver that ran through her as he did it. It was hard to miss how rattled she had become.

Hermione thickly swallowed, uncertain of what might come out.

“I...I know.” She quickly bowed her head.

Seeing her frazzled like this, when she always tried to be the one so poised, so cool, and so
zealously in control of their every interaction, made Harry feel a modicum of power surge through
him. He was doing this to her. It was his touch that was affecting her. He was the one who was
making her body respond to him so forcibly. Come to think of it, she had been like this that night
in the cottage's kitchen.

Deciding to press his luck, Harry said, “You know we can stop if you want.”

His hand had boldly begun to caress her side, gathering and smoothing out the fabric at her
waist.

Hermione's head popped up.

“I mean, if you rather dance with Charlie again I'd—”

“**NO**!” she vehemently squawked right before wincing at her lack of comportment. “No
I'm...I'm...I'mfinerighthere.”

She latched her arms around his neck and lowered her head again. Harry placed both hands around
Hermione's waist. If possible, she clung to him even more than before.

Harry was near rapturous with joy. She wanted to dance with him, only with him. It was his arms
that she held fast to, not Charlie or Ron or Malfoy's or some other faceless man; only him. She
wanted him. That's what Harry's heart wanted to believe. He didn't even care that he
was building some illusion out of nothing more that a friendly dance. They were so much more than
friends. They just had to be!

He had been so swept up in his own euphoria that he barely recognized the fact that Hermione had
been speaking to him.

“Come again?”

“I said, I remember the last time we danced like this.”

Harry's stride broke. His feet stumbled over themselves before he found his footing
again.

“What?” asked Hermione, confusion registering on her face as she saw the stunned look on his.
They had stopped moving.

Harry racked his head for the memory that Hermione was referring to, but came up short.

“I...don't,” he said feeling suddenly wary. For some unknown reason a chill passed through
him.

“That's ok. I mean...it's not like it was a big deal or anything. It wasn't
important.”

She looked away, but not before he could see how much his admission had hurt her.

They had begun to rock back and forth, unmindful of the livelier music that had begun playing.
Neither was aware of anything much; the tenor of the air between them had become strained once
again distracting them both to their surroundings. Harry wasn't exactly sure what had caused
the change, but he tried to rectify it valiantly.

“Yes it was...is. Important, I mean.”

She glanced back at him, drawn by the gravity of his voice.

“I just...I don't recall you and me ever dancing together. Strange, isn’t it?”

Out of the dozen or so parties and countless balls he and Hermione had attended together before
her leaving, Harry couldn't remember a single instance where he and Hermione had ever shared a
dance. But now here she was saying that they had.

Staring straight forward, focusing squarely on his shoulders, Hermione said it again.

“The night before you got married...It was the night before your wedding day. We danced at the
Ending Party.”

Ah, his Ending Party thought Harry to himself, well then that explained it. He had spent most of
that night in a drunken stupor. One of his few recollections of the reception was Seamus jumping
behind the bar at the start of the evening and staying there all night serving up highballs of
Guinness topped off with just a shot of Ogden's; a Witch's Hammer he dubbed the potent
brew. Harry had had about six of them. Maybe eight. No more than ten, certainly. He had sought out
the liquid courage to help fortify him for his nuptials that next day.

“Hmm...truth be told that night was a blur to me,” said Harry. He quirked a smile. “Still is,
obviously. I do remember Ron saying that he didn't know where you had gotten off to towards the
end, but when we searched the place we couldn't find you anywhere. Other than that I’m just
drawing a blank.”

Harry cupped her chin and raised it to get a better look at her.

“Where did you go?”

She answered him at once.

“My flat. I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to go home,” she told him.

Harry raised a hand and gently smoothed down her hair.

“I wish I could remember dancing with you. Was it terribly bad? Was I the reason you left? I
didn’t hobble you or anything, did I?”

Hermione smiled. It was an achingly bittersweet one.

“No, you were perfect.”

Her eyes broke contact with his and looked away.

“Oh look, here comes Ron,” she brusquely said, pulling away from Harry and waving her arms like
mad. On her face she fixed a perky smile. “RON! Oh Ron!”

When Harry looked off to the right he saw a head of flaming red hair cutting its way through the
dense crowd. Harry was dismayed at the sight of it. Though he loved his mate dearly, Ron
couldn't have picked a worse time to show up. Why was it that anytime he tried to steal a
moment with Hermione someone or something was always there interrupting it?! If he was a
superstitious bloke he would think the universe was conspiring against him or something.

Walking right up to his two best friends, Ron grabbed Hermione about the waist and gave her a
robust squeeze, raising her slightly from her feet. Hermione squealed and swore at him as soon as
she touched the floor again.

“So,” he began, tetchily eyeing Harry up and down, “thought you could keep her all to yourself,
did you Potter? Probably why you hexed me. We've been looking for you two all over this place,”
he said.

Hermione looked back and forth between them.

“You hexed him in front of a slew of non-magical people?” she asked Harry before turning on Ron.
“Ok, what did you do?”

She placed both of her hands on her hips and gave Ron a haughty once-over. Harry chortled out
loud at the sight of it.

“NOTHING! I was just minding my own business when Super Auror there—”

“YOU PEOPLE NEED TO STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

“—went all spell happy on me,” grumped Ron completely ignoring the protestation.

“Well you must have done something,” said Hermione prissily. “That can be the only possible
explanation.”

Ron stared at her, open-mouthed.

“WELL DOESN’T THIS JUST TAKE THE BISCUT?! And here I was, being a good friend, rescuing you from
Harry committing some crime against nature on your feet. See if I ever care again!”

“Oh I'm not that bad!” Harry grouchily contested. Seeing Hermione nod her head in agreement
nearly made him burst with pride. “And you have no room to talk Ron. Lavender was practically
limping around the day after the last party we all went to.”

Smugly, Ron smiled.

“Well if you must know, that didn't come from dancing!”

Harry and Hermione both gaped at him, too appalled to say anything at first. It took a moment
before either of them could react.

“Eww!”

Harry had to agree with Hermione on that one. Lavender was ok, but there were just some things
he was better off never hearing ever, ever again! Ever!

“Too much information mate!”

Ron merely smirked at their stricken expressions.

“You're both just jealous.”





∞∞∞ ∞∞∞ ∞∞∞







It was nearing four in the morning when their group finally disbanded and departed the club. Ron
and Harry had early plans for the day, while Neville was due to open his shop in only a few hours.
They were all exhausted as well. Their excursion to Bongos had evolved into a full-blown bash; once
Ron located Harry and Hermione on their cozy patch of floor, the rest of the gang had joined them.
They had a grand time dancing together, laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying one
another's company. It had been a fun evening, but like all good things it had come to an
end.




“So you and Ron are going house shopping, hmm?”




Harry and Hermione were walking through the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. Although she
had accepted his offer to take her home again, he ended up Apparating them to the very outskirts of
the town. He was trying to extend their time together for as long as he could. Hermione didn't
seem to mind though. She appeared to be just as reluctant to end the evening as he was. The two of
them chatted comfortably as they picked their way towards the cottage in the dark. Despite it being
morning, sunup was still some hours away.

“A best man’s job is never done unfortunately,” said Harry with a stiff laugh. “He's
whittled down the field to two, but he says that he needs my help to decide between them.”

Harry tried not to sound too glum about it. He usually had Sundays off, but Ron had been begging
him for days to go on this little pre-wedding errand of his. Halfheartedly Harry had finally
agreed. That had been before he had spent most of the night (and a good chunk of the morning)
bouncing around like a maniac trying to keep up with Hermione. After pretty much getting the hang
of the rumba, Harry had set himself against the daunting task of conquering the samba.

The samba won.

Muscles and joints ached that he never knew he possessed. The thought of the soft bed he was
going to be forfeiting actually depressed him. Harry sighed at the stolen opportunity to just laze
about the house for most of the day.

“I don't know why he just doesn't take you,” he added sullenly.

A peal of laughter poured out of Hermione at the suggestion.

“Oh yes, because Lavender Brown-Pye would gladly live in a house that I picked out for her.”

Harry pulled a face. The scene that Ron's future bride would make if that were to happen
made him actually shudder.

“She'd chop him off at the knees!”

“I was actually thinking a bit higher,” said Hermione archly. “But seriously Harry, a boys'
day out with Ron doesn't sound so bad, does it?” She gave him a good-natured check to the side.
“After all, Ron was the thing you'd miss the most once, was he not?”

“Sorely miss.”

Hermione frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You're talking about the Second Task, right? ‘And while you're searching, ponder this:
we've taken the thing you'll sorely miss'.”

Harry could still recite the egg's curious clue by memory.

“It wasn't the thing I'd miss the most; it was what I would sorely miss. Everyone always
gets that part mixed up. There is a difference, you know.”

Hermione looked dumbfounded to hear it.

“Oh.”

He took Hermione's arm and hooked it through his. He readjusted the robes he had hanging
over his shoulder.

“Ron and I had just made up, remember? At the time I would have missed him badly if things had
gone back to us not speaking again. But if it had been what I would miss the most I would think
they would have taken you instead.”

