Hermione looked in the mirror before heading downstairs for breakfast. Her eyes were only slightly bloodshot, and the circles underneath weren't as dark as on Monday. She looked a bit washed out in her black robes, but she no longer resembled death warmed over.
She raised her wand to her hair and said 'Domina capilli.' It was satisfying to watch the chaotic frizz resolve into elegant curls, and as usual she wondered about the spell's arithmantic underpinnings. She hoped one of her former professors could tell her more.
Hermione had written to Professor McGonagall on Saturday about the harmful ward she suspected was on Hogwarts—the one blocking their knowledge about the other schools—but she hadn't received a reply. Bill Weasley, on the other hand, had responded straight away and agreed the situation needed urgent attention. They were to meet for lunch later that day.
Upon entering the kitchen she was greeted by her mother. 'There you are, darling. Did you sleep all right? What time did you get in?'
'Good morning, Mum,' she said. 'Where's Dad?'
'He took an emergency client before office hours,' replied Emily. 'Did you have a nice evening with Ginny?'
'Yes, it was good seeing her. She gave me some perspective, having recently gone through a big split herself. Admittedly, she wasn't on the receiving end, but there's a lot that's similar.'
'Did you see the message I took down for you, on the pad next to the telephone?'
'No,' said Hermione. 'I never look there. I can't even remember the last time I received a phone call.'
'Well, someone rang you last night—a young man named Ryan. He said he's one of Harry's teammates.'
Hermione was astonished. 'And he rang me up on the telephone? Did he say how he got my number?'
'He said Harry gave it to him, since his owl couldn't find you.'
'I wonder why Harry didn't just provide my private owl address.'
Emily laughed, 'I asked him something similar, and he said he had so few opportunities to use his telephone skills to reach another wizard that he couldn't resist.'
'I can't blame him,' said Hermione. 'Phones are a lot faster than owls, and you can always leave a message if nobody answers.' She picked up the notepad and saw there was only a name and number. 'Did he say why he was calling?'
'He mentioned getting sushi together,' replied Emily. 'I'm sorry the message is so brief—I was in the middle of making dinner.'
'Oh right, he said on Saturday it was hard to find wizards willing to eat foreign foods. I'd completely forgot about that.' She sighed and added, 'I suppose I needn't worry about packing a sandwich for Ron.'
Hermione poured herself some coffee and put bread in the toaster before sitting down. 'Did he mention Ron as well?'
'No,' said Emily, 'not a peep. What did you think of him? Did he seem nice?'
'Who?' asked Hermione absently. She had started eating some cut fruit that was on the table.
'Ryan, of course.'
'Oh.' Hermione blinked. 'Yes, he seemed nice enough, for an athlete anyway.'
Emily laughed. 'What's that supposed to mean? Isn't Harry an athlete?'
'Yes, but that's different. He's a Seeker, which is probably the least athletic of the Quidditch positions.'
'Don't let Harry hear you say that,' advised Emily.
'I didn't mean it that way,' said Hermione. 'No, I think Ryan's a Chaser. They do a lot of throwing and catching, so he's a good deal taller and more muscular.'
'I'm not seeing a problem here,' smirked her mother.
Hermione looked at her. 'Are you insinuating that he was asking me out on a date? Honestly, I hope he wasn't—last he saw me I was in a serious relationship.'
'Maybe Harry told him you're single now.'
'There's a mortifying thought,' she said, returning to the counter to fetch her toast.
'All you've said so far is that he's tall and muscular. What other horrors are you hiding from me? Please don't tell me he's ...' she paused for effect, 'blond.'
'Mum!' protested Hermione. 'He is blond. Dirty blond anyway, with streaks from the sun.'
'He sounds revolting. Are you willing to be seen in public with him?'
'You're being tedious, Mother. I don't know ... he's not really my type.'
'Yes, I suppose tall, well-built blonds aren't most people's cup of tea.'
'Would you stop already? He just reminded me of the sort of boy I went to primary school with. Popular, good at football.' Her voice got quieter, 'A bit like Errol Reddington.'
Her mother's expression changed. 'Oh.' She was quiet a moment. 'That was a long time ago, sweetheart.'
