Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hermione kept staring out the window at the back garden.

“A watched tree doesn't sprout owls,” her mother advised. “And you'll hurt your neck if you keep straining it round like that.”

“Well, you wouldn't let me face the backyard,” Hermione complained.

“We hoped you would stop thinking about waiting for your OWL results,” her father said, “long enough to eat your breakfast. You've always done well in your exams before. There's no reason to think this time will be any different.”

“But these are the second most important ones I'll ever take,” she said, dropping her gaze back to her pancakes. The butter had melted, making them soggy, but she picked up a piece anyway and shovelled it into her mouth. It still tasted good. The texture wasn't awful from sitting in melted butter. She swallowed. “I don't think I've failed, but some of the teachers are awfully strict about who they'll take into their classes. What if my extra credit in the practicals wasn't enough?”

“Your teachers have told us before that you don't need to do extra credit,” her father said.

“You've spoken to my teachers?” Hermione said, baffled. “How? When?”

“Hermione... I'm related to one of them, and he's married to another.”

“...Oh yes. Uncle Hector and Aunt Felicity.”

“And the others have written to us about what a pleasure it is to teach you, and how glad they are about the results from all the students in your study group.”

“Are you going to rejoin the dramatics club, since you have an entire year before the NEWTs?” her mother asked. “I think you should relax this year, perhaps date. You never mentioned anything about dating this year.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, blinking in surprise. “Well, no one's ever asked me.”

“You could try asking someone yourself, dear.”

“She doesn't have to,” her father said quickly. “She doesn't have to date. Hermione can stay single the rest of her life. She doesn't need the financial support. She's our only daughter. She can adopt children or pets if she wants to be a mother.”

“Dan,” her mother said, meeting his eyes. He slumped in his chair, poking at his pancakes with a doleful expression. “Now, Hermione, did you read that book I gave you?”

“You'll have to be more specific, Mum. I have a lot of books, and you gave me many of them.”

“The one on puberty.”

“Oh yes, you gave that to me when I was ten, and I read it right away. I understand more of it now, and I lent it to some of my friends at Hogwarts, since they seemed rather clueless and alarmed when their menses began. Some of the boys were equally clueless, so I lent it to them as well. Neville didn't like the thought of Florence going through it, but it's better that he knows ahead of time. I'm glad I was better prepared than most.”

“She lent it to the boys she goes to school with, oh God,” her father muttered into his hands, having stopped eating his breakfast altogether. Hermione looked at him with concern, but her mother snapped her fingers to regain her daughter's attention.

“Good, I'm glad to know you're spreading important information,” she said. “Have you also spoken to the school matron about how witches and wizards prevent pregnancy and the spread of disease?”

“Oh, you mean from...” Hermione blushed fiercely. Her mother nodded, and her father groaned despairingly. “Uh, no, I haven't done that yet. Perhaps I ought to write to her during the summer. I wonder if Flourish and Blotts has any books on it? I'll write to Madam Pince as well, ask her if the Hogwarts library has any useful books.”

“I want to make sure you know everything you need to know, since you go to a co-ed school.”

“Mum!” Hermione said, horrified and scandalised.

“Emma,” her father pleaded, looking at her between his fingers.

“You're almost seventeen, and that's considered an adult in the magical world, isn't it?” she said.

“Yes,” Hermione said.

“You may have two years of school left, but I would rather you spend them at school instead of raising my first grandchild.”

“Mum,” Hermione mumbled, her cheeks aflame.

An owl saved her life by hooting loudly from the tree outside. Hermione bolted from the table, her mind suddenly consumed with the thought that it may be her OWL results. Emma continued eating her pancakes, Dan gave her a sullen look, his appetite gone, while Hermione beetled out the back door, barely remembering to change into appropriate shoes in time, and dashed to the owlery built into their large tree. She found a haughty-looking owl there, helping itself to the water dish but ignoring the owl food. She detached the letter from its leg, and then it hopped out of the owlery and took off again, before she could say 'thank you'.

Clearly a Ministry of Magic owl. They never had time for food or pleasantries. Also, she recognised the coat of arms on the seal.

Hands fumbled to open the envelope as she returned indoors, nearly dropping it as she closed the door and then kicked off the shoes, then put her slippers back on and her shoes back in place. Her mother finally removed the envelope from her hands and pointed at the dining table. Hermione hung her head as she returned to finish breakfast, her father finishing alongside her, and then she was given the envelope back, neatly opened by her mother with a letter opener.

“Well, go on, tell us how badly you did,” her mother said, with a hint of the Holmes sarcasm. Her father began to collect the dishes while Hermione pulled out the parchment with her results.

“What if I did fail?” Hermione whispered.

“What is the likelihood of that, realistically?” her mother asked. “Use your brain, Hermione.”

“Realistically? Zero point five percent chance. The point five is in case there has been a mix-up with someone else's results.”

“You have told us before that even those who were unlikely to pass managed to make it to the next grade with you. Try again.”

“Yes, but they're all Purebloods,” Hermione said.

“And you told us they were in-bred,” her father said, returning from the kitchen to stand beside his wife. “Which is why they're not as powerful as those like you and Harry, and Harry's mother, who was reportedly very clever. So try again.”

“Alright... I won't have failed. I still may not have done as well as I'd like, in Defence, for example, or perhaps Divination. I don't have natural talent for them. Same with Herbology.”

“But you study in a group with those who do have natural talents in those subjects, and learn from them. You have brilliant professors in those subjects. Do you believe they slacked off in their teaching, either the professors or your friends?”

“No!” Hermione said, quick to defend them.

“So...” her mother said.

“So I should have done fairly well,” Hermione said, opening her results. She still shut her eyes again at once, breathed deeply a few times, and then opened her eyes again. She looked over the letters, and had to remind herself that it was an O, not a zero. Her heart fluttered in relief. “An Outstanding in all of them, even Defence and Divination.”

“There you are, see?” her mother said. “Now, I have a complex surgery to perform today, and your father has ordinary practice hours. We'll be leaving soon. Do you have plans for today?”

“I still don't have my supplies list yet,” Hermione said. “It won't be long now that the results are out. I'll make plans to visit Diagon Alley with the others once the list comes. I'll...” She recalled the earlier conversation and reddened again. “I'll write to Madam Pomfrey and Madam Pince.”

“Good girl,” her mother said. “Can you load the dishwasher while we go upstairs?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

It was a hideously difficult task writing to the two women at Hogwarts about such a tricky subject, but Hermione made notes first and then wrote the letters. She called for one of the house elves from Hogwarts, who was happy to visit Hermione and take the letters back for her. Hermione apologised for any pains taken, but since there was so little for the elves to do while the students were on holiday, he was eager for the opportunity to have an extra chore. He offered to make lunch for Hermione, or to clean for her, but she assured him that she would likely go out and have a meal somewhere, and that too great a trace of magic at her house may be detected by the Ministry of Magic. She thanked him for the offer, though, and sent her best wishes back to the elves at school.

Hermione had already completed her summer homework, and decided to walk to the shops, her mother's breakfast conversation niggling at the back of her mind. It was so strange. Why should she suddenly start dating anyone, just because OWLs were over? Or at all? It would be odd to date someone for a year, then stop because of NEWTs. Unless her mother thought it would be good to practise on someone, and then only seriously date a person after Hogwarts.

Did her parents think she should find a Muggle to date and marry? Didn't they realise she would live much longer, and should therefore find another magical person?

