Chapter Text
It’ll be good to see you again. This is by far the longest we’ve been apart since we were eleven, and it sucks. Too many near death experiences without your brilliant guidance. I’ll be seeing you at the Burrow, right? If not, I’m hunting down your new flat and turning myself into a proper hermit there. Bilbo Baggins would be right proud of me by the end of it. Pre-Gandalf, of course.
Miss you. See you soon.
-Harry
The sun warmed her skin as the breeze skirted through her hair. She basked in the light, her arms crossed over her chest, trying to find a moment’s peace here.
Though, a loud crash disquieted it, because this was the Burrow after all.
And a momentous day at the Burrow it was – for Ron and Harry were returning home after an extensive Auror mission that had kept them out of reach for nearly two years. It was something incredibly secretive and dangerous, and she’d raged and cried at them when they’d first told her that they were leaving. After Ron had left, Harry had quietly promised to write to her, to give updates and assurance that they were alive.
The Ministry strongly forbade letters on Auror missions. Which, well, made altogether too much sense for her to usurp this particular rule. So, before he had left, Harry had her help create a journal that copied the words into a pair in her possession, much like she had with the DA coins. They hadn’t had enough time to figure out the snags in the spell to allow her to write back, so they’d parted with Harry promising to keep up the correspondence.
She’d kept in touch with the Weasleys, of course. Stopped by once a month for dinner, opened presents with them at Christmas. But, well, it wasn’t exactly the same. She felt as though she were a placeholder of sorts – a connection to Harry and Ron while they were away, until they returned.
But they were coming home, and all would be well and normal again. She was curious to see if Harry and Ginny would resume their relationship, but had given up her own hopes of pursuing Ron. Such an extensive time apart had given her clarity on what she wanted in a relationship. Comforting, communicative, effortless. Qualities that, when partnered with Ron, they were altogether incapable of.
She’d pulled herself away from the festive redheads, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the two Aurors, to steel herself. Nearly two years away from her closest friends had made her pull herself apart and put herself together in an entirely new way. She’d grown comfortable with her independence, her change in career path, her quiet friendships that had nothing to do with the Weasleys or the war.
And Harry and Ron would see all of this for the first time today.
She wasn’t sure if their return to normalcy was entirely possible, but she never voiced this aloud – especially not to the Weasleys, as that was the very thing that they were collectively seeking.
So, she’d escaped to the hillside behind the Burrow, standing and gazing out at all of the farmland, the lake that they used to swim in during the summer holiday, the clouds rolling in from the horizon.
Just as she’d been puzzling how she would fit with Harry and Ron again, a shout carried on the wind to call her name.
“Hermione!”
She turned her head, her heart leaping into her throat at the sound of the voice, and felt a wide grin break onto her face. She’d know that wild head of hair anywhere, though the untamed scruff along his jaw threw her for a loop. She beamed, taking a step towards him, but he’d already appeared by her side and lifted her up into a hug, crushing her against him.
He smelled like spearmint and the earth, and she laughed at him as she wound her arms around his neck and buried her face into him.
“Good god, I’ve missed you,” he rumbled in her ear, setting her down but still gripping her tight.
“I’ve missed you,” she admitted softly, feeling her throat close as she fought back tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t written to me.”
“We both would’ve gone absolutely mental, I would’ve been rendered useless, and sent back here on medical leave,” he quipped.
“Damn, we should’ve gone with that route then,” she said with a click of her tongue, causing him to laugh and bury his face in her hair.
“Hindsight,” he murmured, before he pulled back slightly to peer into her face. She studied him as his bright green eyes tracked along her face, cataloguing all of her differences as she sought his. The scruff along his jaw, the wild length of his hair, the broad, taught muscle underneath her hands. Just as she was trying to determine why looking at Harry felt like having the wind knocked out of her, Harry’s eyes brightened and his hands cupped her face.
“Hermione Jean Granger,” he rasped, gaping as he studied closer, angling her face. “Do you have a nose piercing?”
“Oh, right, yeah,” she laughed, letting him maneuver her head so that the gemstone caught the sunlight. “It’s all healed up now, too. I just changed it out.”
“When the hell did you get a nose piercing?” he insisted.
Before she could answer, she caught a blur of red from her periphery, and had the good sense to tuck her head against Harry before they were bowled over, rolling down the hillside in a tanglement of limbs and laughter.
“Ron!” Hermione chided with a laugh, once the world had stopped spinning and she’d caught her breath.
“Hermione!” Ron stated in a gleeful shout, maneuvering over Harry to slide his arms around her.