A slight arching of the eyebrow told Harry just how much Hermione believed that one. Harry
laughed. Ok, maybe he had been laying it on a bit thick there.

“Alright, maybe not Harry at fourteen...”

She gave him one of her know-all smirks.

“...but I like to think that I've matured enough to know just how much you mean to me now
Hermione,” he said, pausing a moment to look down into her face. “How much you always have meant to
me. I hope you know that I will never take you for granted again.”

Hermione smiled.

“You never took me for granted Harry. Anything I ever did for you, I did it willingly,” she told
him.

He had nothing to add to that so they resumed their stroll.

“So what do you have planned for today?”

“Ooh a nice late lie-in,” said Hermione teasingly. He groaned making her laugh at his pain.
“After which I plan to go out to Newcastle. Amparo Leon has invited me to Tea.”

Harry became alert. His mind touched quickly on the golden business card that was tucked
securely in the pocket of his robes before focusing solely on her. He was actually surprised that
Hermione had brought up Amparo to him. Considering how jumpy and nervous Hermione had acted when
the two of them had been introduced, Harry would have figured that the solicitor was the last thing
Hermione would have wanted to discuss. He hadn't forgotten the bits and pieces he had heard
exchanged between the two women at the tavern, but he had decided not to bring any of it to
Hermione's attention just yet. He actually wanted to have his own little sit down with
Zabini's wife before he did so. Still, he was suspicious as to just why Hermione would mention
her now.

“She's nice,” he began, parsing his words cautiously. “Amparo, that is. I like her.”

“Oh good, so do I,” replied Hermione hastily. “I can see us becoming good friends. So um, what
did you two talk about?” she asked giving Harry a side-long glance as her shoulders tensed.

And there it was; she was trying to get information out of him. The deceiving lightness to the
question hadn't fooled him a bit. Then again he was starting to learn to not take much of what
Hermione said at face value. His gut instinct told him that she had gotten herself mixed up into
something all those years she spent in the States and for some reason or another she didn't
want to share it with him. She had no problem involving a stranger like Amparo Leon though. If he
had to make a guess, Harry figured that she probably wanted to know what, if anything, the woman
might have said about her to him. Harry decided to allay her fears right away. After all, Amparo
Leon hadn't told him a thing. Yet.

“Not much. She just has a scholarly interest in one of my cases. Nothing too spectacular.”

Hermione let out a pleased, “Oh.”

Her rigid shoulders relaxed.

“Well she's going to be handling some of my legal affairs for the time being.”

She was throwing him a bone to throw him off the scent. Harry recognized the tactic for what it
was.

“Nothing too serious I hope?”

“Oh no, no,” she said shaking her head, “just a few loose ends I neglected to shore up. Nothing
to worry about. So you don't have to worry. About it, that is. I can take care of it myself,
understand?”

She gave him a meaningful look. He caught the not so subtle hint.

Shove off Harry!

“I won't.”

Not that he was going to listen to it.

“If you tell me not to worry, then I won't.”

She timidly smiled.

“Good.”

After that the conversation tapered down into a distended silence. When Harry glanced over he
saw a troubled, despondent look marring her tired face. There was something still weighing on her
mind and yet she seemed determined to stay quiet. When he could take no more of her blue mood,
Harry spoke up.

“Sickle for your thoughts.”

Her head jerked towards him. It was almost as if she had forgotten where she was.

“I'm afraid you'd get back change, they aren't worth very much.” Her eyes veered
straight ahead of her again as she faintly grimaced. “Today was...would have been Boadicea's
birthday.”

Harry was startled.

“Did we know that? How did we know that?” he asked her.

“I knew it because she told me,” Hermione said simply. “She told me a lot of things. I told her
a lot of things.”

She turned to face him.

“We...'got' each other.”







*Hermione launched herself up out of her seat and ran for the portrait door. Before the three
boys could utter a word or do anything, she was already out the exit running hell-for-leather down
the hall. Both Harry and Ron jumped up and made a move to go after her, but thinking better of his
place, Harry grudgingly hung back to allow his best mate to chase Hermione down instead. She was
his girlfriend after all.*

“*Who slapped her two tits together?”*

*Harry's head snapped around to find Malfoy lying on the sofa once again with his book
propped up against his legs like before. With his free arm he turned the page while sparing Harry
not a glance. It was impossible however to ignore the disgust that the dark haired wizard leveled
at him as Harry came marching back across the room. Harry had just about reached his breaking point
with the slimy git and it was at times like these he wished he could simply climb over the armrest
of the couch just so he could pummel the bastard's face into a meaty, squishy pulp. But he
couldn't. Malfoy was a part of the team; an Order Member like the rest of them. To pick a fight
with the little prick would be considered juvenile. Unsporting. Then again...*

“*Malfoy, you are one foul, soulless cockroach!”*

*The blond lowered his book just an inch so he could toss an insolent look Harry's way. He
then went back to pretending to read.*

“*Why? Because I have no problem speaking hard, ugly truths while the rest of you would prefer
to cling to your precious, pretty lies?” his blasé voice drawled.*

*He turned another page.*

*Harry goggled at the bastard, stunned.*

“***WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT IS MURDER**!” he yelled.*

*Swiftly his eyes traveled to the top of the empty staircase. He was aware that he was letting
his disgust and anger get the best of him, but his animosity towards the Slytherin was beginning to
make him sloppy. What if DuManoir had woken up already? What if DuManoir were to hear him and
Malfoy arguing?*

*What if DuManoir had heard everything already?*

*Harry planted his hands on the side arm of the couch and tiredly dropped his head. After
taking a moment to get collect himself he looked back up again.*

“*What you are talking about is murder,” he tonelessly repeated.*

“*The nutbar is a Horcrux.”*

“*She’s an innocent!”*

“*Who just so happens to be a Horcrux,” Malfoy replied icily without a hint of
contrition.*

*He finally closed the book and rested it atop his lap. Although he didn't budge from his
relaxed pose, his gray eyes glittered with an almost frenetic hostility.*

“*She―”*

*He drew a sharp breath as he shook his head.*

“***It** knew just who the Dark Lord was when it got tied up with him. The Muggleborn knew
what he was capable of. The Muggleborn knew his crimes. The Muggleborn chose to become his
plaything. And he chose to turn the wench into a vessel of evil.”*

*A cruel smile twisted his pallid face.*

“*As our fearless leader once said it’s our job to destroy Horcruxes; or have you
forgotten?”*

*Harry laughed mirthlessly.*

“*Our job? Our job?! Oh, and I suppose you’re going to be the one to do it then?” came the
barbed query.*

*Malfoy looked momentarily shaken by the jibe. He quickly regained his composure
though.*

“*I’m injured,” he said while motioning his slinged arm towards Harry and smirking.*

*Harry could only marvel at Malfoy's audacity. He was such a smug little diva. He also
happened to be a big fat phony!*

“*Odd isn’t it that everyone else seems to have recovered just fine since the raid?” Harry
asked rhetorically. “Everyone except you, that is.”*

*Malfoy stretched himself lazily like a sleek cat and placed his free arm behind his
head.*

“*What can I say Potty, saving a life takes a lot out of a man.”*

*Fury blazed white hot inside of Harry’s chest. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate
breathing and whatnot, Harry just hated the idea that he somehow owed anything to Malfoy, even if
it was his life. Of course that only meant that the braggart took immense pleasure holding his
little act of bravery over Harry's head every chance he got. If that wasn't bad enough, the
bastard tried to use the so-called “selfless” deed to curry favor with Hermione. And Hermione fell
for it! She honestly thought that there was a chance that Malfoy could change and become a decent
human being some day. Harry knew better of course. It was only a matter of time before Draco Malfoy
showed his true face.*

“*You’re no man,” said Harry so violently that the muscles around his mouth twitched. The
threatening tone to his voice was chilling. “Coward’s too good a name for you even. You’re nothing
but a heartless, no-good Slytherin. All you care about is your own sorry arse.”*

*Malfoy swung his feet to the ground and sat up. He glared at Harry malevolently.*

“*SOMEONE'S GOT TO!” he yelled. “You might like playing 'Potter the Martyr', but I
had a life once. I had a family...”*

“*Pack of dogs, more like.”*

“*...and friends...”*

“*Bought and paid for, I’m sure.”*

*Malfoy hurled his book to the floor. He pointed back towards the stairs.*

“*That crazy bitch up there has got to die or nothing will ever be as it once was. The Dark
Lord will have us all before long if you don't finish it. I think the choice is pretty
obvious.”*

“*Merlin, where’s your compassion?!” Harry demanded, finally tiring of the row. “She’s just a
girl!”*

“***I DON'T CARE**!” Malfoy childishly bratted. “I’m for whatever it takes to free me
from the company I’ve been keeping these past few months! I’ve grown tired of you bleeding hearts,
vagabonds, and mongrels who aren’t even worthy of wiping out my arse!”*

*Harry’s vision tunneled and he could practically hear the blood bubbling in his ears. Within
a flash he had Malfoy hauled out of his seat. He held him up by the collar of his shirt and looked
menacingly into the pale eyes of his nemesis. For what it was worth, the git didn't
flinch.*

