Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So," Hermione said, biting her lip.

Ginny glanced up from magazine she was flipping through, leaving a thumb behind to mark her place.

"He asked me out."

Ginny's eyebrows came together, "Who are we talking about?"

"Harry."

"Oh."

Hermione watched her carefully, noticing as she tried to hide her look of . . . anger? She wasn't sure.

Ginny forced a laugh, "Did you let him down easy?"

Dropping her eyes to the knitting needles in her hands, Hermione paused.  "Erm, no."

"Oh," said Ginny. 

"I mean it's one date." Hermione pressed her lips together.  "Nothing will come of it, probably."

"Yeah," Ginny's voice sounded falsely bright. 

Hermione wasn't sure what to say.  They sat in silence for a bit.

"You're okay with it, though?" she asked.

"Yeah--yes," Ginny gave a tight smile, "it's fine."

As Hermione left the Burrow that evening (Molly had insisted she stay through dinner), she thought back. It had been around 8 months since Harry and Ginny had last broken up. 

It had also been 5 years since Voldemort had fallen.  In the time elapsed, things had been rather, chaotic. 

Hermione spent the summer convincing Harry and Ron to return to Hogwarts with her, so they could complete their 7th year.  Harry had agreed after she argued that he needed his NEWTs to pursue his dream of becoming an Auror, or really anything else he decided to do. 

Ron had taken a lot more.  So much more, in fact, that Hermione had nearly given up.  That is, until Molly heard them discussing it one day, and settled the matter with a simple, "Ronald Weasley, you completing school isn't even up for debate!"

None of them had high expectations for how it would go, how it would be to back in the place where they had watched so many good people die a few months earlier.  It was painful at first, and really awkward. 

She remembered the first night there, watching the first-years get sorted.  It was different than she remembered--from the replacement of Professor Sprout as their guide from the boats, to the absence of Dumbledore in the central seat at the table, and most significantly (nauseatingly, she thought), what must have been the smallest group of first years she'd ever seen. 

"There are more than last year, at least," Neville had said, seeing the look on her face.  

It got better from there.  Despite the somber feeling, the realization had dawned after a couple of weeks that there wasn't anything hanging over them. 

Hermione noted how happy Harry seemed, lighter and more optimistic than she had ever seen him before. 

The point being, though, that was the end of Ginny and Harry's first time really being together.  It wasn't until the end of the school year that they got back together again. They stayed together until . . . Hermione couldn't remember exactly when, but it was probably about a year. 

It got hard to keep track after that, though she was probably distracted by her own dating life.  Her and Ron had followed a different yet similar path.

The summer before their (repeat) 7th year, Ron became insufferable: insulting everyone who looked at him wrong, brushing off her careful requests to see a therapist, and so on. 

Hermione felt bad, knowing that the loss of his brother was a deep pain, and one that would never end.  However, she finally had enough of it and dumped him (read: told him that they needed to be apart for the sake of both of their mental health) after a couple weeks of this behavior.  It was a blow out fight, one that was loud enough to make even the ghoul uncomfortable.

They stayed broken up until the end of their last school year, when they got back together.  They were together for a while, until Hermione's 22nd birthday.  Or, rather, the day after, when Ron thought her birthday was.  

That was it for her.  And aside from a couple situations that could possibly be construed as dates (Harry had lost his mind laughing about one of such occasions), they remained friends. 

In the midst of all of that, Harry and Ginny were separating and getting back together so quickly that sometimes she didn't even think Harry knew what was going on. 

But, during some of their breaks (the longest being the year when they were 21), Harry and Ginny had dated other people.  Added to the fact that they had gone back to speaking normally (kind of), everyone thought they might actually be finished. 

Hermione had spoken to Harry when they'd most recently broken up, saying that he was sure they were done forever.  She'd doubted it, though now that he'd asked her out . . .

And it wasn't that Hermione was surprised by Ginny's reaction, necessarily, but more so confused.  As far as she knew, Ginny had been on plenty of dates in the months passed, ones that she seemed to enjoy greatly. 

[a week earlier]

"Hermione," Harry grinned as he opened the door.

"I don't know why you act like that," she said as she rolled her eyes.  "We just had lunch two days ago."

He just laughed. 

Luna and Neville were set to arrive later that night, along with a couple other people. 

She stepped through the doorway of Number 12, glancing around at the changes made.  After she and Ron had helped for few months to try to brighten the place up and really get rid of all of the remaining nastiness, Harry gave up.  He called a magical contractor on their sixth day straight of trying to unstick one of the portraits, who arrived and promptly cleared all of the undesirable objects. 

They all felt rather stupid, knowing how much time they'd wasted (secretly, though, she blamed Ron for not knowing, especially when he mentioned after the contractor left how often his father had spoken about them when he was younger). 

It looked even better now, the heavy black crown molding and wood details had been painted white (a task another contractor was needed for), the floor had been magically refinished, and thanks to a hired interior designer Hermione thought the place look magazine worthy. 

She hung her purse on a hook next to the door, and slipped off her shoes.  Harry led her to the sitting room, where the TV was already on. 

This was an addition that led to great confusion from all (but excitement from Mr Weasley), and something that came after Harry deciding that he could not bear being so bored when he was alone in this new home. 

She dropped onto the couch as he grabbed glasses, pouring a drink for himself and for her. 

"What in the world are you grinning about?" she asked.  The grin still hadn't left his face. 

"I've something to ask you," he said, handing her one of the glasses and watching as she sniffed its contents. 

"What's that, Harry?"

He sat next to her, taking a sip and staring at the TV for a minute.  She noted how his grin weakened.

"It's not too serious . . . just something I've been thinking about," he rubbed the back of his neck, "You don't need to say yes . . . obviously."

Hermione had no clue what was going on.  "What are you talking about?"

He turned, making direct eye contact with her, pressing his lips together as though deciding whether or not to ask.  "Never mind."

The concern Hermione felt was clear and she was just on the brink of voicing it, going so far as to open her mouth, when she thought it might be better to drop it. 

The night after that was pretty uneventful, ending up with four other people present.  She hadn't planned on it, but she'd even had so much fun that she'd forgotten to keep track of her drinks, having more than she would have otherwise. 

It was around 1 in the morning when they decided to call it a night.  And, with a series of 4 cracks, Harry and Hermione were again alone.

She stayed behind for a bit, doing as many cleaning spells as she could (though considering how drunk she was the quality was dubious),  and trying to get the place back in order. 

"Who knew so few people could make such a mess?" she laughed to herself, taking note the various empty bottles, discarded plates, and random other objects scattered around the house.  

They worked individually, taking a divide and conquer approach to cleaning the disaster that had somehow touched every room on the main floor.  She made her way to the kitchen, jaw dropping at what looked like the aftermath of a hurricane. 

Various colored lights shot from her wand in every direction, trying to put everything to the way it had been before. 

"Would you go on a date with me?"

"Huh?" Hermione whirled around, surprised to see Harry behind her, in the doorway of the kitchen.  She cringed- she heard a couple dishes shatter as her attention was lost and they dropped swiftly to the floor. 

"Like I said earlier, you don't have to."

She narrowed her eyes.  "How much have you had to drink?"

He rolled his eyes. 

"No, I mean it. Are you being serious? Or are you just drunk?"

Harry shrugged, "I've been thinking about it for a few days now so I think I'm serious."

She was quiet, absentmindedly conducting a rag with her wand as it ran back and forth over the kitchen counters. 

"Yes," she said with certainty, turning back to face him. 

The awkwardness lasted for a moment, interrupted by an eruption of laughter caused by the cleaning rag spontaneously bursting into flames. 

The rest of the cleaning went swiftly, though their impaired senses may have lowered their expectations slightly. 

She thought more about it as she Apparated onto her own front doorstep.  It really wasn't something that she would have proposed, though she would be lying she said she hadn't ever considered it. 

Despite her reservations, she fell asleep that night with a smile. 

She woke the next morning still drunk.  It was early in the morning, around the time she usually got up, though earlier than she wanted to be awake on this morning. 

She rubbed at her eyes, blearily gazing around for the source of her consciousness.  At the sight of her two cats curled up and fast asleep--one on the pillow next to her and the other by her feet-- she sat up suddenly. 

Freezing, she listened for noise. 

After ten seconds of holding her breath she realized what it was.  She stumbled out into the tiny kitchen of her flat, tapping the window with her wand when she reached it. 

An owl perched on the edge, sticking out a leg and looking unblinkingly at her as it waited. 

"Sorry about that," she mumbled.  Her fingers were clumsy, taking longer to untie the mysterious little note tied to its scaly foot. 

A frown appeared on her face, the contents of the letter displeased her.  So much, in fact, that she didn't even notice that the owl had flown off. 

you're really going on a date with Harry? it read. 

From the scrawl and loopiness of the letters she didn't even bother to read the signature, dropping the parchment on the counter and heading back to bed. 

As though it was any of his business, she thought to herself, yanking the covers back on top her her.  

Despite her annoyance, it only took her seconds to fall back asleep.

Chapter Text

[a memory, around a year ago]

She laughed awkwardly, "What do you mean?"

"I think we should give it another shot," he said.

"Another shot?" she asked incredulously.  "Ron, there's no way you've already forgotten how horrid we were together."

"It wasn't all bad," he responded, voice high.

"I think it would be better now."

She shook her head, "I don't think it would."

"You don't want to try again?"

"We know exactly how it'll go, Ron"

But that was just how it went, that was how it always went. 

It drove her crazy, not just because he kept asking, but mostly because of how close she came to saying yes sometimes. 

What made it all worse, though, was the fact that no matter how many times she said no, he'd ask again with the most unbelievable confidence. 

It was cute the first time, but by the third time--when she could tell from the glances he kept shooting her that night across the table--it was just annoying. 

She wasn't sure why he'd asked so many times, though thankfully at this point he hadn't asked since a couple months after they broke up. 

What brought it to her mind now, was the fact that the memory came to her so vividly that she sat straight up, violently yanked from sleep.

[present]

For the second time that night, Ron had woken her up without even being there. Hermione tried to put that out of her mind. 

She wasn't just lying when she fell asleep telling herself that she'd considered it.  (It being a date with Harry.) Yes, she had certainly considered it. 

She'd considered it a couple times in 5th year, only once during 6th year, possibly a couple times during the wedding the summer after 6th year, probably not a lot when they were first on the run, definitely a lot in the tent, even more after Ron left, some times after that, their first mid-summer ride to Hogwarts (Ron wasn't with them that time) . . . the list kept going, probably to the point where it was easier to list when she hadn't  considered it.  Hell, she'd even considered it earlier that week, at the lunch they'd had now three days ago. 

It wasn't that it was hard for her to say yes, since she literally couldn't believe was she was hearing it, it was that she didn't think she heard him correctly. 

She didn't believe it so much that when she woke up the next morning (for real this time) she knew it had to have been a dream--it's not like it would've been the first time she had a dream about something like that.  She put it out of her mind, brushing her hair and teeth, washing her face, telling herself that getting her hopes up that it was anything other than just a dream was a stupid thing for her to do.  It's not like it mattered that much, she had a job, friends, her parents were okay, she was happy.

(It's funny how telling yourself the same thing over and over doesn't make it come true.  She thought she was happy, and she was very nearly happy.  Which made it so unfortunate that the little voice in the back of her mind kept her from that true happiness, asking always what if?)

As far as she knew, it was dream, everything was the same as it had been the day before.  So when she went about the rest of her Saturday morning routine: putting on the kettle, checking the water in the cat bowls, grabbing their food, and scanning the refrigerator for her own breakfast.

She did all of this manually, having discovered after a few very bad mishaps that she really shouldn't be doing magic so close to waking up. 

"Dickens! Crookshanks!"  Within seconds they'd arrived, nearly wiping her feet from under her as they rushed towards the new food. 

"Your bowls weren't even empty!" she said, laughing. 

She kept going, repeating an internal mantra that she'd just dreamed about Harry asking her out (that same little voice asked her how many dreams about her friends asking her out was enough to seek help--in her defense one was a memory), going over to make her tea when the kettle whistled. 

It was when she was nearly done, dropping a touch of sugar and the tiniest bit of cream into her tea, that she saw Ron's note. 

It did happen.

[5 years prior, early July, two months after the Battle at Hogwarts]

It was, in fact, during that aforementioned mid-summer Ron-less Hogwarts train ride that Harry had considered it, too.  Like Hermione, this definitely wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. 

But there they sat, returning to Hogwarts to the first time in three months.  The anxiety came in waves off of each of them, making the train car feel hot.  They probably felt as though the train were filled, the train compartment filled to the brim with other people--but they were completely alone on that train. 

Harry remembered about ten minutes into the ride, asking Hermione if she had any idea if they still sold Honeydukes on the train, or if that was only for the scheduled rides for all of the students.  She told him she didn't know.  She didn't, A History of Hogwarts had never mentioned anything of the sort.

That made it really unfortunate when now-Headmaster Professor McGonagall mentioned how the trolley-cart witch had been killed the year prior. 

The train ride was long, and the silence they sat in wasn't exactly awkward, except for the fact that they clearly wanted to comfort one another (and repeatedly tried to) only to realize they didn't have any words of reassurance. 

The silence did, luckily, lapse around lunch time. 

"You know what I've been thinking about?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah?" his mouth was full, it came out as mumble, he tried to cover his mouth with a hand.

She resisted the urge to compare him to Ron, a topic that would certainly create negative tension since neither of them knew whether he'd be joining them for their final school year or not. 

"I've done countless hours of research, read so many books, but there isn't a protocol for what happens if an entire year needs to return."  She let out a breath, blowing enough air to force some wayward hair strands out of her face.

Harry had swallowed at this point, "Isn't that why we're headed there now?"

"Well, yes, obviously," she looked down at the book in her hands.  "What I mean is, it's shocking.  There've been hundreds of years of students before us, and we're the first year to want to finish?"

His brow furrowed.  "How is that possible? What about during the first war?"

"No," she shook her head, "there wasn't anything.  At least as far as I could tell."

The soft sound of the book pages flipping filled the air. 

"I mean, at least not on a large enough scale for it to be notable.  I even asked Professor McGonagall, hoping she might have a better idea.  She didn't, said that back then it was handled on a case by case basis.

"But there's just so many questions.  I don't even know how to ask them all." She let out another puff of air.  "And that's not even counting-" she stopped suddenly, voice cracking and tears rapidly welling up. 

Harry knew what she meant, though.  How could they go back when they'd watched so many people die? How would they be able to return to partially filled classrooms?  Another thought made him shudder, what if some of them stayed as ghosts?  He put his sandwich down quickly, feeling suddenly overcome with nausea. 

She knew from the look on his face that she shouldn't ask.   "Have you thought at all about Quidditch, though?"

"Erm . . . yeah I suppose," he lied.  He'd thought about it.  He'd spoken with Ron about it.  He'd spoken with Ginny about it.  Thinking about Quidditch was something that kept him up at night. 

"How do you think it's gonna work?" she asked. 

He shrugged.  "The only thing I've been able to come up with," he paused, considering whether it was a good enough idea to voice (especially since he'd never suggested it to anyone else, "Is possibly having two teams."

"Oh!" Hermione seemed overjoyed at the suggestion.  "Harry! Harry, that's a wonderful idea.  I'd never even thought about that . . . I mean I probably did for a while when we were in school.  It may've been the Muggle in me, but it seemed terrifying for you to at age 11 to play against people six years older than you." 

He'd never thought about that.  So he shrugged again, "I was just thinking that if we have tryouts, if there's enough good people for two teams, then we'll have two teams."

Hermione was already scribbling furiously in a notebook.  "And each house will have two teams? Right? So that the different level teams can play each other . . ." she trailed off, quill continuing to scratch away. 

"Yeah, I dunno how popular it'll be, but I know that there are loads of people in our year that always wanted to play, but never got the chance.  I figure the other years are similar, and it seems unfair to everyone to not allow that to happen.  Anyways, what've you been thinking about?"

"I've been more focused on the other logistics.  I asked earlier in the summer when I sent my letter to McGonagall whether there would be enough dormitories.  She said yes, since Hogwarts is magical, after all, and each year's dormitory is literally different.

"Then I mentioned food, but she said that was a non-issue-" here went another unspoken thing: the fact that there would certainly be enough food because even with half of their year returning, there still wouldn't be as many students as in normal times at Hogwarts.  "Let's see, I said something about classes, but she assured me that they were planning on keeping our year and the current 7th years separate.  I'm not sure why I was concerned about that-"

Harry knew that was because she was concerned about everything.

"-but the answer was very reassuring.  There were other things, too.  Oh! I'm also wondering about how Head Boy and Head Girl will work."

Harry hadn't even thought about it.  Of course she had, since it was something that she'd wanted since she first found out about it in their first year. 

"Shouldn't those go to the new 7th years?" he asked.

Hermione froze.  She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. 

"I just mean that they've been here, at least most of them have.  I figure we've already ruined their last year enough, finding out that they're still not going to be the oldest," he said hastily, trying to qualify his answer.  He didn't think it worked. 

She didn't agree with that idea--or at least she didn't want to agree.  But she knew he was right.  Especially because she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the position was hers.  She also realized, in that moment, that they were going back to Hogwarts, but it wasn't ever going to be the real 7th year they deserved. 

A beat passed, one where she remained unreadable and Harry was in complete suspense.  "You're right," she sounded defeated.

They didn't mention that again.  Instead, they looked out the window, making up stories for each house or animal they went by. 

At one point Harry stood up, grabbing a bag from the overhead compartment. 

"What's that?" she asked.

He didn't respond, choosing instead to dump it all onto the seat next to him. 

She laughed, it was filled with Honeydukes candy.  "Why'd you bring all this?"

"I was worried they wouldn't have any food," he said, motioning for her to pick some. 

When they arrived at Hogwarts, duffle bags on their shoulders and backs, Harry remembered dinner. 

He was excited for a moment, his favorite foods and desserts were waiting for him, until he also remembered that it was likely to be a meal unlike what they'd experienced before.  

And, fifteen minutes later as they stood in the Dining Hall, the prediction truer than either expected, they shared a wide-eyed look. 

It was empty. 

As they gazed around, no signs of damage were evident and any repairs that had been made were so subtle that they were indistinguishable from how it'd been before. 

Harry's jaw dropped as he looked up, feeling like the remaining childhood had been ripped from him.  The normally vibrant ceiling was blank, just light plaster between the rafters. 

"I apologize for this," Professor McGonagall said, shoes clicking as she entered the door behind them.  "It's been a proper mess for a while, and we realized that none of the repairs could be made until we paused the enchantments."  She waved her wand and a small rectangular table appeared, one so tiny that it didn't look like more than a couple people could squeeze onto each side. 

"Just you two tonight, the staff has been eating at odd times, as is usual during the summer months." She was gone before they could thank her. 

They ate in a tense silence, Hermione wiping away tears that Harry pretended not to see, and Harry coughing ( he choked on food as memories resurfaced) while Hermione acted as though she couldn’t hear. 

For the first time, the castle felt empty.  The blank ceiling, the empty vastness of the Hall, the strange lack of ghosts- despite their tendency to head towards anyone eating-it all made them feel horrible.  They ate more quickly.

Half an hour later, just as Hermione gently placed her napkin next to her plate, along with one of her pre-written thank you notes to the house elves, the sound of McGonagall's shoes came into focus. 

They followed her, eyes sweeping every familiar hallway and staircase. 

"Professor?" Harry asked.  "Where did all of the ghosts go?"

"They usually prefer to roam the grounds during the summer months."

"Oh."  While a small part of him wished even to see Peeves again, the fear of seeing someone more recently turned ghost tamped down any desire to see them. 

A few minutes later they reached the twin griffins.  "Earwax," she told them, "We're going through the bean flavors now."

When they finally entered the office, Harry's jaw dropped. 

The place was completely different from any of her predecessors.   The shelves that had been covered in all manners of objects and random things had been replaced with the tallest shelving system he'd ever seen.  Brown so dark they were nearly black, all with hundreds of small square cubbies.  Each had an identical bin inside that would've made it impossible to find anything if not for the neat little labels on each one. 

For a second he hated it, it felt like all of the quirkiness was gone.  It was, but it was replaced with a very different sort of feeling.  Certainty, trust, he wasn't sure yet. 

At least the sterility of the shelves and the plain stone walls was offset by rich red and green chairs and sofas, deep enough to get a wonderful sleep in. 

Hermione loved it. 

"One moment, please," McGonagall told them, walking past her desk and up the stairs to the raised platform in the back of the room. 

They each looked around, mentally making all of the comparisons between her office and the way that Dumbledore's had looked. 

"Miss Granger, Mr Potter."  They retraced the steps she had taken, again surprised when they were greeting with sitting room furniture. 

The fireplace was lit, the moon was on the brink of rushing into the sky, it was serene. 

"It's late already and I presume you two are tired from the long ride.  We don't need to talk business tonight."  She wordlessly tapped her wand on the table, a shiny silver platter with three mugs and teapot popped into its surface.

"What is it?" Harry asked after she motioned for them to pour themselves a drink. 

"Try it," she gave a rare smile. 

He did.  It was hot chocolate.  Which made his eyebrows shoot up when he saw steaming pumpkin juice as Hermione poured her own drink. 

The three of them sat, sipping their drinks, giving a run down of all that had occurred since the battle had ended. 

At some point a cat had appeared and had quickly acquainted itself with Hermione and promptly fallen asleep on her lap.  

[a couple hours later]

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said.

"Yes?" Hermione and Harry stopped in the doorway.

"I've just discovered that my cat is going to be having a kitten.  I know that you're rather responsible and clearly you get along with her.  I've certainly got enough on my plate as it is, so I wondered if you might like-"

"Yes!" Hermione gasped, the little bit of restraint she had previously all but flew out the window as she ran and flung her arms around the woman. 

By the time she let go, the genuine smile had been covered up again, but Harry assured her later that it was there the professor's face. 

They'd reached the bottom of the stair before Harry voiced what they both realized, "Where are we supposed to sleep?"

Before they could think to turn around and go back up, McGonagall appeared behind them.  "I'd normally let you sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory, but it's currently being undergoing some work."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what work that was, but McGonagall plowed on.

"So, there's a few spare dormitories spread throughout the castle," she pointed her wand at the floor and a sparking path appeared, "Good night."

They followed it, weaving up stair cases, down some hallways.  At one point it led them up a ladder, only to make them climb through the trapdoor at the top, turn around in a circle twice, then follow it back down the ladder. 

It took them up to a door, where they waited for the glowing path to make a sharp u-turn from, and were pleasantly surprised when it disappeared.

The door popped open on its own, revealing a large sitting room with two steps in the back leading to a hallway that was probably for the bedrooms.  They went down the hall, Hermione claiming the first bedroom and Harry claiming the second.  There was a bathroom at the end of the hall. 

"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione said a few minutes later, poking her head into his room.  She was wearing her pajamas and the fresh look of her face made it clear that she'd just washed it. 

"G'night, Hermione." 

Once they were both in their beds, the lights went out automatically, leaving them each alone with their thoughts in the quiet.  All of the shuttered up feelings from the day stayed with them, simply growing in magnitude in the absence of distraction.

"Harry," she whispered, peaking past the closed door into his room.

He didn't say anything, simply rolling over to the far right side of the bed. 

"Thanks," she said, slipping onto the other side. 

It didn't help much, they both still silently cried themselves to sleep. 

But at least they weren't alone.

Early the next morning, soft summer sunlight peeking through the window, Harry woke up.  He turned, suddenly remembering his best friend next to him--she wasn't there. 

As it often had before, Hermione's subtle vanity (probably more of a desire to not be seen with her hair in the state that it was when she woke up) had woken her from a deep sleep. 

Harry knew her routine already, even when they were on the run that hadn't changed. 

With that, he got out of bed. 

Chapter Text

[number 12]

Harry shook his head, feet glued to the spot.  It wasn't that he didn't think she'd say yes . . . but he really didn't think she'd say yes. 

The feeling of nervousness that had followed him was suddenly gone.  He was lighter than air! He hadn't felt this happy since their last year at Hogwarts. 

His quiet excitement was quickly vocalized when he remembered the bet he'd made with Ron. 

(It seemed a lot weirder than it was.)

He sloppily scribbled out a note to him, simply saying

you owe me a galleon

He rolled it up, going out to the back garden where his owl liked to stay some nights, tied it to her leg, instructed her where to go, and it was sent.

Harry was quite elated for the rest of the night, nearly falling asleep when he suddenly remembered that going on a date would require planning.  It took him an hour to sleep after that.

[a week prior, one week before harry asks her out, two weeks before she tells ginny]

"NOOOOO!" Ron yelled at the television. 

Dean burst out laughing.  "Weren't you poking fun at Muggle sports?"

Ron's hearing became selective in that instant. 

Harry had never been a big party person, never too big on getting groups of people together.  That changed when he had his own home. 

He suddenly realized that he'd never been a party person (if one ignores all of their 8th year that remains true) simply because he was surrounded by his friends.  Why host a get-together when you share a room with four other boys? 

But adulthood wasn't just scary, it was lonely.  He'd never been alone like this--even when they ignored him, the simple presence of the Dursley's made it a little bit better. 

As it happened, along with the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War came a bit of economic recession.  He vaguely understood thanks to Hermione that it wasn't how that worked in the Muggle world, but mostly understood that it made it hard to find jobs.  Overall, it was fairly confusing: more people dead should equal more job vacancies, right? But since so many people were dead, it instead wiped out entire industries with no one there to teach the new adults.  Or, at least, that's what Hermione said. 

What all of this really meant was that his friends struggled to find work--paid work.  Ron was likely the best off, helping George with the shop.  Then came Hermione, who worked two part time jobs: something to do with the Ministry and something else to do with . . . he wasn't sure.  He was spending his time pretty recreationally, notably by practicing Quidditch (and being bombarded with requests from his friends to 'just try out for a pro team').  All of the others struggled more, some like Dean even choosing to take up Muggle jobs in the absence of other work. 

Because of the chaos of the job market, he was really the only one that owned his own house.  Hermione was the closest to that, with her own flat, though due to the sheer lack of space inside it made it unsuitable for any more than two or three people. 

"Dean, he'll never confess to that," Harry said.

The gathering currently underway was something of an informal reunion, featuring himself, Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus.  It was something they did regularly, mostly because of the unemployment status of most of them. 

It was, however, on this occasion, that Ron and Harry made that bet. After that night's football game had drawn to an end, they turned on a movie, something they were laughing too loudly to hear. 

"I think I want to get back together with her, y'know, go out with her again," Ron said. 

Harry chose silence, trying to avoid triggering the beginning of an argument.  He and everyone else in the room knew exactly who Ron was asking about.

"D'you think she'd say yes?" Ron asked.

Harry again used a decade of knowledge about Ron to make the smart choice and not respond. 

"Come on!" Ron punched him roughly.  Harry thought to himself that it was probably time to cut him off, something that Neville clearly agreed with as he gently pulled the glass bottle from Ron's hand. 

"She'll say yes to Harry before she says yes to you," Dean muttered under his breath.  It wasn't very quiet, since everyone heard, Seamus letting out a loud gasp.

Ron sat deeper into the couch, face turning redder. 

"Naw," Dean interrupted again, "Let's make a bet on it." 

"But if she says no to Ron, that's nothing new," Seamus said.  Even Neville yelped at that one. 

"Go on then, ask her yourself, Harry, see if she says yes," Dean said. 

Harry had been trying his hardest to stay out of it.

"She says no, you owe Ron a Galleon.  She says yes, Ron owes you one."

Harry gave Dean a look, one that prompted Seamus to ask how he could get in on the bet. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll add a Galleon, for you Harry," Dean said. 

Harry was so uncomfortable, wishing he could Apparate out of the situation. 

"I'll add one on you!"  Seamus chimed, pointing to Ron. 

The attention turned to Neville, who shook his furiously, choosing to stay neutral. 

After some jeering (read: peer pressure) that even Ron joined in on, so confident in what Hermione's answer would be a swift 'No.'

He finally gave, conceding that it really didn't matter anyways. 

As he fell asleep, spare bedrooms filled with his friends, he thought to himself that it wasn't that bad.  It wasn't like he'd never thought about it.  He never would've asked her, but what really was the harm in asking? 

Honestly, it was less the idea of asking her out, and more discomfort with making a bet on it.  He shrugged that off quickly, though.  He knew Hermione would rather be asked out on a thousand bet dates than get back together with Ron.  (He was correct.)