“Jesus, Ron – some notice would’ve been nice,” Harry grunted underneath his best mate, his head thunking against the earth as he blinked.
“Constant vigilance, you tosser,” Ron cheeked, grinning brightly at Hermione as she laughed at him. Where Harry had scruff, Ron had a proper beard, patches of blonde interspersed throughout the ginger locks, his hair wild and barley tamed. “Did you know Ginny got on a professional Quidditch team?”
“Yes, Ron – I was here for it,” Hermione said with a smile.
“Blimey, my baby sister – on the Holyhead Harpies!”
“Yes, Ron, I know.”
Harry slid his way out from underneath Ron, ruffling his hair and looking around for his glasses.
“I might have to change my team from the Chudley Canons – they’ve been doing awful this season.”
“They’ve always been awful, Ron,” Hermione reminded kindly.
“And Bill’s got a baby!”
“I know, Ron,” she nodded.
“I’m an uncle!”
“Yes, you are, Ron.”
“Ron, let Hermione up, will you?” Harry asked, grabbing his elbow and hoisting him to stand before offering her his hand. “She didn’t wait two years for us for you to knock her down a hillside and crush her to death the second we get home.”
“She’s not dying,” Ron argued, although he reached for Hermione’s other hand to help Harry lift her to her feet. “Were you dying?”
“I was not dying,” she agreed laughingly.
Ron looked pointedly at Harry, who rolled his eyes before jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Did you leave him with your family?”
“No, I did not leave him with my family,” Ron sniped. “I do have some common sense.”
“Lord, you two need to be apart,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head fondly at them. They heaved deep sighs and spared her looks that suggested that they knew just how crabby they were being to each other. “Now, who are you talking about?”
Ron gestured up at the top of the hill, where a lone figure was waiting with his hands in his pockets. He was tall, slender, and had unmistakable blond hair.
“Why is Malfoy here?” she asked both of them, her voice quieting.
“He was our undercover informant while we were gone,” Ron answered as Harry grew silent, though she felt his eyes on her face. “He worked with us the entire time. It was rocky in the beginning, but we’re alright. He’s not so bad, once you get past his upbringing.”
Harry gave her hand a squeeze, and she realized that neither of them had let go of the other. “He wanted to talk to you, before the party. Are you up for that? If not, he’s agreed to go.”
Hermione chewed her lower lip, studying Harry carefully before tipping her head to the hill. “Help me climb, you two – I dressed for the event, not ascending hills.”
Harry and Ron helped her up the hill, bringing her to a stop beside Draco Malfoy, who was busy studying the clouds rolling in with a tight look on his face.
“We practiced this, mate,” Ron insisted.
Malfoy sighed, looking heavenward, before he turned to Hermione. “Granger. ‘Lo. Sorry I was a tosser in school.”
“Understatement,” Harry chided.
Malfoy huffed, glaring at him, and attempted again. “Granger. Hi. I was a major arse in school. Happy?”
“Little less snark,” Harry insisted.
“Hermione Granger. I was a giant, raging bigot that was just trying to get my bigoted father’s approval in the first half of adolescence, and survive under a madman’s occupation in my home the second half. If I could go back and change it all, I would. I’m truly, deeply sorry for what I did to you.”
Hermione blinked, stepping back and bumping into Harry’s chest. “Err. Malfoy. Hi. S’alright.”
“If you let her get away with that while I had to grovel – ” Malfoy began, frowning at Harry.
A possessive hand at Hermione’s hip, while Harry gave a noncommittal shrug. “She didn’t do anything wrong, so she can accept your apology however she wants – if she wants.”
“She broke my nose in third year, do I get to bring that up?”
“What’d you do to instigate that again?”
“Harry, it’s fine,” Hermione chided, nudging him with an elbow. “Malfoy, really – it’s fine. We were both kids, with insane circumstances surrounding us. I don’t blame you, but I do appreciate the apology.”
Malfoy paused, considered it, then graciously tipped his head. “Thank you.”
“Back to the party?” Ron offered. “Dad thought I abandoned Harry at the Ministry – he immediately went to go and look for you. What were you doing all by yourself, anyway?”
“Thinking,” she answered, shrugging at Harry’s careful glance as the four of them walked back towards the Burrow. “It’s hard to think around so many Weasleys.”
He nodded thoughtfully, and Ron kept an ongoing narration of their travels while they approached the Burrow.