But then, with their parental love for her, and their loyalty, they were overlooking one thing: no one would ever like Hermione in that way. She'd always been the odd one at school. They'd made fun of her bushy hair, her buck teeth – fixed by Madam Pomfrey by degrees in first year, while Hermione was studying healing spells with her, so everyone thought she simply 'grew' into her teeth – and her preference for reading books. She was also awkward with people, she knew. Her hair may be under control thanks to Sleekeazy's, and her teeth a normal size thanks to Madam Pomfrey and magic, but she wouldn't change her personality for anyone. She could be polite, thanks to the combined efforts of her father and Mycroft.

But she was intelligent. She was a bookworm. She wasn't going to dumb herself down or stop reading books to please anyone, let alone some boy.

She knew the type of girls that most boys liked. They liked sporty girls like the ones who played Quidditch, and could talk about their favourite teams. They liked girls with blonde hair like Hannah Abbott and Luna Lovegood (though some tried to bully Luna at first, until Hermione threatened to Summon the tongues right out of their skulls for daring to say a bad word about her; the bullying stopped overnight and her stolen things were returned with stammered apologies). Boys liked girls who could flirt and flatter, rather than correct their wand-work and spell pronunciation.

They didn't like girls who offered to lend them Brontë or Milton, or asked their favourite Auden poem. They didn't like girls who could turn studying a single historical magical event into a philosophical discussion about how Muggles came to perceive centaurs so incorrectly, and whether it was right to Obliviate the witnesses and delay the discovery of dinosaurs bones for another hundred years.

Unless that girl was pretty like Daphne, twirling her hair around her finger while she sat bathed in the light from one of the library windows. Or Lavender, blithely asking what a dinosaur was, and listening with interest as Justin told her about the natural history museum, before proposing they all visit during the next holidays.

Hermione knew what she looked like. She had dull brown hair, dull brown eyes, and ordinary white skin. She didn't have a beautifully tan or olive complexion, she wasn't an English rose, she wasn't ethereally pale. She didn't have stunning blue (or green eyes), or even piercing grey ones which could look right through a person. She didn't have black or fair hair, one of the rarer colours, nor red like the Weasley family, the rarest colour. She didn't stand out. She had no cute freckles, no birth marks to make her unusual. No scar like Harry, or glasses.

She was the perfect nonentity. She could easily be lost in a crowd. She had often been compared to Aunt Kestry, who would have made a perfect spy, blending into the background, had she not preferred to be a mechanical engineer instead. Hard to say whether she would have lived longer.

So really, when you thought about it... who would want to date Hermione?

It was a bit hectic at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius was double-checking to make sure he had packed the right projects to take to the Royal Lancashire Show, for the craft exhibit. Harry was staying home this time, in case his OWL results didn't arrive before they left, although Kreacher could always take him there if he changed his mind. But Harry had a lot to think about; they'd had their career talks at Hogwarts that year, and he was still mulling over what he wanted to do once he left school. As some of the others pointed out, being longer-lived than Muggles meant that they could switch career tracks if they wanted to at any point, with little to no fuss.

Harry had wanted to do what his parents had done, but they'd barely had time to do anything, with the war on, then having a child at twenty years old, and dying only a year later. Remus advised him to do what made him happy, so it wouldn't feel as much like work. Being with his friends made Harry happy, but he couldn't make a job out of that. Flying made him happy, so he supposed there was always playing Quidditch, if a professional team was interested in him. He wasn't sure what Hermione would think of that; she wasn't interested in sports, and only showed up to support her friends; she didn't own a single book on sports, but she did on nearly every other subject.

Not that he should consider Hermione's opinion on what he should do with his life. But he did. It mattered more than... well, than he liked to admit. It mattered more than anyone else's opinion, yet when he asked what she thought he should do, she merely said 'It's your life, Harry, it's up to you what you should do with it', which wasn't helpful.

Everything had changed since the night Remus was cured of being a werewolf. Harry was sure that if he hadn't snapped at Hermione, she'd have more of a say in what he should do. She'd at least tell him to write a list of pros and cons, or something like that. Or she'd have a book on how to choose your ideal career and make him read it.

They may have made up near the end of first year, but it was like there was some kind of wall between them still. Not a real wall, but like one of those paper walls in Japanese houses he'd seen pictures of, that should be easy to tear through, but it would be rude to do so. They were there for a reason, and shouldn't be touched. Or maybe a door. It could be opened, but neither of them would open it. Harry had slammed it shut in the first place, and Hermione left it there, not daring to touch it, or even look in its direction, for fear she'd offend Harry.

But he wasn't delicate like paper. He'd survived the Dursleys, and never had to go back to them thanks to her cousin Mycroft. Yet, while they were still friends, she'd become closer to the other girls in Ravenclaw, to Neville and Justin, to Michael and Terry in particular after that night. She would sit next to Harry at the Ravenclaw table sometimes, but wouldn't automatically pass him his favourite foods. He had to ask, or reach for himself.

Well. She'd forgiven him, but he'd hurt her, and she wouldn't leave herself vulnerable like that again. He didn't know what to do, and no one seemed to have any advice for it.

“Hermione's the forgiving sort.” Oh yes, then why did she still behave coldly to those who'd bullied or insulted her in first year, like Draco Malfoy or Ron Weasley? “She'll forget about it.” It had been four years and things hadn't gone back to normal. Her memory was exceptional; she wasn't going to forget without a serious bout of amnesia or Obliviation, and he wouldn't wish either of those on her. “You have plenty of other friends, you don't need her.” But he did need her. More than that, he wanted her.

He wanted her very much. She was the first person he thought of when he woke up in the morning, whether he'd had nightmares or good dreams, or dreamt nothing at all. She was often the last person he thought of at night, remembering the times he'd seen her during the day. He'd think about flying above her in his Animagus form, while she raced below, her bushy tail flowing out behind her, a reddish-brown blur against the green grass. He'd think about just the two of them sitting in a corner of the library, or the common room, or under a tree by the lake, reading quietly together while Crookshanks lazed in a sunbeam and Hedwig dozed on Harry's shoulder, or somewhere up high. Maybe Hermione would have her book on her lap, turning with one hand and occasionally playing a couple of notes on her kalimba.

At least she still played it. Maybe she just liked it too much to hide it away or get a new one. That was the one thing giving him hope. They still exchanged presents; she usually gave him refills for his broomstick cleaning kit or some art supplies, since he'd come to enjoy art, but nothing more personal than that. He'd been back to her family's house for Christmas that year; Neville was supposed to, but then his mother had been pregnant and given birth, and they wanted to spend that Christmas together with the new baby. Hermione had taken a friend each year, and since everyone else had plans by then – the baby had been a whole month early – Harry had offered to go, if she wouldn't mind. Since Remus was married to Sirius's cousin Nymphadora Tonks, he asked if Sirius could come along as well, and Hermione was happy to extend the invitation, since she knew that Sirius and Uncle Rudy got along well.

Hermione's family was kind to him, as they always had been; they mustn't have known about the fight, or whatever to call it. Sirius was the life of the party, and gave handmade gifts to everyone, and purchased extra presents they went shopping for at the last minute. They spent the evening with Kreacher to make up for neglecting him during the day, but Kreacher was happy to have plenty of time to himself to clean.

It still didn't feel the same, and Harry got the distinct feeling that both Mycroft and Sherlock knew something was wrong between him and Hermione, though Hermione spent so much time talking to her family that he didn't know how they knew. Of course she was going to talk to the people she didn't see the whole year, and so was he. Quiston took pity on him, telling him about something called Internet Explorer and Microsoft Windows 95. When one of his gifts turned out to be a book from Sherlock on something called Java, he grew excited.

“Do you want to travel there one day?” Harry asked. He was fairly certain Java was a place. But the book didn't look like a travel guide.

“This isn't the island of Java,” Mycroft said.

“Oh,” Harry said, confused.