“*I swear Malfoy,” he growled, “if ever I hear you say another unkind word about Hermione
again so help me I’ll—”*

“*I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT HER!” the jerk snapped cantankerously.*

*The statement shook Harry out of his vengeful fog. Of course he had assumed that Malfoy had
been taking a cheap swipe at the Muggleborn while she wasn't around to hear it.*

“*You...you weren’t?” he questioningly stammered.*

*Malfoy wrenched away from him.*

“*No! I wasn't talking about her!” he snarled again. He jutted his chin out obstinately.
“I was talking about you!” he obnoxiously informed Harry.*

“*Oh.”*

*Harry stepped back, almost as if searching for his footing.*

“*Well I’ve got news for you,” he said once getting over the initial frankness of Malfoy’s
response, “I’m not killing DuManoir. And as I recall, you suffer from a bit of performance
anxiety.”*

*With Hermione not there to referee it was officially open season.*

“*No, you can't quite get your wand up, so to speak,” Harry continued. “Since you don’t
have what it takes to deliver a Killing Curse I guess you’ll just have to suffer through somehow
Ferret.”*

*Malfoy began to tremble. His free hand flexed as though imagining his wand in it. He wanted
to hex Harry so badly that he looked like he would implode if he didn’t get a chance to do it soon.
Harry wasn’t scared though, he continued to goad the blond with an almost sinful glee. Hermione
often said that the two of them brought out the absolute worse in each other and she was right. No
shock there really!*

“***I HATE YOU**!” yelled Malfoy, eyes smoldering with contempt and rage. There was little
doubt that he meant it wholeheartedly.*

*Harry mockingly smiled.*

“*Good. I hate you too. I say that makes us about even.”*

*With that said he turned his back on the idiot and headed towards the door. He figured that
Ron should have found Hermione already and he was beginning to grow concerned that they hadn't
come back yet. He needed to find them and make sure that Hermione was alright. The look on her face
as she went out the door troubled him greatly.*

*As he prepared to open the portrait he scooped up his broom that had been propped right next
to it against the wall and tucked it under his arm. In case they had gone outside it would be
easier to spot Hermione and Ron from high up he figured. Before he could leave the room however,
Malfoy served up one last parting shot.*

“*DuManoir is an abomination Potter. I know it. You know it. Granger there knows it. Hell, if
that freak show upstairs had even half a gobstone left in that empty head, the weirdie would know
it too! You’d be doing that wack-job **and** the world a favor if you’d just waste the bitch.
But you don’t care about that, do you? No, you don’t care about anything that tarnishes your own
precious self-image; that makes you feel anything less than the hero. You are the great Harry
Potter after all; protector of all things fluffy. Just answer me this oh brave and fearless leader;
are you really going to sacrifice countless lives just to save the one?”*

*Harry looked back at Malfoy incredulously. Not because he couldn’t believe that the Slytherin
could be so cold-blooded, that was a given, but because he was astounded to find a grain of truth
to what the blond wizard was saying. Still, Harry would not bow to Malfoy’s twisted logic.*

“*You might be able to live without a conscience Malfoy, but I have one,” he soberly said
before leaving the room.*

*He was just reaching the first floor when he came upon Ron on the marble staircase. The
redhead Gryffindor was shivering, wet, and alone. A trail of melted snow lay behind him and patches
of his hair had matted together with tiny bits of ice. The only color left in his face appeared to
be the freckles that dotted his pale cheeks and his blueish lips. Harry made a note to cast a
heating charm on himself before he went outside.*

“*Ron, where is Hermione?” he asked, searching the empty space behind the wizard as if the
brunette would somehow materialize in it.*

“*I th-th-think sh-she w-was head-d-ding to-to Hag-g-grid's,” came Ron’s chattering
response as he brushed a bit of snow off of his shoulders. He had foolishly gone outside with
nothing warmer than the light jumper he had been wearing all day. A small puddle had begun to form
beneath him.*

“*YOU LEFT HER OUT THERE?!” yelled Harry. “Hagrid's is right next to the bloody forest
Ron. Anything could get at her out there!”*

“*I know b-but...”*

“*It's dark out! And it's cold. Hermione's upset; she shouldn’t be alone right
now!”*

“*I know b-but...”*

“*What the hell were you thinking Ron?!”*

*Ron waited for Harry to cool down and to get his own clacking teeth under control.*

“*L-Listen Harry, when I got out there I h-had no idea what t-to say to her. Not that it would
have hel-helped any if I did. She's a basket case! She told me to l-leave her the hell
alone.”*

*Ron looked so pitiful that Harry feared that the occasionally insensitive boy would begin to
tear up himself.*

“*Harry, you go. She’ll t-talk to you,” he finally said looking optimistically at his best
mate.*

*Though he had no idea what he could possibly say to her either, Harry agreed without a
moment's hesitation. There was just one thing he needed taken care of first.*

“*Fine. I need you to do me a favor though,” he told Ron.*

“*Sure Harry, anything!”*

“*I need you to go back upstairs and look in on DuManoir.”*

*Ron's eager face fell.*

“*Do I have to?” he petulantly whinged. It wasn't that he was scared of the spooky French
bird...lady...whatever, it was just the prospect of possibly receiving a black eye for his troubles
was not on the redhead's top ten list of things to do.*

“*Ron, get over it,” said Harry with little sympathy. “She's virtually helpless. You’re
not scared of a girl, are you?”*

“*Depends on who the girl is,” said Ron half-jokingly. “Besides, why do you need me to check
on her? I thought Hermione drugged her up good.”*

*Harry thought back to the few moments before they had all stepped inside the Pensieve. For
some reason he couldn't shake a single image from his head, that of turbid, purple eyes staring
down at him. Had that been what he had seen?*

“*I could be wrong, but I think our guest might be playing us all for fools. I don’t think she
really took that draught Hermione gave her. I know I should have said something before, but when we
were talking earlier I could have sworn I saw her up on the top landing listening in.”*

*Harry paused, desperately concentrating on that moment again. No matter how hard he reached
for the exact memory he couldn't be sure if he had imagined the whole thing or not.*

“*At least I think I saw her.”*

*Ron was bowled over by the disclosure.*

“*WHAT?!”*

“*And while we were inside the memory I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we were being
watched,” continued Harry. “Like there was someone else in there besides us.”*

“*You think she went into the Pensieve after we did?” Ron questioned. “Do you think she saw
V-Voldemort's memory too?”*

*Harry frowned. He felt fairly certain that the memories they had all witnessed had not
belonged to Tom Riddle. His mind kept going back to the fact that DuManoir had been in that first
stall waiting for Riddle before he got there. Harry neglected to mention all of this to Ron
though.*

“*I don’t know,” he answered him. “But if she saw it I'm sure it didn't bring back any
good memories...pun unintended.”*

*Ron's blue eyes rounded as he slowly shook his head in wonder. “She'd go
mental.”*

*He then winced from his own poor choice of words.*

“*I mean, if she wasn’t...already...mental...that is.”*

*A wry smile softened Harry's face.*

“*I’m starting to think that’s debatable. Go check on her,” he urged his friend. “Make sure
she’s all tucked in nice and tight, will you?”*

“*Alright, alright,” said Ron reluctantly, shoulders sagging. “I’ll do it. But if she gives me
a shiner and you laugh you're a dead man Potter.”*

*Harry snickered at the humorous threat.*

“*I'll kick my own arse if it makes you feel better.”*

“*The black eye would be worth it just to see you try.”*

*Both of them grinned.*

*Harry gave Ron a brotherly clap to the shoulder as he clipped past him down the stairs, broom
still held securely in place.*

“*Take care of my girl for me,” Ron called after Harry just as he reached the bottom
step.*

*Harry looked over his shoulder and gave his best mate a heartening smile.*

*As if he even had to ask.*

“*I’ll do my best,” he said before heading for the nearest exit.*






∞∞∞ ∞∞∞ ∞∞∞







*As Ron predicted, Harry found Hermione standing outside of Hagrid's cabin, bathed in the
tinted light and warmth of one of her bluebell flames. It hovered in a glass jar near her head.
Harry also saw that she wasn't alone. Her ghostly looking companion for the evening was
Puddin', a thestral whose odd name came from the intense fondness for the goopy concoction the
ominous looking creature had developed while under the gamekeeper's loving care. Harry had long
grown use to Hagrid's rather unconventional naming practices.*

*Harry had easily recognized Puddin' by her gimpy left wing. Grawp had accidentally thrown
the horse into a tree during a temper tantrum one day and Hagrid had been taking care of her on and
off ever since. In fact he had been gone from the school grounds since that morning; off collecting
a rare ingredient needed for a salve that would help the thestral heal faster, maybe even help
Malfoy out too. Though Puddin' had been on the mend since the accident she did have a tendency
to list ever so slightly to the right. Before taking off with Charlie as his backup, the half-giant
had asked Harry to check up on the thestral if he got a chance; the horse never missed a day to
stop in for a treat. Hagrid had only left Hermione and Ron out because it was assumed that Harry
was the only one of the three who could see the deathly looking animals. For Harry it came as no
shock to find Hermione feeding Puddin' out of one of Hagrid's large bowls, one hand holding
it up, while the other stroked at the horse's black mane. In times of extreme emotional
distress Hermione usually reverted to what she did best; looking after something or someone she
deemed needed looking after. Harry really couldn't judge. He was a brooder, Ron was a yeller,
and Hermione sought control wherever she could find it. This impossible situation they were now
finding themselves in with DuManoir probably was close to sending her over the edge.*