At the party, Hermione was pulled into assisting with various tasks and snags. George had trouble getting the Muggle music system working, and so she’d assisted him with getting the music playing through the speakers again. Molly needed an extra set of hands to prepare desserts, and so she’d whisked through the cream and sugar. Fleur needed a break to herself, away from the commotion, and so she’d taken little Victoire and showed her all of the plants in the garden while Fleur took twenty minutes to gather herself.
“Hey!” a voice called out, elbows on the fencing surrounding the garden. “Are you hiding?”
Hermione shook her head, smiling at Ginny as she climbed up and over the fence, ignoring the perfectly capable gate beside her. “No – I’ve been helping around. How’s the party?”
“Weird,” Ginny insisted, dropping down into the dirt beside her niece and peering up at Hermione. “Malfoy willingly at the Burrow?”
Hermione scoffed, “Tell me about it. He apologized to me, and I still haven’t wrapped my head around it.”
It was less Malfoy that she was trying to wrap her head around, and more the dark haired wizard of the trio. Why looking at him made her catch her breath, or why she could feel his stare on her skin. It was befuddling, and so she’d been more than happy to agree to any task that kept her hands and her head busy.
“As he should’ve,” Ginny commented, though she was staring up at the clouds that had decided to join them. “Ron said he’s not so bad.”
“He did,” Hermione agreed. “Ron’s also thrilled that you’re a professional Quidditch player. He’s even debating dropping the Cannons for you.”
Ginny barked a laugh, pulled out of her own head as she grinned. “About damn time – they’ve never been a good team.”
Hermione chuckled, pulling a clump of dirt out of Victoire’s hand to keep it from going into her mouth. She replaced it with a plastic teether, and the little girl appeared quite pleased.
“And Harry being back…” Ginny voiced, staring up at the clouds again.
Hermione felt her muscles tense, feeling quite warm all of the sudden, but managed a nod regardless. “You must be thrilled.”
“Hmm,” Ginny hummed, “It’s weird. I mean – I am happy to see him, but….”
Hermione paused, tipping her head and studying the redheaded witch. She’d cut her hair short when she’d joined the Harpies, and it now brushed along her shoulders as she sat in the dirt and stared at the clouds. But long gone was the pining teen – in fact, she’d been gone for a very long time.
“Time’s funny,” Ginny managed before shrugging and dusting off the seat of her pants. “Want me to watch her while you rejoin the party? Everyone’s commented that they’ve barely seen you.”
“I’m alright,” Hermione said, smoothing a hand down Victoire’s soft little waves. Ginny shrugged, whistling as she exited the garden.
Fleur found her shortly after, graciously thanking her and returning to the party with Victoire on her hip. Hermione had stood in the garden by herself for a little longer, sucking in a deep breath and willing herself to behave as everyone expected her to.
When she re-entered, she’d caught herself grinning. All of the Gryffindors from their year had been able to make it, crowding around each other and catching up with drinks in hand.
She accepted a drink from Seamus, nursing it as he told her about his apothecary shop and how he needed help with fire-repellant wards. She offered to come by later in the week to sort things out. Luna had asked how she was, and she’d smiled and said that things were fine, then inquired how the Quibbler and creature-hunting was going for her.
The day began to turn to night, and eventually everyone bade their farewells. Just as she was planning to make her own goodbyes, she was caught by a familiar grin.
“Come out drinking with us,” Ron insisted. “We’ve never seen you drunk.”
“And you’ll likely not tonight,” Hermione argued with a smile.
“Please, Hermione?” Ron asked, batting his lashes goodnaturedly. Despite his antics, Hermione was pleasantly surprised just how…normally platonic they both were. “It’s been two years without all of us together. Plus Malfoy. He’s kind of co-dependent at the moment.”
“Oy,” Malfoy grunted nearby.
“We’ve barely gotten a chance to catch up with you,” Ron continued. “What’s new in the world of Hermione Granger? Any boyfriends I need to intimidate? Any rotten coworkers to besmirch?”
Hermione barked a laugh, shook her head fondly, and promised one drink.
Which had landed her in a corner booth at the Leaky Cauldron, entirely underdressed for the setting in her sundress and wedges, pressed in the corner between Harry and Ron while Malfoy brought the drinks and added a strong silencing spell to their corner.
“Habit,” Harry answered her unspoken question, passing her a drink and shrugging.
“And the vultures are close,” Malfoy answered, eyeing a young woman that had been casting glances his way since they’d entered. “Catching up shouldn’t wind up on the front page of the Prophet tomorrow morning.”
“What’s been new?” Ron asked, an arm across the cushions as he sipped from his drink.
Hermione shrugged, running her fingertips along the ridges of her glass. “Oh, really not much.”
“Nose piercing,” Harry called out from his drink.
