Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Epilogue

Hermione Granger couldn't sleep. It didn't matter how hard she stared at the ceiling, or how many sheep she tried to count, she just couldn't sleep. She rolled over onto her side and stared out the nearby window. The falling snow combined with the ambient light of London made it seem lighter than it should have been at three in the morning.

Her boyfriend shifted with her, groaning in his sleep as an arm reached to wrap around her waist. She let it rest there for a few minutes, laying still with hopes that he'd stay asleep. When he didn't make any further sign of waking she slipped his arm off of her and rose from the bed.

She grabbed a parka from the chair at her vanity and threw it around her shoulders, only bothering with the middle button on it as she smoothed her nightgown over her legs. She stepped silently from the bedroom and moved through the kitchen.

It only took her a few moments to make herself a pot of tea. She poured one cup and charmed the pot to stay warm. It followed her into her office and rested on the edge of her desk as she took her seat in the chair at the desk. She spent a few moments watching the snow out of the window of her home office and peering through the mail she'd ignored from the day before.

The only thing that stuck out was the fancy cream envelope that contained her invitation to Lavender Brown's third wedding. Three husbands in the decade after Hogwats seemed fairly excessive to Hermione. But at least this time she wouldn't have to worry about wrangling up a date.

Of course, Lavender remarrying also meant she'd return to being the only Gryffindor in her year that remained unwed. Undoubtedly she'd take a good natured ribbing for that at the wedding. And it would annoy her, despite her assumption that there wasn't anything malicious in the comments.

She sipped her tea and stared out the window at the falling snow. It wasn't snowing hard enough, or likely cold enough, for it to stick, but it made a pleasing snow globe effect contrasted with the dark night. The holidays always made her reflective and it seemed this would be no different, so as she stared out at the snow, she reflected on the last decade of her life.

Hermione started at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement right out of Hogwarts. She'd been heavily recruited and had agreed to the position around the Christmas holiday of her seventh year at Hogwarts.

Her life as a junior member of the Wizengamot Administrative Services office turned out to be a lot duller than she'd anticipated. Promises of fancy cases and reviewing ancient documents to apply them to modern law quickly faded into nothing but basic admin and clerical duties.

Maybe once a month she'd get to do some real research and apply her talents. But most of her duties were just keeping track of schedules and hearings. She did get to restore some ancient court documents on occasion, or whenever they weren't busy. And some of those records did fascinate her. But, in the end, she was a glorified, but thankfully overpaid, secretary.

The head of her office liked her at least. He was Pureblood, perhaps a few years older than her parents. Some research into his family showed a bit of a darker history but they'd never been associated with anything during the war, and the man was nothing but personable with her both in the office and when he'd recruited her, and he quickly started giving her more and more duties when her work continued to be, as he called it, exceptional.

He'd offered her a large raise at the end of her first year in the department, bluntly saying he wanted to keep her there as long as he could and would pay accordingly. She appreciated it, but did still keep her eye open for opportunities to advance. Unfortunately they seemed few and far between. Although it didn't take her long to see that there was a fairly good chance he saw her as his successor.

His son was a bit more annoying. He stopped in once a month to take his father to lunch and the other women in the office fawned over him. He seemed a bit confused when Hermione paid him no special attention. Sure, he was handsome, but he so clearly knew it and acted accordingly. Honestly, she hadn't even realized he was famous. He took to tweaking her monthly. Or at least attempting to chat with her while his father finished up whatever he was doing before their lunch outing, always with a comment that his son kept showing up earlier and earlier.

Twice he'd tried to invite her along. But both times she made excuses that she had far too much to do in the office and wouldn't want to intrude. He'd accepted her excuses but always with an annoying little smirk like he knew exactly what they were. And the other girls in the office always tittered about it the entire time their boss was gone.

By the start of year two she'd worked her way up to the number two position in the office. Her responsibilities shifted to mostly just making sure other people did her old job and reporting on it to her boss. The concept of less work and more pay irritated her, though, so she started helping categorize copies of foreign papers with her new found free time at the office.

And it was there she got her first glimpse of him again.

She'd barely been reading the article about a new Muggle museum opening in Greece. It only made the local paper due to one of the artifacts having traces of ancient magic on it. The Greek ministry had confiscated that shortly before the opening and the Muggles were none the wiser. Hermione peered at the article just to see what else was on display. At least until she saw the pictures.

He was standing next to an amphora, peering down at it. It was a profile shot and there was only a small part of his face visible. But she knew it was him. What was he doing in central Greece? She had no idea of that. She made a copy of the photograph and tucked it away at her desk. She found it harder to focus after that and decided that she should stop by the lunch room and see what the ministry elves prepared that day.

She stopped by the Auror office to see if Neville or Hannah were interested in joining her for a bite in the cafeteria, or if they were feeling adventurous, maybe trying the new muggle Vietnamese place down the street, but neither were around, so she walked to the elevator alone. She almost audibly groaned when the doors opened and Draco Malfoy was in the carriage.

Draco had instantly been given his dream position as soon as he'd graduated Hogwarts. He was the Undersecretary of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and on the committee that controlled British International Quidditch. Hermione wondered how much he'd paid for the position, before she realized she was being petty and just kept out of it.

His salary had actually been part of an inter-ministry audit a few months earlier. He was part of a group that was supposedly being drastically overpaid for their positions. As far as Hermione knew nothing came of it. Well, aside from the fact that if the leaked figures were right, she now knew that she earned more money than Draco Malfoy.

Either way, he ignored her as she entered the elevator. Or at least acted far too engrossed in his conversation with his companion to care about her presence.

"Hermione Granger?" A gruff voice asked a few seconds after she hit the cafeteria button on the wall. She nearly jumped in surprise at being addressed by one of Draco's companions. But it only took her a moment to realize who was talking to her.

"Oh my God! Viktor?! How are you?" she exclaimed, genuine joy spurring a smile to her lips. The years hadn't been very kind to Viktor Krum. It had taken three years after the tournament for him to recover from the dark magic used on him during the final task. He'd given interviews about it, about never feeling himself, about feeling like he was still being controlled.

Nothing from his final year at school could be trusted. He doubted everything from his memories of his classes, to his opinions on his friends, to even his brief relationship with her. He'd confessed it all to her in a letter and they'd exchanged a few more before they'd drifted apart as his focus shifted to his Quidditch career. When he finally returned to the pitch for the Vultures it had been a world event.

"I am doing well," he said stiffly with a smile on his face, as if he wasn't sure of the English words. "And yourself?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said. "Just on my way to lunch now. What brings you to England?"

"I am in the country for a promotional shoot for the Cheery Owls cereal corporation," he said. "I will be on the frosted ones in winter gear. You work at the British Ministry?"

"Miss Granger is a secretary for the Wizengamot," Draco said dismissively. Hermione glared at him. It was one thing for her to think of herself like that but her current position matched his. And she'd at least worked for it.

"Oh," Krum said. "I join you for lunch?"

"Viktor, you have to be at the photo shoot by two," Draco said.

"Plenty of time," Krum said as the elevator stopped and he stepped into the Cafeteria with Hermione. "I come back for you by one." Hermione wished she had a camera to snap a picture of Draco's face as the elevator closed on him.