'I know,' said Hermione. 'But I never exactly got closure, did I?'
'I suppose not,' replied Emily.
Primary school had been very difficult for Hermione. Not academically, of course, but socially. At best she'd been ignored by her peers, and at worst she'd been actively bullied. Errol Reddington had been something of a ringleader.
He'd targeted her for any number of things, but her hair and teeth had always been in the top slots. To make matters worse, he was one of the burgeoning heartthrobs in her year, so his abuse had stung all the more.
It all ended abruptly when she learnt she was a witch and began attending Hogwarts. But she still dreaded running into her former tormentors when she was staying with her parents. Once when she was thirteen she'd been spotted on the high street by Errol and some of his mates, and they'd shouted insults at her.
She knew Ryan couldn't help looking like her former bully, but she remained suspicious of the type. Things generally came too easily to people like that, so she assumed they'd never developed much character. His being a professional athlete only reinforced her opinion.
'I hope you'll at least go out with him,' said Emily. 'It's not his fault who he looks like, and I doubt Harry would have given him your number if he didn't think highly of him.'
'That's true,' admitted Hermione. 'And I am fond of sushi. But I should probably wait a week at least, until I'm less maudlin.'
'How were things at your internship yesterday? Did you manage all right?'
'It was better than I'd expected, actually. I suppose I really am able to throw myself into a project. We're preparing for a big meeting with the goblins on Friday, and I've been tasked with a lot of background research.'
'When you say you were tasked with it, may I assume you mean you threw your hand into the air and eagerly volunteered for it?' asked Emily, wearing a fond smile.
'Now that I'm no longer in school I'm trying to break my habit of raising my hand all the time,' said Hermione, 'but I admit it may have shot up more than once recently.'
'Don't change too much, darling. Your father and I love your enthusiasm.'
After breakfast, she travelled by Floo to the Ministry and took the lifts to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had been excited to work so close to Ron, but now she was nervous she'd run into him.
Hermione was proud to have secured a rare internship with the DMLE—Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt had both recommended her for it. It was for a special task force to improve relations between wizards and non-human magical beings. Currently all non-wizard diplomacy was handled through the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which invariably set negotiations off on the wrong foot. The task force was to explore transferring diplomatic relations to the DMLE.
Although Hermione was hoping to start with house-elves, as she had numerous ideas for improving their treatment, the task force's highest priority was goblin relations. There had been concern that Hermione's ban from Gringotts would prove an insurmountable obstacle, but the Ministry wizard who had negotiated their restitution had a high opinion of Hermione and said it wouldn't be a problem. He maintained that goblins were more than willing to drop grievances in exchange for gold, particularly when future benefit was to be had.
Even though Hermione's research assignment was restricted to past diplomatic efforts between wizards and goblins in Britain and in other countries, she had devoted much of her leisure time to learning about goblin culture and even studying the language. She wasn't required to learn it—nearly every goblin in Britain spoke English—but she couldn't resist the challenge.
She spent the entire morning in the Ministry archives, poring over goblin-wizard legal history and taking copious notes, which she would compile into a report on Wednesday. The hours passed quickly, and before long it was time for lunch with Bill Weasley.
They met at a cafe near Gringotts. Bill greeted her with a big hug and said, 'I'm so sorry things didn't work out between you and Ron. Fleur in particular was looking forward to having you in the family, not least as an ally against my mother.'
Hermione smiled sadly. 'I know. I'm sorry Fleur and I won't share that bond. And I'll miss being part of the family as well.'
'You're still family as far as we're concerned,' he said warmly, and they found a table.
After placing their orders, they turned to the subject at hand. 'I asked my parents about the other schools at dinner on Sunday, and they were as shocked to learn about them as I was. When pressed, Dad was able to dimly recall the names of a couple of schools, but he had a foggy expression as if he'd been Confunded. Mum hadn't heard of them at all, even though I checked and found one of her uncles had been headmaster at Blockhurst.'
'I can't believe how insidious this is,' remarked Hermione. 'I can scarcely imagine what effect it's had on wizarding society all these years.'
'Same here,' agreed Bill. 'What did McGonagall have to say about it?'
