Author's Note: So about that monthly updating thing… I didn't mean to, but I lied. I am a lying liar who lies. My pants are aflame. I'm worse than skim milk. I sit on a throne of lies, and I can only offer up severe writer's block on this story and a computer crash as excuses. Forgive me, folks.

I've given up on promising any kind of regular update schedule. Like I've said before, I've been writing this as I go and letting the plot take me where it will. In an attempt to break through my block, I tried to map it all out on my old computer, but guess what wasn't backed up when it crashed? Yep. So I've actually got the next three chapters mapped out, but I'll make no more promises about when updates will happen. I don't like to lie. But here's a not-so-little update that will hopefully tide you over until we can get back to the real action!.

ALSO: Code Red was short lived British boy band in the late 90's.

Harry couldn't keep still. He offered to help Dobby with the dishes, but they were already clean. He asked Dobby to pop out for a copy of the Daily Prophet and, when the elf returned, went up to his study and read it cover to cover. He tried reading through a chapter of an old defense text, playing chess against himself, and even practicing some of the household spells he'd recently found in a book. Nothing could keep his mind off Hermione and the task she was tackling a few doors down.

After an hour of fidgeting, Harry gave up. He needed to know how it was going, and he needed to know now. He crept down the hall and opened the library door the tiniest bit—just enough to see inside. As soon as he did, a faint but shrill whine began emanating from the back of the library.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to wait much longer," Hermione called.

Harry made his way through the rows of books to what had always been Hermione's preferred table in the Black library. "Did you manage to put up a ward in here? Only I'm supposed to be able to do that."

Hermione smirked. "Nope. It's all part of my plan." She gestured to the sheet of parchment on top of the many scattered across the table.

He stepped forward to read over her shoulder and was suddenly far more conscious of their close proximity and the lingering scent of her conditioner.

"What do you think?"

Harry shook his head a bit to clear it. Focus, damn it. He cleared his throat and said, "Just a minute, Mione, you know I'm a much slower reader."

He finally looked down at the neat, bulleted list in her hands.

"This… This looks plausible," Harry said, trying to tamp down the relief and excitement threatening to fill his chest. "Why don't you walk me through the details."

Hermione sat up straight and adjusted her papers. Harry suddenly felt an odd nostalgia—she looked just like eleven-year-old Hermione getting ready to answer a question in Charms class. He was glad some things never changed.

"The first of your concerns I want to address is the possibility that I could be recognized in public," she began. "I've been testing out the Shrinking Charm on small bits of my hair, working my way up to larger sections, and I've found that it's easily reversible. I'll just have to remember where I want to stop it when I do that. Changing the color won't be any issue, I've known the Charm since fifth year. I'll have to straighten it by both magical and Muggle means because my hair's too thick for just the charm."

"But I haven't updated this place to add electricity. How's that going to work?" Harry asked.

She grinned, already prepared for that question. "Before electric straighteners, women used to put iron tongs in the fire and run them over their hair. I wouldn't use actual fire, of course, spells are much safer. So I think that, between the usual Charm and a pair of hot tongs, I should be able to get it straight."

"And what's this part about a ring?"

"That I need to talk to you about." Hermione chewed her lip, and Harry imagined he could actually see the gears he knew were always turning in her head while she tried to explain something. "It would be good to have an easier, more reliable solution for disguising myself. Theoretically, if someone has enough power, they could Charm a piece of jewelry that would allow for repeated large-scale transfiguration. Kind of like what I did with the Protean Charm on the DA's coins, but… more. I was thinking you could try doing a ring for me."

Harry snorted. "Hermione, I hate to break it to you, but I know nothing about that kind of thing. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

She waved a hand dismissively. "It's just a theory. We can look into it later, but for now we have a workable solution for disguising me."

"Alright, alright, moving on," Harry said, far more curious about the next point. "You want to shrink a Sneakoscope and wear it as a necklace? Is that what I heard when I opened the door? Have you already shrunk it? When did you get a Sneakoscope?"

Hermione blushed and looked down. "Just think of it like the pocket Sneakscope Ron gave you for Christmas that year. And I, uh, don't have a Sneakoscope. I might have borrowed yours for this little experiment."

Harry rolled his eyes and let out an irritated huff. "Just assumed I wouldn't mind, huh?"

"No. I thought you'd mind until you realized it the Sneakoscope was an integral part of my plan and that this was the only way I could test my theory without sending Dobby out for one, which might draw some unwanted attention," she said calmly.

