Disclaimer: I am a Design Graduate in a 30 square metre flat. JKR wrote a wonderful story and now rightfully dwells in a castle. You do the maths.


Hermione dragged herself up to the castle, exhaustion pulling on her stiff shoulders. She had just spent 4 hours tending – well, wrestling with – a devil's snare. Worth it, considering that she had then blasted it into oblivion. The plant had slithered a tentacle around her neck, her instincts had overreacted and a quick dash of her wand decorated the walls of the greenhouse with the remnants of the only devil's snare that had survived the battle.

Ginny had shouted „You go girl!", Prof. Sprout had been close to tears over the loss, and the majority of the class had eyed her like she was going to smite one of them next.

As she neared the front gates, yet another group of students felt the compulsion to stare. Two months of this, and Hermione was good and well fed up with it. She missed Harry and...

„Oi midgets! Take a photo: last you longer!"


The younger students rushed inside, and Hermione turned around to the very welcome sight of a particular ginger Auror Trainee.

Without another word she walked over, wrapped her arms around him, buried her nose in his chest and inhaled deeply.

„Hey." He whispered as he drew her closer into his cloak.

„Hey yourself." She mumbled into the fabric of his turtleneck.

They stood in the fading daylight, students rushing past them for dinner.

„Better?" Ron asked after a while.

„Much." She answered, squeezing a little tighter.

„Care to go inside?"



The last rays of sunlight disappeared behind a distant mountain range.

„... but I hear it's Roast-Chicken-night."

„I knew you had an agenda." She said, finally smiling.