The lunch had been very uneventful. Hermione barely remembered what they talked about. It hadn't mattered. It was nice to see an old acquaintance again. Viktor even apologized again to her for how he'd acted later in the year at Hogwarts. And once again she reiterated that she understood and was glad his recovery was complete. It wasn't until Hannah Abbot stopped by and mentioned Ron and Lavender's wedding that he seemed to pick up on something bothering her.

"You are not with that Ron?" Viktor asked. "I remember you two being close."

"No," Hermione said. "We were for a while but things didn't work out." And it was as honest of an assessment as she could come up with. She and Ron had dated for a bit in her fifth year. It had gone poorly. Really, they'd only tried because their friendship had strained after Harry disappeared. He was the glue that prevented them from killing each other. And, perhaps not surprisingly, dating hadn't improved things.

"Ah," Viktor said. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment," she admitted. She'd gone on one or two dates, sure. And even one or two second dates. But there hadn't been a third date as of yet. None of them had seemed really worth it. She figured she was being too picky but none of it had ever seemed right. It was a little bit of a sore subject for her but one she figured best to not go into details on.

"I see. You want to come to a party with me tonight?" he asked.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Viktor," she said. He looked confused for a moment and then it seemed to dawn on him.

"No. I do not mean like that. I mean you look like you could use a night of amusement. It is just a small thing for friends. Just as friends. Just night out. Nothing else," Viktor said. His frown did little to curb the bluntness in his words. She had to remind herself that English wasn't his first language and he suspected that he didn't mean for them to be hurtful.

"Oh," she responded as Draco stepped into the cafeteria to fetch Krum. A quick look at her watch indicated it was quarter to one. Viktor glared at him and gave Hermione a slip of paper with an address on it.

"I'll think about it."

"Please do," Krum said as Draco started to usher him away. "It will be fun."

She wasn't going to go. She'd made up her mind on that well before she'd even made it back to the office after her lunch. There was no chance she was going to go to some private London club to a party hosted by an international Quidditch star. No chance at all.

But, when she got home, she pulled out her scallop necked little black dress and spent far too long on her hair and makeup and packed the trendiest little clutch she owned before heading straight to the party.

Viktor beamed at her when she entered and introduced her to all of his friends. She recognized a few of the names and some of the faces. He got distracted by something about halfway through and she found herself being introduced to her boss's son as someone else vied for Viktor's attention.

Her boss's son took it in stride and continued the introductions, going as far as mentioning that his father thought for sure she'd be Minister of Magic if she wanted it. She blushed like a schoolgirl and wondered just how he managed to make the stars around her hang off of his every world while all looking envious of her.

She tried to ditch him but somehow they'd started talking instead. And that was when the problem started. He was so incredibly easy to talk to. And not nearly as dumb as she'd assumed. And he paid attention to her. He listened to her. And, at the end of the night when she'd mentioned Draco and Viktor he'd made a snide comment about Draco that left her in stitches. Even now she giggled at the memory, even if the exact comment was lost to time.

As she left the party she realized just who he reminded her of. And that realization left a pang in her chest.

He started to talk to her more when he came for his monthly lunches with his father. She found herself more receptive and even, once or twice, dressed up on the days she knew he was coming in. She hated herself for it, but it didn't stop her from doing it.

She also spent more time looking through papers for more signs of Harry. There weren't many. But every now and again she found something that looked like him, or something that seemed off, and she made a note of it and marked it down. Nothing came of it. She tried to follow up on a few of the articles but those inquiries went nowhere.

And then, one frosty February day, her boss was sick. His son still came in, claiming he didn't get her floo message that his father was ill. He'd pouted at his lack of a lunch date before insisting she join him. The office was fairly dead that day, and there wasn't anything on the docket for the afternoon, so she did.

It had been fun, too. He'd talked through most of it, and eaten an annoying number of her crisps, but it had still been fun. When he walked her back to the office he asked if she wanted to do it again some time. And she figured why not, what was lunch between friends?

And he quickly became her best friend. He'd been her plus one to Ron and Lavender's wedding, which had started all sorts of rumors that amounted to nothing. She wouldn't have even asked him but she didn't want to go alone and she knew having him there would annoy Ron. It had worked. But still, even that dreaded event had been fun.

He'd even behaved, mostly. Well, if you count asking if she wanted to have sex as behaving. They'd shared a room at the destination wedding in the south of France out of convenience. She'd declined through a stammering of words, wondering even then if it was the right decision, and he'd just nodded and gone about his business as the perfect arm-candy date. She'd thought that was the end of it.

She found she could talk to him about anything and he took it in stride. She could complain about the office and he'd offer advice on how to deal with his father, or listen intently as she complained about coworkers. She could talk about current events and he'd have an opinion that often curbed hers and provided a needed perspective. He was more perceptive than people gave him credit for.

And sure, he liked to have fun and be fun, but he could be serious too. She could complain about dates and boyfriends and he'd listen quietly and offer advice or condolences or whatever she needed. And he always seemed to know what she needed.

At the time she didn't realize just what it meant that whenever she was single, he was single. And that whenever she was dating someone, he was dating someone. She'd thought little of it, just one of life's small ironies.

When things with her and Ernie MacMillan grew serious he'd been happy for her. She could tell. You couldn't fake that emotion that well. He was there for her during all of the ups and downs of that relationship.

And he was the one with ice cream and bad Muggle rom-coms when she found out that Ernie was cheating on her. He was the one who held her while she cried. He was the one who helped her move her things out of Ernie's apartment. And he was the one who offered to kill him, if she wanted. She'd declined that request but appreciated the thought behind it.

He was also the one who'd told her, with a conviction in his voice she'd never heard before, that she was intelligent, strong, and beautiful and if any guy was too stupid to see that they didn't deserve her. And that whomever she chose to be with would almost certainly not deserve her.

At the time, all she'd taken away from it was that he'd gotten the grammar correct.

Ernie used him as an excuse. He'd been pushed to other women because of her friendship with him. How could he not be jealous of the star she went to lunch with or met at a bar after work, or did anything with. She'd even chosen to go to his finals match, and his World Cup Matches, over anything with him. Oh it didn't matter they'd made a weekend getaway out of it. She'd still decided with no input from him! And how could he compete with that? Of course it pushed him to other women!

Hermione remembered hearing the plural and seeing red.

But he'd been the one who'd helped her gather up every gift Ernie had given her and then light them on fire. It had been amazingly cathartic. He'd hugged her from behind while clothing and photographs burned and jewelry melted.

The years bled past through it all. She found her current apartment and focused on work and listened to him talk about his pretty Canadian beau. He'd met her during the World Cup on a night when Ernie had dragged her back to the hotel rather than going to the team party, and they'd hit it off.

Hermione had met her a couple of times and she seemed alright. A sort of rural air about her and an odd earnestness that felt out of place in the city. But she made him happy. Even Hermione could see that. He looked at Sophie in such a way she'd never seen him look at another girl. Well, another girl that wasn't her.

He and Sophie came into the office shortly before Christmas two years ago. They'd chatted with his father for a few moments before he'd agreed to meet them after a morning meeting for lunch.

When they left her boss looked at her and said words that stuck with her through the holiday season.

"You know, Hermione, I always thought it would be you."

