A/N: This is another fic that sprang out of the ground over the last 24 hours. Some sort of bizarre logic I know- it's coming up for Ron's birthday, but instead, I write Hermione's. Ah well. This is strictly platonic, or given this is Harry Potter, should I say Patronic? In other words: friendship only. Sort of a natural follow up to the Harry/Ron friendship fic I wrote. Note: some events are covered in previous fics I wrote. Enjoy! Of course, JKR has all the rights.

Books, Elves, Jumpers, Perfume and Photos: Happy 19th

September 19th 1998

10.30 pm, in the Hogwarts Library.

For Hermione Granger, Saturday, September the 19th was probably so far one of her more uneventful birthdays. Yes, there had been a few welcome changes, like the cards, lavenders and chocolates her two dorm mates had given her. Being Head Girl and a key participant in the Battle of Hogwarts, many random students had stopped in the middle of the corridor to wish her a happy birthday. Seamus and Dean had also given her an enthusiastic reception in the Common Room that morning. Yes, these events hadn't happened before, and the chocolate fudge from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny was nice as per usual, but nevertheless, a spark or two was missing from the proceedings.

Namely, Harry and Ron's presence.

Hermione sighed, and turned to page five hundred and twenty of the book she was reading: Elf Rights Campaigners: Brilliant or Barmy? There were still another three hundred pages to read before she could finish for the night, and then she'd be working all day tomorrow to write the essay required by Professor Binns. She simply couldn't stop now- it would be an essential piece of work to hand in if she was going to make into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. To make things more tiring for her, Hermione had already had to finish a five-scroll essay for Arithmancy and a five-hundred page book for Ancient Runes before dinner, largely foregoing any more birthday celebrations after breakfast. Her originally good mood turned downright foul when she'd had to take ten points from Gryffindor because of three Fourth-Years fighting over a Fanged Frisbee- a banned product. Contrary to Ron's many protestations when they were younger, she hated being bossy and putting her foot down, in particular against members of her own house- experience in Primary School and her first few months at Hogwarts had taught her bossiness equaled no friends.

She yawned, trying to ignore the small but invasive feeling of loneliness. This had been the first of her birthdays after her thirteenth that Harry and Ron hadn't been there to celebrate, or even owl her something. Yes, they were tied down with work for at least five more weeks, and she was especially proud that Ron was, among his peers, behind only Harry and Neville, but surely sending a few gifts by owl post couldn't have hurt? After all, Neville had managed to enclose an image of her, Harry and Ron, taken during Sixth Year, along with a replica DA Galleon that had flashed various birthday messages at her, so why hadn't Harry and Ron sent anything? George, Viktor and Fleur had all remembered and sent presents, cards, or in Viktor's case, a very long letter which she wasn't particularly keen on replying to for some reason.

The feeling of loneliness gave way to hurt, as the rain continued hammering the darkened windows of the Library. The only other time Harry and Ron hadn't been there to celebrate was during First Year, and of course, they weren't friends with her at that point anyway. Deciding to put thoughts of both Harry and Ron's absence out of her head, Hermione instead decided to reflect on the positives of that day. Luna of course had wished her well, as had Professor McGonagall in private after her patrolling the corridors with Ernie Macmillan, now Head Boy, had finished. She'd had to conclude patrols with the uptight, formal Ernie weren't nearly as enjoyable as patrols with Ron, where they'd alternate between bickering, and discussing serious issues.

George had sent her a bucket-load of Wheezes, which she was certain she was going to throw out, but after all, he'd probably sent banned products to the Head Girl just for a rise. It was good that a shadow of the old George was beginning to re-emerge after the three months of misery he'd had. Hagrid had also given her some of his 'cooking', namely the hardest of his rock cakes, as well as an invitation to visit Grawp the next day. Grawp's English had apparently improved dramatically and was now working as Hagrid's assistant. Unfortunately, she'd likely have to decline the invitation, as the workload in preparation for NEWTS was mounting, even with Professor Slughorn's decision to exempt her from one essay as a birthday gift.