Ron and Malfoy each glanced at her, their eyes growing wide as they caught sight of the piece of jewelry. They glanced to each other, an unspoken statement passing between them.
“Yes, I got a nose piercing,” she tutted, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “But, really, not much. Tell me about your adventures – surely, the Ministry won’t mind you telling me about it now.”
“You own property in Diagon Alley,” Malfoy prompted, shrugging at her bewildered stare. “Just because these two couldn’t keep in contact, doesn’t mean I didn’t stay on top of events.”
“And you neglected to share this until now because…?” Ron asked with a frown.
“Personal gain,” Malfoy shrugged again. “I could dangle any information that I knew about her should the pair of you threaten to mutiny against each other again.”
“Again?” Hermione questioned, turning curiously to Harry.
“We played one game of Monopoly, and suddenly didn’t speak to each other for three weeks,” he admitted before angling a brow. “Property in Diagon?”
She huffed a sigh, rolling her eyes. “I quit my job at the Ministry, alright? It was soul-sucking and I hated it.”
“Cheers,” Malfoy stated, sipping his drink as Harry and Ron glanced between each other before studying her.
“When did you quit?” Ron asked.
She chewed her lower lip. “Two months after you lot left. Wasn’t much to keep me going there.”
As embarrassing as it was to admit, the Ministry had lost much of its appeal when her two friends had been whisked away on this extensive assignment. There was no company during the lunch hour, no muddy boots perched on the edge of her desk while she worked, no one coming to fetch her and pull her from her work at the end of the day. No one dropping encouraging notes at her desk during trying weeks, assuring her brilliance and ending with an inside joke and a tiny letter H.
“What’re you up to now?” Harry asked softly.
“I own a bookstore in Diagon,” she admitted, fidgeting with her hair. “I have the most extensive collection of Muggle books in Wizarding Britain, which isn’t entirely as impressive as it sounds because Flourish and Blotts’ collection of Muggle books was capped at ten.”
Harry beamed, nudging her with his shoulder, “That’s brilliant, and it sounds perfect for you.”
“I’ll return to my earlier question,” Ron said, peering at her carefully as though she were under interrogation. “Any boyfriends to intimidate?”
Hermione scoffed, shoving his face out of her personal space. “No, no boyfriends. I did go on a few horrid dates while you were away, but none of them were worth keeping in touch with. I think even George scared one off.”
“Good for George, I’m sure that made his day,” Ron nodded approvingly.
“His week, I think he told me,” Hermione amended. “Given that my shop is so close to his, George and I have gotten quite close. He orders spellbooks from me.”
Ron paused, mulling this over, then glanced at her carefully. “How close?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Close enough that I’m trying to set him up with this sweet baker down the block. Her name’s Millie, and he’s got the most obvious crush on her.”
Hermione answered most of their questions on life without them, slowly sipping at her drink and feeling more and more at ease. She discussed how the Weasleys adapted to Ginny’s Quidditch schedule, how they all chipped in to help Fleur and Bill after the birth of Victoire. She talked about Seamus opening his apothecary shop, and his relationship with Dean. She mentioned Luna’s extravagant adventures, Lavender’s divination work, Neville’s job in teaching Herbology.
It wasn’t until she stated that she’d finished her one drink and was going home, much to Ron’s chagrin, that Harry was able to ask her his questions.
He’d helped her slide out of the booth, told Ron and Malfoy that he was walking her home, and stepped outside of the tavern with her.
“How’s your parents?” he asked, his hands in his pockets as he fell into step beside her. As though he’d never left, and the rhythm between them had always remained constant.
Hermione shrugged, managed a “Good” and stopped abruptly when Harry stood in front of her. She craned her neck, wondering when he’d managed to get so much taller than her, and sighed in the face of his expectant stare.
“They are good,” she insisted, resuming their walk when he shifted to return to her side. “Mungo’s restored their memories, and we went to family counseling together. They’re still wary of magic, but they’ve managed to disconnect their feelings about magic and their feelings about me. They’re – we’re good.”
“Good,” Harry stated simply, warmly.
“I saw them on my birthday,” she began, biting the inside of her cheek before continuing. “Since my two very best friends were away.”
“I am sincerely sorry,” Harry said with a grin. “Let me make it up to you?”
“Ooh, I don’t know,” she said with a false grimace. “You did mix up a hermit with a Hobbit.”
“I did not and I knew you would do this,” he insisted with a laugh. “Bilbo was a hermit!”
“He had a social life before Gandalf,” she argued. “He just enjoyed his home and his comforts.”