She was sure he hadn't intended for them to sting. Or really, to be anything other than a stray thought that wound up voiced aloud. Part of her wondered if he'd even realized he'd said it aloud. It was the first time he'd ever even mentioned her friendship with his son. Sure, they'd talked at a few of his bigger events, but that was it. He'd never asked about it and she'd always assumed that as long as her work continued to be excellent, and it did, there would be no issue.

She'd spent the rest of the day looking through papers for any sign of her lost friend. But her mind kept coming back to the thought that they would have been good together. It may have taken a while for each of them to get through the other's frosty exterior. But she liked to imagine there were realities out there where they were great friends.

She didn't see him again during the holidays. She spent Christmas with her parents where all of them tried not to mention Ernie. They were more or less successful, but she broke down and cried after her mother told her she wished she'd be happy.

In mid-January he met her for an early dinner on a Sunday night. And she couldn't talk to him. She had no real idea why. But the words just wouldn't come. He could tell something was wrong and he tried to pry but she said nothing. It was awkward when they parted, like each of them wanted to say more but didn't know how to. It was such the antithesis of their relationship that she found herself shaking for most of her walk home. One elderly couple even stopped to ask her if she was okay.

He floo'd her home at one thirty seven in the morning and asked to come through. She told him no, but let him anyway.

"I broke things off with Sophie," he said as soon as he entered.

"What? Why?" she asked, her brows raised.

"It wasn't working out," he said.

"It didn't look like that," she responded.

"No. It wasn't right," he said. "And it was costing me my best friend and that felt wrong too."

"You didn't…" she said.

"Of course I did," he responded.

"You're an idiot," she said. "You hurt a lovely girl because you think I wasn't happy that you were happy?"

"Things weren't always as peachy as I made them out to be, Hermione," he said.

"But you always made it out like they were," she said.

"Well, duh, I'm always positive," he said. "And honestly, if it came down to you or her, I'd take you every time. You do far more for me."

"That's sweet of you," she said, blushing. "But I'm sure little Sophie did plenty for you that I never have."

"I mean that's nice and all, but there are things more important," he said. And to her surprise he blushed. It was an odd look on him.

"That sounds like a line you'd use when you're trying to get into a girl's pants," Hermione said.

"I'm pretty sure I haven't tried to get into your pants since your friend Ron's first wedding," he said.

"Way to make a girl feel wanted," she laughed. He raised his brows and looked at her, stepping toward her.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"What?" she asked.

"To feel wanted?" he responded, stepping closer to her once more.

"It would be nice," she said, her eyes looking at everything in her apartment except for him.

"You know, for a smart girl, sometimes I wonder about you," he said. His breath was suddenly hot on her lips as he was standing inches from her. His hands rested on her hips. And then his lips grazed her forehead.

"What was that?" she started. His lips slipped over to her ear and she shivered slightly as he moved her hair away from her ear and his lips pressed to it.

"I meant it, you know," he whispered.

"Meant what?" she asked, wondering how her voice could sound so small.

"That you are brave, strong, intelligent and beautiful. And any man that is too stupid to see that doesn't deserve you," he whispered.

"And you see it?" she said, trying to sound sarcastic but instead sounding breathless.

"Of course," he whispered. "Every damn day. And every damn day it makes me want you more."

"Oh," she gasped. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked, his lips brushing down over her neck.

"I'm here," she said, her mind awed by the words she was about to say. Words she'd never said to Ernie. Words that made her feel more vulnerable than she'd ever felt before. "You can have me."

"No," he whispered.

"No?" she sniffled.

"I don't just want to have sex with you Hermione," he groaned as he said it, as if he regretted the words immediately. "I don't want to sleep with you and then have things go back to what they were. If we do this. I want to be yours. And I want you to be mine."

"Okay," Hermione said.

"Okay?" he asked, lifting his lips from her neck and looking into her eyes.

"Yes. Okay. I do. Please. I don't know. I'm no good at this. You know where my bedroom is. If you want to wake up in the morning with a new girlfriend, take me there," she said, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks with each passing word.

"Not yet," he whispered against her lips.

"Why not now?" she growled at him and then he kissed her, his lips soft against hers, his warmth spreading around her as he held her to him. She melted into his touch and barely registered his whisper.

"Because I wanted to do that first," he said before he picked her up, effortlessly, and carried her to bed. When they'd finally finished the sun was peeking over the tops of the nearby buildings and Hermione Granger did something she hadn't done in eight years.

She called in sick.

She smiled at the memory as she sipped her tea. They'd been dating for two years. Although that word didn't feel significant enough. But she hated referring to it as lovers, so it would have to work for now.

Although she suspected she'd have a new word for it soon enough. She hadn't meant to find the letter. But it was so like him to leave it out. She half wondered if he'd meant to. It had been so innocuous. He'd asked her to grab something from his flat. He rarely used it, when he was in London he stayed with her, but he'd kept it regardless. It was much nicer than her apartment and part of her wondered why they didn't just move in there. Perhaps soon.

Anyway, he'd forgotten a bag of gifts for the team on his bed and he'd flood her from the stadium, asking her to pick it up and bring it to the stadium after work. She'd agreed. And the bag had been exactly where he'd said. But the letter on his dresser caught her eye.

It was short, just a few lines saying the writer hoped the future Mrs would like it and then an attached photograph of an elaborate diamond ring. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at it. It was perfect. But it was also frightening.

She'd say yes, she knew. That wasn't even a question. But there was something oddly final about it that had weighed on her in the days since. She didn't think he'd noticed yet, but he was always more perceptive than she'd given him credit for.

And it was all of that which brought her to her office at nearly four in the morning. She waved her wand at a bookshelf and her findings formed into the map and chart she'd kept. It looked like something a crazy person would have. There were cut out articles arranged with yarn between them forming the best timeline she piece together and the map had push pins with string attached to the end forming a complex spiderweb all over Europe.

She stared at it for a while wondering why she bothered. Really, she knew. She just wanted the answer. She just wanted to know that everything was okay. And now, she wanted to invite him to the wedding. But she couldn't make heads or tails of anything her research had shown. She stared at a blurry enlarged photograph of Harry Potter at a restaurant in Athens. The shot had originally been a paparazzi shot of a Muggle footballer and his mistress, but there in the background was a curious Harry. He was less clear than the rest of the photograph, which Hermione had put up to magical interference. But it was certainly him.

"You know, Babe," her boyfriend said from the door, his eyes locked onto the wall of photographs. "This is a little nuts."

"I've had a few years to convince you I'm not crazy. Hopefully it worked," Hermione said, her gaze shifted to him. He looked better than should be allowed for someone who'd just rolled out of bed at far too early of an hour. She felt momentarily self-conscious about her frazzled bed hair.

"I know you're not crazy," he said. "You don't own enough cats."

"Haha," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Tea?"

"Please," he said and she summoned a cup from the kitchen and filled it for him. He walked over to her desk to take a sip from it before sitting on the edge of it and turning his attention to the wall of photographs.

"So, this is why you don't let me into your office," he said.

"I don't believe I've ever prevented you from coming in here," Hermione responded, raking her memory for any moment when she may have given him that idea.

"Well it's the only room in your apartment we haven't fooled around in," he said. Hermione raised her brows and looked at his back, then gazed around the room.

"A desk, some book shelves, a lamp, yes, it's super arousing," she said dryly.

"I'm sure we could think of something," he said.

"Yes, I could be the boss and you the incompetent employee trying to earn his keep," she responded.