And of course, her parents, long since returned from Adelaide, had sent her presents too, notably a plethora of healthy snacks. She'd had to laugh- hanging around the Weasleys and two boys for all of seven years, her sweet tooth had grown too much, and she could picture the look of horror behind her dad's glasses if he saw the mountain of sweets Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, the Twins and Harry had given her over the years. Traditionally, Ron had also been a huge sweet-giver, although things had started to change around three Christmases ago, with a bottle of perfume…

"First place I thought I'd look to see you. I see old habits die hard."

Hermione whipped round. Standing in the corner, smirking slightly as he watched her read, was Harry, still dressed in a black travelling cloak, carrying a bag of presents and looking horribly wet and bedraggled.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, leaving her seat and running towards him, wrapping him in a rib-crushing hug.

Harry grinned as he released her. "Decided to take a leaf out of your book," he said. "Get the work out of the way early. Honestly, they drown you in paperwork for the first three weeks, and we still haven't gotten onto self-defense."

"Not that you'd need to be taught that," Hermione added, laughing happily. Her eyes scanned the bookcase eagerly behind Harry for a hint of ginger, but Harry had seen her expression and shook his head, sighing.

"Afraid he couldn't make it. You know his work ethic- he's now snowed under, although he, I quote, 'sends my love,' unquote." He tailed off, a totally transparent look of nausea that was ruined by the hints of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Happy birthday," he smiled as he reached into his bag and brought out his first present- the very same book that she'd just been reading. "Ron saw it in Flourish and Blotts, and I agreed it was a good choice. Said it summed you up perfectly." Harry chuckled as Hermione remembered their routine from the two weeks they'd spent at Grimmauld Place before she left on the Hogwarts Express. A perfectly happy day with Ron, and she'd be described as "bloody brilliant." A raging argument over dinner (with Harry acting as an awkward, mostly silent mediator), and it would be "barmy", although a snog when Harry was otherwise preoccupied washing the dishes afterwards often meant they were at least talking cordially the next morning. She took the book from Harry, her smile widening. Harry raised his eyebrow at her, remembering her and Ron's awkward history whenever house elves were mentioned. He coughed. "Talking of elves….Kreacher!"

A loud crack, and Kreacher appeared, dressed in a spotless toga, and carrying something woolen….

"Mistress Granger," he croaked, bowing low to her for the first time ever, and holding out the bit of clothing. Pulling her eyes away from Kreacher, hands on hips, she frowned at Harry. "Don't tell me you've set him up for…"

Harry, looking more than a little scared at the oncoming tirade, held up a hand to stem her. "No, no," he said hastily. "I'd never set Kreacher up to this, would I?"

Kreacher shook his bat-ears as he stared up at his master. "Never. Master Harry and Master Weasley helped plenty. In fact, Kreacher gave Master Weasley the idea, and he was very receptive to it."

"Only fitting," Harry added, smiling. "Open it."

Hermione took the clothing and opened it out. It was a Weasley jumper, with a large 'H' emblazoned in the middle. It was messy, altogether too large for her, and threads were coming loose. Clearly, Harry and Ron were terrible at their needlework.

It was perfect.

With a tiny, uncharacteristic squeak of delight, she rushed over to Harry, hugging him again as she kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks," she whispered happily. "And pass that message onto Ron, won't you?" Harry nodded. Releasing him, Hermione turned to Kreacher. "Thank-you too, Kreacher."

Kreacher bowed low again. "It was Kreacher's pleasure to help Master's friends," he croaked. "Especially when Master's friends finished Master Regulus' noble work." Tears welling in his swollen, bloodshot eyes, Kreacher turned on the spot and vanished with yet another crack.

Harry tipped his head to Hermione. "Like you said, Hermione. Makes a world of difference when you don't yell at them." He sighed, a faraway look in his eye, and Hermione knew that he was thinking about Sirius, and Kreacher's hand in his death. Clearly it was still slightly difficult for Harry to treat Kreacher as if that incident hadn't happened, although he'd made fantastic progress. Even after knowing Harry for so long, it had only been very recently that she figured out that Harry needed to be alone with his thoughts during situations like these. Mothering him, like she'd done for about three quarters of Fifth Year, simply didn't cut it, and the result had often been a burst of shouting, words streaming out of his mouth like a Gatling gun.