It bears mentioning that the morning after he did finally ask her out was when he realized that Ron had probably instantly written to Hermione upon receiving the letter.  Harry did the same, swearing under his breath the entire time. 

sorry about that, I forgot to tell you.  it was technically a bet, but I promise I do actually want to go out with you. 

p.s. it was either me or ron, sorry again.

p.p.s I'll give you the money I won

[hermione's flat-present]

Hermione was often right.  Almost every single time.  There was the odd occasion when she was wrong (her love life being a glaring example), but for the most part she was right. 

She had a good intuition.  She was told all the time that she would make an excellent Ravenclaw in her time at Hogwarts.  She was consistently top in her classes.  She gave great advice, and her track record on that would probably have been better if she'd chosen to befriend more girls. 

That wasn't to say that she didn't have short-comings.

Because she really most certainly did. 

A short-coming of hers clearly wasn't her temper, though, since as she received a letter from Harry's owl later that morning, she only laughed. 

She could practically envision him writing it.  In light of that good news, she didn't bother to mentally weigh the fact that it was probably initiated by Ron saying something--the things he said while drunk!--instead letting out a sigh of relief.  At least that explained why Ron knew within hours. 

Hermione gazed around her flat, trying to keep to her normal weekend schedule: Saturday was cleaning day.  It wasn't particularly messy, it never was.  In fact, at its cleanest, Molly had gently called it "stark".  She didn't take offense to that, knowing that it really didn't matter what anyone else said about it. 

Quite frankly, it could be described as "stark".  But she loved it, everything had a place to be stored and despite its humble size, she had plenty of empty cupboards. 

When she first moved in, she felt bad.  It had been completely bankrolled by her parents, who had decided that they couldn't handle having her in their home anymore.  Not in a bad way, but after 8 years of being able to live nearly independently, being back with her own parents was only survivable for a year. 

If there was one thing that Hermione could criticize the Wizarding World for was the lack of preparation.  She felt that regardless of the economic situation they should at least have some idea of what they should do.  It wasn't all their fault, since when she was in school there had been direct routes to jobs.  Even Harry, who knew with certainty what he wanted to do since 4th year, quickly had to change his career aspirations: the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic would only consider applicants with two or more years' job experience.  This was a direct result of the great influx of application that came in, many that were so beyond unqualified it was comical.  Hermione, who wanted to pursue a career in government was forced to change her mind as well, any departments she was interested in had either been combined with another for 'efficiency', or required so many years of experience that she would've had to start working at age 14. 

Acknowledging that, her parents gladly gave her money each month, enough for her to pay for the flat and food.  Their only requirement was that she do something.  They didn't care what. 

She later found a studying program, one that seemed to closely resemble Muggle university.  It was through that program (of which she was in her second year) that she managed to finally discover an entry level Ministry position. 

Said position was a measly 1 day a week commitment, and entailed fascinating things like sorting incoming letters from owls--that was it.  She later discovered the reason why it was so little time and such menial work that there were literally spells for it was because of the large numbers of people interested.  It was then that she really understood how over the past couple of years, recent graduates were too scared to work for the Ministry, creating a massive influx when it was popularly decided to be safe again. 

She glanced around, unsure of where to begin.  Eyes landing on the table, she grabbed her wand and stated a simple cleaning spell aloud. 

Another short -coming actually did revolve completely around her flat.  For the first time ever, she had a place that belonged to her(paid for by her parents, though, as Ron helpfully reminded her).

When she had her first house-warming, not knowing the limits of the flat, she invited the entire Weasley family, her own parents, and Harry.  It was undignified chaos and by the end of it, her brand-new flat looked a wreck. 

After that, she'd banned all guests but Harry for two months. 

She finished cleaning in fifteen minutes.  She was right to say yes to Harry.

[number 12, again]

Harry stood quickly at the sound of the doorbell, unsure of who would have shown up so unexpectedly.   

He peered through the peephole, relieved to see Hermione on the other side. 

"You thought I was gonna say no," she said as he opened the door.

Harry avoided meeting her eyes, cheeks flushed. 

"Harry! I thought you knew me better than that!"

"Hermione the last time it even came up . . . that was months ago," he said sheepishly. 

It was actually three weeks ago.  She told him so. 

(The occasion three weeks ago was a subtle mention, an offhand joke that Luna made, something about Harry and Hermione being nearly perfect for one another according to a Quibbler article listing the top signs of compatibility.)

They sat in the front room today, where the black walls had been stripped and re-stained to a light brown wood color.  Formal yet cozy, was how Hermione had described it. 

"So, what did he say to you?"

"You're really going on a date with Harry," she told him sarcastically. 

"Sometimes I think he's obsessed with you."

"Sometimes I think he's obsessed with the idea of me."  She shook her head.  "You remember when we were together . . . I was horrible to him, he was horrible to me . . ."

Harry certainly remembered Ron and Hermione together.  The rows that were just annoying when they were friends had gained a new fire behind them once they started dating.  It wasn't just trading insults anymore--their intimacy gave each of them fuel, more personal things to expose.  He had a vivid recollection of the time that he had to start refusing to be alone with just the two of them, often dragging Ginny along to every occasion in order to add an extra buffer.  That didn't really work either. 

Looking back, it was easy to blame it all on Ron, but in reality he was just the one that escalated the fights.  There were things that Hermione didn't like and would take personally, a list that Harry was familiar with.  Somehow Ron wasn't.  From the fact that she hated it when they washed her good dishes with magic, to the way she liked her knitting basket to just not be touched, and even the way she sat when she read and did not want to be disturbed. 

It drove her crazy because she felt like Ron didn't pay any attention to her, Ron was annoyed by the way she snapped when she didn't like what he'd done. 

She was able to pinpoint the instant that she realized it didn't work: one night at the Burrow when Molly had jokingly asked Ron when he was going to move in with her.  In the moment, she forced a laugh out, but all she felt inside was white hot dread. 

Harry and Hermione were both silent now, thinking of all the reasons why she and Ron didn't work. 

"Well, thank you."

"For asking you out on a bet?" he joked. 

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm thanking you for."

With that, she DisApparated.

Chapter Text

[at hogwarts, early july, after the battle, 1998]

"When did you wake up?" Harry asked as he walked into the sitting room.

It took her a moment to respond, sitting on the windowsill, nose deep in a book.  "An hour ago, maybe two."

Harry nodded, checking his watch.  It was something Ron had gotten him for a birthday, showing Harry the time in his own handwriting, as well as anything else he might've forgotten to do.  Go back to sleep, it read now, displaying the time as half past 5 in the morning.  His brow furrowed. 

"Did you even sleep last night?" he asked her. 

"Did you?"

He hadn't.  Neither had she. 

His eyes flitted around the room.  "What do you think this is for?"

"I've been trying to figure that out myself.  As far as I can tell, it's intended for guests.  We'll have to stop by the library today, I wonder how many places like this there are throughout the castle . . ."

Harry nodded in agreement, shifting his weight to see outside.  Hermione's head swiveled to follow his gaze. 

"I bet it's nice outside," she stood and shut her book. 

They tied their shoes quickly, then wondered out of the room, noticing that they really did not know where in the castle they were. 

"Let's go left," Harry suggested as he started walking.  Without any better ideas, Hermione followed. 

"It's strange, isn't it?" Hermione said. 

"What's that?"

She shrugged, "If Ron doesn't decide to come back to Hogwarts we won't see him pretty much all year."

He wished he had a better response than the, "Yeah," that he gave her.  "It'll be okay, though.  I hope he comes back, obviously, but we've done okay without him before." 

He was referring to the time that Ron had skipped out on them.  Despite a few apologies, they both secretly felt that it was something that would take longer than a couple months to get over. 

"If he chooses not to, what can he even do?" She continued on, not letting Harry respond, "He keeps saying that he wants to work with George for a while at the shop, but what if something happens to it?  He doesn't know anything about running a shop.  To make matters worse, George didn't take his NEWTs either, which is alright, I suppose-"

Harry could tell that she personally did not feel that it was alright.

"-but for the both of them to have no NEWTs and no idea how do things like book-keeping, I just don't see how that's a good idea."

"Well, I know that two years ago, our sixth year, George and . . ." he trailed off.  "They had done a lot of research, the year prior and had even gone around to all of the major shops in Diagon Ally, asking for tips and advice.  I don't think Ron has done anything like that, or even if he's asked George if he needs enough help for him to work full-time- they've got loads of employees, after all."

"I mean, I know neither of you loved it, but at least you're coming back," Hermione said, shaking her head. 

"It wasn't that bad.  Maybe just the long essays and Potions class . . . and probably Divination, History of Magic . . ."

She hit his arm. 

"And anyways, I think I'll pay better attention this year.  After first year it got kind of hard to pay attention in class while knowing that one of the most powerful wizards alive was coming to kill me."  He was quiet for a minute, "Honestly, the summer after 4th year I didn't even think I'd live to turn 18." 

Hermione hugged him then, throwing her arms around him as tears threatened to spill out of her eyes.  He hugged her back, for a moment, before suddenly catching sight of one of the portraits. 

"Hey! Wait!" he jogged to keep up with the figure as it disappeared in the frame.  It popped its head back, Harry groaned. 

"Sir Cadogan, at your service!" The knight gave a sloppy salute. 

Hermione caught up, groaning too when she saw their source of help.  She covered it quickly, though, giving what she hoped would be a genuine smile. 

"Sir Cadogan," she began. "We seem to be lost.  Can you help us get back to the . . ." she looked at Harry, who shrugged, "back to the Gryffindor dormitory?"

"I figure if we ask him to take us back there then we'll know how to find our way to the other places we want-" she stopped whispering to Harry suddenly, the painting was already empty. 

They exchanged a quick glance before sprinting off, often confused about directions due to entire hallways being devoid of paintings.  A few minutes later, breathing hard, he'd led them, a few portraits before that of the Fat Lady.  After a wheezy thank you from each of them, he disappeared. 

"She's not there anymore!" Hermione said, pointing at the empty wall where the Fat Lady had hung.  In its place sat a large notice, stating,

Gryffindor Common-room is currently undergoing transformations. Please return at a later date and time.

She read it aloud slowly.  "What do you think that means?"

"I dunno . . . I wonder if the other common-rooms are shut down as well," he said. 

"I don't think there was even much fighting in there, though I suppose we never did go back once the battle ended."

Harry thought back, at the time he felt pretty aware of a lot the things going on in the castle during the battle, but he belatedly realized that there were likely countless things he'd missed. 

They were quiet now, moving on autopilot to the back hallway.  The first thing they'd done when they sat down with McGonagall the night before was to ask if Hagrid was home, disappointed when she shook her head.

"Let's go anyways, see what he's growing," Harry said.  She didn't respond, just followed him as he ambled down the rocky pathway.

He pushed his glasses up on his nose, squatting down to look at the tangles of vines on the ground.  Next to him, Hermione dropped to her knees. 

"What is this?" she asked.

"Erm . . ." Harry poked them with his wand, "pumpkins, maybe?"

She gave him a look, "Do you even know what pumpkins look like?"  

He shook his head, standing up again.  "Neville would know." 

"Is he coming back? Have you spoken to him?"

He paused.  "No, I supposed I didn't even think to ask anyone else, other than you and Ron, of course." 

"Oh, Harry.  I didn't either . . . I've been so caught up in the stress of making sure that everything will be alright for us to return, I didn't even think to ask how many students would want to come back." She pulled a notebook and quill from inside of her robes and scribbled something down. 

They'd wandered close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, quiet for a moment, simply listening to the rustling of the leaves, the soft thumps of what Harry thought were squirrels.  He turned sharply to follow a small group of ghosts drift across a courtyard in the distance. 

"So what do we do, then? Just write to each of our classmates until they tell us yeah or no?" He kicked absentmindedly at a branch by his foot.

"I was thinking that we could just ask Professor McGonagall to send out letters," Hermione said. 

Harry took a deep breath, there was a sudden pang in the pit of his stomach.  "What about them? The ones in our year that helped the Death Eaters?" 

She looked pale, "I've been thinking about that.  Surely she won't let them return to Hogwarts."

Harry hoped so. 

"If no one else comes back, then what?" Harry asked. 

"Let's think it through.  Surely the Ravenclaws will, I bet the Hufflepuffs will, too.  Neville might, and I know if Dean comes back, Seamus will, too.  Padma's a Ravenclaw and I certainly can't imagine her parents not making Parvati return as well. I've not heard from Lavender, but I know she would return for Parvati's sake.  There's no way we'll be the only ones." 

Harry nodded.  He moving automatically now, feet taking him to the Quidditch pitch, not remember the destruction it suffered months earlier.

Hermione did, and was pleasantly surprised to see it exactly how it was before. 

Before they could get any closer, the quiet of the early morning was interrupted by the rumbling of their stomachs. 

"Early breakfast, then?" Hermione proposed.

He looked disappointed for a moment, then seemed to remember that they could simply come back later.  He nodded in agreement. 

As they made their way back through the castle, the eerie silence was just as uncomfortable.  Harry kept expecting to see a rush of students in Hogwarts robes and multi-colored house jumpers. 

They made their way up the final set of stairs to the Great Hall.  When they finally reached its double doors, Harry went first, pushing one door open with both hands.  Hermione did the same. 

The same table from the night before sat in its place.  This time when Harry glanced up at the ceiling, he was pleasantly surprised to see it back to its normal state, displaying clouds with bits of sunlight peeking through. 

They each slid onto their respective benches, needing to wait only a few seconds until the food appeared the table before them. 

"I wonder what the elves are up to," Hermione said, badly imitating nonchalance. 

Harry shrugged as he poured a glass of orange juice.  "Dunno, never really thought about it."

"Never thought about it? Harry!"

He just gave her a look, "Pardon me, Hermione, but for the past few summers I've a had a fair bit going on."

"Oh, yes." She looked apologetic, "I suppose that's true.  Can we visit them afterwards?" 

Harry nodded.  He couldn't have said no if he wanted to, plus it wasn't as though they had anything else to do until the late afternoon, when McGonagall had set their meeting. 

They ate slower than the night before and they savored each bite.  They'd not adjusted to the quiet, but at least it wasn't as horrible as it was before. 

Hermione pulled something else out of her robes, this time a roll of parchment.  She held it up and it unfurled, dropping (to Harry's amusement) onto the table, over its edge, where more sat unrolled on the floor.  He leaned over as he tried to read what'd she'd written upside down. 

She pulled out a quill, scribbling something in a bit of empty space. 

"Hermione, what is that?"

"A todo list.  I've sorted it by day.  Today we must write a letter to Ron, so that he knows that he's missing out."

Harry counted on his fingers, "visit the elves, write to Ron, speak to McGonagall.  Is that it?"

"You've forgotten the library," she told him as she stood.  "Let's go to the kitchens first."

They walked down the stairs, Hermione squealing with excitement at the sight of the elves.  They didn't spend long down there, heading off to the owlery to send a hastily written letter to Ron. 

We do hope you'll decide to return with us.  -Much love, Hermione

It'll be loads of fun, it isn't the same without you. -Harry

Harry rolled it up, tying it the leg of the first owl that came up to them.  It wasn't very large, no more than 25 centimeters tall. 

"How adorable!" Hermione said, using two finger to stroke its small chest. "It's a Boreal owl, they're native to America, I think."

They watched it fly off.  He checked his watch, seeing Good breakfast? which was followed by the time, nearly 8.  "The library, then?"

She turned, smiling.  This walk was short, too, and they reached the library in a few minutes. 

After picking a table, Harry dropped down, watching as Hermione collected an armful of books. 

"Have you given any more thought to what you'll do after Hogwarts?" she asked as she sat down next to him. 

"An Auror still seems brilliant, but I don't know anymore."

"You'd be quite good at it, Harry."

He made intense eye contact with the table top, "Thanks. Have you?"

"Well," Hermione said in a voice that made it clear she'd been wanting to talk about it, "I do think that working for the Ministry would be a nice career, though I do love research ever so much.  Maybe traveling, too.  When we went to Australia, that was quite fun."

Harry agreed.  They'd gone to Australia earlier in the summer, half way through June, once Hermione had determined it safe. 

The trip was quick, just the two of them, right in the week after Hermione had broken up with Ron.  It was painfully awkward between them, and she couldn't stomach asking him to go as well. 

They DisApparated from Hermione's house, landing on a mundane looking street.  Harry had looked around, seeing homes that may as well have been identical. 

They moved fast after that, verifying the house number, taking down charms and enchantments, unlocking the door, and restoring her parents' memories.  They each took one, Side Along Apparating back to their England home.  Harry didn't stay long after, slipping out as her parents gained their bearings. 

"Are they still cross with you?" Harry asked.  He took a book off of the stack and flipped through the diagrams of the castle. 

"No, they understood why I did it.  They were more angry that I didn't tell them what was going on."  She continued at his confused expression.  "After 5th year, I stopped telling them as much.  I realized that it would just make them stressed.  Honestly, after I told them what happened to you in 4th year they nearly moved us all to France.

"I was able to convince them, though, once 5th year ended I didn't think it would be wise to continue.  If they'd been wanting to move earlier, we would've gotten on a plane without a second thought." 

Harry just nodded, silently thanking her. 

"I do want to clear something up, though.  I know earlier it sounded as though I'm cross with Ron.  And I am.  But I do want him to finish with us.  You were right when you said that it isn't the same without him." 

"I know, I didn't think anything different."

She put her head down after that, underlining passages with her finger.  Harry looked at the diagram on his page, furrowing his brow. 

"Can't we just ask the professor about this?" He asked, pushing it away from him. 

"I suppose, but where's the fun in that?"

Harry didn't think it was very fun.  "Hermione, we don't even know where were in the castle.  I brought the map along, could that help?"

She looked excited for a moment, before falling back into her seat.  "I doubt it.  When Ron and I were in the Chamber, you said you couldn't see us."

"Why would something as simple as a sitting room and bedrooms be hidden?"

"Maybe they have different uses, like the Room of Requirement does," she offered. 

"Does it even matter?" Harry asked.  "I'm sure there are plenty of things we've never seen here."

"Of course it doesn't matter.  We're here for a week, Harry.  We've one meeting with Professor McGonagall a day.  What else is there to do?"

He considered that, and once he failed to come up with any suggestions, grabbed the book and continued to study it. 

"Thank you again for meeting with us, Professor," Hermione said.

They were sitting where they had the night prior, but this time the afternoon sunlight had faded to a dull gray.  It was accompanied with a strong wind, one that swept in and pounded the windows with rain. 

McGonagall produced the same platter as before, but this time with tiny plates, a spread of biscuits, and a dish of sweets.

"I presume you've brought a list."

Hermione nodded, rummaging through the pockets on the inside of her robe.  She pulled another scroll, similar, Harry thought, to the one from breakfast.  It was shorter, though still nearly reached the floor when unrolled. 

"The Gryffindor common room?" Hermione asked. 

"I'd wondered if you two had made your way over there.  Before you ask, all of the common rooms are the same.  In the chaos of the past couple of years--three headmaster in such a short period!--many of the enchantments, like the ones in the Great Hall, have fallen.  It's no cause for concern, simply something that had fallen by the wayside in the effort against," she let out a shuddering breath, "Lord Voldemort."

Hermione understood at once, realizing that they weren't the only ones that the war had taken a toll on.  For her to see students of all ages, most of whom she'd known since childhood, perish at the hands of evil, must've been horrific.  And now, rather than mourning, she had to move on, work on making sure the school was safe, that the staff was okay . . . she felt an intense rush of gratitude towards her.  

"What do you mean when you say 'the enchantments had fallen'?" Harry asked, unaware of the feelings of Hermione, sitting next to him. 

"Like anything, Mr Potter, even the best magic often requires maintenance.  And I cannot blame the late Professor Dumbledore for neglecting to do so."

They kept on after that, falling into a comfortable pattern: Hermione asking a question, an answer given, Harry asking a follow-up, and an answer was also given to that. 

When they left the study again that night, McGonagall promising that they'd be able to return to the Gryffindor Dormitory by the next night. 

Followed the same magical path as before, Hermione writing down each turn they took. 

"We didn't ask about the room," Harry noted.

"I know.  I was serious before.  I want to find something out for myself."

He understood, kind of.  Hermione tended to be goal driven and in the absence of things like classes and work to do, she had to come up with something of her own. 

[present day, 2002]

Hermione opened the door, allowing Ginny to enter her apartment. 

"You're not cross with me, I hope," Hermione said as they sat at the table. 

"No.  And I wasn't cross before.  I was just surprised."  She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.  "And, anyways, Ron told me that he only asked you because of a silly bet they made." 

Since that was technically true, Hermione simply nodded in agreement. 

"I baked last night," she summoned a plate from the kitchen (which was about three steps away from where they sat).  "It's not as good as Harry, and certainly not as good as your mum, but they're not too bad, I think." 

Ginny tried one, laughing as the younger of Hermione's cats made a mad dash for the plate and was soundly rebuffed by the spell that surrounded them. 

"Now that you know it was a bet, you don't need to go," Ginny said, taking a sip out of one of the glasses that Hermione summoned. 

Hermione shrugged.  "What's the harm in it?"

"You two won't even have anything to talk about for so long, will you?" Ginny grabbed another cookie. 

"Well, Ginny, we've been best friends for a decade, I'm sure we'll figure something out."  She was slightly annoyed by the questioning, sensing a strange attitude behind the questioning, and decided to change topics. 

[the burrow, 2000]

"Hermione, dear, you're moving into your new flat in two days, right?" Molly asked as she let the serving plate float back into the center of the table. 

"Yes, I do.  I'm quite excited," Hermione said.  She was excited.  It was a small flat, though more than what she'd asked for.  She'd been fine with a studio, though her parents insisted that having at least one bedroom would make it easier to have guests over, something she would surely want. 

"Will you need any help?" Ginny asked. 

"Sure, if you'd like," Hermione responded.  In truth, she didn't need anyone's help at all, what with the help of her magic.  As it stood, she'd already gotten the help of her parents, Ron and Harry, and Luna since she said she was free that day. 

"How many's that, now?" Ron whispered. 

"Six.  But it's fine, it'll be fun."

"Wee bit crowded, though?"

"Yeah, probably," she gave him a soft smile.  He did have a point. 

When they'd gone furniture shopping a week or so earlier, once Hermione had picked the flat she wanted, she found that she needed help past what Ron could provide.  She tried not to hold it against him, but it was hard to buy a sofa when he only cared about which one was most comfortable.  Harry wasn't much better, since he didn't really care about the whole affair.   Thankfully, she went back with Ginny, who invited Parvati, and helped her to find the perfect one. 

She must've looked lost in thought, since Ron nudged her, "you look a bit mental, know that?"

Hermione laughed quietly, "Just thinking." She glanced over at Harry, sitting next to Ginny.  He was fast asleep. 

Ron chucked a pea at him, looking pointedly at his plate as Harry sat straight up. 

George, never to be left out of the action, dipped a napkin into his glass, quietly enchanting it to hit Ron in the forehead repeatedly.

"Boys," Molly said sternly, "That's quite enough.  Honestly, the both of you, behaving like children . . ."

Hermione stopped paying attention again, the conversation fading into the background.

She was thinking about her apartment again.  Was she really ready to live on her own?  Technically, yes, she was more than capable of it, and probably had been since she was 13.  Emotionally, though?  That she wasn't sure of. 

When Harry spoke about how it was to be Number 12 alone, it seemed downright miserable.  At least she had two cats, with them, she'd never really be alone. 

Plus, Number 12 wasn't really near any other wizarding communities, something that had drawn Hermione to her own place.  She really felt lucky to find a place in one of the many secret floors of the London flat community.  Her floor was to be filled with many other wizards and witches, something she was sure would keep from getting too lonely. 

Chapter Text

[harry, mid july 1998]

The weeks between his and Hermione's Hogwarts visit and the start of their final term were the loneliest of his life. 

Consumed with a simultaneous desire to see people and a fear that him sending excessive communication with people would cause annoyance, took on a policy of responding only to letters. 

He knew it was irrational, but the ease of isolation quickly made him nervous to interact with people.  This was made much worse by his living in Number 12, somewhere that despite a summer of previous effort was still almost as dark and miserable as before. 

The portraits, the various dark objects, the black paint that seemed to cover every surface, the heavy curtains that seemed to be charmed as to not allow light in for more than a few minutes, and the stony silence that filled the air with the exception of Kreacher's footsteps. 

It was a horrid place to live, something he'd recognized when he'd spent weeks there before, but hadn't fully appreciated because of the presence of the entire Weasley family, countless other Order members, and of course, Hermione.  Additionally, two days into his first stay alone (he finally felt that he was invaded the Weasley's and Hermione's space and had overstayed his welcome) he suddenly remembered that all of the previous inhabitants of the house had died.  He woke from his bed with a start, nauseated by the idea of sleeping in a dead person's bed, and slept on the floor. 

Of the few people that he kept normal correspondence with, Hermione offered the best advice:

Harry,

I think it may help if you get another pet.  I'm sure you miss Hedwig, but I can't imagine her wanting you to be lonely. 

With love,

Hermione

p.s. will you give this package to Kreacher?

Said package was a collection of sweets and various other food items, along with a rather long heartfelt letter she'd written. 

He thought about her suggestion, though.  He missed Hedwig terribly, but he supposed she was right.  Him being miserable and alone wasn't going to make her come back. 

I'm getting a pet.  What should I get?

-Harry

He copied this down three times, sending it to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.  Two days later and three votes heavier, he met Ginny at Diagon Alley to buy a new owl.  They had an early lunch, followed by ice cream, then made their way to the pet shop. 

Harry was nervous about the outing, since it was the first real time he'd been in public since defeating Voldemort.  He found it awkward, the way wizards and witches had taken to bursting into tears when he shook their hands, how they asked for his signature with wavering voices, and the looks of reverence that they wore the whole time.  It made lunch take roughly double the usual amount of time, though he was happy to see that at least Ginny liked the attention.

When they reached the pet shop, Hermione was there, never to miss out on an experience to be around animals.  The three of them agreed on an owl quickly and Harry was nearly ready to check out when Hermione called him over.  He followed her voice, prepared to tell her that she didn't need to point out every animal in the place, but the words died when he saw what she was staring at. 

It was a small cat--tiny and black. 

"It's got your eyes, don't you think?" Ginny said, having come up behind them. 

The cat did have green eyes.  Harry studied the cat, who looked back at him with a mix of curiosity and disinterest.  His eyes flitted over to the tag on its cage, that warned that this creature was well known for a lack of friendliness and certainly wasn't sweet. 

He glanced between Hermione and Ginny, both of whom gave eager nods.  What did he have to lose, he thought. 

"Excuse me," he said to the shopkeeper, "I'll take the cat, too." 

So, clutching a cat cage in his arms, the owl in Ginny's arms, and Hermione's hand on her arm, they DisApparated.  They all Apparated into his front parlor.  Ginny slightly off-kilter from the Side-Along Apparation, she sat for a moment. 

Despite the fact that it was an expectation for 6th Years to learn, the . . . events of the past year, along with the evil school management, had meant that Ginny hadn't learned.  In fact, aside from the Slytherins, none of the students were taught to Apparate--it was claimed they weren't doing well enough in class.  That wasn't true, and the professors' bias were demonstrated clearly enough by the high marks that Crabbe and Goyle received. 

Harry put down the cat and knelt in front of it.  He'd never had a cat before, or any pet other than an owl, and therefore had absolutely no clue what he would do with it. 

"Let him out," urged Ginny, watching curiously. 

"Alright," he nodded, studying the creature for a moment, before fumbling with the latch, and letting it stride out. 

It stretched, then stood, tail towards the ceiling.  It looked around the room, then darted off to a corner to start sniffing everything. 

"What will you name him, Harry?" Hermione asked, dropping next to Ginny on the sofa. 

"I didn't even know I was going to have a cat until a half hour ago." 

"What about the owl?" she asked. 

Harry poked a finger into the owl's cage, allowing her to nibble his finger.  She was a spotted wood owl, and practically microscopic compared to Hedwig. Big dark eyes, brown face, and white marks down the front, Hermione and Ginny thought she was precious. 

"You named Hedwig from a History of Hogwarts . . . so how about Augurey? It's a type of phoenix, technically," Hermione trailed off.

He nodded eagerly and Ginny did the same. 

"Augurey for her, and how about," Ginny paused to think, "If we're going with books, why not Newt?  After Newt Scamander?" 