“It's a new programming language,” Quiston said, and he flipped through the book to show Harry, buzzing as they both sat cross-legged on the floor, despite now being teenagers. Honestly, it looked like gibberish to Harry. Quiz was going to learn that?

“Good luck,” he said, wide-eyed.

“This is going to be so fun,” Quiston said, hugging the book to himself.

“Knew it would be right up your alley,” Sherlock said, tilting his head. He was out of school by now, attending university in Cambridge. Harry wasn't sure which university was supposed to be better; but Emma had told him that because Mycroft went to Oxford, Sherlock settled on Cambridge to be contrary, and to ensure there were no comparisons between any professors they might have risked having in common. Even though Mycroft had studied government and politics, while Sherlock studied chemistry and biology.

Where would Hermione have studied, if she hadn't ended up at Hogwarts? Harry knew she would be the type to go on to further education, perhaps get a doctorate one day, or go even further, if there was something past a doctorate. She'd collect as many degrees as she could, if it didn't cost so much money, because she liked to learn so much.

Back in the present, he sipped his tea while Sirius bustled back in the kitchen.

“Okay, everything's definitely packed,” he said.

“And you can send Kreacher back if you're missing anything,” Harry said. “Have fun. Say hello to the ladies for me.”

“Polly's granddaughter will probably be there again this year, she clearly fancies you,” Sirius reminded him. “Are you sure you don't want to come?”

“Just because someone fancies me doesn't mean I fancy them back,” Harry said.

He remembered when Penelope had been rehearsing a monologue for dramatics club a year or so ago, and Harry wasn't sure what she was talking about, but it was from Jane Austen. Hermione had told him the whole speech basically boiled down to that: just because a charming man likes a woman doesn't mean she has to like him back or be charmed by him like everyone else. He didn't know which of the books it was, but after having it explained, he understood the speech better when Penelope was rehearsing it quietly in the common room.

“Isn't there anyone you fancy at Hogwarts?” Sirius asked. “You talk about the girls you play sports with. You complain about the Weasley girl, I know, and of course there are the girls in your year in Ravenclaw, especially Hermione.” Harry blushed. “Oh... is it Hermione? I wouldn't blame you in the least. You've known her the longest.”

“Well, we... we had a falling-out, you know... when Remus was cured. We've sort of never gotten past it. Not really. Things are better, but they're not back to the same way they were. And yeah, we went to the Holmes's place for Christmas last year, but things were different.”

“You're teens now, Harry, not kids, and you were studying for major exams,” his godfather said, leaning on the back of one of the chairs. “Look, as a lifelong bachelor, I'm probably not the best to talk about this... and I'm just about to head off to Lancashire. My mother definitely isn't the person to talk to about this, nor is Kreacher. Maybe you should talk to Remus and Tonks? Remus had all those self-esteem issues and Tonks had to get past them. Or, here's a radical idea... you could try talking to Hermione. She's not only the most relevant person, she's also the smartest person I know, aside from Remus. You'll have to talk to someone while I'm gone. Remus will check in on you. I'll be back in a few days.”

“I know, Padfoot. I'll be fine.”

“Right you are, Silkwing. Take it easy.”

“Good luck with the crafts, Sirius.”

Sirius ruffled his hair, then headed out. Once the front door was closed, Harry sighed. He finished his toast, then Kreacher brought in the mail.

“Letter for you, Master Harry,” he said.

“Thanks, Kreacher. Looks like it might be the OWL results.”

“Oh, and just after Mr Black is being gone,” Kreacher said, frowning.

“It's bad timing, that's all,” Harry said. “Sirius can wait until he gets back. I'm not that worried about my results. I can't change them, whatever they are. I did my best. If my best wasn't good enough, that's my own fault. If they're any good, that's thanks to being part of a good study group.”

Kreacher cleared the breakfast dishes while Harry opened the envelope. He received an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts, to his relief. He was taking Muggle Studies, not that it was enough to keep up with Quiston, and he took Care of Magical Creatures, since Luna and Hagrid made it sound so interesting. He also took Divination, but feared the other electives would be too difficult for him. He quite liked learning tarot and palmistry, and didn't mind reading tea leaves. The sheer number of ways to potentially read the future was staggering, though he hadn't been accepted to be taught by the centaurs. Hermione had; perhaps they could tell how eager she was to learn everything? Either way, she had an amazing capacity for picking up different ways to interpret 'the signs'.

Well, in most of his subjects he'd received either Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations, with an Acceptable for Divination. He sighed. He knew he'd stumbled, getting some of the zodiac signs in the wrong order during the exam; he had checked later and knew he'd got at least a quarter of them wrong when placing them in the calendar, both traditional zodiac and Chinese zodiac. This was his third year of studying Divination! Then, during the practical, he'd had to give a tarot reading and a palmistry reading, of two strangers brought in for the examination, and got so flustered by one of the strangers having the same hair as Hermione that he'd gotten the tarot cards mixed up and read them in the wrong order. Then he'd gotten the life and love lines wrong when doing the palm reading, and forgot to check if the person was right or left handed; he was left handed, which made a difference to the reading.

So yes, all his homework during the year couldn't quite save him, though it was still a passing mark; and he should be happy with the rest of his results. He just couldn't help blushing in shame when he remembered his Divination exam. Perhaps he should give up that elective? He had the two others, and maybe he could take an extracurricular instead? Or focus on Quidditch, if he was going to make that his career. He could start taking healing lessons from Madam Pomfrey; that would be useful, for healing himself and other players.

There was no point exchanging a mass number of letters about OWL results; they had agreed that back in first year. Results could be shared in Diagon Alley or at school, or if they had a sleepover at Justin's place. Or at a birthday party, since both Neville and Harry had birthdays during the hols, usually hosted at Neville's place, since it had more room than Grimmauld Place. The Muggleborns would usually stay overnight, while the rest would simply floo back the next day to celebrate Harry's birthday. Their group had grown over the years. Fred and George would no longer join them, now they were opening their store. They had, however, invited everyone to help them set up the shop, which had been done by late June, well before results were sent out. They were rewarded by the twins treating them to ice cream at Florean Fortescue's.

Now that results were out, Hogwarts letters would be sent with supplies lists. Harry waited until Sirius was back from Lancashire, with a few more ribbons to add to the wall opposite his mother's portrait. Walburga was pleased, praising him to the heavens. Then Sirius unpacked, and joined Harry in the living room.

“Do you think I should give up Divination?” Harry asked. “I don't think I'll ever use it, and I think taking up Healing would be more practical.”

“It's certainly practical, and a useful everyday skill to have whatever career path you take after Hogwarts,” Sirius said. “The number of times Remus had to patch one of us up while we were mucking about, or Snivellus got the better of us, I've lost track... yeah, it would be handy. You could write to Pomfrey, ask if she's still offering lessons, and what you might need to study to catch up. If it's still a subject.”

“She was teaching Hermione some things back in first year, but I'm not sure she teaches actual classes,” Harry said, frowning.

“Ah... well, to be an actual Healer you have to be doing Potions, Charms... probably Herbology, Transfiguration... maybe Defence? Not sure. You'd have to recognise a lot of injuries and be able to treat them the right way, or you could make things worse. You've got high enough marks to go into pretty much anything, and Remus thinks you could be a good Auror or Hit Wizard. You could be a Curse-Breaker, too, if you put your mind to it. You don't need Divination for any of those.”

“I still think I'd be happiest playing Quidditch,” Harry said.

“You're the best damn seeker I've ever seen, an even better flyer than your father was,” Sirius said, with a fond smile. “You could go professional, certainly. It wouldn't be a forever kind of career; most professionals tap out in their thirties or forties. Even without a career-ending injury. You could still be a coach or commentator, maybe a sports writer for News For You. You could take over from Hooch one day, train the next generation of Quidditch players. You don't have to give up the sport just because you no longer play professionally.”