However, after about a minute of awkward silence in the Library, Hermione cleared her throat. "So would you like to tell me what else you've got in that bag?" she queried gently.

Harry looked up at her, his face brightening. "Oh, yes. In fact I've got something very interesting here…"

He was interrupted by the sound of a cloak scuffling on the wooden boards of the floor, and an infuriated Irma Pince rounded the corner, holding a lamp.

"What the devil are you doing, making such a racket, Miss Granger?" she hissed angrily. "If you and Potter have set up some Filibuster Fireworks…"

Hermione felt her face heat up; having a staff member reprimand her was so rare, she never really knew how to deal with it. "Oh, um," she stammered, "Harry was just giving me a couple of…." Hermione couldn't possibly reveal an elf had apparated into and disapparated out of Madam Pince's precious Library, possibly dirtying the precious books they had there. Inwardly, Hermione frowned. Clearly the librarian was one of the old breed when it came to elves. She'd definitely be barred from the Library for a week if Madam Pince found out, Head Girl or not, and such a move would be a calamity.

Thankfully, Harry, the more experienced trouble-maker and professional liar, moved in where she had failed. "Just a few presents from family," he said calmly, looking Madam Pince in the eye. Her posture turned more vulture-like than ever as she hunched over Harry's prone figure. Despite the serious situation, Hermione had to fight a laugh as Harry, the boy who vanquished Lord Voldemort himself, had his smile wiped and replaced with a cowering posture under the Hogwarts librarian's piercing glare.

"If by family presents…you mean Fizzing Whizbees, Screaming Yo-yos, Filibuster Fireworks, Fanged Frisbees, and CHOCOLATE, you've got another thing coming, Potter! Honestly, the way you say that, you'd think I was born yesterday…" Tut-tutting angrily, she pointed a finger at Hermione and Harry. "One more sound….there'll be hell to pay." She pivoted on her heel and stalked off, casting a long shadow onto the bookcase behind Harry and Hermione.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as Madam Pince vanished from view. "Thankfully," he began, "it's not chocolate, or Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Could you imagine the Rita Skeeter headline? The Chosen One: terrified of librarians. Or, how about Smelly Scandal: Rising Auror Potter sends model student off rails with dungbomb order?" Hermione chuckled as Harry reached into his bag, and pulled out a messy photo album held together with string. Suddenly feeling very apprehensive, she took it, opened it, and gasped.

Photos of the Trio, everywhere. Hermione gasped in amazement. "How did…."

For some reason, Harry's facial expression turned…was it mournful? "Colin," he sighed. "Got it from Dennis last month. He said we needed it more than he did. Ron and I hid it…because we wanted to surprise you."

Smiling, Hermione took the album and opened it. Clearly, Colin Creevey had gotten in a few more shots when none of them were looking, and he had duplicated the original photos so that the originals stayed still, while the replicas moved.

A knot of embarrassment and anger tightened in her stomach as she saw images of Harry, fighting to get out of the frame with Gilderoy Lockhart. He'd sucked her in, just like hundreds of other women and girls, on nothing but good looks and cock and bull stories. How could she have been so stupid? Not for the first time, Hermione had found herself thanking Ron and Harry for their stupidity of stealing the Ford Anglia, and crashing it into the Whomping Willow. Not only did it mean that the car had saved them from Aragog and his offspring (here, Hermione was unsure whether she would rather have been fully conscious with Ron and Harry at the time, about to be eaten alive, or frozen on a bed, alone, but safe), but also Ron's wand snapping had saved all their skin. If the fake had been able to use it to wipe Harry and Ron's memories, Ginny would have died, Voldemort would have returned two years earlier, and Merlin knew what would have happened next.

Harry was watching her with an analytical look on his face. "Ron was right, wasn't he?" he said, trying to look innocent, but Hermione, as per usual, could see right through him.