"Yeah, I quite like that, too." 

They left a few hours later, after eating an early dinner together, and each taking turns trying to coax Newt down from the shelf he was hiding on, they Apparated away, Hermione to drop Ginny off at the Burrow. 

Once they left, despite the silence that took over again, the presence of the owl that sat in the kitchen, and the cat that quietly existed

It was nicer than he thought it would be, and now, regardless of whether he had guests over, he didn't feel quite so alone. 

He sat in the front room for a while, flipping through a magazine and occasionally watching the Muggles pass by on the street, under the glow of the nearly-dark evening and the lamp-posts.  It was so strange, all that had happened in the past few years, and for the most part, they had no idea. 

Harry felt something against his foot, looking quickly down at the floor.  After making a quick circle, Newt curled up, warmth coming through his socks. 

They had a bit of fun together, Harry teaching him tricks, sleeping together, and Newt observing as he tried again and again to unstick portraits. 

He did find out that Newt simply didn't like other people, choosing to limit his involvement with company to the tops of bookshelves, cabinets, or whatever surface was furthest from guests.  That disappointed Ginny, who still committed multiple hours each visit trying to do anything more than pet him with a couple fingers. 

Ron thought it was funny, that Harry had been strong armed into getting the most antisocial cat in existence.  Newt eyed him reproachfully at the words, something even Ron could see. 

Of everyone, Hermione was the only one that Harry's cat was willing to come down for.  It was a far cry from sitting on her lap, but him laying on the sofa next to her was enough to make her squeal with excitement. 

Hermione thought it was lovely, Harry had clearly found a good friend in the cat, and appreciated that he wouldn’t be quite so lonely.  She did research too, looking into Permanent Sticking Charms and the best ways to remove the various items in the house, though mostly turned out unsuccessful.  She came over often, coming over with Ginny or with Ginny and Ron, but never just with Ron.  The awkwardness of their break up faded, but she could tell how odd it made Harry feel since he could feel the forced cheerfulness that rolled off of Ron.  Ginny provided enough buffer for them to be able to avoid direct interaction, especially since Harry practically vetoed any PDA in front of her brother. 

The weeks passed quickly after that, the most notable occasion being a gathering at the Burrow, the prior mentioned occasion upon which Ron was told he was going back to Hogwarts. 

"Have you made up your mind, Ron?" Harry asked as he looked up at him. 

"Erm . . ." Ron started to say. 

"Made your mind up about what?" Mrs Weasley cut in from across the table.  Ron sank into his seat, looking, Harry thought, as though he was trying to disappear. 

"Ron says he doesn't know if he wants to return to Hogwarts," Ginny told her, inviting a grin from Harry and a glare from her brother. 

"Doesn't know if wants to . . . Ronald Weasley!"

He sank lower in his seat as Ginny and Harry laughed. 

"Ronald Weasley, you completing school isn't even up for debate! What were you even planning on doing?" She didn't let him say anything.  "I cannot believe you! All that your father and I have done for you . . . what, were you just planning on staying here forever?"

"Well, no--" Ron started again.

"Truly!  I'm almost disappointed with you, you were a prefect in your fifth and sixth year, and now you don't even want to go back?  We fought a war so that we could all live our lives and you simply weren't planning on finishing school?"

She kept on him, ranting for nearly an hour, until Ron was red in the face and hers was redder. 

Harry and Ginny got sick of it after a bit, she chose to doodle on some spare paper while Harry wrote an update letter to Hermione. 

Found out today that Mrs Weasley didn't know Ron didn't want to return to Hogwarts.  He'll be coming with us. 

-Harry

He asked for Pigwidgeon and she pointed him in the proper direction, whispering to avoid catching the attention of her still shouting mother. 

For the most part, that was that. 

[1 september 1998]

They'd taken a car, one that Arthur had fixed up (with relatively few enchantments), and squeezed the four of them into the back, Mr and Mrs Weasley up front. 

Harry and Ron entered the platform together, like always, right behind Hermione and Ginny.  They glanced around, none of them expecting it to look so normal. But Harry kept looking, something feeling off.

There was a forced cheerfulness in the air, the way parents told their children to have fun just a bit too brightly, and their hugs a few seconds too long.  It was unsettling, to say the least.  Hermione had asked her parents not to come that day, and since Harry's remaining familial connections were down to zero, they both came with the Weasleys.

Molly kissed them each and hugged them tightly, Arthur hugged them too, whispering to all to have a good year. 

"Hello!" Luna said.  "Did you all arrive together?" She had a bright smile on her face as she approached. 

"Yeah, we did." Harry looked nervously over her shoulder to her dad, "Is he doing any better now?"

"Yes, thank you for asking.  I hope you got the letters he sent," she looked between Harry, Hermione, and Ron. 

"We did.  Tell him not to worry about it, there's no use worrying about the past," Hermione told her, wrapping her into a hug. 

"Two minutes!" Mrs Weasley interjected, shouting from a meter or two away.  "Go on, go on!" She ushered them onto the train. 

They climbed up the stairs, one by one.  It was crowded, first-years looking anxiously in every direction as all of the older students went in every direction, trying to either find their friends, or an empty cabin. 

"Alright, left, let's go left," Harry said, leading the way down the train until the crowds thinned out. 

Hermione levitated the trunks into place, pausing to carefully deposit Crookshanks on the bench.  Harry passed Newt to her and she did the same while he shoved Augurey next to his trunk. She dropped onto Harry's left-side, nearest to the window.  Ginny sat on his other side after she put Pigwidgeon next to his owl.

Ron and Luna sat across from them, with an empty seat next to the door that was filled by Neville within a couple of minutes.  Small talk was had, the usual how was your summer? and how's your family? It was

When everyone had loaded onto the train, trunks heavy, cages filled with animals, Harry and Hermione knew in an instant that however bad their previous ride had been, this would be much worse.

He was fidgeting a bit, eyeing Newt as he found a nook next to someone's trunk to hide. 

"I hope he won't be miserable for the year," he told Hermione as everyone continued to get settled. 

"He and Crookshanks get on well enough, he'll manage," she responded, appreciating having something to talk about. 

The entire group of them made small talk, unable to have conversations about anything that really mattered. 

It wasn't as though anything significant had happened.  Other than Harry being a constant victim to journalists hoping to speak with him and photograph him, they really didn't know anything about the state of the Wizarding World.  Even Hermione simply didn't have it in her to stay up with each update as she had at first.  She felt the quiet was welcome, and appreciated that the arrest of the remaining Death Eaters and other supporters of Voldemort never made it onto the front page of any copy of the Daily Prophet.  It wasn't what they'd expected, but everyone was alright with the positive feeling that even the Ministry was pushing, even a desperate attempt at normalcy was better than how the last year had been.

So, for the third time that summer, Harry and Hermione rode the train to Hogwarts, nerves somehow even higher than before.

Chapter Text

[july 1998]

Hermione's summer was nearly as boring as Harry's.  She didn't have the excitement of a teenage relationship (which she was thankful for), or any new pets, but her life was what she considered to be a good type of quiet. 

She was with her parents again, and getting to see them again was wonderful.  The novelty wore off after the first couple of weeks, though, once all of her stories had been shared and they'd given the appropriate gasps and cried at the proper places. 

It was soon just living with her parents, like she reverted to her summer-before-fourth-year-self: carefree and treated like a child.  They checked twice a day that she had brushed properly, reprimanded her when they thought she needed to eat more carbs, and did all that they'd done before she'd given them new personalities then reversed that to restore them. 

Her mum and dad were upset with her at first, likely guilty that she spent a year putting her life at risk in various ways and even being tortured, all while they sat unaware an ocean away from her.  That faded quickly, as they, too, sank blissfully into the mundanity of what had been their normal life. 

Aside from her visits to Number 12 and the Burrow, she mostly stayed at home, realizing upon her first trip to the nearest Wizarding Library that she knew exactly how Viktor Krum felt when he was followed by fangirls.  She ordered books by owl after that. 

The only real responsibility that Hermione possessed that summer was her commitment to helping out Professor McGonagall with hiring.  The new Headmaster of Hogwarts was more than capable of doing this on her own, but she chose to involve students, Hermione, an actual 7th year Hufflepuff, and three Ravenclaws. 

Since she had initially been given long lists of applications, she decided to pick out those she felt had the most promise for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.  She was also responsible for a massive overhaul of the curriculum, something that included the need for at least two professors for each subject, including Transfiguration, Charms, and so on.  So, again, while she was more than capable of doing it on her own, delegating the work to gain additional opinions from certain students.  The decision eventually made would be up to her and the other veteran teachers, but she decided that having input from students could help them to consider different perspectives.

It that deeply pleased Hermione, who was more than willing to spend hours pouring over resumes and potential teaching plans.  This was the research project that she so desired, and the two weeks she was given before McGonagall wanted her responses were filled with owls constantly sent back and forth, always weighed down with books she ordered. 

Therefore, when she finally received notification from the headmaster, she literally shrieked with joy.  The letter disclosed (once it had been freed from the school owl's leg) the list of new teachers and their positions, and also a brief explanation of the new mandatory classes.  This included at least three years of Muggle Studies, and two years of Arithmancy or Ancient Runes.  Hermione swelled with satisfaction at the addition of a mandatory Muggle Studies course, something she'd strongly advocated in favor of.  She flipped back to the list of new faculty.  It read,

In light of recent events and numerous losses in terms of faculty and professors, I,  Headmaster Minerva McGonagall, along with other professors, have made the challenging decision to hire additional staff.  Those professors that we have lost or have been taken from us due to the tragic events of the past couple of years will be fondly remembered and are thanked for their service to our students.  Their portraits will be hung throughout the castle, at locations that will be announced during our first breakfast together. 

Take care to remember that the addition of new professors does not imply or necessitate the exclusion of the older ones, it simply represents the minor changes that Hogwarts is currently undergoing.  All new staff are to be treated at every instance with the utmost respect, and to be treated no differently from any other staff member.

What follows is the list of new staff members and their areas of knowledge:

Professor Oakley Khan - Potions

Professor Quinn Watts - Transfiguration

Professor Sidney Eli - Charms

Professor Darcie Yates - Defense Against the Dark Arts

Professor Ellison Knight - Defense Against the Dark Arts

Professor Noel Nicholson - Arithmancy

Professor Valadin Veardley - Muggle Studies

Professor Florence Cooke - Muggle Studies

Professor Lydia Lawrence - Other

Coby Zain - Caretaker

Once she looked through this as well, happy to see two of the people for whom she'd strongly advocated, she found one more piece of parchment in the envelope.

Miss Granger,

I'd like to thank you personally for all that you have done to help prepare for the coming term.  Your input has been invaluable.  The letter that you have likely read prior to this one will be sent out to all current and starting students in two days time. 

Again, thank you very much, and if you ever need anything, please do not hesitate to ask. 

Sincerely,

Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmaster of Hogwarts

At those words, Hermione felt lighter than air, happy, refreshed.  Her input, 'invaluable' ? She didn't hesitate to read the letter aloud to her parents.

[august 1998]

About two weeks before the start of term, she received a letter, one she thought might from Hogwarts until she realized it was an unfamiliar owl, it knocked politely on her bedroom window until she opened it. 

Hi!

I know we haven't spoken all summer, but if you'd like, I have someone I quite think you'd like to see. If you're available tomorrow around lunch, just send back an owl and come to this address:

-an address was scribbled down there-

-Parvati

p.s. I do hope you come

Her brow furrowed.  When had she last spoken to Parvati?  Who did she think she'd like to see?  She waved it off, writing out a neat yes, I'll be there tomorrow, 12 pm and sending it off with the owl that had arrive with the first letter.

It stuck with her--the curiosity--to the point where she had even laid awake all night long, tossing and turning, much to Crookshanks's annoyance.  Morning couldn't have come fast enough and the few hours between her rising and the time she was to arrive seemed to stretch ahead of her like afternoon shadows. 

Finally, the time came.  She glanced at the address again, told her parents she'd return, and DisApparated. 

When she arrived at the given address, she was completely unfamiliar with her surroundings.  Hermione reached into a pocket in her robes, pulling out an enchanted world map.  According to it, she was somewhere in France.  She folded it back and glanced back up at the house in front of her.  It was beautiful, tall, made of a cream colored stone of some sort with the prettiest landscaping surrounding it.  She approached the front door slowly, looking cautiously about the area. 

Her fingers curled into a tight fist and she knocked on the door with two sharp taps.  Nothing happened for about a minute, her arm raising again so that she could knock, when the door was yanked open. 

"Hi!" Parvati squealed.  "It's wonderful to see you again!" She grabbed Hermione's wrist, pulling her inside then wrapping her in a hug.  "Padma's not here right now, but she told me to tell you hi. Anyways, I'm sure you're rather confused about why I've asked you here.  I thought about it really hard, I wasn't sure if I should tell you.  But, I spoke to her-" Parvati covered her mouth suddenly.  "No point in waiting, I'll just show you!"

Hermione was more confused than before.  She looked around the house as she followed Parvati--it was gorgeous.  Nice furniture in every room, paintings that looked priceless on every wall, super dark wood floors . . . she thought it was wonderful.  But why was it so nice?  Whose house was this?  Who was she being taken to?

After a walk up two flights of stairs, Parvati stopped in front of two double doors. 

"Alright, I don't mean to alarm you, she's rather sensitive right now," she whispered to Hermione, who was still beyond confused.  "It's quite bad still, the scarring I mean.  They said it's supposed to heal with time, and it does look better, but it is very noticeable as well.  You're not usually mean," she paused for a half second too long after that, "and you're quite sympathetic, so I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."  With that, she gently turned the handle of the left door. It opened inwards, and she allowed Hermione to enter first.  As it opened, Hermione temporarily forgot the mystery at hand, frozen at the breathtaking view out of the massive windows of the top most floor of the house.  There were endless rolling hills, deep green, the sun shone brightly onto them, causing them to practically glow. And, way off in the distance, sat mountains, picture perfect and topped with the tiniest amount of snow. 

Parvati grabbed her shoulders, redirecting her attention to small sofa to her left, upon which sat a girl. 

Hermione tilted her head, surprised at the familiar brown waves and the loud headband, covered in purple flowers.

"Lavender?" Hermione said aloud, at a loss for any other words. 

Lavender looked up, a soft smile on her face, but the smile was interrupted by three angry slashes across her face, creating a gash on the right side of each of her lips.  Hermione didn't hesitate, though, and barely even blinked before she rushed across the room, hugging her as tightly as she could. 

A few minutes later, after some tears had been shed, Lavender explained, "I know we were never super close when we were at school, especially not our last year, but I felt bad keeping it from everyone.  You were so nice to everybody, and I just . . ."

"You're only the third one from school she's told," Parvati explained, having summoned a chair to be able to sit across from them.

With tears in all of their eyes, they gave updates, telling the story of what had transpired in the prior months.  They spoke for hours, probably the longest that Hermione had ever spoken to them.  It was dark when she DisApparated, once they made collective plans to meet again at the same time during the following week. 

One of the things they'd spoken about was what it would be like to be back at Hogwarts.  She, of course, filled them in on her conversations with McGonagall, and from there they turned to talking about which students would be coming back.  They asked her if she knew about Lily Moon and Sophie Roper, the other two girls that they shared a dormitory with.  She didn't know anything at all about their whereabouts, but even when they were all together at Hogwarts, the two girls had been rather . . . aloof, choosing to speak to one another almost exclusively. For Parvati and Lavender, it had been depressing to be at Hogwarts the prior year, not just because of the literal evil wizards that had taken it over, but also because Lily and Sophie left for America during the summer, choosing to finish schooling at Ilvermorny. And, since obviously Hermione hadn't been there either, two people in a five person dorm made it feel empty. 

She slept quite well that night, internally surprised at how much knowing that Lavender was alive and well made her feel better.  They'd never been particularly close, and especially in 6th year they'd been in opposition.  This was something Hermione apologized profusely for, even writing a letter to her in the summer after that year. 

With the exception of that, she had always been on neutral territory with them, occasionally exchanging gossip, though certainly never as close to them as she could have been.  And while her hatred and their love of Divination probably drove them further apart, she'd found talking to them quite enjoyable. 

[1 september 1998]

Predictably, after their first dinner, everyone shuffled up to their dormitories at a near silence.  Even the first-years were quiet, so much so that when one sneezed, multiple other young voices hissed at them to be quiet. 

No one stayed up long, just waited long enough for the crowds to thin so they could climb the stairs. 

Being the oldest, they were near the rear of the line.  Hermione caught Harry's eye and a silent understanding was reached. 

Two hours later, when Ron's familiar snores were filling the circular room, and he could tell that Neville, Dean, and Seamus were asleep, too, Harry slipped out of the room.  He'd never heard the dorms so quiet, yet so filled with students. 

He went down the stairs, slippers muffling the sound of his footsteps.  He wasn't surprised to see Hermione already there, sitting in one of the oversized chairs that faced the fireplace.  He dropped into the seat next to her and grabbed one of the books from her pile. 

"Is this the History of Magic book?" he asked, making a face. 

"No," she told him absentmindedly, "It's by the same author though.  You might find it interesting."

"Why would I find it interesting?" He studied the cover. 

She looked at him, "Harry, when's the last time that you read a book?  I mean like picked up a book because you wanted to and not because we were trying to save our own lives by reading fairy tales last year." 

"Well, the last time we were here, when you wanted to research Hogwarts . . ."

"And was it interesting?"

He shrugged.  "I dunno, I suppose so."

"And, last question, do you trust me?" she asked. She stared him down until he nodded, then went back to reading, calmly taking notes down onto a piece of parchment.

She was clearly done talking.  He just looked down at the book and started to read. 

This turned out to be the start of a new Harry, one that read books about things other than Quidditch, and tried to do assignments in advance.  It bothered Ron at first, but he quickly realized that this was a permanent change, and eventually realized that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  So, in all of the time since their first year, they received the best collective marks between them.

For Hermione, this meant relatively little change, but for Harry and Ron, the difference was so vast that Professor McGonagall called to them in the halls one day, telling them that as long as they were being honest about their assignments, she was incredibly proud of them.  Hermione didn't stop grinning about it for weeks. 

In the meanwhile, the usual transition from home to Hogwarts was set to be rougher than usual.  Professor McGonagall and the other staff members had created an area of the castle, one of the old Astronomy towers, that would featured portraits of all of the students lost in the Battle of Hogwarts, or in any conflict resultant from Voldemort or the Death Eaters.  The new faculty were moving in fine, and were thankfully welcomed with open arms by everyone.  However, the energy after the start of term dinner truly was representative of the energy of the students.  It was about two weeks before the noise in the halls was close to its pre-battle levels. 

[24 september 1998]

As it turned out, Harry was rather antisocial during their first month back at Hogwarts.  It was within said first month when he failed an exam, one that he didn't even know he was being given. 

He discovered this one evening, as he poured over a Potions textbook, trying to finish a write-up due the next day.  His quill scratched loudly against the parchment as he once again ran out of ink.

"Harry."  Ginny dropped into the chair across the table from him.  She was clutching a notebook in her hands. 

"Yeah?" he mumbled, deep into a passage about stirring patterns. 

"Can you look at me for a moment? We need to have a serious conversation." 

He looked up at her, eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Is something wrong?"

Ginny placed her notebook onto the table, delicately opening it to the page marked by its ribbon.  Said page was covered in numbers and short phrases. 

"I feel like you don't talk to me anymore," she said. 

"We talk every day," Harry told her, growing more confused. 

"I thought so, too.  But, when I began to write it down, I started thinking.  When did we last go out together?"

He glanced incredulously around the Common Room, as if to remind her that they were at a boarding school.  They hadn't even visited Hogsmeade yet. 

"When is the last time that we spent time together, just the two of us?  Or when you came up to me and asked to spend time with me?"

Harry suddenly understood.  This was her breaking up with him, wasn't it?

"I mean, I still like you," he told her. 

"And I still like you.  But, honestly, this feels just like 5th year-" (Harry assumed that she was referring to his own 6th year) "-when we both liked one another but didn't really spend time alone.  It's like we're friends again."

He opened his mouth to respond, hoping that the proper words would populate his brain.  "Errr . . . so is it just that you want to spend more time together?" 

"No.  I mean, yes, I do, but right now, I think we shouldn't be together anymore," she said as she looked him straight in the eye.  She shakes her head, "It's not your fault, though.  You've just been different, I've never seen you study so much."

"Well it's my 7th year, it's a lot of work," he reasoned. 

"It's my 7th year and I think I'm getting along fine," she argued. 

"You were also at Hogwarts last year, and before September, I hadn't been to a class in over a year," he pointed out, trying to keep from growing defensive. 

"Yes, that's true." She thought about it for a moment before saying, "Regardless, I hope that we can still be friends, I just . . . don't think that now is the best time for us to be together."

Ginny then shut her notebook (which Harry belatedly realized she had basically been reading from), reached across the table to pat one of his hands, gave him a tight smile, and headed up the stairs to her dormitory. 

He nodded slowly as he watched her leave.  He was single again.  Alone, with no girlfriend, for the first time in nearly half a year.  He reached deep into his emotions, waiting to suppress some sudden need to cry or be sad, but the deeper he felt, the more he could only find relief.  And, honestly, he was relieved.  

It hadn't been so bad over the summer, when they could sneak off or he could invite her over if they wanted to be alone together.  But here, it wasn't that there was a lack of places to go, it was that there were at all moments an abundance of eyes on him.  Everywhere that Harry went, it felt like literal groups of other students and faculty were following his every move.  This was realized in their first week, when he and Ginny had snuck off, only to be greeted with whoops and cheers when they came back to the Common Room--literally everyone knew they were missing.  And it wasn't just that it was mortifying that everybody knew, or thought they knew, what they'd been doing.  It was that suddenly, everybody knew they were dating, gossip about it, and when they were bold enough, even come up to ask him or her or one of their friends about it. 

As he sat there, finger still marking a passage that he needed to quote for his write up, it made much more sense.  She hadn't ever minded the attention, he had.  She was good at laughing off the uncomfortable questions or rumors, but each one he heard made him increasingly more annoyed.  Ginny was more than happy to be half of Hogwarts' most popular couple, but Harry absolutely hated it.  And, without realizing, he understood that he had probably subconsciously pulled away from her. 

Harry was shaken again from his focus when Hermione and Ron sat next to and across from him. 

"What's up with you, mate?" Ron asked, letting his books fall with a thud onto the table. 

"Where were you guys?" Harry asked, ignoring the question.

"Not sure where he was," Hermione glanced at Ron, "But I was at the library."

Ron motioned to the back of the common room, past the spiral staircases, to one of the sitting areas in front of the windows.  "I was playing chess back there, demolished a 7th year--one in Ginny's year." 

Hermione was studying Harry.  "What is wrong with you?"

Internally cursing the fact he had been behaving strangely enough to attract both Hermione and Ron's attention he said, "Ginny broke up with me." 

Ron's jaw dropped, Hermione, on the other hand, just made a face.  And when he caught her expression, Ron asked, "You knew?"

"Well I really didn't know for certain."  She added suddenly at Harry's horrified expression, "And we haven't spoken about you since early summer.  She's not told me anything, I was just guessing based on what I've been able to see." 

"You thought there might be something wrong and you didn't bother to tell him?" Ron asked angrily. 

"No, Ronald.  I didn't go up to Harry and say, 'I think Ginny might dump you.' Which would have been particularly dumb, I think, especially considering that's probably why he felt uncomfortable," Hermione shot back. 

Ron turned to Harry, waiting for Harry to argue his case. 

"She's right.  I mean I still like Ginny, but every time we sat next to each other in here or in the Great Hall, or if we held hands," Harry shook his head, "It felt like we were dating on stage."

"What's wrong with that?" asked Ron. 

Hermione didn't say anything this time, though it was clear to Harry that she understood his feelings better than Ron did.  But, then again, that was never Ron's specialty. 

"I dunno, I'm just sort of sick of it.  Everyone already knows who I am.  They know how my parents died, there are books written about parts of my life . . ." Harry trailed off. 

Neither of his friends had anything to say and they all lapsed into silence. 

Later, when Ron and Harry climbed the stairs, Ron told him, "I'm sorry about you and Ginny." 

"Thanks."

Ron cracked a joke about them both being single, and just like that, things were normal again.  

Chapter Text

[26 September 1998]

In many ways, the social scene at Hogwarts, especially for Harry and his friends, felt almost like regression to their earlier years.  This was mostly due Harry's newly single status, and meant that all of the 8th year Gryffindors were now single. 

It was odd, the now 8 of them hadn't really spent concentrated time together for more than a year, but here they were each day, concentrated into classes that were smaller than ever. 

True to her word, Professor McGonagall made certain that the 7th and 8th years were in separate courses, for pretty much everything other than electives.  Though, it wasn't really like having them in the same required courses was an option.  It was challenging enough for the professors to teach just the 8th years and make sure they were at the same starting level (in other words: Harry, Hermione, and Ron were not the only ones in the year that hadn't stayed during the Death Eater take over).  It was something that had quite stressed her out, three levels of knowledge among students that were technically in the same year?  It worked itself out, the students that hadn't gone to school the year before were at around the same level as those that stayed--Death Eater education was at best worthless.  Even what she had taught in her own class had been modified to the point where they would have been better suited if they had just read the standardized textbook (which coincidentally had been banned). 

Additionally, since they were usually in groups of two houses for courses, the absence of the entire group of what would be 8th year Slytherins made many classes smaller.  Potions, for example, was an intimate affair.  It had also been re-required for them to take it, along with the other standard classes, again, due to the mess that the past years had been. 

Hermione quite liked being able to do a comprehensive review of each subject, though pretty much none of the her classmates agreed.  What made it tolerable for the other Gryffindors, at least, was the amount of time they spent together. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been in a sort of bubble in their first 6 years at Hogwarts, talking to the other people in their year, but never really sharing anything deep with them.  The transition to becoming close to the 5 other students wasn't on purpose, and honestly wasn't something that any of them noticed.

But they all found themselves crowded around tables during the study period in the Great Hall, sharing answers and working together.  As they all noticed how close they'd become, they also felt a sense of loss.  Harry especially, who had never been anything other than grateful for Hermione and Ron's friendship, saw what they had all been missing.  It wasn't as though it was anyone's choice, but it was unfortunate nonetheless. 

The other unforeseen consequence of this new closeness was the sudden discovery that they were all teenagers that hadn't truly done all of the 'teenage things'. Sure, they'd taken swigs of the Fire Whiskey that the older students had taken (sources unknown, though, Fred and George were often the top distributors to younger students), and they'd had big celebrations after winning matches, but they hadn't had the full teenage experience. 

"I mean, yeah, we did some things," Parvati winked at Lavender (a clear reference to Lavender's short-lived 6th year relationship), "but we didn't ever get . . ."

"Hammered?" Hermione offered up sarcastically. 

Parvati rolled her eyes.  "You know what I mean.  We had fun, but we didn't have the reckless and aimless fun.  My cousin was here, before we even started first year, and the stories she tells!"

They were all quiet, thinking hard.  Hermione pulled her knees to her chin, feeling surprisingly comfortable sitting on the thick circular rug that sat in the middle of their dormitory. 

"I think it sounds quite fun," Lavender said brightly. 

"But, even if we do decide to get hammered, how are we supposed to  actually get anything? How do we decide who to invite? When do we do it?" Hermione's practical approach attracted a look of annoyance from them, and she quickly explained, "I want to do it, though."

Parvati stood from her cross-legged position on the rug and walked over the window, thinking.  "The easiest part is getting drinks, we're all legally able to buy it.  Even though we haven't gone to Hogsmeade yet, one us can just put an order in.  I don't even think anything's regulated here.  The harder part will be where to go.  Yates really makes McGonagall seem soft." 

Professor Yates was part of the new faculty, chosen to be the Gryffindor Head of House.  She ran a tight ship, even requiring twice daily check-ins for the Prefects and Head Boy and Girl.  She'd even put a charm on the Common Room, alerting her if the volume level got too high after the students were expected to be in bed. 

"I'd say the Room of Requirement, but Harry said he tried in first week back and it didn't work . . . there must be other places, though," Hermione said. 

"What about the Astronomy Towers?" Lavender suggested. 

"Lavender, you know that's where all the third and fourth years have their first experiences," Parvati laughed. 

Hermione did not know.  She would probably bet that Harry and Ron didn't either.  (They didn't, though even Neville did.)

"Any ideas?" Lavender asked, looking at Hermione. 