“I guess,” Harry said, picking the skin around his nails. He hadn't done that since leaving the Dursleys behind forever. “I keep thinking about what Hermione would say.”

“She'd want you to be happy, wouldn't she?” Sirius said gently. “That's the girl I know. I've... been thinking about what you said, before I left. We'll head in to Diagon Alley the day the twins' shop opens; I think everyone will probably do that. We'll also have to co-ordinate with Neville about your birthday parties. But Hermione will be at both parties; she never misses them. She has one cousin before that, doesn't she?”

“Yeah, Sherlock's just a couple of weeks before me, and his mother a week after.”

“So she's got a lot of birthday parties around then. But after that, her schedule will clear up. She'll have done her homework by now, right?”

“She always gets it done early,” Harry confirmed, nodding.

“Which means she'll be bored for much of August. I'll check the family library, see if there's a book she's not likely to have, something which might interest her.”

“She's been through the library here before, Sirius.”

“But I've added to it from the family vaults,” he said. “And all curses have been removed by the goblins themselves, using her tonic. So they'll be safe for her to handle. She might find something to spark a new project in one of them. Invite her to come over. Then suggest you can take her out for lunch while I'm working on something complex, can't be disturbed. The two of you go out on a date, somewhere public where she can't make a scene. You two can hash things out or just have a nice date. Either way, you'll get to spend time with her.”

“It sounds like a trick,” Harry said.

“I'm the last person in the world to want to trick Hermione,” Sirius said, hand over heart. “I'm also the first person in the world to want her to join the family. Don't disappoint me, fledgling.”

Harry threw a cushion at him.

Sherlock was disgruntled about all the fuss. Surely next year they should fuss for his twenty-first birthday, not his twentieth? But his parents still thought they should celebrate his birthday for some reason, and had invited the family, since he still didn't have friends. He'd considered Mike Stamford for a brief moment, then decided against it. He wasn't going to risk alienating the one person at university willing to tolerate him – aside from a few select professors – by exposing him to Mycroft, on the off-chance his brother showed up. Mike had somehow escaped being taken to a warehouse and threatened; that was as good as it could get.

He heard familiar footsteps, and relaxed when they weren't his brother's. Quiston and Uncle Sam were already there, mostly talking with his father while Sherlock scraped away tunelessly on his violin and staring out the window. He hated being the centre of attention when he'd done nothing to earn it, aside from being born. That was his parents' fault, and the achievement of labour was due to his mother and the medical people who kept the two of them alive; he shouldn't be celebrated on this day just because he'd remained alive the last twelve months.

“Sherlock!” Hermione exclaimed, hurrying up to him. She stopped, crossed her arms and tapped her foot until he safely set the violin aside, then launched herself at him. She didn't hug for too long, aware that he was uncomfortable with such displays, but squeezed him enough to show her affection, then let go. She still only came up to his chest; it made him feel oddly protective.

She parked herself beside Quiston on one of the ottomans, and they began chatting about her school friends, who'd been asking after him. Aunt Emma distracted Sherlock by hugging him warmly and kissing him on the cheek, while Uncle Dan patted him on the back. They both surrendered him soon enough, and retreated to a couch. Perhaps Mycroft was bringing Uncle Rudy? Their uncle was working on a new collection at the moment, and couldn't always be spared for birthdays, but he did try to make the younger generations' birthdays when he could.

“Presents are on the table, lunch is nearly ready,” his mother said. “Sherlock, stop looking so displeased. I'm sure Mycroft and Rudy will be here in time.”

“I don't care—” Sherlock began, but his mother was out of the room again, and he sighed. He looked at Hermione. “Did well in all your subjects, then, Hermia? Good to know you're upholding the family honour.”

“She still panicked, thinking she might have failed, until then,” Uncle Dan said.

“She gets that from your side of the family,” Sherlock said. “Our side doesn't lack confidence.”

“No, our side could use a little more humility,” Aunt Emma said, raising a brow, and Sherlock looked at his shoes.

“Yes, Aunt Emma,” he mumbled.

“How is Cambridge, Sherlock?” Hermione asked. “Are you and Mycroft both trying to convince Quiz which one is the superior university?”

“Perhaps he'll surprise us all and go overseas to study,” Uncle Samuel said.

“He might graduate early, like Aunt Kestry,” Sherlock said.

“I might not go to university at all,” Quiz pointed out. “I doubt the professors can teach me more than I can learn myself through practical experience.”

“Or perhaps he'll follow in Jim Hacker's footsteps and go to the LSE,” Uncle Dan joked.

“Over my dead body,” Mycroft said, following Uncle Rudy into the room, just as there was a call for lunch to begin.

“Oh, now that's tempting,” Sherlock said.

“Don't you start,” his father said. “Can't you two behave for family occasions?”

“It's the only time we see each other,” Mycroft said, while Rudy outlandishly air-kissed Sherlock on both cheeks and then swept Hermione and Quiston into a hug. “How else are we meant to behave?”

“Nicely, for your mother's sake.”

“I'll help Aunt Olivia,” Hermione said. “I'm sure she needs an extra set of hands.”

“And I'll help you... help her,” Quiston said, following hot on her heels, leaving the adults to sort out Sherlock and Mycroft.

While sitting in the garden after lunch, Hermione was quiet while perched on the fence, Sherlock and Mycroft at a distance while they smoked.

“I don't like that Father's going away again,” Quiston said. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

“When's he leaving?” Hermione asked.

“Not `til I'm back at school; he has to train with some new weapons, and also learn a new identity, which means deep cover. I know I'm old enough to stay home on my own, technically, and there'll be agents watching the house. But what if someone's out to wipe out the whole family? What if they started with Mum, and then they go after him, and then... then...”

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. She really wasn't good at this comforting thing; none of them were. But she'd learnt a bit from watching her friends.

“Uncle Sam's been doing this for years, longer than we've been around,” she said. “And Mycroft controls everything. If something goes wrong, he'll be one of the first to know. There... there have always been dangers. Besides, we still don't know that Aunt Kes... that what happened to her wasn't an accident. It might have been. She worked with explosives all the time. It could have happened to anyone. If it was deliberate, the person would have been caught. They wouldn't keep a saboteur in the service. That would be suicide.”

“I know, but...” He looked at her, his eyes wet, even as he blinked the moisture back.

“But your brain's telling you silly things,” she said. “It's being irrational. It happens. We're human, even if we're descended from the Holmes family. We're lucky enough that we only have half the genes, and only through the more sensible female lines.”

“Yes,” he said, lips trembling as he tried to smile.

“And if anything happened, we'd never leave you out to dry. You'll always have our family. If anything happened to my parents, I know you and Uncle Sam would take me in. If something happened to both our parents, Uncle Siger and Aunt Olivia would take us in. And if that fails, there's Mycroft, or my friends. My friends are your friends, too.”

“You have very strange friends,” Quiston said.

“Well, I was always a bit odd, but at least I wasn't as bad as Eurus,” she said. They both grimaced, and glanced over to make sure that Sherlock wasn't close enough to hear their conversation. He still didn't remember his sister. “It makes sense my friends would be odd as well, doesn't it?”

“Yes, I suppose. Like seeking like.”

“Birds of a feather.”

“Quite. So. Are you going to bring any of them home as a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

She sighed.

“Did Mum put you up to this?” she asked. “Do I have 'hormone-addled teenager' tattooed on my forehead for all of you to start ganging up on my like this?”

