a/n: hello! sorry to any of you who thought my recent (and now deleted) chapter was part of the story and not an update but hopefully this will make you happy :) some of you guys might not like this chapter since its sort of a filler but it's also the longest one i've written so far so i don't really know if that makes it any better...anyways, on towards the story then!

disclaimer: i don't own harry potter, or any other recognizable ideas/plots/etc. not making money from it either, only trying to develop my ability to write!

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Hermione was drumming her fingers against the soft material of the shirts Ginny had chosen in what was probably the fourth store they had visited that afternoon in slight agitation. Ginny was hidden from view, behind racks of over-colourful and most definitely over-priced articles of clothing, and while Hermione was to be the one attending the interview, Ginny seemed perfectly content in picking out a few pieces of her own as well.

In the midst of another uneventful period of zoning out, a ruby red blouse flung across the hangers and landed itself on Hermione's face, covering her eyes unceremoniously. Being an experienced shopping partner of the redhead, it didn't come as much of a surprise to her when a second shirt in the same colour dropped on top of the first, before Hermione had the chance to bat them away.

Though Ginny couldn't see her expression—being too busy finding more blouses to suffocate her in—an unimpressed roll of her eyes flitted across Hermione's face as she peeled the shirts off and added them to the overflowing pile on her arm. She continued to trail behind her zealous friend and shuffled her feet forward, wishing she were at home, with a good book, curled next to Crookshanks, instead of using money she didn't need to burn.

Looking down at her cramped arm, she decided to intervene in Ginny's mildly shopaholic-esque adventure.

"I think that should be enough, Gin." She sighed, motioning to her countless options that decorated her arm. "I kind of look like a butler, now."

Ginny snorted and shifted her eyes away from a rather scandalous looking dress and settled on Hermione's with a serious look, raking over her current state with mock intensity.

"But I though that was the look you were going for?" She cocked her head to the side curiously, and let a small grin loose.

Giving into her request, she walked off towards the fitting rooms, waving at Hermione to follow and crashed onto one of the leather couches. Pointing lazily to the curtained stalls, she gazed at Hermione expectedly, and skimmed through one of the fashion catalogue's that had been displayed on the same coffee table where her feet rested.

Awkwardly making her way to the first room, Hermione yanked the heavy material of the purple curtains behind her and dropped the clothes on the wooden bench without much care. Stretching her arms to relieve some of the discomfort, her joints in her elbows popped and groaned, and allowed some of the tension to leave her shoulders when she rolled her neck from side to side.

Throwing her shoulders back in confidence to brace herself, she faced her inanimate tormentors and tried not to think about the numbers that would inevitably take up residence in her already dwindling bank account. Though she wasn't physically struggling at the effort to support herself, she was still an independent and recent graduate, who had a somewhat large tendency to spend night and day online. Raised to believe in making money for oneself, and paying for your own responsibilities and privileges alike, she rarely ever sought out her parents for financial dependency. She had Harry to butt in during times like those, as unnecessary as it was. It seemed to be that Harry didn't quite see the logic in using either his inheritance or his parent's insurance money for himself, but instead spent it on his friends without their request or asking. If you asked her, he did it most to Hermione, because he knew how much it irritated her when he bought things she could have easily gotten herself, or not at all for that matter.

It had been this way since she had first met him in boarding school, far in the dark alleys and hidden archways of Hogwarts School for Learning and Excellency. She had met him and Ron in one of the train compartments, whilst searching for Neville Longbottom's toad, of all things. They had all been rather puzzled over his preference in pets, as if they were wizards or something on their way to practice magic, never mind the fact that Harry had brought an owl.

They had all been rather peculiar children, but while others had been just that, Harry had been different on a whole other level—not exactly in the bad way, but in the sense of loneliness and curiosity. He had a natural feeling about him that led others to gravitate towards him just because he was him, even before learning about his fateful—and evidently famous backstory.

As a child, Harry had witnessed the deaths of his parents, survived a blow to the head, been housed in the home of abusive relatives for years—despite the fact that his own godfather had sought his rightful position as his guardian in their stead—and managed to pick out the infamous serial killer Tom Riddle in a lineup of usual suspects when he was only five.

It really hadn't come as a surprise when the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself had taken a liking to America's very own phenomenon, and poster boy for justice.

But it had come as an even bigger surprise when Harry had opted for a career in sports over training in the law enforcement academy, as many had expected of him.

Hermione understood why he had done so. While Ginny and Ron had both attended the highly esteemed camp where Harry had been scouted, they hadn't had to feel the constant attention of both the media and the public all at once.

She remembered the night Harry had told Hermione about getting the spot on his favourite team, both of them leaning against each other as they watched the skyline, tumblers in hand and liquid untouched.

When they were younger, the stars had been more visible, and she had been able to spout the numberless amount of mythological stories behind each constellation, while Harry would point in random spots in the glittering sky, jabbing the air as if it were tangible.