"Not off the top of my head.  Anywhere like an empty classroom we'll just get caught, obviously can't have it in here, I'll have to do some research," she stood and started to climb into bed. 

The other two did the same and quickly fell asleep.  Hermione, however, patiently waited for the sound of their breathing to slow and slow and finally even out, before she grabbed the book from her bedside table, slid her feet into her slippers, and snuck down the stairs. 

This was, of course, one of many instances of her nighttime meetings with Harry. She was always tired the next day, but when they were together at night, she could tell how little he usually slept.  He beat her downstairs tonight and was crouched in front of one of the smaller fireplaces, quietly muttering as he attempted to light it. 

"What are you doing?" she asked as she sat into a chair behind him. 

"Lighting the fire," he stood once he'd gotten it right and the flames burst to life, "clearly I need to work on my Nonverbal spells."  He picked the chair next to her, taking the book from her outreached hand without complaint. 

He knew she must be quite tired and understood that it was a trade for her: she'd stay up with him as long as he did something productive.  He also knew that he was more than welcome to go back on the trade, and do something else other than the reading, homework, and studying that they did--but that would mean that he would be doing it alone.  They usually didn't speak much, making it quite jarring when Hermione suddenly spoke up.

"Do you ever think that we sort of missed out being normal teenagers?" she asked. 

Where had this come from? he wondered.

"I was talking with Parvati and Lavender earlier tonight, and they were saying that the third and fourth years get handsy in the Astronomy Towers.  Did you know that?" She continued, "I certainly didn't.  I mean, when I think back to our third and fourth years, I understand why.  But, still, what crazy things did we do?"

"Hermione, I'm sure you haven't forgotten the war that we fought in that ended less than half a year ago?" he asked incredulously. 

"No, no," she waved him off. "Like normal stuff.  Sneaking out and drinking Fire Whiskey . . . I just can't believe that we're already adults, since it feels like we never got to be children." 

She had a point, he had to admit.  Even their errr . . . socially active sixth year was fairly tame.  "What are you saying exactly?"

"I think we need to experience what it's like to be carefree.  Which is where you come in," she said. 

Something flashed through his mind before he answered, "Sure, what's that?"

"Well, we obviously all need somewhere to go, and the Room of Requirement would be the best choice for that-"

"It was destroyed, though.  I thought I told you and Ron that?" he interrupted. 

"-which is why I was going to suggest that we start looking for another place," she mostly ignored him. 

"Didn't we already try this summer?  To find out more about the castle?"

She pursed her lips.  "Yes, but this summer we were only reading.  Plus, we only had a week--less than that if you take off the two days we spent on the train."

He nodded slowly, "So what's the plan this time?"

"Well you said that last time Dobby told you about the Room of Requirement . . ." she suggested.

"You think we should ask the house elves?" He secretly wondered if this was just another plot of hers to get to see them more often. 

"We should ask everyone, the elves, the ghosts, the paintings," she was writing down the ideas on a piece of parchment.

He nodded again, "When will we do this? We don't exactly have loads of free time."

"We don't need loads of free time," she motioned between herself and him, "there's 8 of us, in total.  And if each of us spends a half hour a day searching the castle, we'll find somewhere in no time."

Harry was still wondering what had made her so suddenly passionate about this idea, and Hermione sensed this confusion. 

"I've read about so many things, at this point I've probably spent entire months of my life reading.  But I feel as though I haven't done anything, like I've been living other people's lives, and I've been so busy trying to stay alive--I just want to be able to look back on experiences of my own rather than the experiences of others."

He sighed quietly, then looked at her, silently agreeing to give her plan a try.

When he went to bed later, a couple hours before sunrise, he fell asleep thinking how grateful he was to be friends with her. 

[present day, 2002]

The more he told himself he wasn't nervous, the less he believed it.  In truth, he wasn't nervous.  He knew Hermione very well, he knew they would have something to talk about, food to eat, stuff to drink.  In that sense, he wasn't nervous. 

But that wasn't what a date was.  It was romantic . . . something meant to be different than friendship.  Harry didn't know what a date would actually look like for the two of them. 

To alleviate the worry about what would happen, he kept the plans simple.  Like, crazy simple.  The agenda was something like: cook together, eat in the dining room, and end with a film.

The planning really was the easiest part.  Because yes, he did know her quite well, but also it was something that he'd thought about for months.  He'd considered every sort of date.  Maybe a formal dinner? Brunch? A hike? Apparate to a foreign country for a day? 

But, as he thought about what they liked to do together, he considered how small of a step it was between their activities being as friends versus as a couple.  They really had gotten into such comfortable habits, really gotten to know each other, so it seemed to Harry that this next step was logical.  Do what they normally do, but . . . flirt?

He ran through his checklist: he'd done the necessary cleaning, picked up ingredients, literally written down what the agenda was.  All he needed to do now was get dressed, and wait. 

"Harry?" she asked, once she'd finished chewing the spaghetti in her mouth. 

He rose his eye brows at her, wordlessly acknowledging her.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, then tugged anxiously on its end, "If we do this again . . ."

"Yeah," he nodded in agreement. 

"Should we maybe keep quiet?"

"Like a secret, you mean?" he asked. 

"No!" Hermione started folding her napkin, "I don't mean like a secret, but like just not publicizing what's going on . . ."

His eyebrows dropped and came together, brow furrowed.  "Is that not keeping it a secret?"

"Well no.  I mean . . . what I'm trying to say is, how did Ron react when you told him I said yes?" she asked.

"Nothing.  He just turned around and wrote you a letter."

"And when I told Ginny, she acted like it was fine, but later when I had her over she said she wasn't worried because it wasn't like anything would come of it." She let out a hollow laugh, "she even said that we wouldn't have anything to talk about." 

He just rolled his eyes, "I'd hope that over a decade of being best friends would prove that wrong."

She actually laughed at that.  Her face turned serious, "But you understand what I'm saying, right?"

"Yeah, I understand the concept, and why we should do it.  What I'm not clear on is how?  Wouldn't it just be us lying to them and everyone else?"

"So, I've been thinking that if they explicitly ask, we'll be honest.  But if they simply ask, 'how did it go?', we can just say okay.  If they ask, 'will it happen again?', we can just shrug and say that we don't know."

Harry nodded slowly, considering it.  "You've really thought this over, haven't you?"

Her cheeks went pink.  "I mean, I figured that it would go alright . . ."  She hit his arm lightly as he raised his eyebrows.  "Oh shut up, you can't act as though you didn't think the same thing."

Hermione was right.  Though Harry's nervousness to plan their evening had overwhelmed any concern of what might come next. 

"I suppose, we did sort of have a test run, after all." His eyes were on his plate, endlessly twirling a noodle on his fork. 

"Yes," she drops her face onto her hand, elbow on the table, "I suppose we did." She was quiet for a moment before saying, "I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like if we'd just gone for it?"

"I think about it, too.  Honestly, though, we were so young back then . . . anyways, enough business talk, let's go watch a film."

Once he'd made the plates disappear, grabbed the bottle of wine, and Hermione had grabbed their glasses, they made their way to the sitting room.  She sat on the sofa, grinning as Newt curled up her lap. 

"You really are the only person he'll sit on," Harry said as he refilled their glasses. 

She knew.  She knew because she was observant, Harry had mentioned it before, and the little fact that it had been a point of contention in the past. 

It was a dinner, a double date.  They'd gone out to dinner, Harry and Ginny, Hermione and Ron, and came back to Number 12 to hang out a little more.  When Ginny found Hermione alone in the kitchen (having gone to get bread but had taken more than the minute required for the task) and realized that she was perched on the counter, Newt purring loudly as she petted him.  Ginny was shocked into silence, standing still until she gained the presence of mind to slowly approach in hopes being able to really pet her boyfriend's elusive cat.  As soon as she got within an arm's length, he sprinted off. 

Everything was fine with them for a bit, until Newt came up to Hermione again, Ginny again attempted an approach, and (yes, again) Newt streaked off.  She dropped into a chair in a huff, muttering about how horrible she must be for the cat to hate her. 

Harry went up to her, patting her arm, explaining that it was just that Hermione had spent more time with Newt.  He was going for comforting, but this was decidedly not comforting to her. 

Harry and Hermione were forced to explain Hermione often came over to 12.  They didn't do anything interesting, and sometimes they didn't even speak beyond greetings.  It was just that they both lived alone and sometimes wanted some company, which is how Hermione had sometimes spent hours a day at his house.  (And also how he spent hours at her flat, though they didn't mention it them, feeling it would make the conversation worse than it already was.)

Ron was upset because he felt left out-- if they were doing nothing anyways, then what was stopping them from inviting him?  Ginny pretty much felt the same way.  That night ended pretty quickly and it took a couple weeks for things to go back to normal. 

"I know," she said softly. 

When he sat next to her, it didn't seem like it was unreasonably close--it was well within the distance they usually sat to one another.  But Hermione suddenly noticed how close they usually sat, close enough that their legs were practically pressed against the other person's.  Her cheeks went pink again. 

[30 September 1998]

It was the next day, late on Sunday evening when Harry made a startling discovery.  He came down from his dormitory, having retrieved another quill, and spotted his cat, curled up on the mantle of the main common room fire place. 

The alarming part, however, was the presence of three 3rd year girls, crowded close to the fire place.  One was holding a notebook and writing something down, the others looking and pointing.  Their attention was focused on Harry's tiny pet cat. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, walking up to them. 

At the sound of his voice, almost in unison, their eyes widened and they backed out of his way.  He reached onto the mantle, scooping Newt up. 

Two of them whispered to one another for a second before one said, "Sorry, we didn't mean him any harm.  He's just really cute."

"Is he yours?" the third girl asked. 

Harry nodded. 

"What's his name?"

"Erm . . . Newt.   But what were you doing?" he asked impatiently.

"It's sort of a game, you see.  He's all over the Common Room, some times even around the castle.  We kept noticing the weird spots we'd see him in,

"Those girls seem a little young for you, Harry," Dean said as Harry sat down.  Seamus and Ron snickered.  "I mean, we knew you liked younger girls, but . . ."

Harry waited for them to quiet down.  "They've started a fan club.  For my cat." 

There was no quieting them after that. 

It should be noted, though, that the fan club, now fondly named the Newt Finders was not localized to Gryffindor. This was yet another unsettling discovery that Harry made a week later, when he saw a group of 2nd to 5th year Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs in the library.  His jaw dropped when he saw the green pins on each of their robes.  He was even more uncomfortable when Luna sat next to him, wearing the same pin, with Newt Finders emblazoned on it in animated dancing letters. 

Clubs had apparently taken off at Hogwarts, something that Harry noticed when he saw Ron posting signs for his chess club.  The club was mostly a way for Ron to find new students to beat, but he told Harry that he could see a tournament happening in the future. 

Harry, on the other hand, was anxiously awaiting the start of Quidditch season, and, in the meanwhile, was focused on school work.   He never realized how much time and energy they all spent worrying and planning, but now it seemed like they had nothing but time.  His new fascination with school work was only furthered by Hermione, who was putting her pre-war self to shame in terms of sheer number of books read. 

The two of them had a mostly unspoken tradition of bi-weekly nights in the common room, spent talking and reading.  And it was actually the third book that she recommended that had him hooked, reading it in the halls on the way to classes, after he'd finished his essays, literally whenever he could. 

This led to three straight nights of discussion in the common room between the two of them.  Which in turn caught the attention of Neville, who read the book and quickly joined it.  And, before they knew it, there were more than 11 other students that had read the book based on the recommendation. 

"I've always wanted to start a book club," Hermione said, dragging her finger along the spines of the books in the library.  That was when Harry realized that he had become a founding member of a book club.  "I've been thinking about it for a while, I honestly didn't think that others would be interested."  She laughed, "last year, you wouldn't have been interested."

"Yeah, I think we had other things to worry about," he said sagely. 

She laughed again, then looked at him, "Thank you, though.  I mean it."

"I mean, I think we've all gotten more into studying this year, even Ron," he said.

"Yes, that's quite true." She was quiet as she pulled out a book and scanned the table on contents.  "Either way, I'm glad that so many people joined the book club." 

"Is it . . ." he scratched his head, "because of us?"

She shook her head.  After Neville had joined, along with the next three members, she had posted a paper on the bulletin board in the Common Room (after gaining approval from their new Head of House).  Similar to the sign up paper for the DA, she put a charm on it, concealing the fact that she or Harry were involved in the club at all.  She explained this to him. 

"Oh," he said, mood lightening.  He had noticed that the members seemed to genuinely enjoy reading and talking about books, and even though there were moments when he felt everyone's eyes on him, truly studying him as though they could barely believe he was there in front of them, he was mostly treated normally. 

In all honesty, he didn't love the discussions as much as the others did, reading was alright (though it did occasionally become boring), but he wasn't doing it for himself.  He didn't know if she could tell, but the same reason that he'd listen to Ron go on about chess strategies was why he participated in this extracurricular.  It made her happy, and if she was willing to stay up two to three nights a week and sacrifice multiple hours of sleep, then he'd spend some free time discussing fictional stories written by goblins in the 18th century. 

For Hermione, it was easy to do.  Much easier than trying to join Ron's rather unofficial chess club (which had morphed from Ron beating younger students into a strangely intense weekly tournament). 

How had he chosen to befriend the people whose past times were chess and reading?

[present day, 2002]

"How did it go?" Ginny asked as she hung her bag on the hook next to the front door of Hermione's flat. 

Hermione had practiced this in the mirror for the past two nights, schooling her expressions and choosing her words carefully.  "It went alright, I suppose." 

"Will you do it again?" There was an element of forced casualness in her voice. 

Hermione's shoulder lifted and shrugged (just like she watched herself do repeatedly), "I'm not sure.  Maybe not." 

Ginny was unaware of the rehearsed nature of her actions, but Hermione could clearly see when Ginny suppressed a look of relief. 

She felt guilty, though she and Harry had worked out the fact that it was not technically lying, it was just telling part of truth.  She had--of course--argued that lying by omission was just lying by a fancier name, but that it also was saving some unnecessary drama.

Yes, she told herself, a new relationship came with enough drama on its own and absolutely didn't necessitate the involvement of two parties (both with a last name that rhymed with Heasley) that probably had a vested interest in them not dating. 

It wasn't ideal, and Hermione had always felt that their dating choices had complicated their social network (she had broken up with her best friend, who was also best friends with her other best friend, who had been dating the first best friend's sister--and that was without adding in any of the other people they'd dated), but as adults they were more than free to choose to date whomever they desired. 

"What did you do?"

"Just stayed in, cooked together, watched a film," Hermione told her. 

Ginny bit her lip and Hermione could again read her underlying emotions like a book.  "That's not much of a date, is it?"

"I suppose it doesn't have to be," Hermione responded absently, cursing herself internally for nearly blushing at the memory of Harry kissing her on the cheek before she DisApparated. What was she, fourteen years old?

They were silent for a moment, Ginny gently playing tug of war with Dickens over a hair ribbon.  "So you two aren't going to keep dating?"

"Like I said before, I'm not sure," Hermione said again. 

"But do you think you will?" Ginny pressed on. 

"I don't know," Hermione said as she tried to unclench her teeth, "I guess maybe not." 

That was clearly the answer that Ginny had been waiting for, because there was no more mention of the date for the remainder of the evening. 

It made her quite spiteful, and the more that she pressed for answer, the more that Hermione felt that growing desire to tell her everything.  That no, it hadn't been a miserable date, yes, it would be happening again, and no, this was far from the first time that anything that happened between herself and Harry. 

Did that make her a bad person? After repeated questioning she was thinking the answer was no. 

When Ginny left, Hermione let out a great sigh of relief and laid back onto her bed.  She asked herself another question, did Ginny really believe that she was going to get back with Harry?

Sure, they'd broken up before, but this was the longest since 8th year, and was the only one  (other than 8th year) when Harry expressed utter certainty that they were done for good. 

She sat back up, figuring it would probably be best to keep him appraised of the night's events, especially if they were to effectively keep up the idea that the date had been a one-off. 

Hermione laughed out loud as she realized how ridiculous her life had become. 

Chapter Text

[2002, present]

And so, in the aftermath of Ginny's leaving, Hermione laid there. 

Privately, she feared--well-- many things.  Was the lie believable?  Did they even need to lie?  Would she and Harry last past a couple more dates?  Did it really even matter if they did?

She groaned, covering her face with her hands.  This was just adding stress to her life.  To add to her list of questions: Was it even worth it?

If she and Harry could go a few years after whatever it was that happened between them over their final Christmastime off from Hogwarts, then what was a few more years? 

Hermione laughed to herself, then.  How ridiculous it was: nothing had even really happened between them. 

But she really did enjoy spending time with him, she loved their conversations, his sarcastic comments, even the way that he would listen and engage (up to a certain point) on the topics that she cared deeply about.  When she spoke, it felt like he wanted to listen, and she hoped that he felt the same way. 

Her doubt quickly evaporated, though, as she thought back to her last relationship, a guy that she dated for a few months, who had eventually taken issue with the large amounts of time that Hermione spent with Harry (no more than a couple dinners, the odd breakfast or two, and a lunch per week--which yes, Hermione did have to admit was a fair amount of time).  But, that temporary fling was much more aware of how Hermione and Harry spent their free time (read: together) than Ginny and Ron ever were, something that had resulted from a mutual understanding. 

So, really, it wasn't as though them dating would change anything about their relationship--Hermione again felt her cheeks burning as the words kissing and sex flash through her mind. 

Anyways, did the fact that they kept their time spent together secret not prove that they knew there was something behind it?  Hermione had never mentioned how they'd shared a bed during their week-long summer stay at Hogwarts to Ginny, and certainly not to Ron, and she knew he hadn't either.  She also knew that they hadn't brought up the various other times when they'd fallen asleep in positions that seemed compromising (though, nothing more than a head on a shoulder or a lap). 

And it was not cheating, Hermione had even checked with Ron to make sure that they had established boundaries of what qualified.  She made sure that she never even came close to that line--and until recently, she hadn't again considered thinking about Harry in that way (sort of). 

She asked herself again: was this new relationship worth lying to a lot of people?

Yes, it was. 

[2 october 1998]

Beyond Hermione's leadership of the collective effort to find a place where the 8th years could party, she had her own project. 

She'd never been particularly interested in economics (mostly because it seemed like the Wizarding economy ran on crossed fingers and a history of good luck), but now that she was set to enter the workforce, she was learning all that she could. 

Madam Pince had given her an incredulous look when asked, but pointed her to a tiny corner of the library.  Hermione spent nearly 20 minutes scanning the shelves, reading title after title in hopes of discovering what she was searching for.  She found it just as she was set to give up, a thick volume labeled in a heavy italicized script: The Wizarding Economy and the Best Ways to Succeed: A Detailed History.  Was this a . . . self-help book?  She pulled it out, groaning when she saw Gilderoy Lockhart on the bottom of the cover. 

"Is this all that there is?" Hermione asked as she returned to Madam Pince to sign out the book. 

"Yes, what more do you need?" she responded sharply. 

"Alright, thank you, then," Hermione forced a smile. 

That night, it was just the three of them, though Harry and Ron seemed rather preoccupied speculating on how try-outs would go. 

She knew that Harry would have no idea, but maybe Ron would.  She took the volume from her bag, placing it on the table with a loud thunk.

"Is that by Lockhart?" Harry asked, leaning across the table to see for certain. 

"Yes! And it's not only by Lockhart, but it's the only book in the entire library that discusses magical economics in detail.  But from the way that it's written, it doesn't even seem as though he understands economics!" She then pushed the book away with a huff. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at the cover, watching as the smiling Lockhart brushed his hair, peeking from behind piles of shiny Galleons. 

"Did you ask anyone?" Ron asked, poking at the image of their former professor. 

"Well yes.  I've obviously already asked Madam Pince," Hermione responded irritably. 

"Professor McGonagall, maybe?" He tried again.

"Ronald, do you honestly think I can knock on the door of our new Headmistress to ask about the economy?"

He went back to the parchment in front of him. 

Harry rolled his eyes, a normal day couldn't be had without a row between them. 

Apparently she figured out the exact resource she needed, though, which Harry understood ten minutes before the conclusion of their History of Magic class the next day. 

"Professor?" Hermione asked, hand straight in the air. 

From her seat in the center table in the first row, she could feel the eyes of her classmates on her.  They had this class with the Hufflepuffs and was usually spent in complete silence--save for the quiet scratching of quills (though Hermione was probably one of two students that consistently took notes while the other doodled)--and this was a welcome interruption. 

The ghost kept teaching for a half minute or so, until he took note of the shockingly alert looks on his students faces. 

While he continued, Hermione leaned over, whispering to Harry, "He was the only one willing to tell us about the Chamber in second year, so I thought it might be the same now."  His blank expression told her that he didn't know what she was talking about.  Before she could clarify--

"Yes, Miss . . ."

"Granger, sir.  I've just been doing some research, and I've found that even though we're to finish at Hogwarts soon, I don't completely understand the world we're entering.  You've taught us about countless wars, but what happens afterward? How do they get back to normal?"

This question was decidedly less interesting than some had hoped, but around half the class's attention remained. 

Said attention quickly waned, however, as Binns seemed to simply float in place, not making any apparent move to answer her question. 

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at first," Ron whispered, leaning over to Harry, who nodded in agreement.

"Hermione," he started, though stopped when Binns finally began to speak. 

"I-" he stuttered, looking more bewildered than he ever had before, "I believe I'll need to do some reading on that . . ." he trailed off, giving an aimless wave of his hand that was understood to be a dismissal. 

"I can't believe it--"

"She finally did it--"

"D'you think he'll push that essay deadline?"

Hermione picked up flashes of conversations, suddenly overwhelmed by annoyance, and stormed out. 

"Is she-?" Parvati started.

"She's fine," Harry said hastily, Ron nodding in agreement. 

Hermione was fine, yes, but she was also frustrated: there had been countless wars in the Wizarding World, how did they not know what happened next? 

She took a breath, trying to find reason.  The Wizarding World didn't have a lot of consequences.  Students jinxed each other all the time, there were informal duels going on, even Harry alone had been injured numerous times at school. 

It wasn't that Hogwarts had always held the answer when she went looking for it, but it was that after so much, the thing that she assumed would be simple was so difficult.  No one else (other than one Hufflepuff, and four 8th year Ravenclaws) were even remotely worried about what the future held, which somehow made her even more nervous. 

She wasn't like Harry, who had known for years what he wanted to do.  She certainly wasn't like Ron, who didn't need to decide, and had countless other wizards in his family to help him to find a direction to go in. 

No, she wasn't exactly at risk of starving to death due to lack of employment, but still . . . While yes, she had returned because she wanted to finish her education, she had also returned because it gave her an extra year to figure out what exactly she intended to do for the rest of her life.

So, when they sat across from her at lunch that day, Ron opened with a, "Don't you think you're being dramatic?"

She looked to Harry, who looked uncomfortable. 

"He does have a point, it's not the end of the world when we can't understand something.  Last year worked out alright," he said, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. 

"It's different for me, though.  You've got a family full of wizards, and you're so famous you could just write an autobiography and live off the profits," she shot back. 

Harry made a face, "Hermione, you're famous, too.  You could write an autobiography, and it would certainly be better than anything I could write."

"You aren't understanding me," she paused, trying to collect her thoughts.  "How can finish our schooling per usual when we don't know what's going to happen next year?"

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, "When have we ever known what's going to happen next year?"

He had a point.

Lacking any sort of response, she excused herself from the table, striding quickly out of the Great Hall. 

Ron just shrugged however, "At least it wasn't me this time."

[3 september 1998]

As was obvious due to the copious amounts of studying she did, Hermione greatly enjoyed her classes.  The absence of schooling the year prior had truly made her passion for education grow, much in accordance with the saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder". 

This enjoyment was fueled by the addition of Harry (and yes, Ron too, most of the time) to her homework sessions and the regular study meetings with the other Gryffindors.  Learning had never been quite so social. 

Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Charms, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Muggle Studies--she'd missed them all so much she struggled to pick a favorite.  It had been unfortunate that they lost their electives, and she'd mourned them, but it was also for the best. 

Most of her classes were the same as they had always been, Slughorn was picking his favorite students already and the other teachers taught the same way they always had.  But, given the new professor in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and the addition of the mandatory Muggle Studies course added a layer of unpredictability. 

They had DADA on their first day, as their second class.  Hermione was practically bursting with excitement, though she was pretty much the only one.  The classroom was similar to how it had been with Lupin: a few objects around, a few posters on the stone walls, but mostly minimal.  The main difference was in the seating.  Gone were the tables and seats, and in their place sat a small circular seating area (one that changed on a daily basis), today with 8 large and comfortable looking chairs.  Each had a small table in front, just large enough to write or read on. 

"Hello all," a tall woman with long straight hair greeted them from the front of the room.  "Take a seat, it doesn't matter where," she gave each a warm smile as she watched them amble over and choose seats.

"I'm Professor Darcie Yates, and I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts this year." Her expression softened into one of sympathy, "I've worked to tailor the curriculum for you all, especially because I know that you have been through more than anyone ever should. Because of that, and because of your age, I feel that our time together will be a combination of discussion and practical magic.

"Our Headmistress has given me a run-down of your previous professors, and I promise that this will be different from what I believe was your fifth year and will hopefully not become your new least favorite."

Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Yes?"

"Hermione Granger, professor. I was just wondering what you meant about discussion?"

Professor Yates nodded, "Of course.  Having considered the teachings of your previous instructors, I've seen a variety of approaches.  But, for the most part, there has been a lack of talking.  I feel that the best defense against dark arts is preventing it from occurring at all.  That requires analyzing its appeal, considering what it is that attracts witches and wizards to it."

"That can't possibly be a valuable use of time," Harry said.

She shrugged.  "As I said before, each of you likely have more experience in actually fighting dark wizards than I do.  Any of you could give me lessons on that.  But, what comes from understanding the appeal of the dark arts is not sympathy, but a way to prevent people from following the appeal."

Harry sat back into his seat, clearly satisfied. 

Aside from a few other questions, the remainder of the period went smoothly.

They gathered their bags and filed towards the door, sharing their general feelings about how they thought the class might be.  Harry found it unbelievably relieving to not have to spend hours a week on defensive spells.  Discussion based classes? Even if it meant more essays, at least it wouldn't mean calling upon his own experience fighting for his life.

"She's really quite pretty," Parvati giggled to Lavender, who nodded in agreement. 

"D'you think it'll be boring?" Seamus asked. 

"It could be interesting . . . anyways I'm just glad the Slytherins aren't with us for it," Ron said. 

Their second day of classes brought day one of Muggle Studies. 

"Let's see, we've got Professor Valadin Veardley, and that's first for us," Hermione said, stirring her tea. 

"I haven't heard anything about him yet," Harry said, "but didn't the 5th years have him yesterday?"

His eyes were drawn to a noise, high pitched giggling from two seats down from Hermione.  He wasn't the only one and all of the others looked expectantly at Lavender and Parvati. 

"I haven't heard anything about what his class is like-" Lavender dissolved into giggles. 

"So, what have you heard about him?" Dean asked, leaning forward. 

"Well," Parvati said slowly, "apparently he's really gorgeous . . ."

That was all they could get out of them for the rest of breakfast. 

And, as it turned out, they were far from wrong. 

It was set to be an easy class, though Harry realized that for at least the first month the classroom noises would closely resemble the lovestruck sighs that had been prevalent when they had Lockhart. 

"Nothing but some readings and class discussions--but no essays or homework at all!" Ron said happily as they all exited, overjoyed at the prospect of having one less class to worry about.  Everyone else (yes, even Hermione) agreed. 

[2 october 1998 (again)]

They all met that night, most still eyeing Hermione warily.  This was despite the warnings that Ron and Harry had already handed out, advocating strongly against mentioning anything of her outburst from earlier in the day (and no, Harry said, don't mention that she left lunch early or didn't show up to dinner). 

"Alright," Hermione said, "I'll give each of you a book-" she continued despite the groans- "and you can skim through them and see if there's any hints of places that we can go."

"This is massive!" Seamus whispered to Parvati as he took the book from Hermione. 

There was quiet for a moment as each person studied the book they'd been handed.

"Er . . ." Lavender started, half-raising her hand. 

"Yes?" said Hermione.

"This is the Personal Journal and Detailed Life Experiences of Jenson Cunningham, and it says on the back that he died in 1822 . . ."

Hermione rose her eyebrows, "And?"