"Oh, be quiet," she snapped as she turned another page to see images of her, Ron and Harry at breakfast, along with the infamous Howler incident. Boys. They didn't know when to stop a joke…

"I remember when Ron kept on rubbing it in your face after that feast," Harry chuckled. "But you got your revenge, didn't you?"

Hermione's frosty glare was replaced with an evil grin. The next morning, she, with the recuperating Ginny's full co-operation, had tripped Ron while the latter was heading down the dormitory stairs.

"Indeed," she concluded. It really seemed that after peace had returned, and the funerals had been completed, she and Ron had gone largely back to their old state of affairs: bickering, baiting each other over embarrassing memories, Ron insulting Crookshanks…

There was a meow, as Crookshanks came rushing round the corner, his bottle-brush tail lazily waving from side-to side in a greeting to Harry. Harry reached down, and scratched the cat behind his ears, just where he liked it the best. "I hope Madam Pince didn't see him come in."

"He comes in all the time," replied Hermione nonchalantly. "He knows how to get in without anyone noticing. Started doing that just after Scabbers, I mean, Pettigrew…" She tailed off, thinking of how Harry had mostly given her the cold-shoulder for a few weeks that year over the Firebolt, and how Ron had completely ignored her, and had openly made spiteful comments about Scabbers being eaten after Quidditch just to upset her. Even worse was the horror when Ron had been nearly stabbed by Sirius instead of Pettigrew. Why was it that the ones who most often looked out for their friends always ended up getting burnt? A thin layer of moisture gathered on her eyelids. She'd completely lost emotional control after Ron volunteered to take over Buckbeak's case. She was simultaneously elated and terrified over how much Ron could make her emotions swing like a yo-yo, even then. Mewing slightly, Crookshanks took one look at the pair, and rocketed off back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Hermione," Harry began quietly; clearly he knew what was on her mind. "Those days are over."

Wiping her eyes quickly, she turned to Harry. "He told you?" she croaked. The thought of another Crookshanks row, another Lavender, another Locket, made her go stone-cold, even though Ron had repeatedly vowed it would never happen, and she believed him. But still…

"No," Harry replied calmly. "I can just tell." He gave Hermione an awkward smile. "He's useless cleaning up after himself now you've gone." Hermione blushed and let her gaze fall from Harry's. Even after more than four months, discussions of her relationship with Ron with anyone was awkward. Then again, it was awkward even thinking about it to herself.

She frowned as the later photos, starting from images of the injured Harry at the Slytherin-Gryffindor game appeared to show a dark brown discolouration that appeared to grow more developed as the photos ran nearer to the end of that particular developed film. What could have caused that damage?

"Of course," she breathed. "The Basilisk." Beside her, she felt Harry shudder at the memories of Second Year as she made a similar movement involuntarily. Flickering torch brackets, dark corridors, cold water on the floor, venomous hissing close at hand, and a growing list of Petrified victims, attacked while alone and vulnerable…

Just like her.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think Ron or I really asked you, but what actually happened in the run up to you getting Petrified?"

Hermione let in an intake of breath. It was still a horrifying memory, although completely overshadowed by the likes of Dumbledore's death, the aerial battle over Little Whinging, Godric's Hollow, Malfoy Manor, and more. She turned to Harry.

"Well, as you know, I made that connection between you and Parseltongue, rushed off to the Library, and found the information."

"But where were you attacked? Where did it pop up from?"

Hermione shivered again. "It stalked me back to the Library. I swore I heard something behind my back but thankfully, I didn't turn around. Some sort of sixth sense, I suppose." Harry nodded, listening in with interest.

"Anyway after I knew it was a Basilisk, I ran out of the Library, intending to find you down at the game. Then it ambushed me," she chuckled. "Talk about coincidence. You wouldn't imagine where it happened."

Harry, his curiosity piqued, looked on quizzically. "Where?" he asked. "I have no clue where you're talking about."

"I mean the bathroom where the troll broke in, Harry," she elaborated. Harry's eyebrows shot up into his messy fringe. "Of all the places…" he muttered.