'I haven't heard back from her.'
Bill was silent a moment before slapping his forehead in exasperation. 'Of course not,' he said. 'She's at Hogwarts.'
Hermione's eyes shot open. 'You're right! How didn't I think of that?' She was frustrated by her own stupidity. 'What do you suppose happened when she read my letter?'
'Could have been any number of things. It's possible she didn't receive the letters at all. Or they she have read it but immediately forgot what you'd written.' He grew pale and added, 'Or she might be caught in some kind of loop.'
'What do you mean by some kind of loop?' she asked with alarm.
Furrowing his brow, Bill explained, 'Suppose McGonagall read the letter in her office. She would have finished reading and likely been very disturbed by the contents. But before she'd even set the parchment down, the ward would have interfered and caused her to forget what she'd just read.'
'How would that create a loop?'
'The ward would make her forget the details, but her high degree of alarm might be unaffected. And she'd know the letter had been the source, so she'd instantly read it again. And so on, ad infinitum.'
'I sent it three days ago!' she gasped. 'Do you think she's stuck like that?'
'I don't know,' said Bill. 'The castle is fairly deserted during the summer, and I don't know whether anyone would worry if she didn't turn up for meals in the Great Hall. Hopefully the house-elves or even the portraits would have interrupted her.'
'Should one of us go there and check?' asked Hermione urgently.
'No!' cried Bill, reaching out as if to stop her. 'Because then you'd forget too. We need to come up with a strategy first.'
'Merlin, you're right.' She took a deep breath. 'Do you think there's a portrait at the Ministry who could check on her?'
'There's bound to be,' replied Bill. 'But doesn't Harry have that portrait of Sirius's ancestor who was headmaster?'
'Phineas Nigellus Black? Of course, good idea. I can ask him tonight when I'm at Grimmauld Place for dinner.'
'That sounds good, but we should explore other avenues as well. I wonder if I can lure McGonagall to Shell Cottage. I'd gladly meet her in Hogsmeade, but we can't be certain how far the wards extend.'
'Do you think we should get the goblins involved? They're the real wards experts.'
'That will probably be necessary at some point, but for now we should hold off. It's not prudent to let the goblins to see too much of our own dirty linen. Wizards, that is.'
'You're probably right,' she said. 'And I certainly wouldn't blame them for thinking ill of us when this comes out.'
'They already think ill of us, so it wouldn't make much difference.'
'I should probably ask for your advice going into my big meeting on Friday.'
'With the goblins you mean?' he asked, and she nodded. 'Well, as you know, they particularly hate wizards for being arrogant. Acting like we're doing them a favour just by deigning to talk to them. It's ironic, really, considering how dependent we are on Gringotts and goblin wards.'
'I've been studying the goblin language, and I've learnt a lot of their idioms—in English anyway.'
Bill shook his head. 'That won't matter to them.'
Hermione was disappointed. 'Really? I thought it would show respect.'
'No. They'd see it as pandering.'
Hermione disagreed with his assessment but didn't say anything. When she and Harry had reopened their Gringotts accounts, she'd used goblin idioms to smooth over several of Harry's gaffes.
She and Bill outlined their next steps: he would invite Professor McGonagall to Shell Cottage, and Hermione would attempt to investigate using the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. Mr Weasley had also agreed to help by speaking to some of his Ministry colleagues.
Their business concluded, they returned to more personal topics while they ate. 'I'm really sorry again about you and Ron. The whole family is disappointed, Mum included. First we lost Harry, and now you.'
Hermione looked down. 'I'm sorry too.'
'You were good for Ron—we all thought so. To be honest, Dad and I used to worry over him a bit. He was awfully slow to grow up, you know. But now he's turned out better than we could have hoped. I still can't believe he has an Order of Merlin, First Class!'
She smiled sadly. 'I always knew he had it in him.'
Neither of them spoke for a while, but then Bill looked at her with a slightly cheeky expression. 'I'll have you know that Fleur is convinced you and Harry will get together.'
Hermione shook her head. 'Not likely. He's like a brother to me, and I know he feels the same way.'
'That's a shame. You and Harry have always seemed like a better match than you and Ron were.'