*Puddin' was the first to sense Harry's presence. Her dragonish face lifted out of the
bowl and her white, sightless seeming eyes lingered on him as a reptilian tongue peeked out to get
at the bit of tapioca left in the crevices of her mouth. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see
what had caught the thestral's attention, but the look on her face told Harry that she
hadn't been all that surprised to find him standing there in the bitter cold. Both of them
gazed at the other for a moment before Hermione finally broke the silence.*

“*I guess I got my wish, I can finally see them now,” she said with false cheer. A mordant
smile spoiled her sweet face. “Only had to kill someone to do it too,” she added.*

*Even Puddin' didn't care for the remark. She made a puffing, snuffling sound out of
the two nostrils at the end of her snout and shied away from the girl. Hermione's hand fell
from the thestral and dropped lifelessly to her side. When she turned to face Harry the blank
expression she wore nearly punched him in the gut.*

“*Hermione...”*

“*You can save your breath Harry, I’ve heard it ad nauseum,” she said wearily as she lowered
the now empty bowl. “‘Hermione you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Hermione it was an accident. It was
either Carrows or you Hermione’. I got it. Still doesn’t change the fact that I killed that
woman.”*

*She let out a dispirited sigh.*

“*I'm a murderer now.”*

*The thestral twisted its head from Hermione to Harry, then back to her before turning itself
around and trotting back to its home inside the dark woods. Hermione watched it go with a pensive
expression before heading towards Hagrid's opened door and going inside the hut, the bluebell
flame bobbing up and down behind her. When she came back out a minute later her arms were wrapped
tightly around her middle. She took a moment to close Hagrid's door and turned to find a
stoically straight faced Harry standing right before her.*

“*Is that what you'll think of me too? Is that all you’ll see me as?” he asked calmly. “If
I manage to beat Riddle somehow, will I be just another murderer to you afterwards?”*

*The question caused an instant sea change in Hermione. She went from mopey and self-pitying
to being incensed at the very idea.*

“*HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?! OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT ABOUT YOU! I
DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!” she exclaimed as she grabbed at his arm.*

“*I know you didn’t mean it that way Hermione. You’ve just developed this troubling double
standard lately. How do you think Remus would have felt if Carrows' spell had hit Tonks? How do
you think I...Ron and I would have felt if it had got you?! I'm sorry, I just can't care
that Alecto Carrows died, especially when it meant that you lived. Don't tell me no good came
out of what you did because that's a big fat stonking lie! You’re so hard on yourself these
days. What's with that?”*

*With tears brimming in her eyes Hermione let him go and turned away to look at the lightly
powdered ground. The earlier snow fall had already ceased leaving only an already diminishing
blanket of white across the browning grass.*

“*I’m...I'm just tired Harry, that's all. It seems like no matter what we do it’s
never enough,” she said as she began to walk away from the cabin. Harry matched her step for step.
“We went through all of that just to save Boadicea’s life and now we have to...to...”*

*Hermione stopped in her tracks and looked at him plaintively.*

“*What are you going to do Harry? What...what are you going to do with her?”*

*Grim faced he despondently asked, “What is there to do?”*

*The question hung ominously in the air between them.*

*As they resumed their walk down the sloping lawn Harry noticed that Hermione didn't lift
her eyes from her feet, not once. He didn't pay much attention to where they were going because
of his intense focus on her. It was truly a case of the blind leading the blind because neither
teenager realized that instead of heading directly to the castle they had taken a turn down to the
lake instead.*

“*You know, you kind of scared me and Ron back there. Taking off like that, I mean,” said
Harry when he could no longer take her long-faced silence.*

*Hermione looked up at him. “I didn't mean to.”*

*He curiously asked, “What was all of that about?”*

*Hermione sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know; a little over identifying? Projection,
perhaps?”*

“*I don’t understand,” said Harry, forehead creased with worry. As far as he could tell she
was babbling.*

“*You and me both,” she said with a dry snicker. When Harry continued to look at her warily
she said, “Never mind me Harry. I'm just reciting a load of psychobabble. It means
nothing.”*

*They finally came to a halt near the bank of the lake. Although the imposing body of water
hadn't frozen over yet, the fact that the squid didn't seem to be up to his usual
frolicking lent to Harry's suspicion that it was as cold as a crooked crone's teat in
there! It gave him the shivers just thinking about it.*

*As he gazed across the dark water he began to feel despair rising up in him, threatening to
drown him from within. He had long lived with the fact that life wasn't fair, his own pitiful
existence up until this point being exhibit A for that argument, but the idea that it was somehow
his responsibility now to end the life of a young girl just to even the score was repellent to him.
Just how many sacrifices would it take to for any of this to make sense, Harry wondered. He had
already lost his mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore; he was even prepared to sacrifice his own life if
it came to it. But now he was being called on to take the life of an innocent, of a person who was
as much a victim in all of this as he was.*

*To Harry, killing DuManoir made him no better than Riddle and that was a line he just
couldn't cross. He couldn't think of the Horcrux as simply an object that needed to be
obliterated. It―she was a living, breathing person. While Harry often thought of Riddle and his
minions as monsters deserving of death, DuManoir was different. According to Malfoy DuManoir had
chosen her fate, but Harry had to disagree. He had seen the memory too. All she had been guilty of
was placing her love and trust in the wrong person, of someone who didn't even know the meaning
of those words. Was that really worthy of a death sentence? If he or anyone else were to kill her
how would that make them any better than Tom Riddle who doled out death without remorse? How could
he possibly live with himself if their continued existence counted on hers being
extinguished?*

*Once again Harry had to wonder why all of this had to fall on him. There was no comfort in
the idea that this was somehow his destiny. It was either scream or cry. He didn't know which
yet, but he feared that once he got started he would never stop.*

*He turned to Hermione.*

“*Look, I can't kill her,” he said, voice wavering. “I don't care if this is my
destiny or my mission. Or my...my goddamned purpose in life. I can't...I won't...”*

*He paused, rooting around for the proper words. His knuckles turned white as his hand gripped
tightly around his broom handle.*

“***I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS**!” he finally yelled as his temper flared. His breathing
pumped out forced and ragged. It came out like puffs of smoke from his nostrils.*

*Hermione silently blinked back tears but didn't shy away from him. In fact she opened her
arms out like a mother would do a child offering whatever strength she had in face of his momentary
lapse of weakness.*

“*Oh Harry,” she soothingly murmured as her arms tenderly went around him. “Of course you
didn’t.”*

*As soon as the words left her mouth Harry felt himself go limp in her arms. He felt like a
ratty old Quidditch robe, careworn and used up. He hadn't meant to take out his anger on her,
never her. It did feel good though to know that there was someone who was always there to tell him
what he needed to hear, not just what he wanted to hear.*

*Getting himself together again he abashedly pulled away from her embrace and looked back out
at the fathomless abyss.*

“*I didn't sign up for any of this,” he mumbled bleakly.*

“*I'm sorry,” she said, face lined with concern as she stroked his arm.*

*Harry bowed his head before glancing at her. “It's not like it's your fault.”*

“*I'm still sorry,” said Hermione. She then smiled reassuringly. “You know, I'm sure
there is a way to reverse what was done to Boadicea. It might not even have to come
to...to...”*

*Her mouth twisted on the words, as though refusing to speak them aloud. With an airy toss of
her bushy hair she seemed to shake off the thought. She became more and more animated as she
continued to speak.*

“*A counter is what we need. I'll...I'll just do some research and...”*

“*Hermione, you already do enough research.”*

“*I'll do more!” she exclaimed feverishly working herself up.*

“*And when do you suppose you'll sleep?” he asked jadedly.*

*Scoffingly, she laughed.*

“*Sleep? Who needs sleep? It's so overrated. Besides what's important is finding a way
around our current obstacle. I'm sure there is one. We just haven't found the right book
yet. I'm sure I can find a way to―”*

*Harry held up a hand and looked at her squarely.*

“*Just how long have you known it was possible for a person to be a Horcrux?”*

*The question instantly stilled Hermione's aimless rambling. Her wide brown eyes didn’t
even blink.*

*Without meaning to, Harry let out a dreary chuckle. His inkling had finally been
settled.*

“*That long then?”*

*The remark loosened her tongue.*

“*I didn't know anything for sure until we all went in, I swear. I had wondered if it was
likely before that though,” she admitted. “You mentioned once that Nagini could be a
Horcrux.”*

“*Dumbledore thought it was a possibility.”*

“*It made me think that it was feasible to turn something that lived and breathed into a
Horcrux. I thought that maybe...I just never thought he would do that to her,” she explained in
haste, trying to appease him.*