“I think she must have been talking to my dad, because he asked me about it,” Quiston said, “so I thought to ask you. There must be endless idiots at your school. Of course, if it's so special and exclusive, it's possible that they're all as socially incompetent as everyone else in our family.”

Hermione laughed out loud at that. If he only knew...

“No, I haven't dated anyone,” she said. “I haven't thought to ask anyone to Ho... to go with me to the local village. That's the usual sort of date. But then I'm usually manning our craft stall part of the day, then doing group things with my friends. I'm not terribly familiar with anyone outside of my friend group; anyone I like well enough, I invite into the group. It's sort of a study group, but I count them as my friends. So... that's it, really.”

“There are no other kids around? No neighbouring schools? No... inter-school sports things where you can meet others your age?”

“Nope,” she said, kicking her legs out. They were now long enough to skim the ground, but Quiston could rest his at an angle, despite being a year younger than her, damn it. Stupid male Holmes genes. “And what's the point when we wouldn't have a chance to see each other again?”

“What about people at school already?” he asked. “No one you fancy?”

“Who does Hermione fancy?” Mycroft asked, as he and Sherlock walked over to join their conversation, i.e. stick their noses in as soon as the potential for gossip cropped up. They sat either side, a somewhat sensible distance apart.

“Why, would you track them down and give them the third degree?” Hermione asked, bristling.

“Is that necessary?”

“No, it isn't!”

“Which means we would either approve, or there is no one she fancies,” Sherlock said, and Hermione blushed, crossing her arms. “Ah. She reddens. Embarrassment. She does fancy someone, and we have met a few of her friends. Whom would we approve of?”

“Definitely Harry,” Quiston said, and Hermione's eyes lowered. Mycroft caught it.

“It's Harry,” he said.

“Oh, leave me alone,” Hermione said, standing to go. Sherlock caught her arm and forced her to sit back down.

“How are you going to nab him?” he asked.

“Mycroft, you can't kidnap him!” she exclaimed. “He's been through enough with the Durs--”

“Not him, you hysterical child, you,” Sherlock said. “How are you going to get Harry interested in you, if he isn't already? He'd be a moron not to be, considering how close you were when he first came here. Though there was last Christmas...”

“Perhaps they were awkward because they already had feelings for each other?” Quiston said.

“Entirely possible, humans are devilishly stupid when it comes to sentiment,” Mycroft observed.

“This cannot be happening,” Hermione muttered, staring straight ahead at the house and mentally begging her parents to rescue her. Would it be awkward if she called for a house elf to come and stun her three cousins? Would Director Bones understand if Hermione explained the situation, or would the Obliviation Squad think it a waste of resources over a bit of teenaged embarrassment?

“If he only sees Hermione as a sister, however, it might ruin things between them,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, thank you very much,” she said indignantly. “I think we could move past such an immature reaction. He's nearly sixteen, I'm nearly seventeen.”

“You'll legally be an adult nearly a whole year ahead of him, tut-tut, dear cousin, what a cradle-snatcher you are,” Mycroft said, smiling smugly when she glared at him, her inner vixen wanting to snarl and perhaps bite his nose. That would get her point across.

“Oh, you'll get yours when you fall in love one day,” Hermione said.

“In love? She's in love,” Sherlock drawled.

Hermione shoved him off the fence with all her might, and he fell arse over teakettle, which made her feel much better as he had to brush twigs, leaves and dirt out of his hair. She didn't care if it was his birthday; he had that coming.

Winky opened the front door of Longbottom Manor, and squealed happily to see Hermione. She took Hermione's hand and led her inside, babbling about the birthday preparations, baby Florence, that Master Neville had remembered to leave the greenhouse and get ready to receive his guests, and they were all meeting in the largest drawing room. Hermione took her present for Neville out of her satchel, and another picture book she'd found in the thrift shop in Crawley recently, to add to Florence's growing collection. She always brought a new book when she visited. Winky showed Hermione to the drawing room, then took her overnight bag upstairs, while Hermione hurried to hug Neville and kiss his cheek, then give him his present to add to the others. Then the was greeted by Alice, who embraced her firmly, Augusta Longbottom, who nodded from her chair, and Frank, who was holding Florence and feeding her from a bottle.

“I brought 'The Saggy, Baggy Elephant',” Hermione said. “It's a classic.”

“I never realised how many classic children's books there were until we met you, Hermione,” Frank said, amused, as Alice flipped through the book, settling beside him, while Hermione sat between Anthony and Lavender on the floor.

Neville never opened his presents until everyone was there, even though he still wasn't used to the attention. Trays of food were passed around, though, and Hermione helped herself to a cracker with salmon. She tried not to stare at Harry, who was towards the other end of the room; she tried not to notice him at all, aside from greeting him the same as she greeted everyone else.

She really could have hexed her family members for all their pointed questions.

The party began once everyone arrived, Su last of all, still recovering from another visit to her grandparents, but eager to join her friends. Neville had opened the gifts from his family that morning, including Winky; Florence had fallen asleep, so Alice put her to bed while Neville began opening the presents from his friends. Hermione had bought him The Day of the Triffids, unsure whether it would encourage or terrify him – perhaps both – as well as some good sports socks in his house colours of yellow and black, since he'd joined the jogging club. She nearly always gave her friends a book and something else as a present; there were just so many good books, especially Muggle ones, to choose from!

“Don't read that one to Florence,” Hermione advised. “She's too young for horror yet.”

“Right,” Neville said, looking down at the book, looking startled. “I won't.”

“Though she wouldn't remember it now, so perhaps it's the perfect time? I think Mycroft was reading Lovecraft to me when I was an infant, and I'm perfectly... uh...”

“I think she can wait until she's at least my age. Thanks, Hermione.”

“Yes, I might not be the best example,” she admitted. She'd taken a volume of Lovecraft short stories to Hogwarts last year, and even those who didn't get around to reading them learnt very quickly what kind of stories they were.

“Now I'm curious about how someone could make plants scary,” Padma said, tilting her head to see the front of Neville's new book.

“I'll bring my copy to Hogwarts, you can borrow it,” Hermione said, while Parvati sat on the chair behind her and began to braid her hair. Neville was still opening gifts and cards. Hannah and Terry helped him organise them neatly on the table so they wouldn't topple over.

“Sirius told me he's never wanted to go to the dentist since he saw a movie about an evil one, and I think there were scary plants in it, too,” Harry said.

“Sounds like Little Shop of Horrors,” Justin said, and the other Muggleborns hummed in agreement.

“But dentists aren't evil, are they?” Terry said, glancing at Hermione.

“My parents aren't,” she said. Though she was fairly certain that Uncle Sam and Mycroft had both taken particularly difficult people to them before when they weren't answering questions the way they should; at least to her mother. Her father was perhaps above that sort of thing. But her mother was probably perfectly willing to extract a cyanide capsule from a tooth before an enemy agent could use it in custody.

“No, Hermione's parents are great,” Harry said.

“Their families are nice, too,” Su added.

“My cousins are rotten and evil,” Hermione muttered.

“Well, on your father's side they were a bit, uh...”

“Bigoted? I noticed.”

“They sucked up to me,” Justin said. “They weren't nice to you, Hermione.”

“Because I'm a girl, not a boy.”

“Ugh,” Alice said, shaking her head.

“I know.”

“But your mother's side were just... interesting,” Justin continued.

“Except when they start analysing you and take it too far. Then it's very tempting to shove the nearest spiky object where the sun doesn't shine.”

Frank choked on his canape. Augusta cast a spell to clear his throat, and he thanked her hoarsely.

“How was Sherlock's birthday?” Harry asked.