'I'm afraid not. It appears I'll have to wait for a player who is yet unnamed.'
'You've plenty of time, surely. We can introduce you to some of Fleur's cousins in France if you like,' he smiled. 'And besides, I've lately heard rumours of several dozen previously unknown wizarding schools in Britain. Perhaps you'll find your true love there.'
'Thanks, that's a good point. There are a lot more eligible young wizards than I'd imagined.'
After lunch Hermione still had a quarter hour before she needed to return to the Ministry, so she strolled Diagon Alley. When she passed the newsagent's her attention was caught by a new photo of Harry, on the cover of Witch Weekly.
The photo was less provocative than the one the Prophet had run, but it was still very flattering. It must have been taken at the press conference, since he wasn't wearing eyeglasses. He was smiling warmly, and there was a hint of mischief in his eyes.
She groaned when she read the headline: 'Desirable Number One.'
Hermione looked again at the photograph. It winked at her.
She shook her head in disbelief. Hermione had previously thought she'd witnessed every possible permutation of Harry Potter press coverage, but clearly they'd entered a new era.
And just wait until word of his nocturnal habits gets out. She was glad he was apparently getting over Ginny, but she'd been shocked to discover he'd picked up some stranger at a bar, and that he seemed inclined to make a hobby of it.
Boys, she thought disapprovingly, before a horrible thought crossed her mind. Was Ron going to accompany him on these ... pulling expeditions? She felt sick at the idea.
Since the end of the war, Hermione had noticed other witches looking at Ron with interest. He was confident for the first time, and of course he'd received mountains of praise as a war hero. She'd never minded—she was proud to see him finally getting attention—but now it had an unsettling new dimension.
A fleeting image of Ryan Bellamy popped into her mind, accompanied by conflicting emotions. In spite of what she'd told her mother, she did find him attractive, if in a rather obvious way. But she also felt a wave of distrust, and she recalled another unpleasant incident from her final year of primary school.
It was Valentine's Day, and she'd been surprised to receive multiple anonymous cards. She suspected they were just a cruel joke, but her romantic heart nurtured the idea that she actually had a secret admirer. She'd read a lot of novels, after all.
She heard whispers that Errol Reddington had sent one of them, and that it had been sincere. Recalling her father's long-ago remark that boys only teased girls they liked, she allowed herself to believe that his card had been genuine.
One of the other girls told Hermione that Errol wanted to meet her near the big clock after school, and so she went and found him there alone. He affected shyness when she arrived, and she thanked him for the card, which caused him to smile briefly. But then he burst into cruel laughter, and his friends—including several of the girls—emerged from around the corner and laughed loudly as Hermione ran away in tears.
More than eight years later, her cheeks still burned at the memory. She'd been foolish to believe that her bully had harboured a secret crush on her. Furthermore, it hurt her pride to know that her former classmates probably still remembered her as a buck-toothed, bushy-haired swot, and that they'd never hear of her accomplishments. Indeed, they'd see the truth as further evidence she was a freak.
Her relationship with Ron had plastered over some of those painful memories. When she'd looked back at those times, she could feel Ron there with her, ready to hex anyone who wanted to make her cry. But now he was gone, and she had to face those memories alone again.
You're not that same little girl, she told herself. You could hex them yourself if you wanted. And even without Ron, she knew she had friends she could literally trust with her life. Tonight she was having dinner at Grimmauld Place with Harry, Neville, and Luna. When Harry invited her, she'd seen through his motives at once, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
She walked into the newsagent's and bought a copy of Witch Weekly. They could have a good laugh about it over dinner—Luna's perspective was always entertaining, and it would be fun to watch Neville stammer.
Hermione was relieved Harry hadn't invited Hannah Abbott, even though she and Neville were dating. Hermione had nothing against Hannah, and under normal circumstances would have enjoyed seeing her. But for now she only wanted to be around close friends and family.
Ryan Bellamy would have to wait.
-––—––-
Neville was dumbstruck when Hermione arrived.
'Oh blast,' exclaimed Harry. 'I forgot to warn you. Hermione found this hair charm and now she looks like Bellatrix Lestrange. Sorry about that, Nev.'