*It was what she still refused to say that bothered Harry.*

“*But I guess why trouble yourself with just an old Pensieve when you can desecrate
Ravenclaw's heir herself,” she continued on resentfully. “That Voldemort; ever the
overachiever.”*

“*So do you think that's why she didn't age?” he asked.*

“*It could explain it. What good is a Horcrux if it can just rust or break, age and decay too
easily. The magic involved probably makes the target more durable, long-lasting. Who knows, that
little bit of Voldemort in her is what probably drove her mad as well, made her try to kill her
mum.”*

“*Perhaps,” said Harry reservedly.*

*Hermione paid no heed to the somewhat hesitant and noncommittal answer. She mournfully looked
out at the water as she spoke.*

“*That poor girl thought he returned her love. It would break her heart if she ever found out
just how and why he used her.”*

“*Hopefully she'll never know,” he said as he also turned towards the lake. “But I guess
now that we know he’s made a human Horcrux before, I think it’s pretty safe to assume he might have
done it twice,” said Harry in a scarily detached and accepting tone. The sound of it made Hermione
turn to him straight away. Even if Harry hadn't seen the terror on her face he wouldn't
have been able to miss it in her voice.*

“*You are not a Horcrux.”*

*The certitude in which she said it was wanting. It was pretty obvious she had long reached
the same conclusion that he had. Harry only wondered just how long she had been struggling with
it.*

“*We don’t know that,” he said looking at her sadly.*

*The resignation in his voice provoked her into fury. The ball of fire near her head flamed
out in a blue puff of smoke and seemed to shatter its jar prison from the inside out. The glass
fragments fell to the ground as though they were made of nothing more than icicles. Hermione
didn't even bat an eyelash at the display.*

“*YOU ARE NOT A HORCRUX! Why would Voldemort even make you into a Horcrux? He went to your
parents’ home specifically to kill you. It would make no sense for him to make you into a Horcrux.
And if he had, why has he continued to try to kill you? It's illogical!”*

“*What of any of this is logical Hermione?!” he asked. “Maybe Riddle goofed. He’s not all
seeing and knowing, is he? If he was he wouldn’t have gotten himself blown up the first time. When
he marked me as his equal maybe he put just enough of himself in here,” Harry tapped at his scar,
“to make it happen. He had already killed my...my mum so he had his sacrifice. What if I somehow
became the seventh Horcrux?”*

“*We’re looking for something of Gryffindor’s. As powerful as you are Harry you are not
related to him. I know; I did your family tree myself. Besides, Godrick Gryffindor never sired
children. It's well documented. You are not the Gryffindor heir and you are not the Gryffindor
Horcrux,” she stubbornly fumed, arms folded across her chest.*

“*But I am Gryffindor's, through and through. From the very moment I stepped into that
castle I chose that path. Or maybe that path was always chosen for me, who’s to say?”*

“*Now you sound like Trelawney. Stop it at once! There is no reason to think Voldemort made
you into a Horcrux. For one, unlike Boadicea you have gotten older.”*

*He had to give her that one, but still he argued his point.*

“*I can see into Riddle's thoughts and he into mine. I’m a Parselmouth, just like he is!
Maybe I have a bit of him in me too, just a differently than DuManoir. You have to admit I'm
pretty damned durable; I should have died several times over by now but haven't yet.”*

*Hermione turned her back on him, scoffing dismissively at his sketchy “evidence”. He came up
behind her and gently rested both hands atop her shoulders.*

“*Hermione, we have to stay ahead of him. You have to stop keeping these secrets! I understand
that you think you're protecting me, but we are going to have to start looking at this as
though it's a possibility. I might very well be a Horcrux.”*

*In a tiny, tear strained voice Hermione asked, “And what do we do if you are?”*

*The splashing of water saved Harry from having to respond.*

“*What was that?!” he asked, looking over his shoulder. He instantly reached for his wand and
stepped away from Hermione, holding out an arm to keep her back. As he peered out into the darkness
around them he tried to search out the culprit that produced the sound he had heard. With no light
being provided by the waning dark moon overhead it came as no surprise that he was unable to see a
thing. Still, his muscles began to thrum under his skin, wary of whatever unseen menace the night
shielded.*

*Hermione, either unaware of any possible danger or simply not caring, tried to get him to
answer her again.*

“*What do we do if you are Harry?!” she repeated, frenziedly tugging at his arm. “Harry answer
me; what do we do if you are?!”*

*Harry shook her off.*

“*Lumos.”*

*He pointed his wand out as he cautiously edged towards the direction he thought he had heard
the noise come from. He didn't see anything at first, but as his arm lowered he noticed the
slow moving concentric circles that sluggishly moved across the surface of the lake. Even as they
faded away he still held his light on the water.*

“*Did you hear it? It sounded like someone threw something in,” said Harry, almost as if
speaking to himself.*

*Hermione continued to grab at him frantically, trying to keep him from going any
further.*

“*What?! I didn't hear anything. Harry!”*

“*Look, I know what I heard,” he said giving her a put out look before pulling away from her
again. He headed off to their right in search of what had made the sound.*

*Not letting his snippy tone deter her Hermione followed after him, lighted wand drawn as
well.*

“*Harry! Harry! Wait up. It was probably just the squid Harry! Harry!”*

*His abrupt stop nearly caused her to ram right into him. Harry didn't budge though, his
attention was focused solely on the ground. The light from his wand tip revealed a barely legible
trail in the sprinkling of snow that still covered the grass there. When Hermione added her wand
light to his there was no question as to what they had found.*

“*Footprints,” Harry muttered aloud as he squatted down to take a closer look. “I wonder where
they came from. Who would be stupid enough to be out here in this cold?” he asked as he looked up
at Hermione.*

*She gave him a pointed look.*

“*Besides us, I mean.”*

“*It's probably one of the Order members on patrol,” she said uncaringly as he handed her
his broom.*

*Harry lowered a finger to the grass to inspect the faint prints.*

“*They're awfully small,” he said with reservation.*

“*Perhaps it was Tonks. I think it's her night for guard detail. Doesn't she use your
cloak?”*

*Harry stood back up.*

“*No, Tonks would have said something to us. Besides have you ever looked at her
feet?”*

*Hermione shook her head.*

*He smirked as he took the Firebolt back. “Huuuuge.”*

*A hand sprung up to hide the smile on Hermione's face.*

“*I'm talking flotation devices.”*

*A fugitive titter escaped from behind her fingers.*

“*She wouldn't need skis for the bunny slope, I can tell you that.”*

*Hermione playfully wagged a finger at him. “I'm going to tell Tonks on you.”*

*Harry chuckled with devil-may-care ease.*

“*Tell Tonks. I'm sure she could turn me into a hedgehog or something but I think I've
lived through much worse. I'm not sca―”*

“***HARRY**!”*

*Their laughter was stoppered as both teenagers whipped around.*

“*Ok, now I know you heard that!”*

*Frowning, Hermione put away her wine wood as she squinted into the distance. “It sounded like
it was near Hagrid's. It sounded like Ron.”*

*Her guess was confirmed only a second later. The distant pounding of feet accompanied the
shouting as well.*

“***HARRY**! **HERMIONE**! **HARRY**!”*

“***GRANGER**!”*

“*And that's Malfoy,” said Harry uneasily, legs already pumping as he pocketed his wand
and charged in the direction of the calling voices. Whatever errand brought Ron Weasley and Draco
Malfoy out into the freezing cold together did not bode well at all. “Come on!”*

*Hermione trailed behind him as they began to race up the lawn's incline. Because they
were so far away from the castle and due to the pitch black of the night, Harry nearly collided
directly into Ron and Malfoy. Upon seeing Harry, Ron practically lunged for his friend. Harry,
unsure of what exactly was going on, held the redhead back by his shoulders as he looked him up and
down. He was thoroughly thrashed! A quick glance at Malfoy showed that he was pretty much in the
same condition.*

“*Harry! Hermione! Have you seen her?! Did the two of you see her?!”*

“*Ron, what's going on?” asked Hermione, winded, as she came jogging up next to Harry.
“What happened to you two? Why do you look like you've been run over by a pack of blood starved
acromantulas?”*

*Ron went slug-faced at the description.*

“*DID YOU HAVE TO PUT IT LIKE THAT?!”*

“*Ron, what happened?” Harry soothingly asked, pulling his mate's focus back to
him.*

“*That crazy bitch is what happened!” answered a snarling Malfoy.*

“*DuManoir...I went to go check on her like you told me,” said Ron cutting in. His breathing
was heavy and labored but he tried his best to go on. “When I got back to the tower I tripped over
something by the door and fell.”*

“*That would be me,” Malfoy grumbled sourly.*

“*Then she flung me into the opposite wall,” finished Ron.*

*Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at the two young wizards standing
before him, staggered by what Ron was trying to tell him. Then he got angry.*

“*ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME THAT SOME FRAIL, FRAGILE GIRL DISPATCHED THE BOTH OF
YOU?!”*

“***FRAIL**? **FRAGILE**?! That five foot doxy in a dress is about as harmless as a
pesky bout of dick rot!”*