"Yes," she agreed. "It seems trouble always finds me there. If I were more superstitious, I'd have avoided that corridor like the plague." Harry snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"So, long story short, I heard it coming up through a toilet. It made one hell of a racket, so I knew what it was, and ran, bumped into Penelope with the mirror…then…it happened."

Harry let out a pent-up a breath. "Sweet Merlin," he exclaimed. "It's a damn good thing Ron never heard about this…." But Hermione waved a hand.

"Don't be daft, Harry. If that still remotely disturbs Ron…"

"Really Hermione? Blokes are sometimes kind of silly around girls, as you yourself have pointed out dozens of times…" Silently, Hermione conceded defeat. She knew Harry was right, but under no circumstances was she admitting it voluntarily. Thankfully, she didn't need to.

"So, did you suspect any more of the truth about that year?" Harry asked, clearly deciding an argument should be avoided at all costs.

"I did," Hermione answered. "I suspected Moaning Myrtle was a victim, but I didn't have time to write it down on that paper you found. If I'd been given another minute of rational thought, I may have linked Ginny's fragile state that day to her being possessed…."

Harry whistled in admiration. "You are brilliant. Honestly, we'd have been killed a hundred times over if it hadn't been for you."

She beamed as she flicked another page. Photos of the end of year feast in Second Year. Lots of the Gryffindor table, and one of her rushing towards Harry and Ron, over the moon with joy. Then there was The Handshake. Trying to avoid blushing, she slowly looked up, hoping that Harry hadn't noticed her sudden stiffness. Clearly, Hermione wasn't doing very well, as Harry's mouth twitched in amusement.

Returning her gaze to the photo album, Hermione found one she like very much: her and Ron beaming at the sight of Hagrid giving Harry one of his bone-crushing hugs. Thankfully, despite the losses that had occurred since then, they'd always have Hagrid to visit every now and then. It was one not-so-small mercy for them all after the war, and one of the few things that had remained constant in their hectic, dangerous lives.

A thought crossed her mind at that, only just remembering that the energetic, mousy-haired boy with no sense of privacy had fallen during the Battle of Hogwarts, never to click a shutter button again.

"Did you ever find out…how Colin died?" She asked the question as tentatively as she could, but it didn't stop Harry from stiffening slightly as he did whenever someone's death was mentioned. It was as if he hadn't entirely forgiven himself for not throwing himself in front of the Elder Wand sooner. He coughed, and nodded.

"Yes. Neville told me he took a Killing Curse for Seamus. To think I simply regarded him as a pain back in Second Year…"

"You're not the only one," she reassured him. "You ought to have heard Ron rant after Colin snapped an image of Ron tripping over my feet in the DA." Unfortunately, her attempt at humour had failed like a damp firework. Instead, she place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for what happened Harry, because if you hadn't noticed, no-one does."

Harry nodded. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion, thinking about the events of that night that still felt like yesterday. Hermione wondered if a similarly robotic, emotionally drained Harry had walked bravely out into the Forest to meet his fate, without even a single goodbye. How extraordinarily single-minded of him. He was the closest thing she'd had to a brother, and he was simply walking out of her and Ron's life, focused on that ultimate sacrifice required to bring Voldemort down. The Trio would have been incomplete for forever from that time on…

"You should have come to us," she whispered, squeezing his hand; somehow the situation didn't call for loud voices. "We would have walked with you, made it easier…"

But Harry shook his head. "I couldn't," he sighed. "Would any of us have ever let go?"

It had happened yet again. Hermione had always been particularly emotionally vulnerable about this particular topic. With a muffled sob, she wrapped her arms around him yet again. He heard Harry sigh as he squeezed back.

After perhaps a minute had passed, and her tears had eased up, she felt Harry squirm uncomfortably to speak. "Thanks Hermione, but imagine the look on Ron's face if he was able to see us in that position."

A shock of horror erupted through her system as she let go of Harry as if he was on fire, wiping her eyes. Was Ron really on such tenterhooks, still? After all the time they'd had to patch everything over? Her eyes narrowed as she heard laughter.