"Now you're getting it," He responded cheerily as he took another sip of his tea.

"So, is this too weird?" she asked, her own gaze shifting back to the photographs.

"That you're looking for your missing best friend? No, not really. That you haven't bothered to tell me about it? I dunno maybe a little? Probably not. It's not like I thought to ask," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if he took that as a fault of his own.

"I didn't think you'd be that interested," she said.

"I'm interested in whatever you're interested in," he responded.

"Well, I never expected to find him. I was just surprised at how often he showed up, here or there. He's impossible to contact, yet it's not like he's trying very hard to hide," she said.

"No, he's just hanging out in the Aegean," he said.

"What?" she blinked, staring at the map of Europe with tacks all over it. There was no rhyme or reason to them, just a scattered mass of tacks. Yes, there were quite a few of them in Greece and Turkey, but they were also present in Italy, Romania, Libya, France, Egypt, Germany, everywhere.

"You don't see?" he turned and looked at her, looking genuinely surprised and not like he was teasing her. For a moment, she thought he might gloat, but he just blinked.

"Don't tease me," she groaned, again fully expecting a comment about how he knew just how much she loved being teased by him. But he kept himself appropriate.

"Can you make a copy of the map?" he asked.

"Sure," she nodded and raised her wand. The map on the wall stretched out until a second one split off of it, the markers popping into existence on it as it settled onto the wall next to the first one.

"May I?" he asked, holding his hand out. She placed her wand in it. He twirled it around his fingers with a flourish before he went to work. She twitched as the tacks pulled out of the new map, thankful that he knew she would not have tolerated him touching the original. It took him a few minutes but the tacks started to alter themselves, string moving, shifting how they were connected, until a distinct pattern emerged, looking almost like a storm cell centered around the Aegean Sea. The markers filled into a more logical pattern as the strings reconnected themselves around a more centralized point.

"How did you see that?" she asked as she stood and moved toward the map. He put the wand down on her desk and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her head as he looked at the wall as well.

"I spend my free time looking at random circles and lines cleverly disguised as Quidditch play charts. You get used to seeing patterns," he said.

"Didn't you get like one N.E.W.T?" she scoffed.

"I got three!" he said. "Including an Outstanding in Muggle Studies!"

"Really?" she laughed. "You took Muggle Studies?"

"Hey, it was a blow off class," he said.

"Did you learn anything useful?" she teased.

"Not really. I did learn that Muggles willingly go to some specialized doctor every six to eight months to participate in a form of torture where they have holes drilled into their teeth," he said. She rolled her eyes once more.

"Funny," she said. "Don't think I won't bind you into a chair and let dad look at your teeth."

"You wouldn't, you like me too much," he said. "But do you actually think I'm onto something here? I just saw a pattern and went with it."

"I think you might be," she sighed.

"If you find him, I'm going to brag to everyone that I figured it out first," her boyfriend said.

"Please don't," she faked concern. "My career would be shot. I'd never live that down." He pressed his face into her hair and she could feel his lips curve into a smile as he held her.

"Well fine, since you asked nicely," he said as she continued to stare at the map. Her mind swirling with the possibilities. A new area to look, to focus on. There must be more signs of him if she focused her search.

But something was bothering her. Something that she should have connected already. Something that should have made more sense. And then suddenly it all did.

But it wasn't possible. There was no way it was possible. Yet the clues were all there. Circe, the portals, constantly in Greece. But it wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible.

Except that was her only hang up on it. That was the only road block. She thought it was impossible. But at ten she'd thought magic was impossible, at fifteen she would have said having her most fulfilling relationship and marrying a pureblood Slytherin was impossible, and yet here she was.

And if she accepted that it was possible. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. Suddenly everything fit. She gasped aloud.

"Oh my God," she said. "He's on Aeaea."

"Isn't that Island a myth" he asked as she slipped from his grip and moved toward the map.

"It has to be somewhere around here," she said gesturing to the map. "But no one knows for sure. I'll have to start researching immediately. See if I can dig anything up in the records. See if I can find it."

"No, Hermione," he said. She froze for a moment, her brow furrowing. He always supported her. Even through some of her dumbest decisions, like Ernie MacMillan. Surely he understood that she had to do this.

"But I have to," she said, turning to look at him.

"I know," he said. "But you're not going to do it by hiding in Records and searching for mentions of some mythical island. You know where it is. Go find it."

"What?" she blinked.

"It's there," he said, nodding to the map. "Go."

"I'd need to pack," she said and started to frantically look around the room. At least until he started laughing.

"Not like, right this instant," he said. "No. I have a better idea."

"What's that?"

"Well, first we're going to go back to bed, where we're going to make love again. Then we're going to sleep. Then we're going to cuddle lazily for a while in the morning until you get too twitchy to stay in bed. At that point, I'm going to pamper you in the shower and then, when that's all said and done, we're going to go see my father and tell him you're taking some of your time off," he said.

"He'll want a reason," Hermione said.

"Tell him then. I'm sure you have enough vacation built up to take half the year off. Some time during the slowest part of your year won't kill him," her boyfriend said.

"And then?" she asked.

"And then we get you on a portkey to Greece and you can go find your friend," he said.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I have two weeks before there's a gap in the schedule for our winter break. But if you want me to join you then I'll come," he said.

"No, I mean I'd like that. But I meant I might be gone for Christmas. We had all those plans," she said.

"Some things are more important," he shrugged again.

"Wasn't there anything else you wanted to do?" she asked, trying to avoid the question. He took her hands into his and smiled down at her.

"Plenty," he said and kissed her. "But it can wait."

Hermione threw the brown saddle bag with the red and green stripe down the middle over her shoulder as she paced down the end of the small ship. The bag had been a Christmas present that he'd made her open before she left. It was perhaps too fancy for her current surroundings. But she didn't care. Fancy was something she'd started growing accustomed to when they'd started dating.

She wore blue jeans, a white shirt and a brown leather jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and short brown boots graced her feet. She'd felt uncomfortable in the outfit and others like it she'd brought for exploring Greek islands. But he'd told her she looked like a badass. She didn't believe him, but it was still a confidence booster.

The sea air was chilly that morning. It was her nineteenth day in Greece by then and would be her eleventh island. At first she'd tried to document and explore everything. But when she realized how impossible that was, mostly because she was distracted by all of the ruins and the beauty of the places, she decided she had to focus on finding magic. Because there would have to be magic there if he was there.

Twice she'd found it. The first time it had been an enchanted cavern in a forested part of the island. An ancient archway was mostly intact outside of it. The locals claimed the water had some sort of healing balm in it. She took a sample of it and marked the location in her notes but quickly figured that Harry wasn't on the island and that she wasn't going to investigate it more than that.

It had been obvious, too. If the Greek ministry was remotely competent they would have the area documented. But she hadn't researched the area as fully as she would have liked before leaving, so she wasn't aware of if they had or hadn't. Of course she had him to blame for that. But she also knew he was right. She would have spent years worrying and researching and instead she was now here, doing it. Even if her preliminary results weren't great.

The second instance of magic came from a group of kids. They couldn't have been older than seven or eight and were playing football in a small field. The ball was enchanted and seemed to fly around between them all, adding an extra dimension to their game. The Ministry Official in her wanted to intervene and see where they'd gotten it, but the pragmatist in her won out and she left the scene before they noticed her presence.