“*She had this,” said Ron holding up a stubby and gnarled hornbeam wand.*

*Although he had heard Hermione's hitched breath, Harry thought nothing of it.*

“*She used it to stun him,” continued Ron as he motioned to the blond, “then turned it on me.
As she ran out the door she dropped it.”*

“***NO**!”*

*At the strangled cry Harry, Ron, and Malfoy all looked over to find Hermione staring at the
wand in Ron's hand as though it were some specter come to haunt her. She dazedly backed away
from them as her head twisted back and forth.*

“*No, no, no, no, no! It can't be. It just can't be!”*

*Harry tentatively stepped towards her. “Hermione?”*

*Holding a shaky finger out she whimpered, “That's Alecto Carrows' wand.”*

*The expression on the boys' faces said it all. Dumbstruck.*

“***WHAT**?!” the three of them shouted simultaneously.*

“*Are you sure?” asked Ron, waving the wand about hysterically.*

“*If ever you have the pleasure of looking down the tip of a wand that is about to kill you,
trust me, you will remember it for the rest of your days Ron!” she said indignantly.*

“*But how the hell could the wacko have gotten her hands on Carrows' wand?!” Malfoy
interjected. “The Prophet just reported a sighting of the hag and that halfwit brother of hers in
St. Moritz.”*

*Brown, blue, and green eyes guiltily darted from one to the other. No one spoke a word for a
moment. There were only four people in the world who knew what had actually happened in that
convent basement in Boussac after Tonks ran out with DuManoir that not too long ago morn. One of
them was Merlin knew where by now. The other three had agreed to never divulge the information to
another living soul.*

“*Well...well,” Hermione began uneasily, “she had it pointed at me when I...”*

*Harry gave a small, imperceptible shake of the head. Hermione caught it, glanced at Malfoy,
then swallowed back the lump in her dry throat.*

“*...and then it fell,” she said. “I saw it hit the ground and...and roll. And then I...and
then...”*

*Hermione’s eyes grew large as it hit her all at once. Her hand crept up to her mouth as it
rounded in dread.*

“*I never saw where it went after that.”*

*Harry felt his throat constrict at the tale. Ron fearfully looked back and forth between his
two friends. Malfoy began to lob out curse words as he kicked and stomped at the ground.*

“*You and Tonks were so preoccupied that it doesn't surprise me,” Harry finally said as
the shock began to wear off.*

*Ron stared at the wand he was holding as though it were something vile and filthy. His hand
actually shook.*

“*You mean she's had it all of this time?!”*

*Looking more pleased with his self than was warranted, Malfoy smiled triumphantly. He got
right in Harry's face as he spouted, “See Potter, I was right all along! The Dark Lord's
Horcrux has just been biding its time.”*

“*We've got to find **her**,” said Hermione, closing Malfoy off and bringing
Harry's attention to her.*

“*That nutter's half way to its Maker by now!”*

*Harry opened his mouth to yell at the creep, but ended up closing it. Now was not the time to
get into it with him. Instead he said, “There's no way she can get past the front gates without
being spotted.”*

“*What if she went into the Forbidden Forest?” asked Hermione worriedly.*

“*Now there's a thought. Maybe a werewolf will pounce on the cracked cauldron and take
care of the job for us.”*

*Harry shoved the git aside in response. He walked right up to Ron and said, “Take my broom.
Do a flyover and see if you spot anything suspicious.”*

*Quickly obeying the order Ron grabbed for the Firebolt, straddled it, and kicked off into the
air. Harry watched him speed away before quickly turning to the brunette at his side.*

“*Hermione...”*

“*I'm already on it!” she said pulling her wand from out her jumper. She pointed it
towards Hogwarts and a large, silvery otter burst forth and went streaking gracefully towards the
lights of the castle.*

“*What do I do?” asked Malfoy gravely.*

*The three of them had already begun heading back towards Hogwarts to meet with whatever Order
members Hermione's Messenger Spell had alerted. They were going to need every pair of eyes and
hands available to do a full blown search of the castle and the grounds. But for some reason
Malfoy’s offer of assistance had grated on Harry like nothing else. He was already on edge and the
last thing he needed was the Slytherin pretending to care about something other than his own pale
arse. Plus his heating charm had worn off; he was cranky.*

*Wrinkling his nose at him Harry snottily said, “Stand there and look pretty.”*

*Malfoy hung back. He wrathfully fumed at Harry's back as he balled the fist connected to
his one functioning arm, prepared to go down swinging.*

“*You know what Potter, you and your sanctimonious arse can go jump in the lake for all I
care!”*

*The insult stopped Harry cold.*

*Hermione, who had also paused at Malfoy’s childish retort, turned to look at Harry, eyes
bulging as she saw the very same comprehension on her face spread across his.*

*Harry didn’t bother with words just turned and ran like lightning down towards the lake.
Funnily Hermione expressed his exact feelings for him as she took off after him.*

“***SHITE**!”*

*Not knowing what the hell was going on, but not wanting to be left out either, Malfoy gave
chase, quickly outpacing Hermione and catching up with Harry in no time. He asked them both
repeatedly what was going on but got no response.*

*Over and over Harry silently berated himself. He knew he had heard something hit the water
but he never imagined that it was a person, especially not DuManoir. Then again how could he; she
was supposed to be in her own little world, completely unaware of the universe going on around her.
But Harry knew that wasn’t true. Although it had come too late, he had reached the conclusion that
Hermione’s assertions had been correct all along, that DuManoir did indeed understand everything
they had been hashing out together in the South Tower the last few weeks. And now Harry had a
sinking feeling that he knew exactly what he was going to find once they reached the lake.*

*A Bubble-Head Charm, that’s what he’d need. He wasn’t too confident about performing a
self-transfiguration but perhaps Hermione could help him out with that one, Harry told himself. Too
bad there was no gillyweed handy, though he supposed he could summon some from the castle. Whatever
he decided on Harry knew one thing for sure, he had to get in that water and fish DuManoir out as
fast as he could. He couldn’t bring himself to think about how cold it was or just how long the
girl would have been under. The only thing that drove him, that registered in his head was anger.
He was tired of innocent people dying around him. He wouldn’t stand for it anymore if he could help
it.*

*As he neared the waters edge Harry began kicking off his trainers and yanking off his cable
knit jumper. Before he could get it fully over his head he heard Hermione screaming behind him.
Finally freeing himself from the heavy jumper he looked towards the lake and saw a sight that made
him drop to his knees as though all the blood in his veins had suddenly hardened and turned to
lead. The sound of yelling and shouting as help finally came from out the castle only left Harry
feeling numb. He watched as the giant squid unhurriedly drifted close enough to the lake's
grassy bank to deposit something shriveled and dripping from its tentacles before using them to
push itself away. The misshapen object it left looked decayed, as if it had rotted from the inside
out. Everything about it was gray, even the long hair that fanned out across the ground around it.
All that was recognizable to Harry were the vacant purple eyes that stared unblinkingly into the
darkened havens above them all.*




*Tom Riddle’s fourth Horcrux was no more.*







“I've been thinking about Boadicea a lot recently,” said Hermione, turning away from
Harry.

“I wish she had never heard me and Malfoy tearing into each other that night,” he said. “I’ve
always felt partly responsible for what happened to her.”

“Don’t do that to yourself Harry, you read the note she left behind. The acceptance that
Voldemort never really loved her, that he had only been using her had killed her already. She just
finished the job. In the end she did a very brave thing, sacrificing herself like that.”

Harry solemnly nodded in agreement. His forehead then wrinkled as he thought about something she
had mentioned before.

“What did you mean when you said that you 'got' DuManoir?” he asked curiously. It was
such an odd statement when he thought about it. What could Hermione have possibly had in common
with the poor, ill-fated girl?

Hermione stared at him for a moment before she finally answered.

“Do you know what hubris means?”

“Ah, yes. That would be the word with Malfoy's sulking picture above it, right?”

She laughed and Harry's stomach fluttered.

“In classical mythology there is no greater sin than hubris. To think so highly of one's
self, to go so far as to put yourself on par with the very gods themselves almost always equaled
tragedy. Just about every great hero suffered from it and paid the price; Jason,
Theseus...Cadmus.”

Harry's eyes bugged out. “C-Cadmus?”

“Uh huh. Thinking yourself better than someone else was practically a crime to the ancient
Greeks.”

Ignoring Harry's suddenly fidgety state, she continued.

“I used to pity Boadicea. I felt very sorry for her. I mean yes, the choices that she made were
her own. But did that fact make her any less of a victim? She paid for those choices and in the end
became a prisoner of the consequences. It took death to finally free her. I pitied her. And yet I
learned nothing from her,” she said with a weary sigh.

Harry frowned. “What could you have possibly learned from some girl who was nearly driven
mad?”

Hermione gave him a disapproving look.

“A few of the decisions I've made through out the years have been,” her eyes veered from
his, “questionable. They've been haunting me lately. A lot. I mean, I thought I was doing the
right things for the right reasons at the time but now...”

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought.

Harry stopped walking and she did as well. He stuffed his robes under his arm and forced her to
look at him.

“If you continue to second guess yourself you'll never have peace Hermione. All anyone can
do is hope for the best and if you've found that you've made a mistake fix it.”

He couldn't help but think of his own tangled predicament.