"I'll get you one day, Harry Potter," she muttered venomously. "One of these days. I may have to talk to Ginny about how to get revenge. Talking of which, did you see her?"

Harry turned slightly red, but not boiling scarlet like she or Ron usually did. "No," he answered evenly, "I only checked in with Professor McGonagall about where she'd last seen you. But knowing Ginny, she'll already be waiting for you and ready to bombard us with Butterbeer when we get up there." Hermione smiled wistfully, her thoughts drifting, as they did far too often, to Ron. The two hadn't seen each other for nearly three weeks, and that was altogether far too long after six years of school together and months of camping under one roof, although she tried to ignore the Locket incident.

Harry had seen her smile slowly fall off her lips.

"He was very sorry, Hermione," he said gently. "However, he did also get this for you." Reaching inside his bag, Harry pulled out a package sealed with a red bow, grimacing at it. "I know," he sighed. "Reminds you of Umbridge, doesn't it?" He proceeded to pull another look of absolute disgust, and the reward for that was a painful elbow to the ribs from Hermione as she, patience running low with his theatrics, snatched the present off him. Unwrapping the bow, she tore the paper open to reveal….

…a bottle of perfume, the same brand that Ron had gotten her three Christmases beforehand. However much Hermione tried, she couldn't stop the big, goofy smile spreading across her face. Some things never changed, and Ron was definitely there in spirit, if not there physically. Of course, if he was there delivering it instead of Harry, she'd have listened to a five minute long ramble from an increasingly embarrassed, tongue-tied Ron, rather than her best friend pulling childish faces and gagging comically.

"Just remember," Harry added, grinning. "Halloween's the first Hogsmeade trip, and I have it on good knowledge that Ron was highly tempted to hex Kingsley when he initially resisted our plan to skive off that day."

Hermione laughed, quickly extinguished by a feeling of horror. Ron and his big mouth… "The….idiot. Doesn't he know he could have jeopardized his career?"

"Yes, he did," Harry laughed back. "But Kingsley would have jeopardized his health and wellbeing if he'd tried it against Professor McGonagall. She told me that she expected Kingsley to give us breaks if a Hogsmeade trip was on, and woe betide him if he didn't."

Hermione gasped. She never failed to be surprised at how far the Headmistress sometimes went for her students. The purchase of Harry's first broomstick was just the start of it. "When did you find out about this?" she asked, mouth agape.

"Same day we left," Harry replied. He cleared his throat. "Er, shall we go up then?" Hermione shook her head, opening the photo album. "I'd rather look through this first," she replied, once again becoming captivated. She pretended not to see Harry roll his eyes at her.

For their third year, Colin had fewer photos, but he had managed to take an image of her and Ron, heading off with the others to Hogmeade for the first time, as well as images of Harry playing Quidditch. She gasped as she saw Colin had managed to capture on film the Dementors congregating around Harry, far above the pitch, one approaching perilously close and making him fall of his broom. Another photo showed the Nimbus Two-Thousand, blown by the ferocious winds in the direction of the Whomping Willow. Far happier was the sequence of photos showing Harry flying against Cho in the next match. The highlight by far was the photo of the enormous, luminescent stag that charged down the fake 'Dementors': Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. How innocent, in retrospect, the Gryffindor-Slytherin encounters had been, when the worst she, Harry and Ron had to endure were a couple of jibes about parentage, Dementors and money, respectively. Now, Crabbe was dead, and Draco Malfoy was fighting for his freedom in court, and according to Ron, Harry had told Kingsley he recommended Malfoy not be charged.

Flicking on through the photos, Hermione stopped at the one where Harry had won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, and she and Ron were embracing him, the utmost expressions of joy on all their faces. It was one of the few times where thoughts of Voldemort, Sirius Black and their petty arguments were put aside once and for all, even if briefly.