'I think you look very nice,' commented Luna. 'I used to worry that your hair would make an enticing nest for Wrackspurts, but now your curls are too glossy for that to happen.'
'Thanks,' replied Hermione, who had long since learned to find the compliment within Luna's ravings and discard the rest.
Neville was still looking at her in terror.
'I'm sorry, Neville,' she said. 'I can't see any resemblance myself, but Harry and Ron were similarly horrified. Would it help if I talked reassuringly?'
Neville nodded slowly. She was pretty sure he hadn't blinked.
'Let's see ... I spent hours today doing research at the Ministry, in preparation for our big meeting with the goblins on Friday. We're hoping to lay the groundwork for proper diplomacy as opposed to "creature regulation," which is an absolute scandal of course.'
Seeing Neville start to relax, she continued. 'Naturally my long-term goal is improve working conditions for house-elves. And I'd love to see laws providing equal job opportunities for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. For example, as much as I love Arthur Weasley, it's really a bit absurd that he's so high up in the Muggle-relations department.'
Neville had regained his normal colour and seemed fully recovered. 'Thanks for that, Hermione. Just hearing you speak favourably about house-elf rights and Muggle-borns was enough to readjust my brain. I should be all right now.'
They sat down around the kitchen table, which is where Harry usually entertained his old friends. 'Can I offer you anything?' he asked. 'I have pumpkin juice and Butterbeer, as well as tea and water of course.'
Before anyone could reply, Kreacher arrived with a loud crack, and his expression was stern.
Did he just Apparate from the other end of the kitchen? thought Hermione.
'Kreacher would be honoured to serve Master's friends. Master was only playing a cruel joke when Master threatened to usurp Kreacher's role. Isn't that right, Master?'
Harry looked a little alarmed. This was a new degree of territoriality on Kreacher's part. 'I wouldn't dream of usurping your role, Kreacher. I was only speaking figuratively when I offered them something to drink. Naturally we'd allow you to serve us.'
Mollified, Kreacher took their orders. Hermione wasn't actually thirsty, but she asked for a glass of Butterbeer to avoid upsetting him.
Hermione turned to Neville. 'How is your research going? I'm still envious you were able to get a head start on your Mastery.'
Neville had attended Hogwarts with Hermione the previous year, but he'd been able to start his Mastery in Herbology, since he'd already completed most of his coursework for Charms the year before.
'It's going well. Currently Professor Sprout has me studying the mating rituals of Bolivian Spiderweed, but I haven't yet decided what I want to focus my research on. I'm just thrilled to be spending all day in the greenhouses. But how are you doing, Hermione?' he asked sympathetically.
'I'm all right,' she said. 'It helps to stay busy—I saw Ginny last night, and at work I've been eyeball-deep in research. And then I had lunch with Bill Weasley today. Which reminds me,' she said, digging into her handbag. 'I found this at the newsagent's.'
She pulled out the newest copy of Witch Weekly and set it on the table. Instead of looking at the cover again, she watched Harry and was rewarded by seeing him turn scarlet.
'Oh for Merlin's sake, when Janet sees this ...' he muttered.
'You really have to be impressed with their headline writers,' observed Hermione.
'You could be next, you know,' replied Harry. 'Weren't you Undesirable Number Three?'
'No, I was Number Two. Ron was Number Three,' she corrected. 'Mudblood outranks pure-blood.'
'That's a useful mnemonic, thanks,' he said. 'But seriously, I expect you'll turn up on a wizarding lad mag sometime soon.'
'What a horrible thought, and for multiple reasons,' she commented. 'Are there any wizarding lad mags?'
'What's a lad mag?' asked Neville.
'Sorry, it's a Muggle phenomenon,' explained Hermione. 'It's a magazine aimed primarily at young men. They usually feature saucy interviews with scantily-clad actresses, occasionally straddling cars.'
'How would you straddle a car?' asked Luna.
'I think she's exaggerating,' said Harry. 'Or at least I hope she is.'
Neville nodded. 'I think I know what you mean. But I'm not sure if there's a wizarding equivalent.'
'Nor am I,' said Harry. 'It would have to be a cross between Which Broomstick? and Busty and Bewitched.'