Hermione looked like she agreed.

“You're right. I know you're right,” she said, reaching for his hand and holding it
tightly. She gave it a squeeze as they began to walk again. “When did you get so smart?”

She looked far more at ease now than before. He liked to think that he had helped with that.

Harry shrugged. “A little of you must have rubbed off on me.”

“Hmm, there's a dirty joke in there somewhere. I'm far too tired to do a thing about it
though,” said Hermione making him laugh. “So are you going to let me see it?” she asked changing
the subject.

Harry's lips rakishly curled.

“And here you said you were too tired.”

She smacked his arm.

“You know, if I didn't know better I would think you were flirting with me Mr. Potter!”

Trying to keep a straight face he said, “Stranger things have happened.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I was talking about your brand new mobile.” At his amazed expression she added with a frisky
grin, “Well either that's what's been in your pants all night or you have been beyond
ecstatic to see me.”

“It's no big deal,” said Harry, red faced, as he let go her hand to reach into his trouser
pocket. He pulled out the little black gadget and handed it to her. It had been a spur of the
moment decision when he purchased it down on Oxford Street the day before. He hadn't even
learned his number yet.

“Of course it is. It's about time that you left the dark ages and joined the rest of us in
the 21st century.” She took the mobile from him. “So why did you get it?”

“To keep track...erm...touch with you,” said Harry, curious as to what she was doing. She was
fiddling with the gizmo's punch pad. “I figured it would make it easier for us to reach each
other. In case of emergency of course,” he lamely added. “What are you doing?”

She gave him a winning smile.

“Giving you my number so that it will be easier for us to reach each other.”

She winked at him.

“In case of emergency, of course. There.” She handed him back the device. “I am officially your
very first contact. I’m just a few finger punches away now, just don’t abuse it.”

Harry took it and shoved it back into his pants.

“So you mean I can’t call you twenty times a day?” he asked charmingly.

“No, ten will have to suffice I'm afraid,” she joshed. “So I guess this is it.”

They had come to a halt just outside the front of the mostly darkened cottage. Usually the sight
of his home filled within Harry a sense of warmth and completeness that he never knew he missed
until he was inside its walls again. Whenever he was there he had a feeling of truly belonging to
something. But now it was just a visual reminder that he was going to have to let Hermione go for
another day. She would walk inside, climb the stairs to the bedroom, turn out the lights, and shut
him out as always.

Harry sighed wistfully. “Home sweet home.”

He turned to her.

“So, did you leave the door unlocked?”

“No, no, I have my key.”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck and gave her an inquisitive look. “Um...where?”

She advanced forward, stooping down to lift the welcome mat that lay in front of the door. When
she stood back up and turned, Harry saw the door key in her hand.

“I didn't feel like carrying a handbag and I always keep a spare here in case of emergency,”
she told him. “See?” She held it up. Turning her back on him again, she stepped up to the door and
put the key in the lock. Jestingly she asked, “Where did you think I had it, up my dress?”

Not missing the unintentional humor, Harry laughed so hard that his stomach began to
protest.

“No, I definitely did not think you had a key stashed in there.”

She gave him an iffy look over her shoulder. The joke hadn't been that funny.

“Ok,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “So I'm going to go inside now.” She faced him
fully. “I would invite you in but...”

He stepped closer to her smiling lazily. “But?”

She leaned against the door and folded her arms. “I have a thick slice of Black Forest cake
sitting in my fridge and I don't want to share,” she saucily said. “Also I think you have
another hour or two to beat the sun home. If your wife sees it before she sees you I think
you're going to be in big trouble mister.”

Ginny was the furthest thing from his mind and it showed on his face.

“Eh, I'm toast either way. Still know a good Bat Bogey counter?”

Disgust etched itself on her face.

“She hasn't grown out of those yet? Well, at least you have the excuse that you were with me
and not out trysting with some tart somewhere. That should help smooth things.”

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He was going to have to talk to his wife about the fight
she had picked with Hermione. Of course he still didn't know what to do about all of the affair
talk, but he figured he would know what to do when the time came.

“I don't have a secret lover, remember?”

Naughtily, Hermione grinned. “Oh, but I'm sure that's only due to a lack of advertising.
There must be dozens...nay, hundreds of women who would be willing to take on the task. Mobs of
them would pack the streets to queue up. Witches everywhere would scream out 'pick me Harry
Potter, pick me',” she said in a scatterbrained, fangirl simper as she exaggeratedly fluttered
her eyelashes. It was eerie how well she did that. “It would be like Sixth Year minus all the love
potion shenanigans; Harry Hysteria all over again.”

With a rueful smile Harry said, “That was only because I was 'The Chosen One', whatever
the hell that meant. It's been seven years. All of that went away after I became just another
stodgy old Ministry stiff.”

She looked at him cynically. “Harry please, you're gorgeous.”

Hearing the compliment, Harry perked up. He felt like he was on top of the world...until she
went and pushed him clean off of it.

“I mean, did you miss all of those shameless hussies practically drooling all over themselves at
the club? I feared for your life, they looked like they just wanted to devour you whole. Harry you
could be the droppings sweeper at Eeylops Owl Emporium and women would still flock to the store on
a daily basis just to steal a peek at you.”

Harry didn't know what to make of the comment. Any normal bloke would have been glad to hear
that the woman he loved found him appealing. He was by no means vain, but it would have been nice
to know that Hermione was just as physically attracted to him as he was to her. But that was just
it, he didn't know.

“And you?”

Hermione gave him a quizzical look. “What about me?”

Harry gritted his teeth. She was actually going to make him spell it out, wasn't she?

“You wouldn't...um, flock?”

“Now why would I do a silly thing like that?” she asked.

Despondently, Harry sighed. “I must look like a troll to you then.”

He tried to say it as though he was kidding, but it came out sounding too embittered to be a
joke.

“A troll? What an odd thing to say. Of course I don’t think you look like a troll. Why would I
think you look like a troll?”

Deciding to just cut to the chase he said, “Because I have no idea what you think I look like;
you’ve never said.”

Either Hermione was playing dim, or she was pulling a Ron.

“WHAT?! What do you mean? You’re Harry! What was I supposed to have said?” she asked, flustered.
Her eyes went flitting back and forth as though she were trying not to look at him straight on and
her relaxed posture became stiff as she stood up ramrod straight. “I mean, do you really need an
ego boost that badly? Have you become that shallow?” she asked with a jittery chuckle crossing and
uncrossing her arms. “I’m sure dozens of women...”

“**DAMMIT**! THAT'S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU! This isn’t about what other women think, or
say, or would do! I don’t care about them, I asked about you Hermione!” barked Harry finally losing
his cool.

He had asked her a simple question. A very simple question, if he said so himself. All he wanted
to know was what Hermione thought when she looked at him. Did she like what she saw? Was he
good-looking? His nose, was it dead center enough in her estimation?! He really wanted to know
because as far as he could tell...he couldn't. Whenever Hermione mentioned that he was
fanciable or handsome or not that hard to look at, she always framed it in a way that left her own
position on the subject in question. It was almost as if she didn't want to give her opinion.
What was she so scared of? Why couldn't she just be straight with him? Several times in the
past few weeks he had felt some spark of chemistry between them, they had practically set the dance
floor afire that night in his opinion, but maybe it was all just one-sided. Maybe when Hermione
looked at him all she saw was the pathetic little wretch she had befriended as a child. Maybe
that's all she could see him as. Maybe, just maybe, the truth was better left unsaid.

“You know what, never mind,” he said piercingly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking
off into the distance. All the drinking he had been doing that night had finally caught up with him
leaving him prickly and sullen. The roller coaster evening had chugged to a stop on a sour note and
he was ready to just leave before anything was said he might regret the next day.

“Harry, I don’t understand. What’s this all about?”

Too late!

He angrily pounced on her. “You know, I get that there are things you just don’t want to tell
me,” he began, infuriated at her steadfast stonewalling, “but I am really growing tired of all of
the head games Hermione!”

The sudden change caught her by surprise. She stared at him, taken aback as Harry began to blow
his stack. It was obvious that he had been saving up for this moment and he let her have it. The
stress of having to juggle so many veiled agendas had finally worn him down, and as was usually the
case in these things, the most minuscule of offenses was what ended up setting him off.

As he began to rant he backed her into the doorframe of the house. He was like some caged beast
whose cell door had been foolishly left open. It had probably been building all night, he had been
patient with her and he had tried to understand her need for space, but her constant refusal to
just speak openly had finally struck the wrong nerve at the very wrong time.

“You have your secrets and I'm trying to be mindful of them even though I think it’s stupid
and selfish of you to keep them. You know that there is nothing you can tell me that would ever
make me feel differently about you. But I figure hey, maybe she really does have her reasons to
keep everything bottled up so tight. Or at least she thinks she does. But when you can’t even
answer a dumb question straight it becomes frustratingly clear that you’ve only been paying our
friendship lip service all this time Hermione! I mean....**FUCK**! DO YOU JUST ENJOY TOYING WITH
ME? DOES IT GIVE YOU SOME SICK THRILL? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ANSWER A STUPID QUESTION?! WHY IS
THAT SO DAMNED HARD?!”