Her boss had been surprisingly easy about her impromptu vacation. He'd just raised his brows, shot a quick glance at her hands, and then shrugged and said she had more than enough time off. How about taking until the fifteenth at least and go from there? With the holidays worked it barely dented her allotted vacation days remaining.

Her family was mostly just confused. Her parents both looked like they were expecting an announcement of a completely different nature, also stealing glances at her hand as they spoke. And when she said she'd be missing the holidays because of an urgent matter in Greece she received puzzled looks. But they'd accepted it and the next day she'd left.

The ferryman started his approach to the island. The water spraying around the boat as he moved toward a pier. Today's island was small, a small harbor his obvious destination. He hadn't wanted to come here. Normally she would have just found another boat, it hadn't been that difficult to get around. But he was the only one out at that hour.

She might have even been able to apprate to it. She could at least see the cliff face from the port. But she didn't know what was there exactly and figured the last thing she needed was a scandal if a British official magically appeared in the middle of a crowded harbor or something.

The boatman had argued he wouldn't go there. She'd stared at him, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses that weren't entirely necessary in the early morning hours. After he'd finished ranting she'd pulled a wad of euros out of her bag and they'd found a price that worked. Still, the man seemed jittery as he approached the island.

Part of her wondered if she should find that odd, but there were a million possibilities for why he could dislike it. Maybe he had an ex there, or was wanted for a crime, or was just an irritable person in general. It wasn't worth worrying about.

The men had mostly been vile anyway. Inappropriate comments and implications followed her everywhere. Especially when people assumed she couldn't speak Greek. And well, not too long ago she couldn't. But magic was a wonderful thing. Insults followed her, as did comments on what they'd do to her and all sorts of other things that would have made her blush and cower a decade ago. But she'd worked with politicians enough to develop a stony exterior when needed.

And she'd only cursed one of them. She wondered what the doctor would think of the boils.

The man pulled the boat up to the pier and she stepped off of it. He opened his mouth, no doubt to ask for the rest of his payment, but she was already digging into her purse. She handed him the euros without question as she stepped off of his boat.

There was a sense of serene calm in the air as the breeze blew through her hair. A sort of market appeared to be open just off of the harbor and quite a few people were already out in the early morning hour. The people milling around all looked like locals. From her maps it was a small island and there didn't appear to be much in the way of a tourism industry on it. The pier and the city appeared to be the lowest point of the island, and it elevated as far as she could see, toward a more forested area off to the north. She felt nothing magical about it and frowned, already figuring it would be another wasted day.

She thought briefly that when her boyfriend joined her, they should just pop back to Santorini and enjoy a romantic few days before their return to England rather than continuing the search.

Hermione shook the thoughts of romance from her head and figured the best place to begin her work would be the market. So she walked to it. She'd talked to Hannah and Neville about their work plenty of times and it was Neville's advice she followed now. The best way to gather information, he'd said, was to be around and pay attention. So she listened to the locals, observed them, and tried to pick up any stray thought or phrase that seemed off. It would have been easier in English. But she didn't have that luxury.

Listening didn't turn up much useful information. Just the local gossip and none of it seemed to pertain much to what she was looking for. She found herself wandering the farmers market, and then the small town. She moved between small houses and had a hard time seeing Harry in any of them.

Of course, she knew they could be entirely different on the inside with the use of some of the most basic magic. But it still sat wrong with her as she looked out at them. Nothing about this town seemed right for her purposes.

Despite those thoughts, though, she explored it as thoroughly as she could. But even that took her less than a day. She paced down one of the streets. Some brief inquiries taught her that there wasn't much on the island except the small town. And nothing worth mentioning in the forested area.

By two in the afternoon she was sitting outside in the harbor, enjoying the sun and staring at her map. She wasn't quite ready to ex off this island, but she knew there was little reason not to. Her thoughts shifted to whether or not she should just use her emergency portkey back to Athens, check into a magical hotel, and floo her boyfriend. She missed his voice, his jokes, his warmth. She imagined it around her as she closed her eyes. She lost herself in those thoughts until her stomach disagreed with her.

She walked over to a street where she thought she remembered seeing a cafe. As she sauntered down it for the second time that day she realized it appeared to be more of a butcher's shop than an actual restaurant. But there was a menu in the window by the door.

Inside, a dark haired woman about her age was shaving chunks of meat off of a ham and packaging what appeared to be a rather large order for someone. The woman smiled up at her when she entered. It was the tired smile of a bored worker. Hermione ordered a basic sandwich, the top item on the menu, and slipped to the corner of the establishment as she waited for it to be ready.

A few minutes later two children burst into the building. Both had dark hair and eyes and looked like they could have been twins. There were perhaps five or six. Hermione couldn't help but smile as they argued and ran around the tables inside. She stepped out of their way, moving toward the back wall of the building as the woman behind the counter started to scold the kids in Greek.

Hermione lost track of the conversation though, as her attention focused on the photographs on the wall. They were familiar, despite the fact that she'd never seen any of them before. They were mostly shots of the island, or the town, or the sea. Quite a few of them were very artistic. Worked in with the more artistic shots were shots of the people of the island. Hermione immediately felt like an outsider as she looked at them.

The woman behind the counter appeared in a few of them, mostly looking sheepish at events, occasionally an animal carcass joined her in the photos. Hermione stepped closer to the photographs to attempt to avoid the children.

The same children appeared in quite a few of them as well. There wasn't any sign of a father in the photographs, but other locals appeared to be in a couple of them as well. But one man caught her attention more than the others. And he only appeared in one of the photographs.

It was tucked away in the upper corner and the image itself was slightly blurry, as if snapped quickly or by someone who wasn't overly familiar with a camera. The woman who was currently making her lunch was in it. She looked younger than she did now, and quite a bit less tired.

In the photograph she stood with her hands on her hips, looking cross at the camera. There was some type of town festival occurring around her. Her expression was that of someone who wasn't going to be cross for very long, the first inklings of a smile evident in the corners of her mouth. And there he was, standing a few feet away, leaning on the stall where she was working, with the smug expression of someone who knew he was the life of the party.

Her breath hitched as she stared at him. He looked good in the photograph, despite the fact that he needed to shave and his hair was too long, hanging down over his eyes. She lost herself staring at the photograph until someone spoke from her side.

"Excuse me, miss?" the woman asked as she stood next to her, holding a white paper bag. "Your food is ready."

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said. The woman peered at her for a moment. Her eyes flashed to the photograph she was looking at and then quickly back to Hermione.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked.

"Yes, sorry," Hermione apologized again. She intended to say something clever about the photographs, to comment on the artistry of some of them, and to slowly lead into the one she wanted to ask about. Instead, she came out with. "When was that one taken?"

The woman paused and stared at her for a moment. Hermione saw her eyes flash toward the cleaver on the counter. "Four or five years ago."

"I see," Hermione said. "Do you know what became of that man?"

"Why do you ask?" the woman responded, stepping closer to the counter and her cleaver.

"No reason," Hermione sighed. "He looks remarkably like someone I went to school with. A man named Harry Potter. I haven't seen him in nearly a decade."

"And would he like to see you?" the woman asked. If she recognized the name she did not show it.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "Had he wanted to see me it wouldn't have been difficult for him. I guess I'd like to see him more than he'd like to see me."