"What does his life story have to do with Hogwarts secrets?"

Hermione let out a sharp breath between her clenched teeth, suppressing a quickly growing irritation.  "Well," she said testily, "If you had continued to read the rear cover, you'd know that he writes extensively about his time at Hogwarts, and how he went during the two-year-slump, and there was only one other student in his year.  He devoted nearly all of his free time to exploring the castle."

Lavender nodded mutely as Hermione gazed at their other classmates, all of whom busied themselves with flipping through their own books. 

"Hermione," Harry prompted carefully after Ron had violently shaken his head at the idea of speaking, "Didn't you say something earlier about maps?"

"Oh, yes," she reached into her bag, pulling out a handful of maps, each labeled with a name.  She deposited the pile in the middle then kept her own, carefully laying it out across the table.  "I copied the information on from the Marauder's Map onto these, made copies, then color coded each of them.  We can each devote a couple hours exploring our section, and once we've seen it all, the map magically changes to a new area."

She waited as they each took their own, unfolded them, and began to study their highlighted regions. 

They made their way upstairs soon after that, Dean whispering, "She's quite lost it, I think." 

Harry felt rather guilty for her mood, and laid awake in his bed until he heard everyone fall asleep.   He padded quietly down the stairs, trying his best not to make any noise. 

"Oh, hi," he said, startled at the sight in front of him. 

"What are you doing up?" Ginny asked, peering past Hermione. 

In a sudden moment of emotional clarity he read Hermione's purposely blank expression, "I just woke up because I realized I left . . . my book down here." 

If she noticed his hesitation, it didn't show.  Hermione reached to the ground, holding a book out to him. 

"I grabbed it for you," she waited for him to shuffle over, "You could've waited until breakfast." 

"Yeah, I woke up and sort of thought of it . . ." he lied--badly enough that Hermione made a face.  "Well, goodnight then."

The girls nodded at him and watched him climb back up the stairs. 

"You didn't seem surprised to see him," Ginny said, looking carefully at Hermione. 

"He mentioned the other day that he wakes up a lot during the night, that sometimes he feels like he needs to do something," she responded. 

Ginny tapped her chin, unable to find any issues with that. 

She wasn't sure why she felt the need to lie, and she was surprised that Harry had even picked up want she'd wanted him to say.  It was quite awkward, though.  Yes, Ginny, I spend all night with your ex-boyfriend two to five nights a week.  Her irritation flared up again, why should she need to lie about spending time with her best friend?

She stood and stretched, "I think Harry had the right idea, it's probably best if we go to bed."

Chapter Text

[10 october 1998]

Despite a rather optimistic first day in each class, Muggle Studies and DADA were actually a lot of work.  The discussions that had been promised could only be described as time consuming.  While the process in-class was rather enjoyable, there was upwards of two hours of preparation required.  An essay, a hundred or so pages of reading, paragraphs to write--it was not as simple as it had initially seemed. 

The large workload meant three things: Harry and Hermione no longer stayed up late to read together (because everyone was very much still awake and there was homework to be done), the 8th years were spending more time than ever together, and Hermione's plan to search the castle had quickly fallen to the wayside. 

The only thing that was saving Harry from misery was pure excitement about Quidditch.  During meals, Harry, Ron, Dean, and Ginny had taken to drawing up extensive ideas and plans for what the teams would look like for each house, and would try to scope out the younger students they thought might be good for the lower-level Gryffindor team. 

Harry had assumed that after literal weeks of repeated conversations about Quidditch, that Hermione would become infuriated by the topic--thankfully, however, she was much too busy reading during mealtimes to take any notice of any sort of conversation. 

It was a Saturday, and it would be the perfect day to do some free flying in preparation for the tryouts that were set to begin the following Wednesday, but there literally wasn't time.  For nearly as long as they spend awake, on the weekends, the 8th years did homework.  It was seemingly never ending. 

"Why do you all look so stressed?" Ginny asked Lavender as she sat down next to her, looking bemused at the tense atmosphere.

Lavender gave her a withering look, "We've got hours and hours of work assigned, and it's all due on Monday."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up, "Seriously?"

Seamus leaned over, "You don't?"

She almost laughed, "Not even close."

Despite not participating in the conversation, Hermione had been an active listener.  Which is why, when she left the Great Hall to use the toilet, and she passed by McGonagall, she had to stop. 

"Miss Granger, is there an issue?"

Clearly the look on her face gave away her intentions.  "Not really.  I've just been wondering, all of the 8th years have so much work--not that it's an issue, but it also seems like the 7th years don't."

Professor McGonagall nodded, "This summer, aside from what I sent to you in the letters, there was a great deal of debate going on here, among the professors.  It was easy enough with the 7th years, but for your year--a year made up of students that had and hadn't been here the year prior, though none you really learned anything--it was complicated.  And I wanted to make sure that you guys didn't just learn what you would have in 7th year, but also to help you all to prepare for the future, regardless of where it takes you."

"Thank you professor," Hermione said, slipping into thought. 

"The trouble that you are all having isn't a reflection of your weakness, it's a reflection of your strength and resilience.  I will let you know that your new head of house has expressed concerns that you all aren't able to relax as much as you should be able to, and along with you bringing it, we'll take in into consideration."

"Oh, no. Professor McGonagall, I wasn't saying that it was too much work, I was just curious," Hermione said loudly, feeling the need to defend herself.

"Of course not," came the response.  The following Monday, they had been assigned the least amount of homework that they'd had in a month.

[12 october 1998]

Potions was something that Harry found that he rather enjoyed.  This was helped by the fact that it was shared with the Ravenclaws, and that it was divided into two groups.  Said groups were made up of: Hermione and Dean and seven of the ten Ravenclaws, and everyone else.  

Harry was not the least bit disappointed about being placed in what was clearly the lower of the two groups, rather treated it as incentive to work harder.  It was suddenly enjoyable, the subject so newly interesting that he stayed after classes to have discussions with Slughorn, even asked for recommendations for extra readings.  This extra effort happened to work in his favor, allowing him to achieve the required two Outstanding marks in a row required to push him up to the more challenging group. 

This had happened without anyone else in the class (save for Hermione, of course), noticing, up until Slughorn had him move to sit on the left side of the room, next to one of the Ravenclaws. 

"Congrats, mate," Ernie said, offering a hand to shake.  Harry took it, giving a grin in return. 

"Oh, Harry!" said Hermione.  She'd turned in her seat to face him, "Excellent job!" 

"Yes, yes! Our Mr. Potter here is a prime example of what I hope every single person strives to be-- hard work and accomplishment."  Slughorn then paused to point at the students on the right side, "You are all capable of this with a little bit of hard work."  He nodded affirmatively at Harry, patted him firmly on the shoulder, than made his way back to the front of the class.

---

"I'm proud of you, Harry," Hermione said, quietly as they excited the potions room. 

Something bubbled up, making him have to resist rolling his eyes.  "You weren't proud of me before?"

"Sometimes I don't know why I bother--" she broke off at the sound of his laughter, now rolling her eyes. 

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked, leaning across the table once they'd sat in the Great Hall.

"Tell you what, exactly?" Harry grabbed a turkey sandwich. 

"That you were intending to switch groups." 

"I wasn't intending to do anything.  It was just interesting, so I studied a bit more." 

Ron narrowed his eyes, "I don't believe that, you've never thought potions was interesting." 

"That's not true," Hermione cut in, "In 6th year it took all we had to tear that book away from him." 

Something unintelligible was mumbled around a mouth full of sandwich, though based on the tone, it was not kind. 

"Sometimes I feel like you're becoming a different person, Harry," Ron said, once he'd finished chewing.

"What's different? I still like Quidditch, I still play Wizard Chess with you, we still have fun together--"

Ron cut him off, "Don't act like you've always been like this."

"Like what, Ronald?" Hermione cut in.

"Interested in class, secretly asking for more work and trying to be better than everyone else, joining a book club!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Oh please! Just because you and Harry suddenly don't have every single interest in common doesn't mean anything." 

Harry was vividly aware of many things about the ongoing conversation, but the main thing was volume.  Thanks to their brief stint in a relationship together, Hermione and Ron argued more loudly than ever.  He was also aware of how the conversations around them had grown quieter, and countless eyes were on them. 

So, he dropped his sandwich on his plate, took a swig of his pumpkin juice, and stood up from his seat. 

"Guys, can we continue this somewhere else?" His voice was quiet, his tone serious enough that Hermione didn't even think twice before shutting her mouth and following him as he made his way out of the room.  Ron huffed loudly, but stood and followed, as well. 

The doors had barely shut behind them when the arguing started up again.

"Don't act like you weren't ever jealous of us!" Ron snapped at her. 

"What reason could I possibly have to be jealous of you and Harry?"

"Come off it--" At hearing these words from Ron, Harry found himself drifting over to one side of the hallway, watching as some of the portraits rearranged themselves. 

"No, Ron.  I wasn't jealous because I understood that you two were bestfriends and have a relationship outside of me!"

"So now you and Harry have a relationship outside of me?" A dangerous look came over his face. 

"Oh, Ron.  We're studying together not snogging behind your back." 

Ron's eyes shifted over to Harry. 

Harry felt himself shrug, "We're just studying.  Classes are more interesting to me than before." 

Ron looked back and forth between them, then turned to leave.

"How did that even start?" Harry mumbled.  He looked up, surprised to see Hermione watching him carefully.

"Yes?"

"It's just . . . I mean, he's right, isn't he?  You've never wanted to study with me before.  What's changed?" Her gaze didn't leave his face.

In this moment, what was true and the truth that he would say aloud would differ. The truth that he wouldn't say was that he hadn't changed that much, he still occasionally found his eyes glazing over at incredibly boring discussions--but he now saw the value in it.  This could be divided into two categories: how valuable all of Hermione's learning and knowledge had proved in the prior year, and also how happy she seemed at the fact that one of her best friends was showing interest in her favorite things. 

See, in his weeks of solitude prior to him getting his first cat, but after their summer Hogwarts visit, he had to evaluate his life.  Sure, he had seven years of excuses, but while he had always been the most selfless friend, he wasn't always the most attentive. 

Harry's self pity fest during the summer faded, but left him with a horrid reflection of his past years.  That reflection had shown something clearly: he had been a shit friend. 

It never really seemed like it when it came to Ron, since Ron's interest were things that Harry had already naturally found himself drawn to.  Hermione's interest took more investment and could more easily be considered boring.  But he had made himself a promise during those lonely weeks that he had to put as much into his friendship with her and he had with him, and he had definitely done so, at least so far. 

"Harry?" she asked again, quieter. 

He suppressed the reflex to shrug, and said, "It's just easier to focus on things like studying and learning more.  I mentioned it before, but really, it's just more interesting than before and . . . " he trailed off.

"Yes?"

Harry shook his head, that would be a conversation for later, once he really knew what it meant. 

But Hermione knew him well enough to be able to judge that it would be futile to continue that line of questioning.  There was something that he wasn't saying, that was incredibly clear and didn't require 7 years of friendship to see.  And against her nature, she left it alone for the time being.

[14 october 1998]

Harry had barely slept the night before, but woke up well before the sun with ease.

Something that had never happened before at Hogwarts was happening today: the quidditch team captains were being announced on the day of tryouts, rather than in the summer as usual.  This was only true for Gryffindor, since every other house had known for months at this point.  Professor Yates had chosen to do this, based on the fact that she hadn't worked at the school before and wanted to get to know the students before she made decisions that she considered to be important. 

Harry sat straight up and slid his feet into his slippers, making it out of the door of their dormitory, then stopping short as he nearly ran into Hermione. 

"Congratulations!" she cried, throwing her arms around him.  He grinned as he hugged her back. 

The morning was filled with congratulations and happy grins, for the first time in two years, Gryffindor once again had a quidditch team. 

The Great Hall, along with each of his classes that day, were filled with non-stop conversation--almost nothing got done, much to their professors' annoyance. 

Professor Yates didn't even bother, telling them they could use the period as a study hall, then pulling Harry aside. 

"I want you to know, Mr. Potter, that you weren't chosen just for your legendary quidditch abilities, or for your well-deserved fame, but because I've gotten to watch you with your classmates, and I know you are without a doubt the best person for the role," she then held out her hand.

He shook it, not bothering to suppress his smile. 

It was 3:59pm and the quidditch pitch was packed.  It seemed that every student in the school had made the time to be present, and countless Gryffindors were milling about on the ground, waiting for the instruction that they would be given. 

Hermione was on the ground as well, though made it clear when anyone looked surprised that she was there for moral support and nothing more. 

Harry was more excited than he'd been in months.

Chapter Text

[14 october 1998]

Harry cleared his throat, thinking hard about what exactly he was going to say to everyone.

"Bloody hell, there's loads of people!" Ron said loudly.

It was enough to catch people's attention, and Harry felt it was a good opportunity to say something.

"Hello everyone, if you're not here to try out, please go to the stands," Harry instructed, trying to make his voice heard over the numerous voices. 

The volume increased temporarily, as nearly half of the crowd on the field shuffled away. 

"Alright, I'm not certain how much you all know, but there's supposed to be two teams this year." He paused, silently counting up the remaining students.  They needed seven for the main team, and at least seven for the other team--though it wouldn't hurt to have as many as ten.  There were nearly thirty students standing in front of him, but quite of few were third year or younger, so they likely wouldn't be too upset to be cut from the running. 

A wave of nervousness hit him, but subsided quickly when he saw Ron's grin and, way up in the stands, Hermione shooting him what looked like thumbs up. 

"If everyone who doesn't have a broom could follow me," he prompted, waiting for them to come up to him.  The group was rather small, both in quantity and stature, and made up completely of first years, two boys and a girl. 

They walked behind him awkwardly, so visibly nervous that it had begun to make Harry anxious as well.  When they'd reached the cupboard where the spare brooms were kept (near the dressing tents), he stopped. 

"So, first year, eh?" Harry offered, breaking the silence.  He opened the cupboard. 

"Yes, sir--er," one of the boys began, stopping when Harry let out a chuckle and told him he didn't need to be called sir. 

Seemingly gaining confidence, the girl said, "Sorry about him, we've all just heard a lot about you.  I'm Maude.  That's Barnaby," she pointed at the boy that had spoken first, "and that's Leopold."

Leopold made a face and she added, "But he only goes by Leo."

"Right then," Harry said.  "Maude," he held out a broom for her to take.  "Barnaby, Leo." He did the same for each of them.  He shut the cupboard again, ready to start back to the group, but stopped when he saw how nervous they looked. 

"You'll be fine," he assured them.  "If you've ever ridden a broom before you're better off than I was when I was your age."

Satisfied that they looked at least slightly less scared, they made their way back. 

He got to business, picking up the clipboard he'd brought.  He would go through them all, one at a time, asking names and positions.

Before he could begin, Ginny said, "Don't you want to know what year they're in?"

"You can tell me, if you wish, but I don't think it matters all too much," Harry said, without a hint of malice.  The lack of bite in his tone seemed to make Ginny more irritated, rolling her eyes. 

So he went through them all, taking down the two facts he'd asked for, and getting their years anyways. 

Obviously the Seeker position was filled, but there was still a need for at least two keepers, four beaters, and six chasers-- not to mention a captain for the lower team.  Of the twenty nine names, six were going out for keeper, nine for beater, and fourteen for chaser.  He found the age range to be rather impressive, with three 1st years, two 2nd years, two 3rd years, four 4th years, six 5th years, eight 6th years, two 7th years, and not counting himself, two 8th years. 

After going group by group, he found he was confident enough to put Dean in charge of the chasers and Ron in charge of the keepers, with them setting up a drill where the chasers would shoot at the goals, and the keepers would do their best to defend. 

He instructed the beaters to wait down on the field while he watched the drill. 

Of the keepers, Ron was the best, but not by a large margin.  His only competition was a fourth year girl and a six year boy--called Hester and Otis.  He allowed the drill to continue for a few minutes longer before he called to Ginny and Dean, having them shoot at the keepers as best they could. After watching the other three fail miserably at defending the goal posts, he excused them, thanking them for their time.

Before they could dismount their brooms, however, Harry flew down to join them on the ground, telling them not to be disappointed.  And that, if they were interested, there would be recreational quidditch games and practices that they could attend, to get better.  They all looked noticeably brighter at that, thanking Harry (way too, in his opinion) profusely. 

He flew back up, having the remaining keepers wait on the field while he focused on the chasers.  They followed his instructions and shifted into a passing drill, where it was instantly clear that Ginny and Dean were the strongest.  Harry was pleasantly surprised to scribble down on his clipboard that Maude was also a very strong player. He excused the majority of the group, offering them the same thing he'd offered to the excused keepers.  He was left with exactly half of the group, just seven remaining. 

The rest of the tryouts went very much the same, him going through each group, then, finally, setting up a small scrimmage so that he could see them all play. 

In the end, there were three keepers, seven chasers, and five beaters.  Nearly three hours had elapsed, and it was not only time for dinner, but everyone was sorely in need of a break. 

"Really great job everyone," he paused, then said, "and I want to let all of you know that you won't be cut at this point.  I don't know yet what team each of you will be on, but you will all be on a team."  He grinned at them all, and a few tired whoops went up. 

"Go and have dinner, and be back here tomorrow, same time." 

He watched them all file off the field, until only Ginny, Dean, and Ron remained with him. 

Dean opened his mouth, starting to ask a question when Harry waved him off. 

"You're all on, don't worry."

Harry barely ate, scribbling furiously at the parchment on his clipboard, enchanted by Hermione so that no one could see what was on it but him. This went on for around twenty minutes until Hermione grew fed up, snatching the clipboard away from him and shoving it into her bag. 

He tried to protest as those at the table looked on with amusement--it was clear she wasn't planning on giving it back until after he had eaten. 

Without much need for conversation, once they'd finished their meals, Ron, Hermione, and Harry made their way to an empty classroom, dragging three desks together into a triangle. 

Harry ran through the remaining names, glad that all three of the first years had made it to the end.  "What are the chances of that?" Hermione had remarked curiously.   He and Ron agreed. 

"Harry," Hermione began, "Did you forget about a seeker for the second team?"

He had.  But, then, so had Ron. 

It ended up being an unproductive night for Harry (who was unreasonably though very characteristically stressed over the lack of another seeker), though he was far from the only one who didn't get any work done. 

In line with the festive spirit and the new lighter load of work that the 8th years had, they had all taken the maps given to them by Hermione and set to work about the castle.  The common room was packed, and while Harry was the only 8th year that remained, it seemed as though every student was there at once. 

It was without a doubt the happiest that the student body had been in ages, so much so that Professor Yates had made an appearance, seeming at first to want to quiet everyone, but deciding otherwise.  Instead she simply gave a swish of her wand, and floating tray of butterbeer appeared all around.  She gave Harry a wink, then disappeared again. 

[15 october 1998]

What Harry had forgotten before he arrived at the quidditch pitch the next afternoon was that the Slytherins were having their try outs, and therefore had unquestionable rights to the space. 

He led the Gryffindors away from the pitch, and down the hill towards Hagrid's still empty home.  There, on the blank expanse of hill, he organized another scrimmage, with boundaries magically created at the suggestion of Hermione. 

A half an hour went by before he called them all over for a water break, and told them they'd play for around a quarter of an hour more, then they were free to go.  And, most importantly, that by 8pm that night, the teams would be posted on the bulletin board in the common room. 

When the time came to let them all go, he was hit with a burst of inspiration, hailing Maude over and dismissing everyone else. 

She looked downright frightened. 

"I'm not going to cut you, if that's what you’re thinking," he told her.  "I was just going to ask, and no pressure on your answer, or even if you can't answer right away . . ." he trailed off.  Then he started again, "I just wanted to know if you had any interest in playing seeker?  It would mean that you would be on the junior team, but I would make sure to train you personally, since obviously after this year there will be a lack of a seeker.  Of course, if you'd rather not, you'd be on the main team, as a chaser."

She was silent, clearly not having suspected what he had said. 

"Like I said, it's up to you, but I really think you have a good future as a Seeker," he finished, then waited. 

"M-may I let you know during dinner?" she asked hesitantly. 

Harry nodded, then gave her a smile and they walked over to the group, where together the Gryffindor players (plus Hermione) made their way back to the castle. 

The trio busied themselves doing homework until dinner, then headed to the Great Hall, along with the other 8th years. 

The Slytherin tryouts made the last of the tryouts, which made Quidditch season feel more real than it had before.  Harry had been barely concerned about the delay in his decision about the team, mostly because he hadn't been able to post anything earlier.  8pm that night was the earliest that all of the team captains were allowed to post their teams. 

This was a new decision, an agreement reached between all of the heads of house along with the headmaster, and created the loudest dinner that anyone had seen in years. 

Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, sending sparkles down from the ceiling, which worked to silence the hall and shift all attention to her. 

She looked happy, Hermione thought, and probably the least stressed that she had been in years. 

"As I'm sure nearly all of you know, Quidditch teams will be announced tonight at 8pm.  Since all will be post at the same time, each of the bulletin boards has been enchanted to display the other team rosters as well. 

I'm just as excited as all of you to watch the games this season.  And, as you're already aware, there will twice as many games as ever before, with double the amount of Quidditch teams, and more than there have ever been in Hogwarts history.

"For that recommendation, I again give thanks to Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger, who spent part of their summer holiday planning-"

At this Ron grumbled, "I never get any credit."

Seamus rolled his eyes, "You didn't do anything."

"-and this is truly set to be one our most wonderful school years in nearly a decade.  I know it's challenge every day for all of you, and that what has happened in these hall just last school year is far from forgotten.  But I want to remind each and every one of you that the happiness you feel today is not something you should feel guilty for.  The lives that were lost here and across the nation in the fight against evil have been in order for each and everyone of you to be here now. 

"The start of Quidditch is not the only cause for celebration, however, since this year, the faculty and myself have agreed to the throwing of another Yule Ball, hosted prior to the usual start of our holiday break, so that all of you are able to spend as much time with your family as possible.  For those of you who are not heading home, I will be making announcements during dinner on Saturday night about those options.  That is all, enjoy your meal."  With that, she stepped back from the podium and made her way back to her seat at the table. 

Conversation picked back up, and Harry turned as he felt a timid tap on his left shoulder. 

"Oh, hi," he said, seeing Maude standing there.  She stood still for a moment, rocking slightly from left to right, then she leaned over, cupping her hands around her mouth and whispering to Harry, "When does training start?"

He gave her a firm nod, and turned back to his friends, continuing the conversation. 

"What was that?" Hermione asked.  The moment had been short and subtle enough that no one (save Hermione, as usual) had taken notice. 

Harry shook his head, "I just finalized the teams."

[5 december 1998]

There was a night when Hermione realized how anxious she had become.  At breakfast, when in the Common Room, when walking through the halls, in the library, literally all the time. 

This was a rather odd development, and she also took note of the fact that she didn't remember when it started, or what it came from.  Was it even anxiety? she asked herself, analyzing the feeling. 

Tight feeling in her gut, self consciousness . . . it almost felt like . . .

She rolled over abruptly, putting the thought out her mind.  It didn't work. 

She was focused on school, she was working on studying--she did not fancy anyone at all, absolutely not.

Hermione sat up, glancing at the other two beds and seeing Parvati and Lavender fast asleep.  She shifted and let her legs hang off of the bed, deciding to head downstairs.  It wasn't a night when she would normally meet with Harry, which is why she was so startled to see him already on one of the chairs. 

She'd been quiet so far, and at the pang in her stomach, crept back up the stairs and out of sight.  She swore under her breath, knowing that the very feeling she had just felt was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. That feeling that made it very very challenging to write off her strange feelings as anxiety and stress.  (Of course, she already knew that.)

Hermione . . . she . . . she couldn't even think it.  She slid down the wall of the girls' hallway, feeling the cold stone against her palms as she reached the ground.  She sat there, trying to steady her breath in the near blackness of the hall, save for the two burning candles on the wall.

They'd been having fun, they'd spent more time alone together in the past couple months (with the exception of during the horcrux hunt) than they ever had.  She silently cursed her feelings, what girl fancied both of her best friends?

"Hermione?"

Evidently, her attempt to quiet her breathing hadn't worked. 

It was Ginny, standing at the end of the hall, rubbing her eyes.

"What are you doing there?"

"Oh, I just got warm in my room, it's cooler out here," Hermione lied.

Ginny just nodded, stood for a moment, looking half asleep and unsteady on her feet, then went back into her own room. 

The silence resumed and Hermione buried her face into her hands.  She didn't--absolutely did not fancy Harry.  The idea of it was so (her brain danced around the word embarrassing) strange--her face felt hot at the consideration. 

Plus, she had to learn how to be more quiet.  Ginny had just seen her, and she was likely still suspicious from that incident weeks prior . . . yes, it would do well for them to be more subtle. 

When, however many minutes later, she was finally able to make it downstairs, she supposed she must have looked rather strange, mostly because of the concerned look on Harry's face.  Pretending as though nothing was wrong, she held out a hand, awaiting the recommendation that Harry had for her to read.  She took it and curled up on the couch, a bit away from where he sat. 

None of the words she read, though, meant anything to her.  All of her attention was left on her peripheral vision, through which she found herself studying Harry like she never had before. 

He didn't look any different than he had the week before, the month before, or really even the year before.  He was the same as he had always been--save for a newfound investment in academics--and so was she.  Sure, he had been more carefree since school had started than he had been for literally as long as she had known him, but he wasn't any different. 

But she could work with that: this affliction wasn't that she fancied Harry, it was simply that . . . she was happy for him, proud of him. 

It should also be noted that she was completely right when she thought that Harry had grown no more emotionally aware, or aware in general, since Hermione stayed on the same page for nearly a half an hour, and he didn't even notice.

Chapter Text

[29 october 1998]

Lavender burst into their bathroom, breathless.  She stood panting, and caught her breath before she said, "I found it!"

The other two girls looked blankly at one another.

"Found what, Lav?" Parvati asked, having stopped brushing her hair to give her full attention.

"The place," she told them excitedly.

"Place . . . ?" Hermione tilted her head, thinking.  Then, "oh . . . OH!"

Lavender nodded furiously and they both squealed together. 

"Hang on, hang on," Parvati started, then gasped loudly as she realized, too.

"Where?" Parvati asked breathlessly.

"It's better if I show you," Lavender said. 

"We'd better bring the boys, right?" Hermione asked, remembering the other five people involved in their project. 

"Good idea," Lavender said.  "Meet us outside, near the Fat Lady?"

Hermione nodded in agreement, then made her way down then up the other set of stairs, down the hallway, and knocking firmly on their door. 

Neville opened it, "Hullo, Hermione." He stepped back and opened the door fully.

"You're all in?" she asked.

As he nodded the other boys came in, staring at her expectantly.

"Come on, Lavender's found a place, she's going to show us now."

From their dormitory door, Lavender led them through the castle.  She led them through passages and up flights of stairs and down others, and when they'd made their third left turn to follow her down another corridor, Seamus spoke up.

"Lav, how the bloody hell did you find this place?" The other nodded and muttered agreement. 

"The map," she told them.  "Really, Hermione, if it hadn't been for that map and it's ability to keep track of where I have and haven't gone, I'd honestly never have found it."

Hermione beamed with pride. 

Finally, at the top of another short flight of stairs was a wall. 

"So, it is like the Room of Requirement?" Ron asked.

Lavender shook her head with a smile, "ready?" she asked them. 

Before any of them could react, she stepped up to the top step, turned to face them, then leaned against the wall.  And--disappeared. 

Harry, never, one to turn down something new, glanced eagerly at the rest of them, then did the same. 

He felt himself go through the wall, like a woosh of cold fresh air.  He fell only a few feet, bouncing softly into a pit lined with pillows.  He pushed himself up and looked around for Lavender, but spotted a set of stairs across the pit, only a bit away, and made his way there. 

"Oof," someone said behind him.  He turned, and, seeing Hermione there, took a step towards her to offer a hand up. 

She took it and they started towards the stairs. 

At the top of the five stairs stood Lavender, waiting eagerly.  "Isn't it wonderful?"

It was . . . jaw dropping.  As he looked around, Harry felt a panging.  It was moments like this that he missed Dumbledore, who, despite his faults, always felt the same way that Harry did about Hogwarts. 

The room wasn't super deep, already, at the top of the stairs, they were only a several steps away from the wall.  Where it wasn't deep, it was long, stretching far off into the distance in either direction, a length Harry thought to be at least double that of the Great Hall. 