“I think you can be a hermit and have a social life,” Harry insisted.
“Goes against the definition of a hermit, then,” Hermione stated, allowing him to snag her by the elbow and pull her closer as another group passed them on the sidewalk. It just felt so easy with Harry, in a way that felt like breathing.
It made her realize just how long she’d been holding her breath.
When the group passed them on the sidewalk, Harry slid his hand up her arm and around her shoulders, keeping her pressed into his side.
“And work? How’s work been?” Harry asked.
“Great, actually – I’ve got a newly published author wanting to do a book signing at the shop next month,” she answered easily, her hand reaching up to grasp his from where it had hooked around her. “I’m hoping that I can advertise and get a younger crowd than what I currently have. The old ladies from the book club are nice, but incredibly nosy.”
“How so?”
“They’re more involved in my romantic life than Ronald just was,” she said before arching a brow at him. “By the way – what was that?”
“He’s missed out on two years of gossip, and you know him,” Harry said, although he’d told the lamppost beside them instead of her.
“How were things with Malfoy?” she asked. “You never mentioned working with him.”
Harry sighed, looking up at the stairs that peeked through the rooftops of the businesses and the lofts where owners lived. “It started off as I didn’t want you to worry, and then it turned into not knowing how I personally felt about him. It took a long time to get here, but…I dunno – I think Ron’s better at it than me.”
Hermione furrowed her brows, frowning at him. “What do you mean?”
Harry shrugged, pulling her a little closer in the movement, “I mean – he’s accepted it and moved on better than I have. And I’ve accepted his apology, and we’ve gotten on fine, it’s just…”
Harry quieted, becoming lost in himself, and shook his head free from whatever he’d been distracted by. “Whatever. Maybe it’ll be better, now. Do I get to see your shop?”
Hermione blinked, looking abruptly up at her bookshop that they’d approached entirely too quickly. “There’s not much to look at, but – sure. D’you need to get back to Ron and Malfoy?”
“I’ve had to deal with them for two years,” Harry intoned, “They can survive one night without me.”
Hermione laughed, unlocking the shop door and stepping inside. With a flick of her wrist, the fairylights that she’d placed along the coving glowing brighter. She watched as Harry released her, maneuvering inside and taking it all in. While she’d placed shelving throughout the space, each with dedicated genres and categories and divided into age ranges, she’d also carved out a space near the bay windows that looked out into the village for seating. Soft couches and cushions reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, with wingback chairs and a small contained fire pit in the center for winter months.
She watched Harry appreciate the space, his gaze alighting on details that she’d tucked away for herself. The small painting of a Hungarian Horntail that would magically fly from the children’s section was now snoozing along the wall bordering the cash register, looking awfully similar to the one they’d rode out of Gringotts. The twisting and turning vines that spread along the tops of the bookshelves. The record player that she’d set behind the counter for herself, the small collection growing underneath.
While Harry took it all in, Hermione quietly adapted her wards to allow him entry at any time. With a quiet breath exhaled, she knew that he felt the snap of it at the same time that she had.
“This is…” Harry murmured, glancing around at all of it, turning in a circle before his gaze landed on her. He seemed reflective, quiet, and both entirely too distant as well as overwhelmingly present. “This is so you.”
Hermione grinned, perched on the arm of a wingback chair, feeling flushed and pleased as he smiled at her. “Thank you, Harry.”
“I only wish I had been here to help you get started,” he admitted, his hands back in his pockets, looking around once more – or perhaps looking away from her.
“I just wish you’d been here at all,” she stated quietly, giving a soft smile when he turned to her again, quickly returning it. “I really have missed you.”
“I’ve missed you,” Harry sighed, approaching her and pressing his forehead to her shoulder, bending nearly in half to do so.
Hermione tipped her head against his, feeling him sigh and relax, before his arms wound around her. She hummed, winding her arms around his neck, and settled there.
The two remained like this for a good, long while. Hermione hadn’t ever been so relaxed, she feared she could’ve fallen asleep there against him, listening to his breathing.
Eventually, however, Harry yawned so loudly that she heard his jaw crack, and she settled some distance between them as she laughed.
“Go home,” she insisted, smiling up at him fondly as she brushed aside his hair from his face, “Get some rest, alright? I’ll see you soon.”
“How soon?” he asked, rubbing sleep from his eye as he quirked a smile back at her.
“We can plan something after you get some sleep,” she promised, taking his face in her hands and pressing a light kiss to that troublesome lightning shaped scar. “You know where to find me.”
She sent Harry on his way begrudgingly, ascending the stairs from her shop to her flat above.