“Oh, it was fine, mostly,” Hermione said. “I hope he stays the course with university, but he seems... restless. He's never liked being kept to any kind of schedule. He wants to do whatever he wants, when he wants to do it. He was terrible about it at school, but he still managed to get good academic marks, so he passed well enough to get into Cambridge. It would be a shame to drop out before graduating. But I can tell he just wants to get on with something. Anything. He loves to solve mysteries, but he'd chafe working under someone else, like he'd have to if he worked in the police force. Yet he needs contacts there, like Poirot has, and he can't get those without making friends, which he's never been good at.” She sighed. “Sorry, Neville, it's your birthday, I shouldn't talk about family problems. We should go and look at your greenhouses when you're done, you can show us all your improvements, how everything's growing. How's Trevor?”

“Oh, Trevor's fine, we think another toad or frog made its way into the garden, a female one, we've seen the spawn in the pond. I think I'm going to be a grandfather to a new generation of mini Trevors. Mum and Dad will have to look out for them once we're back at school...”

Once all the gift-opening was done, they moved to have a lunch of salads, cold meats, hard-boiled eggs, cheeses, and spreads with freshly-baked bread. There was punch in a bowl. Everyone helped themselves, sitting around the large dining table, chatting away to their neighbours and across the table, passing plates and bowls up and down. It was noisy but brilliant.

The day passed quickly. They visited the pond, the greenhouses, gossiped about the staff and other students at Hogwarts, compared OWL results – Hermione was ribbed for worrying about whether she'd pass, though some of the other Ravenclaws had also worried about their marks – and played with Florence when she was awake. She was still only taking steps in batches, and found it faster to crawl, but she could be off like a shot. She enjoyed having lots of older brothers and sisters in Neville's friends. She tried to snatch off Harry's glasses, and fussed if she wasn't allowed to play with them. She was easily distracted with conjured lights and animals, however, and they were all trying to teach her different words.

The Half-Bloods and Purebloods left before dinner. Florence ate early, to distract her while they left. After she was burped, she was put down to sleep, Augusta singing to her in the nursery while everyone else retreated to listen to the wizarding radio, talk, or read. Hermione's hair was still braided, and she and Neville were plotting out some new plant hybrids to try in Herbology that year, if Professor Sprout allowed them to. Their alihotsy-dittany hybrid was still growing, but seemed to be yielding better results.

“At one year, we'll have a better idea of whether it's viable, and we'll take cuttings from it to grow independently,” Neville said, as Hermione made notes in one of her spiral notepads.

“I think incorporating a strong-smell herb into a hybrid is still a long way off, but would be a good final step, perhaps for NEWT year,” she said. “Lavender is good for keeping many types of insects away. If we have another drought year, something with high water retention...”

“Yeah, one of the succulents, but there aren't many natives,” he mused. They were sitting back to back, almost head to head, but he'd had a growth spurt and Hermione was still waiting to see if she followed her father's side or if the Holmes gene prevailed. “Starry stonecrop?”

“None of the succulents would crossbreed well with herbs, I'd have thought.”

“Rock samphire already has flowers?”

“They're all rock-based, though. Hmm. Might be able to crossbreed with your tentacula, but it might start throwing stones at people.” Neville chuckled, and Justin looked alarmed at the thought.

“We're not replacing the glass of the greenhouses if you grow a plant which shatters the windows,” Frank said. “That comes out of your own pocket, son.”

“Yes, Dad,” Neville said.

“You might be able to grow different flowers in the rock samphire, though,” Hermione said. “What kind of flowers do we need more of? Which magical ones are rare?”

“Non-poisonous ones, please, Neville, we don't want a visit from Amelia Bones,” Alice said.

“And none of us want to end up in the infirmary again,” Lisa said. Neville winced, remembering his experiment in second term of fourth year. Hermione had convinced Hannah to take her place with Neville, pairing up with Susan instead. Professor Sprout didn't allow it again, convinced that Hermione could somehow keep Neville under control. The truth was, he was so nervous because of his crush on Hannah, and she was so nervous because of her crush on him, that they were useless together, and that's why the whole class ended up in the hospital wing; only Harry's seeker reflexes kept him uninjured, and able to summon help for everyone else. The rest recovered from various burns, cuts, and concussion for the rest of that lesson time in the hospital wing.

“That was one occasion,” Hermione said, in Neville's defence. “Well, I'd be happy if you somehow grew lavender heads out of it, since it's used in the Norboot Tonic.”

“We'll be learning about moly flowers this year,” Neville said. “I don't think the stems or leaves are used for anything.”

“Just because they're not used for anything yet doesn't mean they don't potentially serve a purpose,” Hermione said. “But I agree. They're supposed to be used to break enchantments.” She added them to her list. “If we could decrease their rarity, especially in drought seasons, that would be amazing. Then there's mallowsweet. I know you're keen to use them. I'm not sure if they would lose their power for the centaurs if they were crossbred.”

“What if it made them more powerful?” Justin asked. “Centaurs look to the sky, not the water; if the flowers were grown from a plant which uses less water, maybe it could improve their efficacy?”

“Good point, Justin,” Hermione said, writing this down. “I'll ask next time I have a lesson with Firenze and Magorian.”

“What about fluxweed flowers?” Lisa suggested.

“Yes, we could try them,” Neville said. “They won't be dangerous to remove or crossbreed.”

“It's just the flux nature of them which makes them unpredictable, but I suppose that makes it more interesting to use them,” Hermione said. “That's what we get for working with magic.”

Justin was sharing Neville's room that night, and Hermione and Lisa had a guest room together, both rooms with charms on them to avoid hearing any crying in the night from Florence. Hermione wouldn't have minded chipping in to help with night feeds, if she was shown how to heat up a bottle and change nappies. But she was waved away by Frank and Alice, who still felt they could never repay her for giving them back their minds, a chance to know their son, even this chance at having a second child. Besides, Hermione didn't want Lisa to be disturbed. So she settled down with The Time Machine, which she was re-reading to see if she should take it to Hogwarts, or if it might give her fellow Ravenclaws ideas about building a time machine. Who knows what they might create if they tried to copy the design of the machine in the book? It was bad enough that Time-Turners existed; if they tried to incorporate that technology into something which could go by years, not merely hours, she hated to think of the consequences.

Well... she was also fascinated, but she had the Back to the Future movies in the back of her mind telling her what a bad idea it was.

“It'll be nice to have a less frantic year,” Lisa said, snuggling down into bed with her own book to read. “What are you looking forward to the most about this year, Hermione?”

“I'm not sure,” Hermione said, resting her book against her chest. “Only two years left. I don't want to let my studies slide. I suppose this is the last year to work on friendships, without serious study getting in the way. Perhaps I'll do dramatics club again. I don't know about cooking club; we've started repeating ourselves, partly because of new students, I know. Hagrid's asked me to take on teaching some of the younger students riding. I think that would be a good use of my time, and give me a feel for what it's like to be in more of a leading position.”

“You're already a prefect,” Lisa pointed out.

“Well, a prefect helps more than leads,” Hermione said. “I don't think of myself as a leader. I know I taught Potions in first year for a short while, so I suppose I was leading a bit then. But that was teaching; it's not quite the same thing. Though I suppose this would be teaching as well.”

“Do you want to be a teacher?”

“No! Goodness no. I wouldn't mind having holidays off, but I'd rather keep inventing solutions to problems. Poor Professor Sprout, she was so happy when she got to re-classify those plants, contribute something new to the field. It makes me wonder whether she used to, before she was stuck at school all the time.”

“So what did you decide on for a career?” Lisa asked.

“I haven't really,” she confessed. “I haven't put a title to it. I suppose 'inventor' would be the closest to it, but I don't want to stick to one discipline. I want to create potions, runes sequences. I already have, but I want to keep doing it. 'Innovator', perhaps? There must be more which can be done. If newer broomsticks for professionals can keep being created, then there's no creative limit to what can be done with magic.”