He let out a long breath. She was right, but he didn't have to like it. "Fine. I take it that your plan worked?"

"Yep, the Sneakoscope can be shrunk and returned to normal size without losing its defensive properties." She tapped her wand to a tiny silver trinket on the table, and his Sneakoscope was immediately set to rights.

"I'm okay with this, but I'm getting you your own," muttered Harry.

"That would be lovely, thank you," she said. "And now onto the final portion of my plan."

"Yeah, this looks kind of complicated, Mione. You want a Portkey?"

"I know you'll be able to make one as the head of an Ancient and Most Noble house. I want you to make a Portkey that I'll be able to activate either by touch or voice, but it needs to go to a secondary location."

"That's a good idea. We don't want a repeat of what happened while we were on the horcrux hunt."

"Exactly. So we need to find a secure secondary location and ward it to put down everyone except you, Dobby, and myself. I was brainstorming just which wards you could erect as a defensive mechanism. I was thinking something along the lines of a ward with a built in Stunning Charm—you know, non-lethal but still enough to subdue someone—but I'm open to suggestions."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "No, that's fine with me. I'll also need to make sure it alerts us all when someone enters the location via Portkey."

Hermione thought about it for a moment and shot him a questioning look.

"I need to know if your emergency plan has been activated," Harry said quietly. "I need to be able to get there and make sure you aren't still in danger or hurt or…"

He wouldn't think about that any further. They were making this plan so that she could stay safe. He needed her to stay safe. He couldn't lose his best friend.

Hermione took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "That's a great idea, Harry. Let me write that down."

As she jotted down a few notes, Harry couldn't resist asking just one more time. "Hermione, before we commit to any of this, I just have to make sure. Are you really okay with giving up your life in the magical world to hide near Muggle world with me? I just don't want to hold you back, and—"

Hermione whipped around and pinched his lips closed with her forefinger and thumb. "You need to listen to me and listen well, Harry Potter, because I'm only going to say this one more time. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, I'm fine moving mostly back into the Muggle world."

"But you could do so much!" he said around her hand. "And what about your future? Making a difference in the world?"

She let him go and turned away. "For all their talk about how important I was to the war effort and how much I've given the magical community, the Ministry was never going to let me do anything that was actually important. At least not for a very, very long time. I'm a Muggleborn. I don't have the right connections, and even with the Death Eaters out of the Wizengamot, that whole crowd is still incredibly backward and set in their ways. Honestly, that's true for most of magical Britain. Without you to help move things along, I don't see it getting better any time soon. I'm actually ready to leave."

"So you're really sure—"

"Enough!" Hermione cried. "You obstinate arse! I'm staying here with you, and I would really like you to be on board with how I plan to do it. So can I stay here without causing another fight?"

Harry looked at her for a long moment and felt moisture start to pool in his eyes. "Yeah," he whispered, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "I'd really like that."

She flung her arms around him and hugged him for all she was worth. "I hated knowing you were alone," she whispered fiercely.

"I hated being alone."

"Never again, Harry."

"...Promise?"

She pulled back and looked deep in his eyes. "I promise."

"Remind me what we're doing out here, warded to hell and Disillusioned?" Harry hissed. When their little heart to heart was finished, Hermione had immediately started casting charms on the two of them and insisted they Apparate to Sirius' former hideaway—the cave outside of Hogsmeade.

"I need to at least let someone know I'm alright," she murmured. "I was supposed to go to the Burrow for dinner tonight, and they'll know something's up when I don't show."

"Gonna send a Patronus?"

"Yeah, and then call Dobby to get us out of here."

"He'll will love that. Who are you going to send it to?"

She chewed her lip for a moment and then looked up at him. "I was thinking Neville. You two haven't really been in close contact since the end of the war, so I don't think he's got a constant tail anymore. And, like you said, he's totally trustworthy. He'll figure out how to get the message to the Weasleys somehow."

"Neville's a great choice. Where were you planning on sending it from?"

"When did you start asking so many freaking questions?" Hermione muttered under breath. "I was planning on sending it from right here. It's remote, no one will see it go, and we'll be able to leave quickly."

Harry hummed. "That's a good idea. But I have a counter offer."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him and motioned for him to proceed.

"What if we walked down to the edge of town and you sent it from there? I don't think anyone else really knows about this cave, and I'd like to keep it a secret as much as possible. It's a decent bolthole. If we're on the edge of town opposite Hogwarts, I don't think anyone will be around to see it, and even if they do, I doubt it would arouse any suspicion."