Feeling drained suddenly, Harry made up his mind to just leave then before he made an even
bigger arse of himself, if that were possible. He gave her a regretful last look before readying to
Disapparate away. Before he could however Hermione latched on to him to keep him from going.

“Wait! What is it that you want from me Harry?” She pulled him back into the doorway with her.
“What is it you would you like me to say to you? That I find you attractive?” she asked. “That I
think you’re good-looking? That you are quite possibly the most breath-taking man I’ve ever
seen?”

The words stunned Harry into silence.

“My God, have you never looked in a mirror?! Come on, the hair, the eyes, the package...”

Hermione's mouth popped open and her blush rivaled his. Her face screwed up and her eyelids
clamped down tightly.

“I mean, not **the** package. I'm sure that it's quite nice too but...**ARG**!”
she hollered in frustration as she stomped both of her feet. “Harry, you’re beautiful!” she finally
blurted out as she opened her eyes to look at him again. “But I always thought you beautiful.
Always! I thought that eleven year old boy with his outdated frames and his shabby clothes and his
heartbreakingly thin shoulders was beautiful. After all the world had done to him he was still kind
and caring and loyal and brave and good, oh so honest to God good. And yeah he could be a prat, and
reckless, and a bit of a hothead at times, but he was the best person I had ever known.”

Tears started to fill her eyes.

“He still is!”

Harry, too moved to even make a response, raised a hand to brush away an errant tear that had
spilled down her cheek. The action made Hermione's face jerk away from his touch. She narrowed
her eyes at him.

“But wait, I haven't answered the question yet, have I?!” she shrilled as she batted his
hand away from her.

She was trembling and she looked like she was disintegrating before his eyes. The only thing he
could think to do was grab and hold tight to keep all of her intact.

“You wanted to know if I thought you were hot, right? Yes Harry, you are *hot*!” she said
in a voice oozing sarcasm. “Harry Potter is sooo *hot*! I most definitely would not kick him
out of bed; is that what you wanted to hear?” she bitingly asked. “Are you happy now Harry?! Hmm,
are you?!”

Her vehemence would have been quite scorching too if she hadn't begun to cry.

Although she pushed him away initially, Harry held fast to her as she wailed onto his shoulder
venting everything onto his dress shirt. He caressed the hair at the back of her head and gently
rocked her to-and-fro. His lips grazed her temple as he murmured nonsensical words of comfort to
ease her distress. Hermione had opened up a bit of her heart to him and he was humbled by the act.
What could he say in the face of such honesty? What could he say that could ever compare?

“Oh God, and now I'm crying,” she tearfully sobbed, sniffing loudly as she tried to reign in
her emotions. “Why am I crying?! I must look so stupid!”

Harry, not being the type to carry handkerchiefs on him, offered her his robe to dry her tears.
She accepted it and used the collar to dab at her eyes.

“I'm sorry Harry; I'm just a mess. I don't know why I just went all dotty like that.
You didn't deserve it. I hope you don't think less of me.” She miserably sniffed again.
“Quick, tell me something to take my mind off of how foolish I feel,” she said ashamedly handing
him back the sodden robes.

Her face was splotchy, her eyes were glazed and caked with mascara in the corners, her hair
looked snarled and in bad need of a comb, and her nose was red and leaking.

She had never been more lovely to him.

Caught off guard by the request, his brain short circuited making him say the first thing that
came to mind.

“My god, I'm in love with you Hermione!”

At the earnest, yet bungled confession, Hermione lurched back from him. Her mouth opened and
closed wordlessly. Then opened and closed again. She watched his relieved and hopeful expression
morph into one of horror as if viewing it all from far, far away somewhere. It slowly crept across
Harry's rapidly paling face. It was the last thing she saw too. As her eyes rolled to the back
of her head and her world descended into nothingness, Harry caught her slumping body before it
could fall to the ground.

She had fainted dead away.







"So if you really love me, say yes
But if you don’t dear, confess
And please don’t tell me
Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps”













**A/N:** Next up is Ron's POV. I know...I know. You hate me. LOL! Things to look forward
to; a Burrow breakfast blow-out, the “sidekick” shows why he is a member of the Trio, and Ptolemy
Cadmus takes out his next couple(and yes, it is a couple you know). I'm not quite sure when
Chapter 20 will be up but I would like to tentatively shoot for 5 weeks from today. Check out my
yahoo group: insidepandiesbox if you
haven't already. I just added an ARLB timeline.



A few more points of interest...

1) Bongos is based on a club in Miami that I used to frequent called Mangoes. I know nothing of
the London club scene so please don’t fault me if my interpretation is too far off.



2) A hanbok is a traditional formal Korean dress. It looks kind of like a kimono/gown/dress
robe. They are very pretty.

3) “I'm Henery the Eight, I am” is an old British music hall song. You might remember it
from the movie Ghost.

4) “You know how he likes it when they walk” is a shout-out to Ron's similar line in the GoF
movie.

5) I'm pretty sure that “flying her freak flag” is a Sex and the City reference.

6) Torvill and Dean are an Olympic winning British ice dancing team.

7) “Put your hand on my waist”/“Put my what on your what now” is shout-out to the McGonagall/Ron
exchange in the GoF movie. Guess what I was watching when I was sketching out most of this chapter.
LOL! It's from the scene when McGonagall tells her Gryffindors about the Ball and she makes Ron
dance with her.

8) Everything about the rumba is accurate with a few of my usual embellishments for extra
flavor.

9) “And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken the thing you'll sorely
miss” is of course from chapter 25 of GoF.

10) If you’ll remember from OotP Hermione once foolishly wished to see a thestral. Why yes I am
mean. LOL!

11) All of the songs for the Bongos half of the chapter were selected from my music library.
Lyrics used as followed: “I Like it
Like That” by Tito Puente, “Ella
Tiene Fuego” by Celia Cruz ft. El General, “Hey Mama” by
The Black Eyed Peas, 
“Por Ese Hombre” by Tito Nieves, Brenda K. Starr, and Victor Manuelle, “Perhaps, Perhaps,
Perhaps” by Doris Day, and “Quien
Sera (Sway)” by Arielle Dombasle. Because I'm a dork I actually wrote the club section
using a soundtrack. Salsa section: “I Like it Like That”, “Ella Tiene Fuego”, “Nina” by Cheo
Feliciano and the Joe Cuba Sextet(more of a mambo song but it works), “Hey Mama”(more of a samba
song but it works), “La Negra Mariachi Medley” by Eddie Palmieri, “Cuba, que lindos son tus
Paisajes” by Willie Chirino ft. Celia Cruz, “Fiesta palos Rumberos” by Albita, “Mi Bongo” by
Orquesta Zodiac, and “Por Ese Hombre”. Rumba section(extra hawt w/ linkys to all): “Perhaps,
Perhaps, Perhaps”*, “(Yours)Quiereme
Mucho” by Linda Ronstadt, “Orfeo Negro” by Trios Los
Panchos, “Quien Sera(Sway)”*, and “Vuelvo a Sur” by Gotan
Project”. FF.net'ers, you'll have to go to my site or portkey if you want to hear them.
Sorry.













*Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please
review.*





28. Author's Note
-----------------

Hi people,





Long time no post, I know. I've had a heck of a year, but the one great, absolutely stellar
thing that happened to me is that I had a baby a few months ago. Anyhoo, I hope some of you guys
are happy to know that I'm about to upload the newest chapter. I don't know if it's
good or not, I jokingly told my beta that I think the baby made me stupid, and that I somehow
forgot how to use adverbs and adjectives properly during my hiatus (hee), but I like it. If
y'all remember how weird my sense of humor can be at times, than you know what to expect.



But first, I'm reposting the story in one full swoop. I know I'll lose all of the
reviews, but it will make me feel better in the long run to know that I'm not that much of an
illiterate schlub. LOL! I also like to think that I was able to get a better grip on some of the
characters than I did originally.







pandie







P.S.

I know I used to interact with you guys a lot through your reviews. Although I would still like
to, I might be a little more hesitant due to the tenor of some of the reviews I got. Not all of
you, of course. Most of you were great and understanding and I sincerely thank you for that and
apologize for the delay. Some of you even reached out to me through emails and whatnot, and that
genuinely touched me.



But there were a few reviews here and there that felt a bit...confrontational? I'm sensitive
though, so I might have just taken them the wrong way. I'll try not to be too touchy if you
guys meet me halfway. As I also told my beta, since I don't walk out my house butt naked
everyday, I obviously have some decency (just to quote one lovely review). ;D





Oh and one other thing *to add in the longest postscript EVAH*...I never read Deathly
Hollows. I have no clue what exactly went down, but from what I've gathered it was UGLY. I keep
hearing whisperings about an Epilogue that was evil personified. LOL! I remain blissfully ignorant
and would like to remain that way. Denial rawks! I was on the Lexicon one day and saw something
called the Elderwand or some crap, and I was all thewhatnow?!! So I kept on scrolling! I plan to
keep anything DHish out of this story; characters, spells(even though I suck at making my own),
plot devices, etc. I hope y'all can dig that.