"Why?" the woman asked.

"I'd like to know he's doing alright. And see if he wants to come to my wedding," Hermione said. This time the woman's eyes flashed to her hands. Hermione frowned. "My boyfriend hasn't asked yet. But…well…I think he was going to do it over the holidays. And then I came here instead. Well, it's a long story."

"It sounds it," the woman said. She continued to eye Hermione for a few moments. Hermione could tell her presence was slowly growing less welcomed.

"Sorry, I'll be on my way," Hermione said as she moved toward the door.

"There's a road," the woman started. "Exiting town to the west. It leads up the hill toward the other end of the island. You can't miss it. It's the only non-paved road in town. Somehow no one ever notices that. At the end, you might find what you seek."

"Might?" Hermione asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Might," the woman affirmed. "Sometimes there's something there. Sometimes there isn't." And then she turned her attention to the kids and Hermione took it as her cue to leave.

She found the road quickly enough and started walking up it, eating her sandwich as she walked up the hill. She felt nothing as she walked, no tinges of magic, no signs of anything. There didn't even appear to be any wildlife as she entered a more wooded area.

The walk took her the rest of the afternoon. The sun was setting as the trees started to thin out and the smell of woods slowly faded to the smell of the sea as she continued to press up the hill. She'd never admit it to, but she found herself rather glad she started to work out with her boyfriend a few years ago.

She always felt he was going easy on her when they did. And she was sure he was. But they had fun when they spent time together. Even if she wasn't a huge fan of the exercising. She wasn't sure that she'd have been able to continue the hike as long as she was a few years ago.

And then, when she was finally ready to give up, she emerged from the forest completely. An empty clearing greeted her as the road continued up the hill. After five more steps it wasn't an empty clearing as magic assaulted her senses.

An elaborate marble villa greeted her as her boots sank into the snow. She blinked and looked down at her feet and was surprised to find that a couple of inches of snow littered the ground around the villa. Yet it wasn't cold enough for there to be snow, much less that much snow.

She shook her head at the thought. Of course it wasn't cold enough. But when had that ever stopped magic? Still, the thought of actually wanting snow bothered her. She continued stepping toward the villa, marveling at the structure. Garlands and lights lined the building, flashing, the red and green spilling over the otherwise white walls. After a few more steps she could feel the magic in the area, concentrated around the house and the snow.

A squealing giggle pulled her attention from the building. And then, from the side, came a young girl. She was younger than the boys in the town, Hermione would have guessed three or four. She wore a white tunic that Hermione thought would have fit in better during the height of Athenian rule than the current century. Her hair was black and bound back with elaborate gold filigree running through it. Her eyes were a stunningly bright gold and they seemed to almost glow as they met Hermione's. The girl beamed immediately and started running toward her.

"Auntie Effie?!" she squealed. And then, moments later, Hermione saw another figure emerge from the side of the building. Her breath hitched in her throat as she laid eyes on Harry Potter for the first time in a decade.

"Where are you going?" he laughed as he chased after the girl. And then he saw her. He slowed down as their eyes met and then he stopped, about ten feet away from her. She froze. She wanted to run to him, to hug him, to slap him for leaving, to say something clever, to do anything. But instead she did nothing.

"Auntie Effie!" the girl interrupted. Harry shook his head. He looked good, she thought. He wore black jeans and a Greek quidditch shirt. His arms were rather toned, his skin bronze from the sun, and his hair shorter than in the photos she'd seen.

"Love, what color is Aunt Ephrya's hair?" Harry asked. The girl looked confused for a moment and then giggled.

"Blue!" she yelled.

"And what color is our visitor's hair?" Harry asked. The girl just giggled.

"Blue!" she yelled again.

"Amara Potter!" Harry yelled at his daughter, who dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"My hair is blue right now, isn't it?" Hermione asked, reaching for a strand of it and pulling it over her face.

"Yes, sorry about that," Harry said, moving toward the girl. "What did I tell you about using magic on people without asking?"

"I no no," the girl giggled.

"Do I need to get your mother involved?" Harry threatened. The girl shook her head and promptly stopped giggling.

"No. I'm sorry," she said to Hermione as she shifted to cower behind Harry.

"Oh it's fine," Hermione shrugged. She squatted down to be more on level with the girl and smiled at her. "I'm Hermione. You must be Amara."

"Uh-huh," the girl said, cowering further behind Harry.

"Sorry she's going to hide now that the amusement is gone. Want me to fix your hair?" Harry asked as he tried to spin around to get a better look at his daughter who managed to stay hidden behind him no matter where he moved.

"Probably. How awful does it look?" she laughed, standing.

"It's really not bad. Although she did a terrible job of copying her aunt's hair," Harry said. Hermione couldn't tell if he was annoyed that his daughter had done it, or that she'd done it wrong. "I think something lighter or more pastel would be more your speed though, like a pink or a teal."

"Pink!" Amara giggled.

"No," Harry scolded.

"Amara," A woman called from the house. "It's time to leave your father alone and come in for a bath."

"No!" Amara yelled.

"Yes," the woman responded.

"No!" Amara yelled.

"You know what's going to happen if she comes out here," Harry said. Amara pouted but Harry levitated her into the air just by raising his hand. The girl squealed with laughter as she floated toward her mother.

The woman looked different than Hermione remembered. Well, the facial structure was the same, and she held herself the same. But Hermione didn't remember golden eyes. And would have bet she was a brunette. Granted, she knew how fickle hair color could be in the magical world. Moreso given her current situation.

"That's…" Hermione started the myth falling into place. Harry looked back at her.

"Circe Potter. My wife," he said.

"Great," she laughed hollowly.

"What's that?" Harry raised his brows.

"I really am the only Gryffindor in our year who was never married," Hermione scoffed.

"From what I hear you're shacking up with a Quidditch star," Harry said.

"How on Earth did you hear that?" she asked.

"Read it in the Prophet a few months ago when I was in….." Harry paused.

"You were in London and couldn't even be arsed to say hello?" Hermione glared.

"In fairness I was only there for like three hours. Was just for a birthday party and happened to see the paper while there," Harry said. "Do you want me to fix your hair?"

"Oh, right, that," Hermione sighed. She took out her wand and pointed it at her head, the color bleed out and her natural brown replaced it. "Back to normal?"

"Yes," Harry said. "So…want to come inside? Circe's attempting Hestia's lamb risotto and it smells divine. You can then tell me all about your fetish for Quidditch players."

"Oh haha. I don't want to intrude," Hermione said.

"You sort of already are," Harry smirked. But he looked happy about it so she rolled her eyes and followed him into the house. Hermione marveled at the house as she entered. The building was teeming with magic. The inside was every bit as decorated as the exterior with Christmas trees and lights everywhere. He led her to a sitting room and brought out a bottle of wine. Hermione blinked at the 1926 on the label and figured it was best to not ask.

But right as they settled down to talk, Amara came rushing through the room and distracted Harry. Followed a few moments later by his wife, holding a strangely glowing sheet of parchment with a frown on her face.

"What's up?" Harry asked, picking up Amara as she ran around his feet.

"Viv is asking if we can watch Bianca for a few days," Circe said.

"Bia!" Amara giggled happily.

"I don't see why not, unless you object?" Harry asked.