It was Hermione's turn to nod, though Harry could barely see her movements. "That's a good tactical move. Let's go."

They hiked the short way down from the cave and skirted Hogsmeade, giving even the outskirts of the town a wide berth. After an hour and a half of walking in comfortable silence, Harry felt Hermione's arm softly catch him in the chest.

"Does this look like a good enough spot to you?" she whispered.

"Looks fine to me," he replied. "What are you going to tell him?"

"That I'm alright. That I won't be able to come back for quite a long time. That I love them all and will miss them, but that I'm right where I need to be. And I need to tell him my safe phrase."

"Safe phrase?" Harry hadn't known any of his friends to need such a thing.

"We came up with them right after you disappeared," said Hermione. "Let me send this Patronus, and I'll explain it when we're back home."

As Hermione focused on sending her silvery otter, Harry caught himself grinning. Home. With someone else there—with Hermione there—Grimmauld Place might actually start to feel like home.

"Dobby?"

The little elf popped up in front of them. "What's can Dobby be of help with, Master Harry? Master Harry's Grangey?"

"Could you take us home, mate?" Harry asked.

He felt a slight squeeze, and then he found himself back in the kitchen of Number Twelve with Hermione.

"Thank you, Dobby!" Hermione called as she dropped her spoon onto her empty dessert plate.

"Will you tell me more about these safe phrases now?" Harry asked.

Hermione sat back in her chair. "We actually had two different phrases, one for identification if we were in public and one for danger, and a couple of other phrases to request meetings, send warnings, the like. They were all discreet enough to fit into a casual conversation, so it was easy to slip them past the Ministry's radar."

"You were afraid they'd take you," he breathed.

"Pretty much," she said. "Our 'Code Red' words were meant to be a way for us to say, 'Something feels weird, let's get out of here,' without tipping off anyone who might be listening."

Despite the anger he was feeling toward the government for interfering with his friends' lives, Harry felt himself smirk. "'Code Red'? I take it you named them? Because I seem to remember you having a crush on a certain boy band with the same name."

"Shut up," she giggled, shoving his shoulder lightly. "I thought it was a fitting name!"

"I bet you had their poster taped to your bedroom door!"

"I did n—" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "My bedroom— Harry, I don't have anything from my flat! Crookshanks is there! And so are all my photos and my books and my clothes, and I know the Ministry will be watching for me to come back now..."

"Would your wards let Dobby through?"

Dobby arrived with a small crack, already bouncing in anticipation. "Yes sir? Can Dobby help the Great Harry Potter sir?"

"They should, Harry, but I can't ask—"

Harry turned to Dobby and sighed. "Mate, you know it's just Harry to you. If you've got a moment, could you pop over to Hermione's place and clear it out? She's moving in to the room across from mine. We can put her extra furniture in one of the spare rooms."

"Oh, yes sir!" Dobby squeaked. He was practically vibrating with excitement, and Harry was a bit afraid he might splinch himself in this state. Could elves splinch themselves?

"Please be careful of any surveillance or traps," Hermione warned the elf. "They may already suspect I'm gone and hiding with Harry."

Dobby gave a little salute and disappeared.

"Come on," Harry said, waving for her to follow him. "He'll probably have half your bedroom moved over before we even get upstairs."

Sure enough, by the time they opened her door, Hermione's bedroom was almost complete. Crookshanks meowed loudly and launched himself into her arms. She walked over to her bed and plopped down on it, burying her face in the half-Kneazle's orange fur. Harry watched her glance around at her old furniture in a strange room in a somewhat familiar house, and, for the first time since he'd brought her back here, Hermione looked adrift.

"Would you like any help rearranging your furniture?" he offered.

She shook her head and offered him a small smile. "I think Dobby got everything just about perfect, as always."

He wasn't going to give up so easily. "Then how about some company?"

"That sounds lovely."

He flopped down on the bed next to her, and they passed the next few hours chatting about everything and nothing as Hermione mentally adjusted to her new home.

When he noticed she'd drifted off in the middle of one of his stories, Harry just shook his head. He took off her shoes and levitated her enough that he could get her situated under the quilt; Crookshanks curled around her feet. When he was sure she was sleeping deeply, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks for staying, Mione," he whispered into her hair. "Thank you for caring and trying and, just… thank you."