“No, judging by what you and Neville have planned with plants,” Lisa said, smiling.

“Muggles like to create new plants,” Hermione said. “New flowers are being bred all the time, whether it's just different varieties or new species. I've heard of someone who likes to graft fruit trees together so he can grow them from the same tree. It must save space, if you only have so much room in your garden, to have the one tree growing different fruits.”

“Oh, I see,” Lisa said. “It saves space, it saves money--”

“It saves on water, mulch, and because different fruits grow at different times of year, you can always rely on the tree to produce something,” Hermione said. “Yes, you understand now why Muggles do this, and why I got Neville interested in the science of grafting and crossbreeding in the first place.”

“Devious.”

“Thank you.”

“But back to what I was saying,” Lisa said. “You're going to work on making new – or, I should hope, extra – friends this year?”

“And more inventions, yes,” Hermione said. “What will you do?”

“I think I'd like to try dramatics club with you,” Lisa said, and Hermione could tell she was blushing, despite the low lighting in the room. Her cheeks had darkened. “If... could you introduce me to... I mean, only if you know...”

“Are you using dramatics club to get a date?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Lisa! I'm... really the last person to ask about this. Daphne would be much better. I'm the awkward one, remember?”

“Yes, but you're here, and it's easier to ask in the dark,” Lisa said. “Besides, he's only in the group sometimes, and I'm not really sporty, and I'm not in the art group, either, because you know how bad I am at art, but he seems really nice...”

The gears turned in Hermione's head.

“Is it Dean Thomas?” she asked. Lisa groaned, and hid her face under the pillow. “Well, yes, he is nice. He – sort of – helped me to catch Peter Pettigrew in first year. That is, I wrote something in his sketch book because I couldn't risk saying it out loud, and he was very good about the whole thing. He's into football, I think...? I'd have to ask Parvati or Lavender, since they're in Gryffindor. Or you could ask him.”

“Hermione...”

“Alright, I'll ask for you! I see what you mean about dramatics; he paints our scenery, which is why he hangs around when we're deciding on what scenes will be acted. You're handy enough with a needle. Sure you don't want to get into making costumes? Those who work behind the scenes tend to hang out together. I helped with props last year, when I had time, because I felt bad about not joining in otherwise. I also helped paint the backgrounds white so Dean and the other artists had a blank surface to work on. You can at least do that much, it's terribly easy.”

“I'd find a way to mess it up, I know it,” Lisa said, with a hint of misery.

Remembering the explosive day in the greenhouse, when Hannah and Neville worked together, Hermione decided to err on the side of caution.

“Very well. I'll ask the others tomorrow when they're back for Harry's birthday.”

“...Thanks, Hermione. You're a good friend.”

That gave Hermione a warm feeling in her chest.

The next day, the teens 'debated' over who got to help feed Florence at breakfast, but Neville kept out of it since he got to spend more time with her. In the end, Justin fed her, Lisa distracted her so she'd open her mouth and let the food go in, and Hermione cleaned her face afterwards, despite Florence's protests at such undignified treatment. Harry appeared before the rest, Sirius almost bouncing around him with excitement. He greeted Hermione with the most enthusiasm, always happy to see the girl responsible for his release from Azkaban. Florence had been burped, changed, and was dressed for Harry's party, so Sirius swept her up to play with, still a child at heart and reliving his brief days as Uncle Sirius to baby Harry.

“Hi, Hermione,” Harry said, when she brought her present for him to add to the pile forming on the table. “Thanks.”

“Did Sirius wake you early like at Christmas?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “He's more excited about my birthday than his own.”

“Ah, but that's love, isn't it? He's happy to see you growing up. Wasn't he kicked out of his parents' house at your age?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied, glancing at Sirius, who was pretending to dance with Florence. She was wearing a tiny bow in her barely-there hair, and looked around confused at everyone else, not even a year old herself. “Whatever makes him happy.”

“Aren't you happy, Harry?”

He shrugged, but others were coming in then, so Hermione left him to talk to them.

The party went for hours, as they played board games, listened to music on the wireless, had snacks and lunch and birthday cake. Hermione finally managed to corner Lavender and Parvati, who were talking about plans to visit Diagon Alley to get school supplies now that Parvati and Padma were back from India, Su from Japan and Anthony from America.

“I'm hoping to hear back about whether we can study alchemy yet, or if I'll have to continue self-studying,” Hermione said. “In the meantime, I have a favour to ask.”

“Do you want tips on a new hairstyle?” Parvati asked.

“Or new clothes to wear?” Lavender asked.

“No,” Hermione said, and their faces dropped. “I need information. About a boy.” Their faces brightened again. “Dean Thomas.”

“Do you like Dean?” Lavender said, with a sly smile.

Lisa hadn't given Hermione leave to spread information about her feelings, so Hermione couldn't tell them the whole truth.

“This is information-gathering for a friend,” she said. “I know that he's artistic and likes one of the sports teams, I'm not sure which one. But I don't really know much else about him. When we've worked on things for dramatics club, we've mostly talked about whatever we're working on, or what the club is working on, perhaps school gossip. Not personal things. But you're in Gryffindor with him, so what else do you know? Blood status isn't important, obviously. What kind of interests does he have?” She pulled out a notebook a pencil to start writing.

“Uh,” Parvati began, looking startled at her preparedness.

“Ooh, this is important,” Lavender said, delighted.

Five years of school had allowed them time to get to know Dean, and Hermione was surprised by all she didn't know about her schoolmate. He'd gone to Gringotts a couple of years ago and found out that his father, who died when he was young, was a Pureblood named Angus Selwyn, who'd married Dean's mother against his family's wishes, and refused to join the Death Eaters. He'd hidden his wife and child with Dumbledore's help, but was killed shortly after the war ended before he could testify against his own family; they'd thought he'd abandoned them. Dean's mother remarried and she and Dean took on his new step-father's name. Dean had a cadre of younger half-sisters, which is why he was so happy to share a dorm with boys, and also why he got on well with his step-father; it was otherwise a house 'full of females'.

They confirmed that he was a fan of football, specifically West Ham United FC. Hermione had known it was one of those ball-kicking games! He also played Quidditch, which she vaguely recalled from attending some matches; but there were far too many sports matches happening at Hogwarts since Hooch got extra funding, she couldn't attend them all. She had too many of her own projects and clubs to attend to. He played in the position of chaser, initially on the junior team, now expected to the progress to the senior team. He also coached the football team at Hogwarts, rather than playing in it.

“Do you know what type of girl he would be interested in dating?” she asked finally.

Lavender and Parvati looked at each other.

“What kind of girl are you asking for?” Parvati asked.

“Confidential,” Hermione said. “I haven't been told I can tell anyone, sorry.”

“Well, since we're not boys, he hasn't confided that sort of thing to us,” Lavender said with a shrug, “and I don't think he's gone with anyone to Hogsmeade. He's best friends with Seamus Finnegan, who might know more.”

“Right,” Hermione said, finishing her notes. “Thank you. That should be enough to get a conversation going, I hope. There's always school to talk about, but that hardly seems like the right sort of thing to discuss on a date. If he's interested, I may send her along to you for tips, if that's fine with you?”

“Yes!” they said quickly.

“Good. Thank you. Now, when were you thinking of visiting Diagon Alley? It would be nice to get a group together, but I don't think we'd all fit into the shops at once. We'd have to split into groups. A weekday would be best...”