"No it's just…funny," Circe said, her frown curling upwards. Amara wiggled her way out of Harry's arms and started to run around the villa once more. Shouting her friend's name repeatedly.

"Why's that?" Harry asked.

"Their renaissance Italy trip is going poorly," Circe said, chuckling to herself. "Bianca's having night terrors." Harry blinked at her a couple of times before a smile curved onto his own face. Hermione wasn't sure childhood nightmares were something to joke about but didn't comment.

"I see," Harry chuckled. "Obviously we'll help out however we can. Maybe see what Hestia is doing in case it's not when we think it is?"

"I will," Circe said. "And I'll take care of the hobgoblin for you. As well as bring your dinner."

"Thanks love," Harry responded happily, ignoring his wife's sarcasm. He took a seat across from Hermione and started distributing the wine.

"She didn't seem happy," Hermione commented, before it occurred to her it was entirely out of place for her to notice.

"It's fine," Harry smiled. "She's been in a mood since our friends thought I was a better cook than her. It's why she's trying to make the risotto. I do most of it normally. It's a hereditary talent of sorts."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," he said with a smile that indicated he wasn't going to say more than that. She took a deep breath and tried to push away the feeling that she was imposing. She paused to take a sip of her wine, marveling at how such as simple action could make her feel more at home.

"You have a beautiful house," she said.

"Thanks," Harry said. "I wish I could take credit for it. But she did almost all the decorating."

"Even the festive stuff?" Hermione asked.

"She wants holidays to be a big deal for Amara, so she goes overboard. Not that I'm complaining," Harry said.

"I have to ask," Hermione said, gesturing to a bookcase in the corner where a fancy tiara was serving as a book stop. "Is that the lost diadem of Ravenclaw?"

"Well, it isn't lost, and it doesn't belong to Rowena Ravenclaw," Harry said.

"That's not a no," Hermione said, peering at Harry over the wine.

"I suppose it was what you think for a time. But it isn't that now," Harry said.

"That doesn't really make sense, Harry," Hermione said. Harry just smiled at her in a way that said all it needed to. It didn't make sense to her. But to him it was clear as day. She frowned at the thought. She didn't like knowing less than the people around her. But something told her that she would have to grow accustomed to it.

"So, you were going to tell me about this Quidditch star," Harry said.

"You'd like him," Hermione said. "You're very similar."

"How'd you meet?" he asked.

"Well, he's my boss's son. But it was actually Krum that really introduced us at a London Party. And we sort of became friends after that," Hermione said.

"And it developed into more?" Harry said.

"I guess," Hermione said. "I think it was more after I found out Ernie was cheating on me."

"Ernie MacMillan?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione said. "And once-"

"Want me to kill him?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione laughed, far more than Harry would have expected for such a joke.

"What?" Harry asked.

"It's just," he shook her head and sipped her wine as she recovered. "You'd like Titus. Really, you would."

"I'll take your word for it," Harry said.

"Anyway, after that we grew closer and closer and it just sort of happened. It felt…a long time coming when it finally happened. I think we were probably dating long before we were dating," Hermione said.

"I know that feeling," Harry responded. "Our friends said we argued like a married couple that needed to shag well before we were anything of the type."

"Of course that's what you'd talk about," Circe said from the doorway.

"The goblin taken care of?" Harry asked.

"For now," Circe said. She sat down on the couch next to Harry and leaned forward for the third glass of wine. She took a sip as three plates of lamb risotto floated into the room. "It's nice to see you again, Hermione. I hope you don't mind eating in your lap."

"Uh, not at all," Hermione said. She barely remembered their conversation at the feast when Harry returned. Aside from thinking the other woman had thought she was a pest at the time.

"So, how serious are things with the Quidditch star?" Harry asked. Hermione started on her risotto. Taking a moment to compliment Circe on it. They ate for a few moments before the conversation continued.

"I'm pretty sure he's going to propose. I think he probably would have over the holiday but then I figured out where you were and I wanted to see you," Hermione said.

"I can't imagine he took that well," Harry laughed.

"He encouraged me to go," she said. "I think he knew."

"Knew what?" Harry asked.

"That my wedding would never be complete if I couldn't invite you. I know that we haven't seen each other much in, well, a while. But I missed you and you'll always be one of my best friends," Hermione said. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks and she assumed it wasn't just the wine. Harry's expression darkened and turned rather contemplative as he pressed his lips together. To her surprise he wasn't the one who answered.

"We'd love to come," Circe said. Harry looked momentarily surprised but after the initial instant he smiled at her as well.

"Just let us know when you set the date," Harry said.

"I will," she said. "But…well…how?"

"Our floo works just fine," Harry said. "Not that anyone bothers to try to use it."

"You have to be kidding me," Hermione said.

"Just say Circe of Aeaea," Circe said. "My brother set it up."

"Your brother?" Hermione asked.

"Perses. He's in the Greek Ministry now. He helps keep this place mostly a secret," Harry said.

"I…like…Perses the king of Colchis. Didn't Medea kill him?"

"That pathetic bitch kill a Titan?" Circe scoffed making a face at Hermione.

"You're really her? The Circe?" Hermione asked.

"Mostly," Circe said, shrugging her shoulders and looking oddly embarrassed at the question.

"How can you mostly be someone?" Hermione asked. Circe just raised her brows and looked at Harry.

"That's a long story, Hermione."

"I'm already imposing," Hermione countered as she finished her risotto. "Unless you're trying to get rid of me."

"I'd be a terrible hostess if I got rid of you before dessert," Circe said, gazing at Harry.

"I didn't make anything," he said.

"And?" Circe asked.

"I guess I can come up with something," Harry sighed and pulled himself to his feet.

"Pepperminty," Circe added. The women sat in silence as Harry left the room. Circe sipped from her wine, her gaze never sliding off of Hermione. If Hermione was honest, it made her rather uncomfortable. She fought the urge to fidget.

Just when it looked like Circe might talk to her, the fireplace in the corner of the room roared to life. It startled Hermione and she almost spilled her wine on herself but Circe was standing and waiting as a man and a girl stepped out from the flames.

"Hello Circe," the man said. He had black hair, blue eyes, oddly pointed ears, and looked like he hadn't slept much in the last few days. He was dressed in jeans and a simple black shirt.

"Seth," Circe responded. Hermione felt the animosity in her tone. She did a good job of hiding it. But still, Hermione could recognize it. The other woman was doing her level best to be friendly with this man but there was a history there that she wasn't quite over yet. Hermione immediately wanted to know more.

"Thanks for agreeing to take Bianca," Seth said. He guided a sleepy looking blonde girl toward Circe. Her eyes were half closed and she wore simple pajamas. She had some sort of lollipop in her mouth. At first glance Hermione thought it was a blood pop but that seemed like a ridiculous treat for a child so she assumed it had to be something else.

"Of course," Circe nodded at him. She knelt down and smiled at the girl. "Uncle Harry is in the kitchen fixing up some dessert, should we go bother him?"

"Mmm okay," the girl said, sounding exhausted. But her eyes lit up at the mention of dessert and Circe picked her up easily, before her gaze shifted back to Seth.

"I'll be getting back to Viv then," he said. "Thanks again."

"Any time," Circe said as the man disappeared into the fire. She turned to Hermione and added. "I'll be right back."