They were clearly on the outer side of the castle, demonstrated by the massive windows on the far wall across from where they stood.  They were arched windows, pointed at the top, and stone floors and flying buttresses on the ceiling made it look just like the rest of the castle--just emptier. 

"Woah," Seamus exclaimed, coming up behind Harry with the rest of them. 

They all stood in a stunned silence, watching the sunset over the mountains--the windows allowing the sun to cast a golden light on all of them. 

Hermione's eyes left the windows first, and swept the remainder of the hall. 

"What shall we name it?" asked Dean.

"It's sort of like the Great Hall," noted Neville. 

"Oh, the mountains are gorgeous," said Parvati absently. 

"How 'bout Mountain Hall?" Seamus suggested.

Hermione shrugged, looking to Harry and Ron for their reactions, who shrugged as well. 

"It's a little on the nose, I suppose.  But . . . it works," she said.

They stayed for nearly an hour, discussing the logistics of what they intended to be a Halloween party.  Halloween was, thankfully, a Saturday, so they could easily celebrate day of. 

"Alright," Hermione said, parchment and quill at the ready.  "Who are we inviting?"

"Shall we hand out invitations?" Lavender asked.

"If we do, you should enchant them like you did for the DA, in case anyone reports us," said Ron. 

"We should invite all of the 8th years, obviously, and maybe all the 7th years as well," said Dean. 

Everyone agreed with that. 

"So if we've our list of guests, then we simply need drinks.  Which, again, is the easiest part, since we're all of age. 

"We've got to get it tomorrow," Hermione continued, "And we've got Potions last period.  Which is good, since Harry, Dean, and I are excused from class tomorrow.  So the three of us can head over to Hogsmeade."

"We don't need to get permission or wait for a trip?" Harry asked. 

It was Ron that answered, "No, as long as you're of age you can leave to visit Hogsmeade as you please."  At the questioning looks, he added, "Charlie used to leave all the time, buying sketchy creatures there."

"I've just remembered," Dean piped up, "I told Ottilie and Ginny I'd work on drills with them tomorrow, since they've got a free period."

[The three of them together making the three chasers.]

Harry nodded, remembering too, "Right, I'll get you that list of drills to do."

"Lavender, Parvati, this was your idea initially, what should Harry and I buy?" Hermione asked. 

The two of them looked at one another, "We'll make it over dinner," said Parvati.  "Which we'd better head off to soon."

And, after Lavender showed them all how to make the staircase appear, they left, looking forward very much to their return. 

With that, their party planning was complete.

[30 october 1998]

At the conclusion of DADA, Dean, Hermione, and Harry bid goodbye to their classmates, as the rest of them headed to Potions.  The three of them walked together until the reached the midpoint of the castle, and Dean headed left, and they went right. 

For someone who had defeated the Dark Lord, something about legally buying wizard drinks was terrifying for Harry. 

He had had drinks before, countless.  And even when it came to Muggle drinks, Dudley had been allowed to get plastered since his 15th birthday.

It was just the . . . well, he didn't know what it was. 

"Doesn't this feel odd to you?" he asked Hermione.

She let out a sigh.  "I think it simply feels normal, Harry.  Which is something we certainly deserve."

[27 november 1998]

"Harry," Hermione called, speed walking to catch up to him.  He slowed to wait for her, and Ron and Dean continued, deep in conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?" she asked. She looked at him expectantly.

"Errr . . . no," he started, and Hermione's face fell, "Wait, no."

"Harry, I get it," she started to walk away.

"No, stop," he grabbed her wrist gently. 

"It's alright, I'm not pressuring you," she said, starting to pull her wrist back. 

"No, Hermione, just listen.  I was surprised, that's all."

Confusion came over her face.

"Sorry, no this still isn't coming out right." He took a deep breath.  "I'm not saying no to going with you, I was surprised that you asked."

"Harry, you just said that," she said, starting to look impatient. 

"Okay," he paused to gather his thoughts.  "I was going to ask you, after class." 

"Oh," she said, brightening.  "Would you like to ask?"

He shook his head, "You do it, one more time."

"Harry," she started again, "Would you like to go to the Yule Ball together?"

There was an odd look on his face as he began to shake his head, "No, I actually don’t think so."

She could tell he wasn't completely serious, so played along, "Why's that?"

"Well, I remember I had lots of admirers in 6th year, and I'd imagine I've got loads more now, so maybe I should wait, weigh my options."

"Waiting for one of the fourth years to ask you?" she teased.

He laughed, then caught sight of his watch:

I do believe you're about to be tardy for your next class.

They started walking again.  "But seriously, what do you think Ron will say?"

"Does it matter?" she huffed, exasperated at the thought of drama. She knew it did, though.  "Why?"

"I dunno . . . something we spoke about last year," he went quiet. 

She waited for a beat, then prompted him, "which was what?"

"I told him you were like a sister to me," Harry laughed.

"Who? Ron?"

Harry nodded. 

"Am I?"

Harry was silent.  The obvious answer was no.  "I've never had a sister before, so what would I know?"

"Then why'd you tell him that?"

He stared, her expression unreadable.  

"He was holding a sword at me."

The mood had changed noticeably, and more importantly, they were outside of the classroom. 

"I've got to wear those bloody dress-robes again, haven't I?" he groaned.

Hermione entered the classroom laughing. 

[saturday, 11 september 1999]

Ron wasn't ever known for being the most understanding of friends.  Loyal? Yes.  Funny? Yes.  Ready to defend Harry at the drop of a hat? For the most part, yes. 

Which was why when a gossip column in the Daily Prophet began publishing things about Harry and Ginny, Ron didn't understand why it bothered Harry. 

It had almost been a year since Ginny had broken up with Harry at school, and despite how little he wanted to, it seemed like Harry was about to return the favor. 

It was . . . well, pretty much over the same issue that it had been before.

When he invited Ron and Hermione over, it was only to host dinner.  But then they sat in the parlor, and Hermione asked if he had seen the gossip column (he had not) and the photographs they'd taken of him and Ginny when they had been out in London one day (he had also not seen those). 

"Accio Prophet," he practically yelled, standing and turning to face the doorway. 

"Why'd you tell him about that?" Ron whispered angrily at Hermione.

Her head whipped to face him, "Are you effing kidding me right now?"  Her voice was far from a whisper, but despite the volume, Harry's attention was focused on the paper that had just smacked him in the face.

He nearly ripped open the paper, then, upon reaching the gossip page, he literally ripped it out. 

"Harry," Hermione tried, "Sit back down, hang on."

"Yeah, it's really not that big of deal," said Ron. 

"He's right, and they've been publishing things about you for ages, at least it's true this time?" she added.

"And, anyways, Ginny didn't mind when she found out . . . oh-" Ron stopped suddenly, either because he'd realized his mistake, or because Hermione elbowed him sharply. 

Harry stopped pacing, and his expression turned stormy (-ier).  He was clearly taking deep breaths, breathing as deeply as he could so that he wouldn't explode. 

"You better go warn Ginny," Hermione hissed at Ron, who started his way to the front door to disApparate.

Harry was still doing his deep breathing, his face growing redder by the minute.  Hermione remained on the couch, biting her lip but feigning calmness.

But then, suddenly, the redness seemed to fade from his face, nearly returning to a normal color.  "Do you still want dinner?" He asked, sounding nearly normal.  Her eyebrows knitting together in surprise, but she gave and affirmative nod.

And so, ten minutes later, that's how they came to be sitting at the table in his dining room, with a third setting in place for Ron. 

"Hey!" Ron called from downstairs when he didn't see them in the parlor.

Hermione shouted a response and he poked his head in the doorway.  "Still doing supper, then?"

At their nods he took a seat.  He shot Hermione a questioning look, but she only answered it with a subtle shrug as Harry filled their glasses. 

And so, twenty minutes later, that's how the three of them came to be sitting together, eating their meal, while making small talk. 

"Hullo, Harry," Ginny said lightly, unknowingly imitating her brother. 

Is this déjà vu? thought Hermione.

"Hi, Ginny," Harry stood and excused himself from the table.

Hermione could tell very clearly that his calmness was far from a good sign about their relationship.  And from her point of view, when he returned a few minutes later, looking just as pointedly normal, she didn't know what had happened, but it was clearly bad.

For Harry, it was slightly more dramatic:

"How long have you known?" Harry asked quietly, once they'd stepped into another room.

"Har-"

He cut her off, "The paper came out 8 days ago, and we've seen each other at least once a day in those past 8 days." Harry took a deep breath, "Tell me when you found out."

"Harry-" Ginny started again.

"How many days?"

"It's honestly not that big of a deal, though? What does it matter that they know we're dating? Or is that the issue? You're embarrassed of me?"

"Because, Ginny, it's one thing for the Prophet to publish interviews I do, or photographs of me shaking hands with the Prime Minister.  But my personal life? Me going on a date?"

"So? Harry, you're famous, that's just how it is."

He let out a puff of air, trying to maintain his demeanor.  "They have been publishing things about me since the day that my parents were killed.  Until I was eleven years old, every single person in the Wizarding World knew more about my life and my family than I did.  And I just . . . just can't live like that.  I don't want every person knowing everything about me.  And I've told you that, Ginny.  I've said it so many times."

"Them knowing that we're dating is far from knowing everything about you."

"Really.  Just tell me, how long you've known."

"Does it matter?"

Harry chose silence rather than repeating himself.

"Harry," she groaned. 

He set his jaw. 

"Fine.  I found out on Monday."

Monday being nearly a week prior. He said nothing, simply nodded slowly. 

"Are we alright, then?"

"No. I don't think so."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm . . . done with this," he told her, slowly, as though he's mulling it over.  "You can see yourself out. Or don't. Just don't irritate Newt." He headed back to Ron and Hermione, leaving Ginny in the parlor under the watchful eyes of his aloof cat.

 "Is everything . . . errr-" Ron said.

"Perfectly fine, yeah."

With that, they finished their meal. 

When Harry came to look back at the numerous times that he and Ginny broke up, he realized with an incredible level of clarity that each time, he left the relationship feeling free.  But then, that didn't really take into account what brought him back each time: it was never bad at the beginning--it was downright perfect.  And, by the time the relationship ended each time, it had devolved into something unrecognizable.

["As soon as we stepped out of the front door, he asked me about that, you know," Hermione said, a year or so later. "But I never was able to explain why you felt it was worth breaking up over. Though, I think that's part of the difference between an only child versus as one of seven--never getting enough attention."]

[30 january 2002, 1 day after their first date]

Hermione was not a PDA person.  It didn't matter who it was with, or who was present, but she simply was not a fan. 

This was one thing that made her and Ron polar opposites: just like with his short lived relationship with Lavender in 6th year, he was big on PDA. 

But she found it rather rude.  And, honestly quite disgusting.  Because she would never want to sit and watch any of her friends make out, much less her best friends.  Which . . . wasn't to say that it hadn't ever happened (there were countless drunken nights where their friends saw the more raunchy side of their relationship, and Harry was always privy to that and never made a comment on it), but when they were sober, she found it distasteful. 

And after Ron tried to get closer than what she found to be suitable for a setting that involved just them and Harry, she had to say something.  He never said anything about it, but there was a day that she realized how uncomfortable it was probably making him. (This was the day that the three of them were together in a drawing room somewhere, and one of the decorative mirrors behind Harry, and she suddenly became aware of absolutely awful it was to constantly catch sight of two people touching each other while attempting to carry on conversation.)  She spoke to Ron before they parted ways that day. 

She found, however, that that conversation was to be had many times, because Ron would just sort of make a move.  To be clear, she could see that it was just how he had relationships, and for a different type of girl, she could see how flattering it might feel--who wouldn't want to be constantly desired? (Errr . . . Hermione didn't.  At least, not like this.) 

This difference in feelings on PDA led to not only repeated angry conversations, but also hurt feelings.  For him, after being rebuffed constantly, it made him rather cross when she suddenly was willing to be physical.  For her, it made her rather cross when she would have to constantly rebuff him, she sometimes didn't even want to do anything when they were alone.  It wasn't ever a problem at the forefront of their relationship, since there was always something bigger, but it was certainly a permanently underlying issue. 

It wasn't one that she had been acutely aware of as bothering Ron very much, however, until the day after her first date with Harry, when, in the middle of the afternoon, there was a pounding on the door.

"That's why you never wanted to kiss in front of Harry!" Ron said, the instant she opened it.

"Come off it, Ronald," she said with an eyeroll.  "Harry saw us snogging more times than any of us could count."

Clearly not able to argue, he switched tactics, "It was a bet, did he tell you that?"

When Harry had finally told her about the locket showing the two of them snogging, and whatever happened between Ron and him after that--she understood why he was more paranoid than ever.  And the loss of his brother was certainly not helping.  That locket permanently affected his view of Harry and Hermione, even when they really were just friends (although in this case they were not 'just friends'). 

She feigned a dramatic gasp, then rolled her eyes.  "Yes, Ronald, my other best friend asked me on a date, but never bothered to mention that it was not of his own creation." 

"You're together now, then?" he asked roughly. 

"No." She started to shut the door, then stopped and opened it back up to look at him.  "Not that it's any of your business."  She shut the door, and turned the lock. She had just lied to one of her best friends. 

Chapter Text

[21 october 1998]

Upon the conclusion of Quidditch tryouts, Harry was the happiest he'd been in years.  Ron was, as well.  And together, they were loud, constantly laughing, and enough of an irritation one day during supper that Harry could have sworn that McGonagall gave them a look across the hall.

Harry was, for the first time in a while, sleeping consistently, but he didn't make it obvious, since he enjoyed the nighttime reading sessions with Hermione. 

If Hermione was one thing, she was observant, and she could tell that Harry wasn't having the same trouble sleeping, but she also chose to say nothing, feeling the same way, up until a certain point. 

She was really proud of how serious he was taking it, going so far as having additional meetings with McGonagall to work out scheduling and other details for the upcoming season.  He'd created posters to put in the common room, true to what he'd said to every person that he had cut from the team. 

So, between two practices a week with just the regular team, two with both teams, a one-on-one session with Maude, more time spent with just his Chasers and Keepers, which didn't even take into account the time he spent planning for all of these things, Harry was exhausted--and rightfully so. 

This busy schedule meant that now, the only time they spent alone was at night.  It had been two days since the most recent of their reading sessions, but that made it so that Hermione hadn't gotten the chance to speak to him without a crowd. 

She left a note in his Potions book, which he read as they sat in the Great Hall during their study period. 

He had all of his usual subtlety when he looked up from said note and asked, "why?"

Everyone else looked up at the suddenly sound, then slowly went back to their work, with the exception of their more immediate group, who looked on with more interest.

She narrowed her eyes at him from across the table.

Ron leaned over Harry's arm, in an attempt to see what had triggered the question, but all that remained was a small pile of ashes that Harry had begun to dust off of his page. 

"Everyone needs sleep, Harry," she said simply. 

He wanted to argue, but, true to character, she was right. 

"What's that about?" asked Ron. 

Hermione didn't give Harry the chance to speak, "I just cancelled a book club meeting."

When he went to bed that night, he was asleep within minutes.  

[1 august 1999]

Immediately after the conclusion of their time at Hogwarts, Hermione began her application process for an entry level Ministry job. 

Began being the operative word, given that the formerly rigorous standards had become insane--the usual week long magical background check had become a six week interview and interrogation filled process. 

She was writing paragraphs, attending interviews, and taking so many lie detector tests that she quickly fell behind in her contacting of her friends. 

This meant that, instead of her usual system of what could be referred to as a more forward form of communication (where she sent letters to her friends at least once a week, regardless of any responses), she lapsed into a response only system.  So, unless she had received a letter  from them, she did not send one out. 

It was due to this that a day came when she realized all of a sudden that it had been nearly three weeks since she had communicated with Harry, and likely four since she'd last seen him. 

So, Hermione referenced her schedule and found that she could easily use her scheduled 45 minute lunch break to visit him. 

Later that day, Hermione DisApparated from the location of her most recent interview, appearing on the corner of Grimmauld Place.  She approached the house slowly, wobbling on her feet from the method of travel, as well as the two briefcases and purse that she was barely hanging onto.  Allowing one case to drop to the ground, she knocked firmly on the door. 

Then, Hermione waited. 

Knocked again.

And waited some more. 

She checked her watch--ten minutes had already passed.  (Which was quite obviously problematic, given her tight schedule.)

Well, maybe he was simply busy, and out of the house, she thought.  Though, this thought led her to the word indisposed, which had two meanings, both of which she hoped would not be accurate in reference to Harry.  And, which would be worse? That he didn't want to see her, or that he was sick?

Another precious minute had passed. 

She gasped suddenly, remembering what Harry had given to her and Ron, in case they needed it: a key.  Yet another minute was spent as she haphazardly dug through her purse, reaching deeper and deeper into it, until she was crouched on the doorstep, shoulder deep.  Her finger brushed something metal feeling, and she grasped wildly at it, yanking her arm free of the bag. It was five hairpins, clumped together. 

She groaned and rolled up her sleeve, prepared to reach back in, when she suddenly remembered how her reflexes tended to lean towards the Muggle side of things. 

"Of course, I would do that. No point in even having a stupid wand if I don’t ever remember to use it," she muttered. 

With that, she summoned the key and unlocked the door. 

"Harry," she called, pushing the door open. 

For three in the afternoon, it was rather dark inside.  Concerningly so. 

She dropped her stuff in a heap next to the fallen coat rack and cast her eyes around, then flicked her wand towards where she thought the light on the wall was (and belatedly realized how much easier it would have been had she left the door open).  The light came alive, which seemed to trigger the illumination of the rest of them, flooding the house with an underwhelming warm light. 

The dim light exposed the dire state of the house.  Which Hermione found odd considering how long her and the others had spent helping Harry clean up the mess created by Kreacher during their time at school.  As she eyed the parlor, her brow furrowed.  It was exactly how it had looked when they'd arrived to help. 

"Harry!" she said again, louder.  The sound of her boots echoed through the house as she made her way down the hall.  It took a quarter hour for her to make her way to the top floor, peeking in every room on the way up, and once more on the way back down.  Her left foot nearly hit the main floor again when she stopped, hearing heavy breathing from the kitchen. 

And there, sitting on the floor, in the least visible corner, was Harry. 

It was obvious that he was deep in sleep, though this made her feel much more concerned, as he was upright, curled up tightly with his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting on his knees.

She knelt next to him, shaking his arm gently. 

He awoke with a start, head raising to meet her eyes. 

"Hermione? What're you doing here?"

 "It's been weeks since we last spoke, I got a little concerned."

Harry seemed to clam up, lips forming a line.  "I'm fine, Hermione.  I'll see you later."  He rubbed his face. 

It was weird waking up, since this was the longest he'd slept in weeks. 

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked as she placed a hand on his forearm. She heard something shift and looked up to see Newt, peering over her shoulder, appearing as reproachful as a cat could look.  As indicated by the half eaten food bowl on the other end of the room, it wasn't from hunger. 

(If you were to ask Newt, had he been able to talk, he would say that he was simply upset that Harry hadn't slept in a bed in around two weeks.  And Newt wasn't a social cat, he just preferred to sleep in a bed, in at least the same room as Harry.)

Harry was in the midst of a severe internal struggle.

Because he was done.  Really and truly done.  He had won the war, finished at Hogwarts, and had more than enough money to live quietly for the better part of a century.  Again, he had won the war, but he didn't feel much like he'd won anything. 

He'd started his time at Hogwarts with no friends and the Dursleys as family, and along the way he made many friends, and found family.  He found his father's best friends.  But now Remus and Sirius were dead, and even though he hadn't turned out to be a very good friend, Peter was dead, too.

Which left him with no real connection to his father and mother, and no real connections to any family except for the house in which he currently resided, one that had passed through the possession of a series of now dead people.

It was probably that that pushed him over the edge.  Whenever he came back home, he was reminded of the fact that all of the adults with real connections to his mum and dad were dead.

What did he even win?

He came home to an empty house, while at least Hermione and Ron had parents to come home to.  Even Neville still had his grandmother. 

Then came the regret: was there more that he could have done?

Did the Weasleys blame him for Fred?

Did he blame himself for Sirius and Remus?

Did everyone blame him for all of the lives lost?

Of course they didn't. 

But then, what if they did?

This rather circular line of internal argument had been going on non-stop for a while, but suddenly being alone in a large and dreary house made these thoughts all consuming.

Obviously Hermione didn't know those details, and Harry certainly hadn't told her in the seconds that he'd been awake--but it was obvious to her that he was a proper mess.  Pale, dark undereye circles, slightly disdainful expression towards her (it seemed that both definitions of indisposed could apply), it simply hurt to see Harry in such a state. 

She scribbled out a hasty letter to the Ministry contacts she had been scheduled to meet with, attached it to Augurey's leg, and sent her on her way. 

Hermione stayed for the rest of day.

[30 january 2002]

As stated previously, despite their quarrels, Hermione did enjoy the time she spent with Ron. 

In the end, that was what it came down to.  Yes, he forgot her birthday.  But that didn't even bother her that much, he had made up for it in gifts and apologies--or she would have considered it made up for had they not been in a relationship at the time.

This was a confusing realization to have, mostly because it was so well in line with the feelings that she'd felt throughout their relationship, but also because of the clarity that it gave her.  There was a certainty that she suddenly felt that if she didn't end the relationship, there would soon come a day when they would no longer speak to one another. 

So she broke up with Ron, for good this time.  (Of course, whenever they broke up it was always 'for good', which is what Ron thought, even though Hermione actually did mean it this time.) She broke up with him the day after her birthday, not bothering to give any explanation. 

Ron, confused, asked Harry why he thought he had just been dumped, to which Harry gave an incredulous look and simply said, "Her birthday was yesterday."

In hindsight, Hermione understood why Ron had been so insistent about trying to get back together: he thought it was only about her birthday. 

What it really was, is that during her birthday, once she realized that Ron had really and truly forgotten, she only dreaded the fight that she knew would follow.  It went just about the same way every time, but it always (truly, without fail) went badly and ended in them not speaking for days afterwards. 

And Harry, whose emotional intelligence still, in Hermione's opinion, left more to be desired at times, seemed to be surprisingly aware of the fact that she really did mean it this time. 

All this to say, the biggest issue that arose when Hermione and Ron were together, was that they stopped being friends. 

She always remembered the good parts of them, but the good parts didn't matter when the bad parts were so bad that even Harry couldn't bear to spend time with them together. 

This, along with the truly giddy feeling she felt when thinking about Harry, made her sure as she laid on her couch, heart still pounding from telling off Ron, that she had done the right thing. 

Chapter Text

[13 august 1998]

While she never wavered in her certainty that it was the right decision, she did sometimes wonder if what she had done had caused her relationship with her parents to get to a point where it could never be repaired. 

The thing she had done was quite obviously when she had erased her parents’ memories.  Again, she didn’t regret doing it, since even just knowing that her parents were far away from Voldemort with no linkable connection to her—it helped her sleep at night.  But, once she had brought back their memories (which, on its own was no small feat and had taken hours and hours of pouring over any books she could get her hands on and any professionals on the matter who would speak to her about it), she found that things were always almost. 

Dinner conversations were almost back to normal, it just felt a little weird. 

Their stories about their dentistry patients were nearly how they were before, just that there was something a little bit off. 

Silences a little bit too long, breaths a little too deep—it made her wonder if something had gone wrong with the restoration spell.  (It hadn’t.)

And so she waited and observed for a while, taking her time to observe them to make sure that she wasn’t jumping to conclusions.  As it turned out, she was jumping to conclusions, because she quickly realized that the only thing that was different was the way that they were acting towards her, since conversations that she overheard between them, on the phone, or in public, were completely normal. 

It was her.  That was the only thing that changed the way that they acted—her presence. 

Upon this revelation, she grabbed her purse, inadvertently put on mismatched shoes, and aimlessly power walked until she reached a nearby Muggle park, and dropped down on an empty bench.  She sat there and cried, for nearly half and hour, until she realized that she really ought not to cry in public like this. 

Later that night, at her weekly dinner with Harry, she was far from composed.

“Harry,” she started.  “I feel like my mum and dad are still cross with me.  Do you think so?”

Harry genuinely had no idea what to say.  He shrugged, “I dunno.”

“Harry,” she said in exasperation.

“Sorry, I just—what do you want me to say?”

“You think they’re still cross don’t you?” There was a faint quiver in her voice as she spoke.

He found his hands moving towards his hair.  He hated having these sorts of conversations, but they were made much worse by the emotional state of the other person, and more than anything, the fact that it was Hermione that he was talking to. She was way too observant for him to be able to hide what he really thought, which already was far from one of his strongest skills.

“Erm, Hermione? Wouldn’t you be?”

“How do you mean?”

“Think about it.  If I had erased your memory and sent you away during the war, wouldn’t you be cross with me?”

“That’s not the same, Harry,” she protested, sounding cross at first, but her voice cracking on his name.

“Would it? You and Ron are the closest thing I have to real family, and honestly? I would have done that if I could have.”

“You couldn’t have done it without us.”

“That’s not the point.  If I’d’ve done that, you’d be cross with me.”

“But I’d know you did it because you cared.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, “You always call me daft, but you really mean that you’d not be cross at all?"

"Well," she furrowed her eyebrows, "I suppose I would be cross, but--" she stopped abruptly, her face in her hands.

"You'd never get over it, though, would you?" Harry asked her.  "If I took away your choice to help me, your ability to save me and protect what you love . . . I think you'd understand why I did it, but you'd never forgive me."

While he was completely right, he had also not picked the best timing.  Or, in other words, Hermione burst into tears.

[10 december 1998]

What with the date of the Yule ball quickly approaching, Hermione really found it quite vexing that Ron didn't know when it was set to occur.

It was their last day of class, and it was a half day.  And, the youngest of the students were in such fabulous moods, that it had made Ron rather cross. 

He was grumbling angrily under his breath, dropping all sorts of language-- Hermione literally whacked his arm. 

"You're being rude!" she hissed at him. 

Harry thought Ron had a point, though.  There was happiness, sure, but then there was the unbridled enthusiasm that the first through third years were doling out. 

They were, simply put, horrifically loud.  And, again, in Harry's opinion, horrifically annoying. 

"What're they so happy about anyways?" Ron grumbled, his words not laced with expletives, much to Hermione's happiness.

Harry found himself, along with Dean and a few of the others laughing. 

"You’re not being serious, are you?" Hermione said, brows knitting together.

"It's the last day of class of the term, they certainly don't see all the rest of us jumping for joy."

"I think you actually did jump for joy when we got out of Potions a half hour ago," Harry pointed out, "Or at least ran half way down the hall yelling."

Hermione was laser focused, though.  "You really don't know why they're excited?"

Ron shook his head, and Harry felt his smile fade.  "Ron, they have their own Yule Ball today.  This evening, actually."

"Please tell me you at least know when our Yule Ball is," Parvati asked, exchanging a look with Lavender. 

He shrugged, "Not for two weeks or so, right?"

"It's on Sunday." Hermione said, feeling inexplicably furious by this. 

"Oh," he started a bit, sounding alarmed, "I haven't got dress robes, yet."

"I haven't either," pointed out Neville, "but weren't you there when we all agreed to go look in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"I'm going to the library," Hermione declared, to no one in particular. Harry watched as she stood, eyes filled with concern, though he really had no idea what was the matter.

"What's with her?" Parvati asked, leaning across the table towards him.

He furrowed his brow, realizing everyone's eyes were on him.  "Erm . . . I dunno." He realized that he could and probably should come up with something, "I think she's just nervous about getting that grade back on that essay," he added belatedly.

"Which essay?" Parvati asked blankly. 

"I meant exam," he revised, realized that he really was not the best at lying. 

"Oh, the potions one?" Parvati said. He nodded. "She's got the top scores in that class, hasn’t she?"

He caught up with her after leaving the dining hall, making his way first to the library, then stopping dead in his tracks. 

"Sorry!" A fourth year Ravenclaw had bumped into him, "I really didn't mean to!"

Harry waved it off, moving slowly in the direction that he'd come from.  She said she was heading for the library, but he didn't think she'd gone there.  He stopped into an empty classroom, pulling out the Marauder's Map from his bag and scanning it for Hermione. 

His prediction was correct: she was not, in fact, in the library. She was, in fact, on the fourth level of the castle, off in some room that Harry guessed was an unused classroom. 

Harry traced his finger along the route once, then stuffed it back into his robes--in case he forgot.