'Do you suppose there's a publishing niche for my father?' asked Luna. 'The Quibbler has been more popular recently, and he's looking to diversify.'
Harry and Hermione burst into laughter. Harry said, 'I would love more than anything to see the Quibbler branch out into the lad mag arena, but I don't think it's the right match for your father's ... editorial priorities.'
'I suppose not,' replied Luna. 'He doesn't know the first thing about cars.'
Neville looked again at the issue of Witch Weekly on the table. 'Did you really wink at the camera, Harry? That's not like you.'
Harry, who apparently hadn't noticed it earlier, took a closer look at the photograph. 'Bugger, you're right! How on earth did that happen?' His eyes shot open, and he turned to Luna. 'This is all your father's fault!'
'Really? Did he infect you with Winkles?'
'No, he asked me a conspiracy theory question, which I refused to confirm or deny, and afterwards I winked.'
'So you're saying it's true, then?' asked Luna hopefully.
'I honestly can't remember the question,' he confessed. 'I was just having fun.'
'This is why Gran warns me never to have fun in public,' said Neville. 'It always gets misinterpreted.'
'I'm not sure that's good advice,' said Hermione.
Kreacher reappeared with his customary crack. 'Would Master like to eat dinner in the kitchen or in the dining room?'
'Here would be perfect, thank you,' said Harry, and an assortment of pizzas appeared on the table.
The conversation stopped for a while as everybody ate, the silence interrupted only by utterances of enjoyment.
'How in Godric's name,' asked Neville, 'did wizards go this long without discovering pizza? If you hadn't already been awarded the Order of Merlin, they should give you one for introducing pizza to wizardkind.'
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I suspect Italian wizards had the idea some time ago.'
'British wizardkind, I mean,' said Neville. 'But seriously, imagine bringing a bunch of pizzas to the Gryffindor common room after winning a Quidditch match. I'm tempted to return to Hogwarts another year just to establish that tradition.'
'I thought you were returning to Hogwarts for another year,' said Harry.
'No, I'll be commuting by Floo from now on. But I'll see if I can convince the house-elves to add it to their repertoire.'
Hermione turned to Luna. 'Have you decided what you're doing now that we've finished at Hogwarts?'
'Not quite yet,' replied Luna, 'but I'm getting nearer to it. I've been corresponding with Renata Spoor, the editor of Magizoology Gazette, and she's making enquiries on my behalf for a field internship.'
'That's fantastic,' exclaimed Neville. 'I hope she comes through for you—that sounds like a great opportunity.'
'That reminds me,' said Harry. 'I got fitted this morning for my Cannons robes. I should have them tomorrow.'
'What was the tailor's name?' smirked Hermione. 'Hieronymus Stitch?'
'Oh, have you met him?' asked Neville. 'That's who my Gran uses. I didn't know he made the Cannons' robes.'
Hermione snorted, and Harry replied, 'No, his name was Benedict Thimble. I was very impressed with his work—I expect they'll be the nicest robes I've ever worn.'
'Except for the colour,' commented Hermione. 'Now there's a silver lining ... I'll never again have to sleep in a room festooned with blinding orange posters.'
Feigning a wounded expression, Harry said, 'You're not planning to outfit your room with Cannons regalia? Some friend you are.'
'I will, Harry,' volunteered Luna. 'In fact, on Saturday I looked for some bright orange paint for my room, but I couldn't find anything that matched. I'm hoping I can brew some, but it'll take a while to harvest enough stamens from our patch of Castilian Glowpansies.'
Hermione looked at Neville, who slowly shook his head.
'The exact colour is a trade secret, apparently,' said Harry. 'I'm sure I could find an approximation for you, but there's really no need to paint your room orange. It's very sweet of you to offer, though.'
'It's my pleasure, Harry,' replied Luna. 'I'm just happy your life has become so much brighter. I was worried about you this time last month.'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'It's still a bit rough, to be honest. But things are improving.'
Hermione coughed but said nothing.
'I too had a sad love affair recently,' announced Luna.
'Oh no,' said Hermione. 'I'm so sorry. Was it anyone we know?'