"Of course," Hermione said, feeling oddly jealous of the woman holding a child in her arms. She shook that thought out of her head and turned her attention to the wine.

Circe returned a few minutes later with a new bottle of wine and an annoyed expression. She refilled hers and Hermione's glasses while ignoring Harry's.

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked.

"Fine," Circe said, pausing to take a sip of her wine. "He's just being lazy. I expected better than a peppermint affogato."

"That sounds pretty good to me," Hermione admitted. Circe scoffed.

"At least he's making the ice cream fresh," she countered.

"That seems like a lot of work," Hermione shrugged, having never actually made ice cream herself. Circe shrugged in a way that seemed to indicate she didn't know, or care, if it was. They lapsed into silence for a few more moments. Circe waited until Hermione took another sip of her wine to continue.

"You actually present an interesting opportunity," Circe said, peering over her own glass at the other woman.

"Why does that sound sinister?" Hermione asked, trying to feign humor. Circe gave her a patient smile.

"Because I'm saying it," she said.

"What opportunity is that?" Hermione asked.

"Harry is struggling with what he is. Amara and I can only distract him for so long. He's melancholy," Circe said.

"What he is?" Hermione asked, hoping for some type of clarification. Yet she was talking to Circe, and they'd mentioned Hestia. The blocks were falling into place.

"He's going to outlive everyone he knows. He's not sure how he feels about that. He's started to distance himself from most people. I thought that Sirius Black finding him would have helped. But, in the end, he needs a friend," Circe said.

"Sirius Black found him?" Hermione interrupted.

"Yes," Circe said, pausing to press her lips together.

"And he wasn't happy about it?" Hermione asked.

"I was thrilled about it," Harry said, walking into the room with the three desserts floating behind him. "Until he hexed my wife, triggering an early labor and violating guest right."

"Oh," Hermione said. She already knew the answer to her next question bit it slipped out anyway. "Why would he do that?"

"He didn't like who I was," Circe said.

"And reacted poorly," Harry responded, passing out the desserts. Hermione stuck the spoon in hers and prodded at it for a moment before taking her first bite.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said.

"It's not your deed to apologize for," Harry responded.

"And he has, a thousand times," Circe countered.

"Only because Hestia makes him."

"Does that invalidate everything I make you do," Circe teased. Harry glared at her before rolling his eyes playfully.

"It might," he admitted.

"You still better come to my wedding," Hermione frowned, remembering that Circe was the one who'd agreed to it.

"I don't see a ring," Harry said with a nod toward her hands.

"I sort of ruined his plans by rushing off to find you," Hermione said. "I'm pretty sure he meant to do it over the holidays."

"I proposed to Circe on New Year's Eve," Harry commented.

"Which was stupid," Circe said. "Because now when I divorce you for wanting another parasite I'll have bad memories of the holiday."

"Sorry," Harry chuckled. "My decisions are usually suspect."

"I hate to think of what that says about me," Circe said.

"Anyway, we did say we'd come. So we'll come. I would like to meet him though. Make sure he's good enough for you," Harry said.

"I think he's done with Quidditch until the New Year at this point. I could call him if it's not too imposing," Hermione said.

"Go ahead," Harry responded, nodding toward the fireplace in the corner. Hermione placed her dessert on the table and moved toward the fire. She took the powder from a vase on the mantle and initiated the call. A few minutes later her boyfriend stepped through the flames. He hugged Hermione and then looked around the room as Harry spoke.

"That foul last month against Chalcis was bullshit," he said, his face stern. Titus Button brought his gaze to meet Harry's and seemed to weigh his words carefully. Hermione vaguely remembered the play. Contact from a Chaser resulted in a penalty shot to secure a win against a rather surprising European Cup upstart in Chalcis.

Titus, who'd drawn the foul, had defended the referees in every public way he could. Now, his lips curved upward slowly and his eyes flashed.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was."

There was a moment of silence. An odd sort of tension rising in the air that Hermione could feel clearly. Circe merely sipped her wine and ignored her husband.

And then, after a heartbeat, Harry smiled. And the tension vanished in an instant. Hermione knew it was some sort of test, and that her boyfriend had passed it, but she wasn't about to pretend to understand men.

"Want anything to drink?" Harry asked. Titus's eyes gazed around the room, tracing over the wine glasses on the coffee table.

"Wine would be great," Titus said. Harry nodded and a fresh glass and bottle appeared. He filled it and floated it over toward Titus before refilling the rest of them. He took a seat next to his wife as Titus sat next to Hermione.

They were quiet for a few minutes before Harry broke the ice with a question about her job. It was inane, but it got them talking. And the conversation flowed easily from that point on. Even if Hermione didn't remember the specifics of most of it.

It wasn't until a few bottles of wine later that she bothered to check her watch and noticed that it was nearly two in the morning.

"Oh my," she said, nearly spilling her wine onto herself as she twisted her wrist to see it properly.

"It's late," Titus said.

"I can prepare a guest room," Harry said. Hermione shook her head.

"Oh no that's not necessary," she said, standing.

"It's really no trouble," Harry said.

"I'm sure. But I've been using a hotel on Mykonos as a home base when I was island hopping. We can floo to it easily," Hermione said.

"Well then it was nice to really meet you," Circe said, standing.

"You too, thank you for everything," Hermione said. Circe moved toward her and hugged her.

"It was no problem," she said, giving her a brief hug. Hermione almost missed the whisper telling her to be patient with Harry. .

"Would you join us for breakfast tomorrow? The hotel's menu is actually quite good," Hermione said.

"We have the girls," Harry said, peering up toward the bedrooms.

"Bring them," Hermione said.

"They'd find it fun and they might behave," Circe countered.

"I'm sure Bianca will be an angel," Harry agreed. Circe's lips curled up into a smile and she clearly understood his implication.

"Please come," Hermione said. Harry frowned and stared at her for a moment.

"Alright," Harry said.

"See you in the morning then," Hermione said, slipping away from Circe to hug her friend. Then, after a few more smattering of farewells she and Titus stepped into the floo and into the lobby of the Mykonos hotel.

"He seemed personable," Titus shrugged as Hermione led him to her room.

"He seemed stiff and worried. But I found him," Hermione beamed. "And they'll come to our wed—breakfast."

"Well then," Titus said, smirking at her. She blushed and looked away from him. If he caught her slip he didn't say anything. She unlocked the hotel room door and slipped inside with him. Almost as soon as the door closed she hugged him.

"Thanks for making me go," she said.

"Spurring you on," Titus corrected. "And you're welcome."

"I would have dithered about it for far too long had you not," Hermione continued.

"I doubt it," Titus said. He silenced her with a kiss as he led her toward the bed. Hermione smirked against his lips. For the first time in what felt like eons everything felt right. She had a man she adored, and she knew her best friend still cared. The part of her that thought he hated her had vanished. And deep down she knew that she'd be able to be in his life again. That they would be friends once more. And that was all she'd ever wanted.

Acknowledgments: Well, there it is. Three years in the making. I hope you enjoyed it all. While it took me forever I had a more enjoyable time writing it than I had with most of my other works, even if it did have a higher cost.

Anyway, if you'd wish to support me further I am available at PAT RE ON at Te7Writes. The next two chapters of Cleansing the Sins are there because it was the stupid poll of what I'll write next so i give it maybe four more before I give up. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing I do appreciate all of the feedback I receive.