They discussed some times, Hermione noted them down, and decided to ask the others when they would be free, so they could start talking with parents and coordinate a shopping day or two. She would be happy to revisit the alley just to look at Flourish and Blotts, perhaps visit the offices of News For You to see how things were progressing. They would probably all want to go the day that Fred and George's shop opened, but that day would be madness, not fit for normal shopping. Then again, if everyone else thought so, they might keep away and it may end up being the perfect day to shop for school supplies.

Oh, hell's bells. She'd be a prefect with the Weasley twins' joke supplies running amok at Hogwarts, Merlin help her. She'd need a comprehensive list of how to reverse the effects for Madam Pomfrey, and if she had to threaten the twins to get it, she would.

While chatting with Alice and Frank about the more creative threats she could use on the twins, plus the legality of their joke products being allowed at Hogwarts, she felt someone tugging at her arm and turned around. It was Harry, and he didn't look pleased.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked grimly. Alice nodded, nudging Hermione's side.

“Okay, it's your birthday,” Hermione said. “You look a bit upset. It's... is it something about the Dursleys? Have they been let out of jail? I thought Mycroft had sorted it so you never had to go back to them.” Frank let them into the parlour and closed the door. “I can call him as soon as I get home this evening, make sure everything is watertight--”

“It's not the Dursleys, I haven't even thought about them today,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Hermione said, relieved. “Thank goodness. Then I'm sorry I brought them up. You just look so... unsettled, or worried, I thought it must be bad. Did you get an inappropriate present? Was it my present? I thought--”

“Do you have a crush on Dean?”

She blinked. The girls got started gossiping quickly. Really, did they have to turn Harry's birthday party into an opportunity to talk about that, instead of discussing the Diagon Alley trip? They had no sense of priorities.

“Dean Thomas?” she clarified. “I presume this is to do with my conversation with Parvati and Lavender, isn't it?”

“You were talking about another boy at my birthday party,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh, we're only supposed to spend the party talking about you, even when you're talking with other people?” she said drily. “I'll note that down for future reference. Only talk about birthday person at their party, even when they're not without hearing distance and it would count as talking about them behind their back, because otherwise it's rude. Even though talking about someone behind their back is considered more rude.”

“That's not what I mean!” Harry said.

“Then what are you upset about?”

“You having a crush on Dean Thomas!”

“But I don't.”

“Then why do Lavender and Parvati think you do?”

“I told them, I was asking for a friend. I'm not telling anyone who I was asking for because she didn't tell me that I could. I just thought that the only Gryffindors in our group would be able to give me information about Dean because he's a Gryffindor. If he was part of our study group, or one of the other Gryffindor boys was, or one of the other Gryffindor girls, I would have asked them instead. But we have two of the worst gossips at Hogwarts, so I had to risk it. I suppose I could have waited and owled them, but I don't have an owl, and we were talking about Diagon Alley anyway. The sooner I get this information, the sooner I can pass it on, and maybe it can all be sorted before we start back at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Harry said, his cheeks turning red.

“Why does it matter? If I thought you'd have any useful information on him, I'd have asked you, since you do art club together, but you're not the most observant person, Harry. Do you have anything to add to this list I've put together?” She showed him her notes and he studied them, then shook his head.

“No, that's more than even I knew about him,” he said.

“Do you know what kind of girl he'd like to date?” she asked.

“Well... I heard him once say the Patil twins were the prettiest girls at Hogwarts,” he said, scratching his head. “He also said it was a pity Ginny Weasley is stalking me, because she's 'really fit'. His words, not mine.”

“Ginny Weasley doesn't look a thing like Padma or Parvati, which doesn't help,” Hermione said, “and neither of the Patil twins is into Quidditch like the Weasleys are. At least that leaves the options wide open. Good. She may have a chance. If Headmistress Chesterton or Professor McGonagall is willing to pass on a letter to his address, perhaps we could get the ball rolling on this already. Do you think any of our group would mind if he was invited to join us for the trip to Diagon Alley? Then I can begin match-making.”

“Uh... I wouldn't mind,” Harry said. “He's a decent bloke.”

“Good, good. I quite like him, too. Just not in that way. Honestly, Harry. You were acting...” Her eyes narrowed. “Were you jealous? Was this a... a Leontes moment? No.” She shook her head again swiftly. “It can't be. We're still friends. He wouldn't replace that.”

“I wasn't worried about our friendship being replaced,” Harry mumbled.

“Then what?”

“Because... I like you, and... I didn't want you to like him. Like that.”

She stared at him. Was that meant to be a confession? If it was, it was hardly Shakespeare, or anything remotely eloquent. And yet what did Mr Knightley say to Emma?

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

Oh, Harry. Poor, emotionally stunted, orphan Harry, who grew up without the loving example of his parents, with the awful Dursleys, then single Sirius and his mother's portrait and Kreacher, in a co-ed boarding school staffed by mostly unmarried teachers.

He looked at her uncertainly. She ought to reply.

“I like you too, Harry, but... it's hard to know... you said you didn't care, back in first year, and we never really moved past that, it still feels like you were more worried about your falling grades than about my feelings--”

“Hermione, no,” he said, eyes widening in horror. “I felt awful ever since that night. I was so sure I was right, but I saw how much better Remus was doing and knew I was wrong, but... well, I knew what the Dursleys did was wrong, but they never apologised, so I never knew how to say I was sorry either, I always had to tell them I was sorry when I wasn't, just to avoid getting a beating, and I wanted to apologise but I didn't know if it would be genuine, I didn't know what was a genuine apology, not after the Dursleys, no one had taught me--”

“Harry,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Harry, have you seen a mind healer?”

“Sirius says I should, but it seems like I'd have to spend so much time with them, I don't want to give up the things which make me happy, in case it makes me even more miserable than being without you, and I can't stop studying or I'll fall behind and disappoint you, which would be even worse, there's just not enough time in the day...”

Hermione brightened.

“Maybe the Ministry would allow you to borrow a Time-Turner, so you can have at least one mind healing session a week?” she suggested. “Ask Susan's aunt about it. I'm sure she'd arrange it, if you told her what you just told me. It would give you an extra hour or so each time. They're very easy to use, I've heard.”

“Maybe,” he said, shuffling from one foot to the other. “If... if I did, would you... consider going to Hogsmeade with me? Sometime?”

“Oh, Harry,” she said with a smile. “Will you really make me wait until our first Hogsmeade weekend for a date?”

Harry smiled. He stepped closer to her.

“Maybe we could see a movie?” he asked. “Before the summer is over?”

“I'd like that.”

“And we could get a meal afterwards?”

“Yes, please. One of us could pay for tickets, and one of us could pay for the meal. Or we could split both.”

“Okay. Yeah, that'd be great.”

“Okay.”

They couldn't stop smiling at one another. Eventually there was a knock at the door, and Alice stuck her head in.

“Is everything alright?” she asked. “The guests are starting to leave.”

“Oh, has it been that long?” Hermione asked. “I have to make sure my overnight bag is packed and get ready to leave.”

“Winky said she can take you, Lisa, and Justin home.”

“Thank you, Alice, that would be wonderful. It would save a lot of time.”

“We'll be out in a moment,” Harry said.

“Alright,” Alice said with a knowing look, and shut the door again. Harry looked at Hermione with a thoughtful expression.

“You'd have only had the chance to speak to one person overnight,” he said. “It's Lisa who's interested in Dean, isn't it?”

“Shh, you leave her alone, Harry, not a word about it to anyone,” Hermione said. But she was secretly impressed – and happy – that he'd worked it out on his own.

“It'll be our secret,” he said, with a wink, and he left to go and say goodbye to the others, while Hermione went to pack her bag.

She felt a thrill go through her. Harry liked her! And they were going to go on a date.

The summer, and the year ahead, was really starting to look up.