'No, he was a Centaur from the Forbidden Forest.'
Everyone looked up in shock, and Neville briefly choked on his Butterbeer.
'We began as friends,' explained Luna. 'I first met Lythian at the edge of the forest, where I was collecting Gurples for a wreath. We got to talking and discovered we shared many of the same interests.
'Over time we became close, reciting poems while cantering under the moonlight, or simply gazing together at the stars.
'But eventually the attraction grew too strong, and we realised friendship would never be enough. I spent weeks researching potions that might make us more ... compatible, and I asked Professor McGonagall whether some kind of transfiguration might work.
'I even undertook the steps to determine my Animagus form, in the hopes it would be a match. But unfortunately my form is that of a Fluttering Bimwiffle, which wouldn't have worked. And so we parted. Mere friendship would have been too hard to bear.'
Hermione, Neville, and Harry were stunned into silence, and they stared at Luna with over-large eyes, similar to her own. 'You're so sweet to offer your compassion like this. And I know what you're thinking—that love must find a way. But in the end, we all just have to face facts.'
This time it was Hermione who choked on her Butterbeer.
After a silence, Neville asked, 'So, are you going to pursue the Animagus training and become a, er, Flittering Bumwiffle?'
'Bimwaffle,' corrected Harry.
Hermione murmured 'Fluttering bimwiffle,' to no one in particular.
'No,' replied Luna. 'It's not a very practical form.'
'I'm so sorry that didn't work out for you, Luna,' said Harry. 'I guess we're all in the dumps right now, except for Neville. How are things with Hannah anyway?'
'We're doing well,' replied Neville. 'Thanks for asking—she sends everyone her best wishes.'
Their conversation continued through dessert, covering Harry's experiences with the Cannons, Neville's upcoming holiday in the Hebrides, and a herd of Miniature Wumperbeasts that Luna was tracking.
Hermione eventually excused herself to find the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, which had been returned to the guest bedroom Harry and Ron had once shared. The portrait was sleeping, but he awoke after Hermione tapped him with her wand.
'It's you,' he said simply. 'I notice you haven't been round to visit now that the war is over.'
'I'm sorry, Headmaster,' she said. 'I've no excuse.'
His expression softened. 'It's refreshing not to be lied to for once. I certainly heard enough excuses during my years at Hogwarts.' Rolling his eyes, he began reciting in a sing-song voice, '"I couldn't do my Runes assignment, Professor, because anti-Muggle-born wards make my skin burn," or "I can't fulfil my Prefect duties this week because my family's all died of the Spanish Flu."'
Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, so she decided to skip ahead to her question. 'Have you been to Hogwarts recently, and did you notice whether Professor McGonagall looked all right?'
He looked at her suspiciously but replied. 'I was there this morning, and she seemed her usual self.'
Well that's a relief, thought Hermione. Feeling bold, she continued. 'What do you know about the other wizarding schools in Britain? The ones that aren't Hogwarts.'
Scowling, he said, 'More than I'd like to, frankly. Second-raters all around.'
'But you've heard of them?' she asked.
'Yes, of course. I gather they haven't been stamped out yet?'
'No. In fact, it sounds like they're thriving.'
He harrumphed. 'Why are you asking me about them anyway? It hardly seems a question worth asking.'
'That's the thing,' she said. 'I've only just learnt about them, and I'm beginning to suspect that someone tampered with the Hogwarts wards to prevent us all from knowing about them, or to make us forget.'
'Nonsense. That's not possible with wards. You'd need a potion in the food, and that would surely wear off in short order.'
'Well, we're investigating anyway. Could you please keep an eye on Professor McGonagall and send for help if she looks ... catatonic or anything?'
'That's one of our duties as retired headmasters, to look after the current Head of School.'
'I'm glad to hear that,' said Hermione. 'Thanks for answering my questions, and I'm sorry again not to have visited more recently.'
He nodded curtly at her and then disappeared from the frame.
She returned to the kitchen and found her friends standing near the fireplace.
'Oh good, there you are,' said Luna to her. 'I was hoping you'd join me for dinner this Friday night.'
'Just me?' asked Hermione, puzzled. She and Luna seldom spent time alone together.