Maybe it had been, at that time. That's how it had felt to them, anyways. Everything had felt more real—every emotion and aspiration held so tightly against their chests that even magic seemed possible, if they just wished loud enough or hard enough.

For Harry, it had always been a one-man show: him against the world and everything in between. It had taken him years to realize the extent of how deep friendship and loyalty ran, for it had never offered its hand when he needed it most. It hadn't for most of the children attending Hogwarts, either.

Shaking out of her reverie, Hermione snatched a random blouse and skirt, tossing off her clothes, and shrugging them on.

"You done?" Ginny yelled from her seat, causing Hermione to jump in alarm, mid-tug in struggling with her shirt.

"Almost!" Her announcement was mumbled through the surprisingly soft collar of the very same ruby red blouse from earlier, and the pleasant frame billowed around her head, creating a momentary sea of hair and skin and fabric, making mundane sounds warp and shrink into themselves.

Ginny made a noncommittal sound, and settled further in her seat, the leather stretching in what could be described as a grimace, if couches were capable of doing so.

Finally managing to right her clothes, Hermione faced the side mirror and smiled faintly. So, maybe she looked nice in them, but that still didn't mean she was about to use money on it.

She stepped out behind the curtains to show Ginny, who had managed to squash herself into a reclining position, and swung her arms at her sides, unable to decipher the emotions washing over her friend's freckled face. After a few minutes of excruciating silence, safe for the soft elevator-like music drifting from the store's speakers, or the bustling of the city outside the glass doors, Hermione finally took a defensive stance, and crossed her arms over her chest, her face flushing with heat.

"Well?" Her voice sounded shrill, like an unpracticed jerk of a violin chord. She tapped her fingers against her ribs, awaiting her judgement.

"Well," Ginny started, sitting up from her spot and placing the magazine back on the table. "I think you need better shoes."

Hermione blinked at her and directed her eyes at the well-worn sneakers she had come to depend on through the months. "So am I getting these, then?"

Ginny smirked, readily passing her phone over with an outstretched hand. Hermione looked at it warily, already knowing what to expect, and answered the confused voice on the other line.

"Hey, Harry."

After a few beats of silence, he answered in a hushed tone.

"Hey."

"Ginny's making you buy me clothes, isn't she?" She tucked a curl behind her ear and sighed. "I'm not a charity case."

Another beat of silence.

"I know. I—"

"Well, then you know that I don't like it when you treat me like one!"

A strangled noise of exasperation made its way out of Harry's throat, and she could almost see him pulling his hair in frustration and cleaning his glasses with the edge of his shirt.

"I know." He said. "I know. But this is going to be a big day for you and—and I want you to be happy."

It was her turn to make a strangled sound, "There's a world of difference between being happy and being flippant with your bank account, okay? I just—you're not allowed to do this to me. You promised."

"So—you're angry." It wasn't a question but Hermione answered nonetheless.

"I'm—I just don't feel the need in using someone else's money, is all."

He let out a stream of breath and gave in to her wishes.

"Then you'll be glad that I transferred some into your account. Technically it's your money now."

He hung up faster than you could say quidditch—a funny word that Dumbledore had liked to use in nicknaming sports—leaving Hermione to furrow her brows in distaste, and Ginny to skip off towards the counter, with Hermione's card in hand.

"Wait—when did you get my card!" She yelled to her across the room. "Ginny!"

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Five shoe stores, and one pair of sensible heels later—at her own request, although much to Ginny's dismay—the duo sat in the patio of a sandwich and ice-cream bistro, enjoying the moment of icy sweetness.

"So,"Ginny asked her once she reached the waffle cone of her ice-cream. "You and my brother?"

Hermione swallowed her bite too fast, the cold dessert leaving an unpleasant feeling along her insides. Taking her time, and attempting a nonchalant nod, she wiped any residue off of her mouth and stared at Ginny with mock confidence.

"I—suppose." A perfectly groomed eyebrow arched with obvious disbelief. "It's nothing official, but he likes me, and—and I like him."

Ginny let out a goodnatured laugh at her fumbling, and placed a warm hand on top of hers in a gesture of support. "Are you trying to convince me, or are you trying to convince yourself?"

Hermione thought about that for a moment, churning it inside her head and rolling it around her tongue. Did she like him? She supposed she did. She liked him well enough, and certainly long enough. It had been years since she first showed any interest in Ron, although it was only recently that he managed to catch on.

"Yes." She said, nibbling at her plain ice-cream cone absentmindedly.

"Yes, you're trying to convince me," Ginny used her spoon to point at herself. "Or yes, you're trying to convince yourself?"

The spoon made its way in front of her face with its offending plastic-flimsiness and Hermione dodged to the side, pushing it back towards Ginny.

"Yes, I like him." She said, rolling her eyes.

A puzzled look crossed Ginny's face and she tilted her head to the side, as if trying to solve an enigma.

"But does he like you?"

Silence fell between them again, and it was only later, when Hermione was settled in her bed, that she realized the answer was no.

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