The staircases were in a such a state, swinging back and forth unusually fast, and moving aimlessly enough that as Harry approached the collection of cases, he came upon multiple groups of first years, stuck helplessly at the bottom. 

He dodged past them, ignoring their muttering of . . . well he couldn't hear them exactly, but they still tended to look at him with wonder. It took barely any time for him to reach the top of the first staircase, he then stood, waiting for the brief period of time when the platforms would meet.  He made the leap, then repeated the process until he made it to the fourth floor. 

His eyes swept left and right, realizing that he was in a hallway that was opposite where he needed to be.  It ended up taking the assistance of the map, as well as nearly a half an hour, to reach where Hermione was sitting. 

He pushed open the door slowly, uncertain of what sort of state she'd be in when he opened it. 

She turned to him, "How'd you find me?"

Harry opened his robe, showing her the peak of old parchment poking out.  He walked in, taking a seat on the desk that she was already perched on.  "What, erm . . . are you . . . alright?"

She didn't answer at first, instead turning to look at him.  Her eyes met his and held there, head tilted slightly, studying him.  "Have you ever watched, really looked out at the castle?  I noticed this third year, when I was holed up studying in some odd corner, near a window.  At 8pm, fifteen days before Christmas Day, each year, the holiday decorations go from the winter decorations," she pulled a watch from her robes, shifting her gaze to the window in front of them, "to the Christmas decorations.

"It's funny, and I'm certain that you feel this even more than I do, how much this place feels like home. When I was actually at home, over the summer holiday, it was odd.  I realized that it's just not that anymore, you know?  My parents are the same, but they aren't; my house is the same, but it isn't . . . and I know I'm different." She sighed heavily, and looked back at him. 

"We've seen things, experienced things that people should never experience.  Horrible things have happened to us, around us, and despite our best efforts.  And," her lip quavered and a tear rolled down her face, "They happened here.

"Anyways," she sniffled and wiped broadly at her face with her sleeve, "it's rather beautiful, isn't it?" As the words had left her mouth, the castle came alight, spires and peaks glistening, windows aglow with light.  Even the room they sat in, empty as it was, instantly became brighter and warmer, candles appearing in each windowsill, and real, heavy, deep green, pine garlands graced the ceiling. 

It was the sort of magic that literally sparkled, letting out glittery bursts as things appeared, then raining down like the after effect of fireworks. 

Once the glittering had stopped, she said, "I feel like crying, I think, but I can't tell if it's happiness, or complete despair."

As was standard when confronted with an emotional situation, Harry felt himself frozen.  "I really didn't mean to intrude, I can go if you'd like," he cleared his throat, "I just figured I ought to make sure you're alright . . ."

She dropped her head on his shoulder, and she felt him relax (she also felt an incredible barrage of butterflies beating up an absolute storm in her stomach, which she made a point of ignoring).  "I'm glad you're here, really.  And, anyways, if anyone could appreciate this, it would be you."

"I don't have a date, you know, for the dance?" Ron said, as he stood from the couch and stretched. 

Harry had just left, citing a need to wake up around five the next morning to get a last minute quidditch practice. 

She looked up, then looked around her, confused.  "And?"

He shrugged, "I dunno."

"Ronald, the dance is in three days."

"So?"

She frowned at him, slamming her book (some light reading, by her own admission, though it was almost 9 kilos and well over two thousand pages long) shut. 

"I've already got a date," she brushed past him, anger from dinner reignited, and rushed up the stairs.

[11 december 1998]

Unbeknownst to Hermione and Harry, today was not going to be a fun day. Why?

Well, similar to how he had somehow missed on the knowledge of the date  of the ball, he also missed another crucial detail. 

"D'you know what color you're looking for?" Neville asked as the five boys made their way to Hogsmeade.  Despite the cold weather, though he was wrapped up in a heavy robe, he looked rather peaky, as though he'd gotten too much time in the heat. 

Seamus shrugged, "Does it matter?"

Neville's hands shook a little as he spoke, "I dunno, I mean Luna said that she didn't care if we matched, but what if I get the wrong colors of dress robes and we clash horribly?"

This was not a question aimed at the proper audience, and he was, unfortunately met with laughter. 

"Did you ask what color her dress is?" Harry asked, trying to take it seriously (he was heavily suppressing his own laughter). 

He buried his face into his hands, "I forgot."

"Lavender and Parvati gave us each the colors they wanted us to get," Dean offered, unhelpfully. 

"They also instructed you that they were going with you both, though, right?" Harry asked. 

Both Seamus and Dean shrugged, clearly unbothered.  "Anyway, did Hermione tell you what colors to get?" Dean said. 

"Yeah, but she really just said as long as it's not pink or yellow, anything is fine," Harry said. 

Ron had a strange look come over his face. 

"What's with you?" Dean asked him. 

"You're the one she's going to the ball with?" Ron asked quietly. 

Confused, somehow didn't cover the emotion that Harry was currently experiencing.  Bewildered, maybe? Certainly, he was utterly lost. 

"I asked her in November, Ron, two weeks ago?"

"And everyone else knows, but not me?"

The lot of them were confused now. 

"It's not like we kept it a secret, I've--and I'm certain Hermione has, too, told anyone that asked."

"Well I asked Hermione," he shot back.

"When?"

"And she didn't tell me that she was going with you."

Dean let out a humorless laugh, the first of the others to put it together.  "You asked her yesterday, didn't you? Last night?"

Ron kept at it, not responding to him and instead continuing to address Harry, "Of all the girls in the bloody castle, you had to ask her?"

"Oh," Harry said sarcastically, "Maybe I should have asked my girlfriend? Oh, that's right, she dumped me two months ago."

"So, you start dating Hermione, then?" Ron's voice was growing in volume.

"I'm only going with Luna as friends," Neville pointed out. 

"Plus, mate, if you really wanted to go with Hermione," said Seamus, "you probably should have asked her."

With that, Ron stormed off.

So, as the four boys made their way to Hogsmeade and made their dress robe purchases, Ron headed in the opposite direction.  Stalking angrily back along the path to the castle, then into the castle and back up the stairs right until he reached their common room.  He spotted her instantly. 

"So you're going with Harry," he said roughly, "and you never bothered to tell me."

Hermione sighed loudly, excusing herself from the discussion she was having with a fifth year.  She didn't look him in the face, simply grabbed his sleeve and tugged him along until they reached a secluded corner.  One that, coincidentally, she and Harry often sat in together. 

"We didn't keep it a secret Ron, we told everyone that asked," she told him, exasperated. 

"Everyone but me, eh? You lot told the whole castle but never bothered to clue in your best friend?"

"It's not like we never talked about it," she argued. 

"But why does everyone else know but me?"

"Probably the same reason you didn't even know when the dance is.  You didn't care, and you obviously never asked." And, for the second time in less than a day's time, she brushed past him. 

"What color did you get?" Hermione asked, waiting with Parvati and Lavender as the boys filed in. 

"Pink and yellow," he told her, then, as her face fell, added quickly, "Sorry, kidding, it's a navy and . . ." he looked to the others for confirmation, "green, dark green." 

"Can I see?" she asked, just as the other two girls had done the same. 

Harry nodded toward a nearby table, placing the large white box onto the surface and removing the lid.

"It was Ron, wasn't it?" Harry said quietly. 

She nodded, "I assume you got told off, too?"

He laughed mirthlessly, "I inadvertently told him." Harry found himself dropping into a chair, burying his face in his hands, "I really can't understand how he didn't know.  We've all been talking about this ball more than we've been studying when we're together.  Bloody hell, I think even McGonagall knows."

"I should have warned you," she said darkly.  "I guess he was trying to ask me last night, I really didn't put together that he didn't know we were going together."  She seemed to shake herself though, and her shoulders instantly dropped as all signs of discontent left her face.  "We'll all have fun though, right?"

Harry grinned, "Of course."

Chapter Text

[february to may 2000]

"I've got to move out, Harry," Hermione told him. 

"Not live with your parents anymore?" he asked as he put down his wand.  The knife he'd been conducting slowed to a stop, leaving a comically large carrot half cut. 

She nodded furiously, her cheeks reddening.  "I can't take it anymore.  They comment on what I eat, complain about my job only allowing me to work one day a week . . . Harry, they've even taken up suggesting every morning over breakfast and night over supper that I come and work with them."

Harry laughed, "You, work at a Muggle dentist?  We don't even have college education by their standards, much less uni."

"So, I've told them," she sounded exasperated.  "While I obviously lack any A levels at all, they really don't seem to be able to accept the fact that their daughter, in the eyes of the Muggle government, hasn't even finished secondary school."

"I've decided to move out," she announced, poking at her plate. 

"To where?" Ron asked.

"Well, Harry, if you're alright with it? I know you offered last week, but I don't want to imp-"

He cut her off, nodding eagerly, "No, I meant it, there's loads of space in Number 12."

"Mum's been starting to nag me about moving out, now that Ginny's gone and living with Luna. I think since it's just me now, her and dad are looking to redo the house--honestly I think they're trying to downsize and get rid of most of the bedrooms . . ." Ron said, looking at Harry expectantly.

Hermione snorted, "Oh, just ask Harry if you can move in."

Harry didn't wait for the question, "Yeah, of course you can.  It'll be fun, I think."

Famous last words as it turned out.  It was not fun for anyone involved. 

Or, rather, it was for the first two weeks.  Hermione and Ron came by on a rather snowy day, Apparating onto the front stoop with their trunks and various bags in hand, and each selected their rooms. 

Ron chose the room adjacent to Harry's, which meant that they'd be sharing a toilet.  Hermione had chosen a rather small room on the floor above, selected, she explained, because it had the greatest amount of natural light. 

Those two weeks were blissful: movie nights, fun drink nights that they invited others to, they made whole days of walking the neighborhood dressed as Muggles . . . Harry was overjoyed at how well it was going.  The fourteenth day of this utopic living experience was when it started to become less so. 

"Harry," Hermione said, poking her head into his room, his door ajar.  "Can I talk to you?"

He nodded, drew his brows together when she quietly shut the door behind her, and opened his mouth in confusion as she placed a silencing charm on the door.

"Is everything alright?" he asked her, putting his broom polishing kit aside and making space her to sit next to him on the bed. 

"Oh, yes, I just had a question to ask you."

His eyes moved involuntarily towards the door that shimmered slightly with the charm. 

"Sorry, it's just that it's about Ron--" at this, all of the color left his face. 

In his experience, hearing some combination of that statement from either of his best friends in reference to the other was a sign that they were about to get back together and end dreadfully, or that they already had. 

"Oh, no, sorry, not like that!" She said, patting him on the arm.  "Though I do see why that's what you guessed first . . ." her voice faded and her eyes seemed to glaze over temporarily.  "It's just that, and I really don't mean to sound rude, but don't you think that he's a bit of a slob?"

That had not been the topic that Harry had expected.  But it didn't take much analysis to realize that she was correct, completely. 

Harry did share a toilet with the fellow, after all.  And, yes, Harry had come to realize that Ron was not exactly a clean person.  And Harry wouldn't ever refer to himself as a neat freak, but years of growing up in a household that preferred for him to leave no sign as well as asking he clean up after them had made him into one.

"It's not that I blame him, really, it was just how he was raised.  And, honestly you've seen their house, it's really quite . . . full."

That was also true, though for Harry it was one of the things that he loved about the Burrow.  Signs of people everywhere, knick-knacks and possessions, pictures--it was packed to the brim with life. 

"And, again, this really isn't judgement.  It's only like that because there are so many of them--oh that didn't come out properly.  It's just that, given the number of people that have lived in the house, I don't think it's possible to keep everything spotless.   The main toilet, and the kitchen, they're always spotless.  But Ron's room? The boys toilet? Oh, his room especially.  Honestly-"

She seemed to catch herself and stopped. 

Harry felt the need to defend Ron, "He's really not that bad."

"Harry, I think his cleaning spells actually make it messier," her voice was sounding a little shrill.

She had a point, they really did seem to.  He shook his head, though, "Alright, I'll speak with him tonight, since he's supposed to help me prepare dinner."

"Oh, thank you," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and nearly knocking him off of the bed. 

"Just don't saying anything to him, you know how he gets," Harry said.

She nodded furiously as she pulled away from him, straightening his glasses apologetically. 

"She's become a proper git!" Ron told Harry two weeks later.  "She hasn't said a thing, but she thinks I'm messy, I can tell.  She's spent the last two weeks doing clean spells after mine have finished, and I think she's even started to sneak into our toilet to clean up after us!"

Harry didn't know what was quite so insulting about this, nor whether it was in fact true (though knowing Hermione, it likely was) and said as much to Ron.

Ron slammed down the cup he'd been holding, tea splattering the benchtop.  He used his wand, hissing scourgify and sat back as a damp rag from the sink flew right past his nose and hastily mopped up the mess.

Harry's eyes followed it as it flew back to the sink, seeing the trail of dirty water it had dripped, as well as streak marks that were rapidly appearing where the tea had been.

"It's not as though I'm that bad, I always clean up after myself-"

Harry could find a few instances that contradicted that statement.

"-And I do it quite well-"

Harry stopped his eyes from shooting to the wet kitchen floors and the blotchy surface around Ron's cup.

"And really, she might've said something if she really had an issue."

"What you have said if she had?" Harry asked plainly, after a beat.

This unfortunately set Ron off, though, starting a rant that didn’t end until Harry excused himself, sighting a need to change the cat liter.

They survived in this manner for three months before Harry realized he had to do something.  On a daily basis, he found himself privy to a conversation that included one of them complaining to him about the other.  On weekly basis they'd have a row, that ended in them not talking to one another for a day or two. 

He'd even tried sitting them down, trying to open a calm conversation over the issued they each had, though realized five minutes in that it simply was an unrealistic expectation.  He tried to sneak away when he realized this, though was yelled at by both of them when they noticed. 

He was at a loss, seriously considering blowing up the place to make it uninhabitable, before a lucky break came.

Ron went on a family vacation.

Harry and Hermione had been invited, of course.  But they'd learned the hard way about attending Weasley family vacations that lasted longer than a weekend, and graciously bowed out. 

It was peaceful in Number 12 in his absence.  There were no rows, the place was clean, and Harry didn't have to sit through any heated discussions of what to have for dinner.

And so, without telling Hermione, he made the executive decision that he'd ask Ron to leave, and move back home.

He didn't take any immediate action, electing to wait out a week or so, to see if things had improved thanks to the time apart.  But then, Hermione went away for a long weekend, for some late season skiing with her mother and father. 

And things were peaceful again.  It was a bit messier, but they rode their brooms around the house, charmed various objects to explode in the back garden, and again, had to sit through no bickering over the state of the foyer. 

Which was when Harry realized that the issue wasn't one or the other of his new housemates, it was the combination of them, simply them existing together.  They honestly lived in clear opposition.  And while Harry didn't care about things, they each very much did.  Dirty dishes didn't bother him terribly, nor did things like clutter, or trainers being left in such a way that they had to leap through the front door.

Hermione did, though.

And carefully cleaning the sink each night, requests for quiet time after a certain hour of night, and even the daily hour spent carefully reading and discussing the Prophet--were all things that he could find some joy in.

But Ron most certainly did not.

He found himself laying awake at night, trying to come up with a miracle solution, or some compromise that would allow them to co-exist. 

It went something like this:

In Hermione's defense, Ron created messes everywhere he went, virtually leaving a trail behind him in the oversized row house.  In Ron's defense, Hermione did have rather lofty cleaning standards, and didn't bother to soften her tone when she criticized Ron's spell work. 

The list of issues was extensive, and even things like food were cause for arguments. Ron didn't cook, but he happily ate Harry's food and complained about Hermione's.  Hermione also enjoyed Harry's food, though turned up her nose when Ron brough them some of Mrs. Weasley's cooking.  He thought her food was too healthy, and bordered on nasty, and she thought Mrs. Weasley's food was lovely for a special occasion, but too artery clogging and heavy for every day consumption.

During the day, he tried everything, even spending hours at once with Ron, trying to train him to improve his spells. He spoke extensively with Hermione, trying to find a middle ground on the expectations of a spotless house.  These, along with his countless other attempts, failed.  Resoundingly. 

Harry gave up in early May, leaving a pile of paper clippings for apartments nearby for Hermione, and a letter from Mrs. Weasley that stated that she would love it if Ron were to return home, as they would love more help with the adjustments they were making to Burrow.  It made for an awkward breakfast, (which Harry had tried to ease by making a Hogwarts level spread on the kitchen table), but they all had to agree, it really was for the best.

[12 december 1998]

In all defense to Ron, the reason why he hadn't paid attention to all of the Yule Ball shenanigans wasn't that he didn't care. 

Well, no, it was that he didn't care, but it wasn't just that he didn't care.  Because, despite the fact that he had lived a rather lovely life, he really hadn't had the best year.  Namely, and most specifically, the death of his brother. 

Hermione only had her parents, who were Muggles, and were not able to present for the war and therefore not at risk.  Harry lost people but then, he hadn't ever lived life without a profound loss leering over him.  Sure, he only lost one brother out of his 6 siblings, but that's not really how siblings work. 

He hadn't ever lost, well . . . anyone. Sure, when he was 7, there was some great-great-great aunt on his mum's side that had died, but she was nearly 200.  Wizards really just didn’t die as frequently as Muggles--not from natural causes. 

So, this meant that, for the first time ever, he and the rest of his family were dealing with a large missing puzzle piece, made worse by the similarity that the all bore to Fred, and made much worse by the fact that he was survived by an identical twin.  They all handled it in different ways, too.

George made jokes--sometimes funny, but painful to the rest of the family, though he, of everyone, had the most right to heal how he felt best.  Ginny cried, though she, of everyone else, was the most likely to laugh at the jokes.  Mrs. Weasley was also a crier, though she despised the jokes, and also generally didn't bring up her late son unless prompted, because she would be shaking with sobs.  The rest of them handled it in a fairly uniform way: not really talking about it, telling fond stories, but certainly not crying in front of anyone else. 

And, since this last category was Ron, who was bottling up an emotion that he and most people he knew hadn't ever felt before, while also being rather bad emotional regulation--it all added up to wild instability.  He had chess, and quidditch, and friends, but especially as Christmas approached, and their winter holiday to be spent at home, he really couldn't think straight. 

He didn't say any of this, though.  Not even to Hermione and Harry, to whom he was instead lashing out at. 

"It could be Christmas," Hermione suggested to Harry on Saturday as they walked to supper. 

"What could be?"

"What he's so upset about.  Ron.  Maybe he's stressed about going home."

Harry had experienced some lovely Christmases, sure.  But, even looking at the holiday the year prior where he and Hermione had nothing but one another and were on the run? Or the countless with the Dursleys?  He really found that while he felt awful for Ron, and felt the loss of Fred rather intensely as well--the deaths of so many that he'd witnessed and still felt responsible for and his own lack of family really made it difficult for him.  Because secretly, he thought it was a bit selfish.  While Ron lost one brother, others lost multiple.  The war had created parentless children and childrenless parents in such a great quantity, that the fact that Ron's family was so nearly compete was essentially a miracle. 

Harry just nodded, saying nothing.

"I think it would help him to talk about it, rather than pushing it all down.  Or, at least not taking it out on us," Hermione huffed out. 

Harry nodded again, this time clearing his throat, "I agree."

"I'm sorry to bring up Ron again," Hermione began.

"He's our best friend," Harry said simply. 

"Yes.  And it really isn't-" she sighed, stopping. 

"What?" Harry leaned in a bit, the light of the smallest common room fireplace glowing on his skin. 

"I said earlier that he was taking out the stress of losing his brother on us." she said.  "But honestly? I think it's more than that.   I think that he may have thought that we'd go to the Ball together, then get back together officially."

Harry sat back in his chair, mulling it over.  "That would make sense.  Especially since he spent all of the last Yule Ball glaring at you and Krum."

Hermione grimaced. 

"What would you have done, though? If he'd asked you before I did?" Harry's eyes were on the ceiling, face tilted high enough that Hermione couldn't read his expression. 

"Oh, I don't know." She puffed some air out, "I think I would have told him that I was going alone? Or maybe, depending on how he asked, I would've just told him I was going with you already."

Harry laughed aloud at that, "But what if you'd said that to me and I'd told you no?"

Hermione had a soft smile on her face, almost able to feel her eyes sparkling, and was self-aware enough to realize that her face was that of a lovestruck teenager.  "I really don't think you would have."

[10 june 1998]

When Hermione and Ron had broken up, after they got together at the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had never really broken up with Ron officially. 

Well, there had been a point when he asked her if they were still together, and she simply replied, no.  Though, that was because they hadn't spoken in weeks, and Hermione had simply grown tired of simultaneously needing to be the comfort, while also somehow being the villain in every scenario. 

As mentioned before, she was never really innocent in their fights, which she was well aware of.  But, at least in this stretch of them dating she was never the initiator of the rows.  Sure, she could have been, but he, quite honestly, never gave her the chance. 

Her suggestions for him to deal with the grief were nagging--and led to bickering.  Her questioning whether he intended to return to Hogwarts were insensitive--and led to yelling.  So after a fight about her reading some Prophet article about the deaths at the castle had lead to bellowing from both parties, she just stopped. 

She didn't reach out.  She said she wasn't going to respond, intent on following through on that, but found that she really didn't need to. He didn't try to contact her, and she suddenly became aware of the fact that she was the one that had put effort into planning every single time that they met up.  Each one, no matter the location or the plans. 

It took him three weeks to reach out, at which point she was thoroughly over the whole thing, and really found that she didn't miss him--at least not with all of the bickering. 

"It's not even like how it used to be, he just seems angrier," she cried to Harry, the morning after she'd made the decision. 

Harry suppressed a shudder, remembering the arguments that himself and Ron had gotten into since the war ended.  "I know what you mean."

This conversation, along with many others that they had, really validated her opinion that she was doing the right thing.  But, yes, she could have handled it much better. 

So, when Ron followed up her 'No' with, "Why not?"

She, standing in the doorway of her mum and dad's house, still empty and lacking her parents, replied, "We haven't spoken in three weeks and I really don't fancy anyone that deals with pain in such awful ways to those around them.  I don't even have my mum and dad right now.  Harry has no one left.  You don't need to lash out at us as though we're looking down on you and have never experienced loss.  I'm ending, whatever this is, now, because I've loved having you as a best friend, and I'm certain that I couldn't be if you acted like this."

There was nothing to be said, though Ron did try.  And, after about a half hour of full volume shouting exchanged between the two, he DisApparated.

Chapter Text

[10 february 2002]

Harry was unbelievably happy.  Though, come to think of it, he was also unbelievably bored. 

Not that he wasn't happy with Hermione--he was.  He literally felt the facesplitting grin cover his face every time the door opened to reveal her.  But, there was unfortunately a lot of time where she was doing something, and he found that he was doing, well, nothing.  Well, she was working one day a week, though her studying program took up at eight hours a day on those other days of the week--and she'd banned Harry from being in her presence.  (Harry didn't take it personally, though he knew that she could spend twenty minutes a week and still continue to get the top marks in the class.)

Hermione seemed to have picked up on this, though, and when she came over that day, she brought with her a sack of books and another sack full of scrolls.  She dropped them with huff onto his parlor sofa. 

"What's all this?" Harry asked, poking through the books to look at the covers. 

"You're twenty two, Harry.  And you've already saved the world, you've got enough money to blow thousands a day for centuries, and you're already famous everywhere that gets papers--"

"I suppose I may as well drop dead, then?" 

She socked him on the arm.  "You know I don't like it when you say things like that."

He felt the familiar grin take over as he pulled her into a hug.  She relaxed into it for a minute, then frowned, pushing his chest away from her. 

"You're trying to distract me," she said, wising up to his intentions.

He dropped onto the sofa, faking exasperation.

"Oh, wonderful.  Anyways," she went on, "you need a passion.  I'd suggest a job but that hasn't worked out for any of us yet.  Except-" she seemed to be bursting with excitement, "you haven't tried Quidditch."

His hands found their way into his already messy hair.  "I played for eight years at Hogwarts, remember?"

"Oh, just listen, Harry.  I really think if you practiced, and tried out for a few of the professional teams--I've even made a list!"

He shifted, elbows resting on his knees.  "Ginny already tried out, though, and she didn't even make a reserve team."

"Yes, I thought of that." She rummaged through bag of scrolls, tossing some left and right until she found what she sought, tapping it firmly with her wand.  It leapt open, standing straight enough that Harry could see it from his seat.  "I wrote out some of the statistics for the teams she went out for, and compared them to the records of the games she played in at Hogwarts.  And, quite honestly, her percentages simply weren't there."

This had to be the most time he'd ever heard her talk about Quidditch willingly and without being prompted.  He did laugh, though, "So you're saying she wasn't good enough?"

"No, I just think that she likely needed another year or two of practice, then she would have done fine, I think.  And, regardless, you'd be going out for Seeker, and you've a flawless record-"

"--except for when I was unconscious, or disallowed from playing--"

"And, while I am far from the foremost expert on Quidditch," Harry snorted at that, "I have seen you fly and I think you'd do nicely in a professional game."

He took off his glasses for a moment, cleaning them on his robes, then replacing them.  "Sure, why not?"

That had clearly not been the reaction she'd been anticipating, indicated by her look of surprise.  "You didn't expect that?"

"No, I suppose I should have, maybe I should have gone through my other ideas first," she looked at him expectantly. 

Well, quality time was quality time, at least she wasn't studying.  Plus, he found her quite stunning when she got excited about a new idea. "No, no, go ahead."

She dropped to the floor, opening and closing scrolls until she had at last found what she was looking for.  

"Wait, Hermione, is each of those scrolls a different idea?"

She nodded eagerly.

"Erm, what time is Ron coming over? D'you know?" Harry asked.  It hadn't been all bad, but after the twentieth idea, with no signs of slowing down he'd grown tired.  He hadn't really expected her to keep going, hoping that she would give in rather quickly to the idea of doing . . . other things.  She'd really meant business, and Harry felt that he really had no say in the matter. 

"No," she said briskly, "But I've invited Luna, Seamus, Neville, Dean, Lavender and Parvati as well, if that's alright."

Harry could see why.  Given the way that Ron was already behaving towards her, it didn't really seem wise to have him alone in their company.  While it did dampen her enthusiasm slightly, it did also have a (in Harry's opinion) wonderful side effect of causing her to drop down next to him, her head on his shoulder.  (Which lasted a minute, before she insisted that if Harry was to prepare food, he'd best get started. )

They made it half way through their second course when they ran out of wine. Hermione volunteered to get more from the kitchen, and the conversation continued as they waited.

"Harry!" came her voice from downstairs.

He excused himself and joined her in the kitchen.  "Yeah?"

She was standing between the counter and the table in the middle of the kitchen, blocking his entrance. "You're out of wine."

"Did you look?" Harry asked, coming closer. 

She didn't say anything for a minute, holding eye contact.  "No, I suppose I didn't." The wine had clearly been doing its work on her, causing her to be conspicuously bold.

He nodded, the wine also having done its work on him.  "Well-" he started, stepping closer to her, leaving a very short distance between them.

"Hello, Dean wanted to know you had any . . . " Luna glanced wordlessly between the two of them.  

"Everything alright?" Harry asked brightly, turning to face her. 

"Are you two . . . " Luna had an (again, in Harry's opinion) unreadable expression across her face.

"Looking for wine?" Harry offered.

"Yes . . . but," she said slowly.  "Are you two . . . together?"

"It was only one date, Luna," Hermione said, sounding short.

"What's all the hold up?" Ron asked as he entered the kitchen and made his way to the liquor pantry.  As he bent over, back to the rest of them, Luna opened her mouth, then, at Hermione's seemingly pleading expression, shut it. 

They all made their way out of the kitchen, with Hermione and Luna trailing behind.  "Thank you," she told Luna quietly. 

"What for?" Luna said lightly.  Her blank expression left Hermione confused though, legitimately unclear on whether Luna had done it intentionally. 

The rest of the night was fun enough, and the energy really didn't wind down until nearly a quarter 'til two in the morning, which started when Ron and Dean needed to be escorted home.  They were both so intoxicated they could barely stand straight, much less DisApparate safely.

Even Hermione had to admit that it was impressive that they both managed to lose the drinking game--though it was just between the two of them.  And it was rather funny watching Neville and Seamus step up to drop them at their homes, the number of people in drawing room had quickly dropped to just two.  Hermione found herself looking around, grimacing at the mess. 