'Yes. There's something I feel motivated to talk to you about in private.'
'All right then, of course,' said Hermione. 'I can meet you after I get off work. I have a meeting at Gringotts until six o'clock.'
'Perfect. I have a restaurant in mind—I'll meet you at Gringotts and we can go there together.'
They all thanked Harry for having them over, and Kreacher was summoned and duly thanked as well.
Kneeling down, Neville asked, 'Kreacher, would you be willing to teach the Hogwarts elves how to make pizza? I'm sure the students and and staff would love it.'
'With Master's permission, of course,' said the elf, gazing meaningfully towards Harry.
'I'd want to check first with McGonagall, but I don't see why not.'
'Brilliant, thanks,' said Neville, and he and Luna said their goodbyes and left through the fireplace.
Only Hermione remained, and Harry suddenly asked her, 'Do you want your copy of Witch Weekly back? I suspect I'll get pelted with it tomorrow at practice.'
'Certainly—why not? I'm sure Mum and Dad will have a good laugh over it.'
He retrieved it for her and gently asked, 'How are you doing?'
She nodded and said, 'I'm all right, really. Thanks again for arranging this, it was nice.'
'I had a good time too,' he said. 'I'm glad if we could cheer you up a bit.'
'That reminds me,' she said. 'Did you give my phone number to your teammate Ryan? He rang me last night.'
'That was fast!' he remarked. 'Yes, I hope that was all right.'
'Of course, I trust your judgment. But does he know Ron and I have split?'
Harry looked a bit sheepish. 'Yeah, I didn't see any point in hiding it when he asked how to contact you and Ron about dinner plans.'
Sighing, Hermione said, 'I suppose that's fine. I hope he wasn't disappointed—I know he enjoyed talking Quidditch with Ron.'
'I'm certain he wasn't disappointed,' smirked Harry. Hermione looked at him sharply, but he seemed disinclined to say more.
'I should go,' she said. 'When will I see you next?'
'I'm busy tomorrow night, and possibly Thursday as well. So maybe not until my match on Saturday. Will you be able to attend? It's at one o'clock—I'm sure I can provide tickets.'
'Will I be permitted to bring a book?' she asked. 'I don't like the idea of professional Beaters taking aim at you.'
'Nor do I,' he agreed. 'But yes, bring whatever you like. I'll just be glad to have you there, if only to help drown out the opposing fans.'
'I'll have to unearth the Cannons jersey Ron gave me for my last birthday.'
'For your birthday, really? I thought you said he'd grown up.'
'It wasn't my only present—it was more of a decoy,' she explained sadly.
'Ah, that makes more sense. Anyway, I'll be in touch, and see you Saturday at the latest.'
She returned to her parents' house and found them both in the lounge. Still holding the copy of Witch Weekly, Hermione sat down on the sofa.
'Oh good, you're home. Did you have a nice time?' asked Daniel.
'I did, thanks. I really have wonderful friends. I suppose that's one small advantage of going through a war—you really know who your friends are.'
Judging from her parents' expressions, Hermione realised she probably shouldn't have said that. She quickly changed the subject and unrolled the magazine.
'They put Harry on the cover of Witch Weekly. I think you'll find it amusing.'
'I hope it's not like that photo from the Prophet,' scowled Daniel. 'That one should have come in a brown wrapper.'
'I thought it was lovely,' said Emily. 'And Daniel, I know you weren't complaining that evening.'
'Mum!' cried Hermione.
'I'm just teasing you, dear. You're such an easy target.'
Emily looked at the cover and raised her eyebrows. 'And I thought our Muggle press was salacious! I can see your papers have carved out a new identity for him. I hope he wants it.'
'He's eighteen,' observed Daniel. 'I'd be disappointed if he weren't behaving like a sailor on shore leave right now.'
'Daddy!'
'Never mind him,' said Emily. 'Just take it as proof that boys eventually settle down. Do you know how old Ryan is?'
'I'm going to my room now. Hopefully by tomorrow morning you two will have learnt how to behave,' said Hermione with mock sternness.
She hugged her parents and went to bed, feeling glad to be close with them again. She had missed this.