"Don't worry about it," Harry said.  He was sitting on a plush chair in the parlor, glasses off, and hands over his eyes. 

"I haven't even done anything!" she insisted. 

He put his glasses back on, trying to combat the head-over-heels feeling that took over when his eyes were closed.  "You're not leaving, are you?"

Hermione froze, because she been intending on leaving. 

"You don't have to, you know.  Leave if you don't want to."

She opened her mouth, starting to speak before he continued.

"If you want to leave, though, you can do that, too . . ."

"Harry," she started, grinning at him, "are you asking me to stay over?"

"Yes, if you'd like," he responded honestly, drunk enough that her jesting tone was lost on him.

Hermione grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet.  She pressed her lips to his, then smiling, she pulled him to the stairs, "Come on, let's go to bed."

[31 october 1998]

A bit ago, there was mention of a little shopping trip on the 30th of October of their 8th year.  This was, of course, in anticipation of their Halloween party on the 31st, on which most of the 6th, 7th, and 8th year Gryffindors woke up rather late due to indulging in the fruits of said shopping trip. 

All of Harry's dormmates were far from the exception to this, and Harry himself woke up foggy headed with bleary eyes.  He sat up, room spinning in nearly a figure eight pattern as he tried to make sense of what was going on. 

Ron came into focus on the next bed over, and Harry could see that he was simply sitting in bed, blinking blankly out the window across the circular room. 

"You alright there, Ron?" Harry forced out, swallowing back a tiny wave of nausea. 

"What did I do last night? Do you remember? I can't . . ." Ron looked green. 

"You were a proper blast, mate," Dean called in from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. 

Ron leapt to his feet and looked wildly round the room.  He shook Seamus awake. 

"What did I do last night?" he asked urgently.

Harry laughed as he watched Seamus chortle, mumble something, then fall directly back asleep. 

"Neville," Ron said, "Neville, you've got to tell me--"

"You didn't do anything last night.  You just kept singing Weasley is Our King with random lyrics," Neville told him.  He looked at Ron expectantly, "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Ron didn't answer, just threw a pillow at Dean (who ducked out of the way), and fell back into his own bed. 

"Oh, you both look just dreadful," Hermione told them as they sat down to breakfast.  She'd already been at breakfast for nearly two hours, and had taken over a large amount of space with her books and scrolls. 

"Why are you studying on a Saturday any way?" Ron asked as he practically unhinged his jaw for the largest piece of toast with a pile of beans so comically tall that it was teetering.  Hermione tried to shared a look of disgust with Harry, but frowned, watching him gulp down butteries and pumpkin juice like he'd never eaten before. 

"Hang on," Harry grimaced as he swallowed too much food at once. "I think you drank more than I did, why do you look fine?"

"Because I paced myself.  I didn't want to feel how you both feel now--especially since-" she lowered her voice, "-we've still got tonight."

Ron had started to look a little green, and so had Harry.  To Harry's credit, he took off, sprinting out of the Great Hall to the nearest first floor bathroom, and proceeded to puke his guts out.  Ron, unfortunately did not possess that foresight, or at least had managed to get more food down that was quick to return to the world, and vomited on the floor. 

"Go, Ron, I'll get it," Hermione said impatiently, standing and peering over the table to put eyes on the mess, then did a quick cleaning spell to remove it.  The dining hall was almost empty, at least, and no one save for a few tiny first years had noticed. 

[24 december 1998]

It was the day of the Yule Ball, and Hermione was crying.  Despite all of the drama that had been going on socially surrounding the upcoming ball, she'd been feeling rather good--scratch that, downright excited. 

The night before, she'd stayed up late, choosing to accompany the other Gryffindors to the Quidditch scrimmage that Harry, Ron, and Dean had set up with the other houses.  It was rather chilly, though, and while the atmosphere of the crowd was high enough, once both Harry and Ron had stepped aside to allow others to play their positions, she found her interest waning rapidly. 

So she trudged back up to the castle alone, thinking that she'd go visit the house elves in the kitchen, and try to make small talk about what they might have planned for their break from the students. 

She was on the winding path, and she stumbled for a moment, the toe of her boot caught on a rock.  Hermione glanced down to make sure it didn't happen again, then back up ahead of her--but she felt her chest tighten.

For a split second, a single moment that was really and truly a trick of the light, the castle looked horrifyingly and unsettingly like it had during the battle.  She turned instantly, making her way directly back down to the pitch that she'd left, and made her way to where the players were sitting, choosing to stand by Harry as he shouted out commands to the players above. 

The night ended on a high note, though, with Dean and Seamus leading a loud and off-pitch rendition of various Christmas carols as they travelled in a large pack back to their common room. 

Someone had spiked some butterbeer and pumpkin juice, and the energy didn't die down until nearly four in the morning. 

Exhausted, happy, and a little bit drunk, Hermione fell asleep the second she hit her pillow, though found herself breathlessly awoken by her worst nightmare in weeks. 

She was damp with sweat, felt so wide awake that she knew more sleep was an impossibility, and saw that it was half past five the morning. So, she did the only thing she could do, she aimlessly grabbed some trousers, a button up, and a robe, and set about wondering the castle.

It was ten AM the day of the ball when Harry happened past her. 

"Hermione," he said slowly as he approached her.  He'd woken up around seven that morning, watched the trickle of hungover students come down in the common room and shuffle off the Great Hall for breakfast.  When Parvati and Lavender had come down around eight, with no Hermione, nor any idea as to where she was, Harry shrugged it off, walking with the rest of the 8th years to eat. 

Forty-five minutes later, he felt more than a little bit concerned and excused himself from the table to go and search for her.  The map was up in his dormitory somewhere, so he figured he'd look in all of her usual spots before he used that as his solution. 

After checking his third stop, the library, he figured that he may as well give up and check the map.  On his way back to the Fat Lady, he'd walked through the entry hall and did a double take as he saw her sitting on a bench in the side corridor.

Her eyes were red and she had not only clearly been crying for a while, but tears were still running fresh tracks down her cheeks. He sat next to her, looking at the wall ahead of them. 

It was the memorial for those lost in the war: in the center, spanning multiple meters high, were portraits of students, friends, family, alumni, and magical creatures.  At the bottom was a painting of the Great Hall, the tables filled with food, and large amount of the individual portraits sat empty, their occupants sitting and chatting at the various tables.

She threw her arms around him all of sudden, and quietly sobbed.  After a few minutes had passed, she loudly sniffled and pulled away from him, drawing her knees to her chest and trying her best to mop up his now wet robes with her own sleeves. 

Hermione continued the pointless effort, her purple-paisley-patterned bell sleeves were velvet (and a gift from her parents from the catalogue that Madam Malkin's shop sent out in the late autumn), and therefore had the absorbency of a leaf. 

"I've been here for hours, Harry.  I had a nightmare last night," she shook her head, "Where I was here, back here in the castle on the day of the war, but . . . we didn't win."

"I've had that one a lot," he told her, brows furrowed as she her effort to dry his robes had managed to make them wetter.

"But when I woke up, I realized that we didn't really win, did we? We've lost many people--you've lost so many-" she stopped, her shoulders shaking as she cried. 

Harry sat with her for a while, as she cried onto him, uselessly tried to dry him, then performed a wordless drying spell; all the while he fought to keep the tears in.  It was a success, until Colin Creevey returned to his portrait, caught sight of Harry, and burst into a wide grin and waved eagerly. 

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall greeted them, her eyes filled with concern.  "Come along to my office, I got some hot tea that I think you two will enjoy."

This was an instruction, not an invitation, and they both found themselves wordlessly following her to office and into those same seats they'd sat in months earlier.  They did as directed, sipping their tea and nibbling provided biscuits, Hermione stone faced and Harry fidgeting.

"It's difficult, is it not? To reconcile the idea that this place can hold both the best and the worst of memories and times?"

"What are we even doing here?"  Hermione said flatly, not sobbing, eyes still smarting nonetheless.

The headmaster sighed deeply and removed her spectacles to clean them, replacing them and revealing eyes brimming with tears. 

"When the war was over, when everyone had gone home, when the final volunteers had taken the injured and the dead, the castle was silent.  The owls were gone, the forest creatures dead or miles away, and all that was left was the few of us staff.  We took a vote, right there, about if we were to reopen the castle."

"Why?" Hermione said morosely. 

"We had already lost countless lives due to unspeakable evil, Miss Granger, and to allow them to take our future as well, is to let them win. We realized at once that to bring you all back to this castle, we needed to make changes.  We needed to make sure that it didn't simply feel as though we had all carried on, as though none of it had happened.

"It was Professor Sprout that suggested a Yule Ball, and Professor Flitwick that suggested adding one for the younger children.  I want you to see that what we do here, the new traditions and changes, are not in spite of our profound loss, but due to it."

They were both silent, though found their eyes shift onto her.  "When you and all of the other students are at the ball tonight, I do not want any thoughts of those that we could have saved, I want you each to look around you and see those that we did save.  Professor Dumbledore was always better with comforting words than I, but one thing he always reminded me, was that those we love never truly leave us.  Look back, not at when they were lost, but at those happy memories that remain of them."

Hermione lifted her chin, looking a bit brighter, "Thank you, Professor."

Harry nodded in agreement, hastily wiping a tear that had escaped.

"Off you go, then.  Before you leave, might I suggest a quick spell for freshening up--yes, you too, Mr. Potter--"

"Where in the world have you been?" Lavender exclaimed as Hermione and Harry entered the common room. 

"Library," Harry said, though everyone was confused as Hermione had said "with Hagrid" at the same time. 

Parvati was confused, and had just opened her mouth to voice this as Lavender continued on, dragging Hermione the spiral staircase to start a rather exhaustive preparation for the ball.

Harry, on the other hand, dropped onto the sofa next to Ron, joining the large crowd of boys that were aimlessly milling about the room.  He'd decided rather magnanimously to just apologize to him, "Sorry I didn't tell you that I'd asked Hermione."

Ron nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, "Sorry I didn't ask." And that was that. 

Chapter Text

[27 march 2002]

"Harry, Harry," Hermione said quietly.  There was a clear sound of knocking at the door.

She twisted as best she could, movement limited by his arms wrapped tightly around her--if anything he seemed to be holding her more tightly than a moment before. 

"Harry, I've to get up for a moment, there's someone at the door," she started to slip her hands under his to release his grip. 

"Sorry," (or something like that) he mumbled, lazily lifting his arm to allow her to slip out.  She inwardly groaned, while she was still under her duvet, the sudden absence of contact making her feel much colder. 

The knocking continued, though, so she swung her legs to the floor, hissing an apology to Crookshanks as she narrowly avoiding stepping on his tail. And--OH--she'd better grab a dressing gown before she answered her front door in nothing but her pants.

She shut the bedroom door quietly behind her, thoughts only on how quickly she could get to back to bed . . . who in their right mind felt it necessary to bother her at this hour?

"Are you free to have breakfast this morning?"

Hermione blinked, then rubbed her eyes. 

"Ginny? What're you doing here?" She checked her watch, it wasn't even past 7am . . . on a Sunday.

"I just wondered if you'd like to join me for breakfast.  We could even do it here, if you don't--" she made to cross the threshold. 

Hermione held out an arm to stop her, "We can go to one of the places around the corner?"

She made a face, "One of the Muggle ones?"

"There's a new Wizard one, not far from here.  It's been quite good when I've gone before."

"Sure, that sounds alright.  And I can just wait in here while you go and get ready," she made to enter the flat again. 

"Oh, erm, I'm actually out of tea, though.  So why don't you head over there now, and get us a pot?  I can meet you in half hour."

While clearly dissatisfied with this plan, Ginny could tell that it was not up for any debate. 

"Can I ask you something?" Ginny asked before biting into her toast. 

"Of course."

"What if Harry and I got back together?" she asked eagerly, leaning across the table towards Hermione--who broke out in coughs.

“Like, if you asked him to?”

She nodded, “He’s never said no before.”

“Have you even spoken to him recently?” Hermione asked, knowing that the answer was no.

She shrugged, “that’s always how it is.”

Hermione nodded slowly, weighing how best to word her next statement,”Sorry, I just don’t really think I get it. You always seem so—“ she meant miserable but instead said, “—unhappy before you break up.”

“It’s always so wonderful at the start, though,” she argued. 

“You think I don’t know that? Why else would me and Ron keep doing the same thing? But it’s not happiness, not really,” Hermione shook her head.  “That’s why I’ve kept saying no to Ron when he asks, because we end up so cross with one another the whole time we’re together.”

"Well, your relationship is completely different.”

“You’re talking about my best friend, though, so I think I’d have a least a little insight.”

”If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you sound rather jealous.  Besides, you've clearly got someone over, so you certainly don't mind all that much,” Ginny sniffed.

Hermione frowned, suddenly remembering Harry's trainers next to the door--very obviously men's shoes. 

"Hang on," she said, "You knew I had someone over and still insisted on meeting for breakfast now?"

Ginny shrugged, "You were already up, what did it matter?"

"Anyways, both of my best friends are boys, as are three other of my closest friends," she said indignantly.  "Those have been sitting there since last weekend.”

"Whatever," Ginny brushed it off, "You only went on one date with Harry, and it wasn't even real."

Hermione, lacking a response that could be both in line with the lie that herself and Harry were carrying and also not dreadfully rude, politely excused herself to the toilet.  She looked in the mirror, successfully suppressing a grin though her cheeks grew pink as memories from the night (really only hours) before with Harry came to her vividly.  Her fingers drummed on the counter as she weighed out the best response. 

What could she say to convince her not to? Less so due to any worry about the outcome, and more than anything to save her from the embarrassment.

But was there anything that she could say? And, most importantly, what did she think that Harry would most want her to say?

Because really, now that they were shagging (again, he was literally still in her flat), she had to be the worst person on earth for Ginny to be asking.

"Well?" Ginny asked as Hermione slowly sat back down.

"Is it really the best idea? And, besides, how do you even know he'd agree to get back together?" Hermione was carefully policing her tone, silently praying for some sort of natural disaster to occur to get her out of the conversation.

As Ginny opened her mouth to respond, Hermione's desperate pleas were answered: her mobile (a Muggle device that she found very handy) rang.  And, though her Hermione had never particularly liked the way that her mum called without notice, she had no complaints at the moment.  With that, Hermione apologized, answered the call, and Ginny said "I'd best be going anyways, Dad wanted me to help clean up the garden this afternoon."

[23 december 1999]

"It's absolutely stunning in there, isn't it Lav?" Parvarti gushed to the other girls.

"What's taking all the boys so long?" Ginny asked. 

Lavender's eyes widened as she turned to her, "You didn't hear, did you?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked. 

Parvati giggled.  "Seamus decided he wanted a fresh hair cut, you know."

"--then he cut it too short," interjected Lavender, "so one of the boys--"

"It was Ron."

"--Ron, suggested a hair growth spell.  It's didn't go properly, as you can guess."

"Anyways," Parvati continued, "I heard he's got hair down to his feet now--"

"--all over his feet and arms and legs, too!"

"So the lot of them have been dealing with that . . . how long do you think?"

"Must be nearly an hour, now," Lavender said. 

"Why didn't any of them ask for help?" Hermione said, clearly exasperated. 

"They probably didn't even think of it," Luna said lightly.  "There's a lovely buffet over there, if anyone wants to join me?" She looked expectantly at Hermione. 

Ten minutes later, she sat at a small table with Luna, nearly covered in various small plates with food of every kind and color.  She laughed as one of the small multicolored biscuits turned the tips of Luna's hair pink.  Students were still slowly arriving, and it was early enough in the evening that no one had yet taken the dance floor. 

Hermione absolutely had to agree with Parvati's assessment.  A great big tree surrounded by a miniature town occupied the space where the teachers' table usually sat, which, upon closer look, was complete with tiny clay people going about their holiday shopping.  The wooden rafters were hung with garlands that literally glimmered.  Snow that disappeared before it reached one's hand fell from the ceiling, and the air was filled with enchanted candles of all shapes and sizes that hovered aimlessly about. The long house tables had been replaced with quite a few small tables, each with a varied number of chairs, around the perimeter of the room.  On one of the long walls sat a stage, clearly intended for a performance later in the night, and the middle of the room now had large blocks of marble tiles covering the floor—the dance floor. 

"I think they're here now," Luna said.  Hermione, whose back was to the doors, turned round. 

Behind a slow trickle of students through the door came the eldest Gryffindor boys, save for the two 7th year boys that had already arrived with some of the Ravenclaws.  Hermione turned back to the table in front of her, carefully grasping a piece of Turkish delight that had been imprinted with snowflakes. 

“Wow,” came a voice behind her.  Some things never change, she thought, as a pale, freckled hand took a sweet from one of the plates. 

“You look nice,” she remarked dryly, standing to fix his dress robe collar.  Harry grinned from behind him, robes equally askew. 

“It’s really lovely, the dress, I mean,” said Harry as she moved onto his.  His hand found its way into his hair as he sheepishly added,”you look lovely, really.”

Her pretend sternness faded instantly, a soft smile on her face.  “You do, too.  Even when your hair is doing . . .” She aired a hand over his head fondly. 

[16 june 2000]

"Don't you think you ought to do something about that? Brush it?" Ginny asked, motioning towards Harry's head. 

He took the toothbrush out of his mouth, spit, then looked back at her in the mirror, "It's never made a difference before."

She frowned.  Even he had to admit that it looked rather . . . wild? Right? "Give it a try," she insisted, handing her hairbrush to him. 

He just shrugged, he knew what would happen--the same thing that always did--but it was easier than arguing. 

It had always been a rather comical sight, when he was younger it had been his Aunt Petunia trying her best to contain his hair.  But now, it was as though with age his hair grew both stronger and more confident in its ways.  That is to say, quite literally, with each stroke of the brush, nearly as soon as he lifted the brush from his hair for the next part, it sprang right back up. 

"Doesn't it ever lie flat?" Ginny groaned. 

He shook his head, "not that I remember."

"Not ever?" Ginny asked, clearly growing more frustrated. 

"It's always like this," he turned to gaze at her, "what's it matter today?"

"Harry, we're going to a ball," she snapped.

"Yeah, I know that," he snapped back, "That's why I've got on these hideous dress robes."

"They're not hideous!" she said indignantly, "and they're brand new."

They were a rather ugly combination of black with yellow and red patterns, picked by Ginny both to match her dress, and for their expensive price tag. 

Harry rolled his eyes, "What's it matter? I'm wearing them, aren't I?"

"Oh, but your hair . . ." Ginny had begun to attack it with a wet brush. 

"It's always looked like this," he said, pushing her hand with a freshly wet brush away from his head.  "What difference does it make today?"

"Oh, but Harry, the Daily Prophet's set to be there, as is nearly every other magazine in the Wizarding World."

He frowned, “So?”

“Don’t you want to look nice?”

“For the newspapers?”

“No, Harry,” she said sharply, “For the photographs.”

“Oh," he said, "It's no bother, then. I don't want to be in any." Because, in the broader scheme of things, his experience with Rita Skeeter had been tame--the journalists were aggressive in their inquiries of every element of his personal life.  Some had even made it their personal mission to make their coverage of him as unflattering as possible, after all, negativity sold quite well.

Ginny did not see it like this at all, and loved any and all mention of herself in the papers. 

"But you've got to be, how else--"

He cut her off, "We're going to be late, we'd better get going."

And that was that. 

(Hermione told when she saw him at the ball how handsome he looked, and he shot a gloating grin at Ginny.)

[24 december 1999]

Hermione woke up with a grin that quickly faded to a grimace as she gathered her hair into a ponytail.  The Yule Ball had been absolutely fabulous, and when she'd gone to bed the night before, her cheeks hurt from how hard she'd been smiling.  The grimace, however, was due to the churning in her stomach.  Or, in other words, the realization that any doubts that she may have had about her feelings for Harry--gone. 

The doubts never really had any validity, of course (because yes, she was most certainly, 'in deep' as they say--even before she realized), but her tiny bit of hope that she was maybe misreading things was utterly lost. 

For someone who had all but confirmed that the guy she fancied felt the same (they'd snogged for nearly a half hour the night before, albeit after many rounds of spiked pumpkin juice), Hermione really seemed to be in a sorry state. 

Harry, on the other hand, awoke in a much sorrier state--he'd managed to lose his glasses at some point during the night, and was so hungover that all of his attempted spells inadvertently dumped him with buckets of water.  This was how a simple trip to the toilet led to a sopping wet Harry carefully making his way down the common room stairs. 

Hermione's wake up routine on this certain morning had not been affected by the preceding night's activities (aside from the major anxiety coursing through her that had her flipping through some ancient text and scribbling notes like a madwoman) and therefore put her in the perfect position to see Harry as he descended the stairs.

And he was . . . quite the sight.  His hair stood at angles more peculiar than ever, his pajamas were so drenched that they seemed to be pooling water around his already waterlogged socks, he was very clearly missing his glasses--but what made Hermione gasp was the collection of small bruises very visible from the drooping neckline of his soaked button up shirt. 

She muttered a summoning spell for his glasses, then a drying spell for, well, all of him, all as she practically ran up to him to try to fix his collar.

"You've not looked in the mirror, have you?" she asked him.

"You're the first thing I'm seeing, actually," he said rather unhelpfully, moving his hands through his hair. 

She was still pulling at his shirt, as though she could somehow will a higher neckline into existence. 

"Hermione," he said, gently holding her wrists, "what are you doing?"

"You've got, erm . . ." she stared at his chest.  He looked down, eyes widening.

"Oh," he blinked hard.  "Is that from--"

"Yes."

She looked up at him and they locked eyes, both taking a sudden step back from one another as the gravity of the prior night's events really sank in. 

Before he could say anything, he suddenly felt the world go dark as she shoved a tight turtleneck sweater over his head.  When he finally managed to yank his head through, the protests died on his lips as he was met with Ron's face wearing an incredibly confused expression. 

"You're up quite early," Hermione said, voice falsely bright.

Ron gave her a bewildered look, "Why have you got on her sweater, Harry?"

"Well how do you know it's not his?" she said before Harry could respond. 

Both boys just looked at her.  What with the fact that the bottom half of his shirt was clearly visible, his elbows were barely covered by the sleeves, and the sweater looked to be practically bursting at the seams. 

"Thought it was mine last night," Harry supplied.  Since all the sweaters came in the same package, it was a fair enough excuse. 

Ron snorted, "how much of the butterbeer did you have last night mate?"

"The butterbeer was spiked, too?"

A train ride that Hermione, at least, remembered being comically smooth was now the most uncomfortable ride she'd ever had in her life.  Even with the windows as wide open as they could go and her head tucked between her knees as she sat on the floor between the seats of the train car.  Harry and Ron were asleep, Harry face down on one of the train seats, Ron propped up in a corner.  Despite her nausea, she felt herself drifting off, waking up later at the sound of their voices. 

"You can come over for Christmas, you know, you both should come," Ron muttered.

"That's okay," Harry said, "it's no worry, really."

"'Course, won't be the same as before," he said morosely, "Won't ever be . . ."

Hermione and Harry looked at one another, reaching the same conclusion at the same time: this was set to be a rather somber holiday and politely declined. 

So when the three of them got off at Platform 9 and 3/4, they all had separate destinations.  This lasted until dinner that night, when an owl arrived at Number 12, written neatly in Mrs. Weasley's handwriting that if Harry absolutely had to join them--no one, she felt, should spend Christmas alone. 

He still hesitated, knowing that this holiday would be unlike any other he had so far experienced with them, but then had a sudden realization.  It was quite possible that this invitation was less about him spending it alone, and more about his presence as a happy distraction . . . which promptly ended any consideration.  He enchanted Newt's food and water bowls, let Augurey out of her cage, and DisApparated, trunk in hand. 

It was almost normal.  There was an overall underlying sadness, but Harry stayed in Ron's room, just like always.  Mr. Weasley had come home from work, just as he always did.  But that next morning, when Harry and Ron would split off from Ginny and the twins, it was different. 

This was obviously also because there were merely hours until Christmas, and Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George were still absent.

No one said anything, and Harry was certainly not going to be the one to point out the difference, so he simply suggested a rotating 2 v 1 Quidditch game. 

It was Christmas Day, Harry and Ron were awoken dreadfully early, jerked from sleep by violent banging at their door. 

It was Percy that poked his head in, saying, "You've got to get up, there's loads of people arriving today, and Mum needs your help."  He shut the door again and his footsteps could be heard going down the stairs. 

"What's he mean, 'guests'?" Ron asked, suddenly awake. 

Harry shrugged, "I dunno, but we'd better go." 

Ron nodded in agreement and they quickly dressed. 

They spent the morning outside, desperately chanting charms to keep the gnomes inside of their holes, so that they wouldn't sprint into the Burrow through the open doors and windows as they had begun to do in colder months. 

Those people in question turned out to be the rest of Weasley children. Along with their arrival came Hermione and her parents, as well as Andromeda and Ted (who brought Teddy), and a few other aunts and uncles that even Ron claimed never to have met.

And it was a good night; Harry found Christmas supper to be delightful--and told Mrs. Weasley as much--and everyone seemed to be fully embracing the holiday cheer.  Or, they were, at least, until it came time for the Tonks disApparate, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger to start their drive to the nearby Muggle-owned inn. 

And, while everyone had already been acting weird prior to the night, Harry could feel that it had become even weirder. 

"Hermione," he muttered under his breath as they stood outside, waving to her parents while they drove out of view, "I feel like I'm invading." She'd been outside for around a half hour, making sure her parents had the proper directions and that their car was properly charmed in case anything (nefarious or accidental) occurred

"You're being dramatic," she said, shaking her head as she followed him back inside.

It became clear in the following few minutes that Harry was, in fact, not being dramatic. 

The tension in the Weasley family was palpable.

When Mrs. Weasley snapped at Mr. Weasley for the third time in barely 20 minutes, he turned to Hermione again, who gave an affirmative nod. 

After waiting a minute or so, he waved over to Mr. Weasley, who met them in a corner of the kitchen, away from everyone. 

"Mr. Weasley," Harry said politely, "I think it may be best if Hermione and I . . . leave-"

"Not that we want to," she interjected, shooting Harry a look,

"-it just seems like you might want some space, without the pressure of hosting."

Mr. Weasley rubbed his forehead, looking rather pale, "Yes, I do think that might be best.  I'd like for you to stay, but more than anything I'd like for you two to have a pleasant Christmas . . ."

The words which obviously won't happen here went unspoken.

After quiet wishes for him to have a good evening and a brief hug and handshake, the two of them slipped out of the kitchen door, and started the walk up the hill.  They had a ways to go until they reached the fence line that marked the end of the property, and the area where they could DisApparate. 

As they walked, Hermione asked, "So you'll spend the night at Number 12 and come back here tomorrow?"

"Yeah . . . I'll come back tomorrow." She narrowed her eyes at his lack of eye contact.

"Harry," she said, suspicions furthered as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

He looked up, finally, rubbing absentmindedly at the bruises hidden by his shirt.

"You're lying. You were just going to spend Christmas alone, weren't you?"

He was silent, eyes back on his feet, following each step, "It's fine, really."

"Come over tomorrow, join us."

"Hermione, I'm not going to intrude."

"Fine then.  We'll intrude, then." She stopped as they reached the gate.  She swung it open and stepped through.  "Expect us tomorrow, half past 8." With that, she disApparated.

Harry groaned as he appeared back in Number 12.  He didn't even need to look around to know it was a complete mess.  One would think that the house elf would help, but Harry sincerely believed that Kreacher wanted to make the house inhabitable in hopes of getting rid of him (something even Hermione had difficulty disagreeing with). 

It was early enough in the evening though, that he had time to clean before the morning--which he most certainly needed. 

Scooping his cat up, he deposited him into an empty room, far enough away from the chaos that was about to ensure.

Newt meowed loudly at him, sounding as reproachful as a non-verbal animal could manage. "Sorry," Harry said earnestly, scratching the cat on the head, "you'll like it better in here, promise."

He sat on the landing of the second floor, paging through the Miniature Book of Cleaning Spells that Hermione had forced into his possession during the summer months.  Within a few minutes, the entire house was in action, a flurry of movement as dishrags, sponges, mops, and dusters whipped the house into shape.  Once he was at least partially certain they’d do a satisfactory job, he began his way to where he thought he’d most likely find the resident house elf.  The former owners of the house were certainly a miserable bunch, he thought, descending the stairs, but surely they must’ve had some Christmas décor, right?