While she continued progressing through the photo album, Harry sat to her right, smiling occasionally and making a comment if a particularly heartwarming photo came up. There were plenty from Fourth Year. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrivals, Harry's fight against the Horntail, and so on all were there. Hermione noted, with a surge of respect for Colin, in that although she'd heard Colin's camera repeatedly click during the Third Task, he'd clearly decided to not include them in the album out of respect for Cedric. One particularly embarrassing photo Colin had taken was one of her and Ron arguing heatedly over Viktor Krum, while a shell-shocked Harry stood near the entrance, mouth agape at the blazing row. Yet again, Hermione felt her cheeks heat up again, flicking to the section on Fifth-Year before Harry could make any cheeky comment. Pictures from the Fifth Year were very hard to come by, as Umbridge had passed Educational Decree Number thirty-Four early on after Dumbledore's flight, banning "the use of any portable non-wizarding devices or equipment." Naturally, that hadn't completely stopped the camera-happy Gryffindor, even if it landed him in detention with a Blood Quill. For example, there was one of Filch, swiping a firework with his broom, and another of her, Ron and Harry staring out of the window with awe at the Catherine wheels, and the sparklers writing swear words. Hermione blushed deeply in particular at the photo of the Gryffindor Quidditch team filing out, for Colin had taken it just at the perfect moment to capture her kissing Ron good luck on the cheek, played out on a constant loop.

Finally at the end of the album, there was a section titled 'DA.' Inside were dozens of photos from their year of resistance in the Room of Requirement: Patronus practice, Disarming practice, Stunning practice, Shield Charm practice, and so on. Both she and Harry laughed at the photo where Ron tripped over his own feet and knocked the wand out of her hand. Naturally, that event had provoked a session of bickering all the way to the Portrait Hole afterwards, as to whether or not Ron had actually disarmed her. There was also a large group photo taken on the last day of term before Christmas, and Hermione noted with some degree of smugness that Marietta Edgecumbe, the traitor, had succeeded in squeezing her way out of the frame altogether.

In addition, Hermione was particularly pleased to hear from Harry that Kingsley had ordered Umbridge to stand trial the very next day. This day was just getting better.

At the end of the album, and blown up to a large size, was one photo that made her heart swell with pride: her, Ron and Harry inaugurating the DA and putting their names to the list.

She turned to Harry, another wide smile on her face.

"Can I take this one out? I'm thinking of framing this one for my bedside table." Harry looked at her, bewildered. "Why would you have to ask me?" he asked. "It's your present, and you can do whatever you want with it."

Smiling happily, Hermione slipped the photo out, and placed it in her trouser pocket. She turned to Harry, a businesslike look on her face.

"So how messy have things got in the time I've been away?" With another kick of satisfaction, she noted Harry looked distinctly abashed. "Very," he admitted finally.

"So then, what happened to removing the Portrait of Mrs. Black? I was under the impression you and Ron wanted it removed."

Harry snorted. "What on earth gives you that idea?" he asked sarcastically. "It's a great alarm clock, I can tell you that." Hermione blushed at a rather embarrassing memory that she hoped Harry wouldn't bring up. Needless to say, it involved her and Ron, without Harry- for a time at least.

"Don't be daft," she scolded, colour flooding her cheeks. You hate it almost as much as Sirius did." Harry laughed; the mention of Sirius' name no longer affected him adversely. "Yes I did hate it," he chortled, "and I do still. But…"

"Harry, do you know how tiring it is listening to that banshee shriek out insults at you because of your parentage? It gets to your nerves." This was becoming ridiculous.

"I bet," Harry scoffed. "Especially if you and Ron are awake ahead of me, and you want to make further progress without waking me up." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Now Hermione's face was boiling scarlet as she recounted the morning that Ron and Harry started Auror training. An early-morning conversation, accompanied with a morale-boosting kiss for Ron, had turned into a full-blown, fierce snogging session downstairs, and this had continued for some time, uninterrupted by Harry. It only ended when she, in a masterstroke move of bad luck, vigorously pushed Ron back into the curtains covering Mrs. Black's portrait, and the pair collided painfully with the portrait itself. The result: a cacophony of insults:

"BLOOD TRAITORS AND MUDBLOODS! NEVER DID SUCH VERMIN ATTEMPT TO FORNICATE IN THE HOUSE OF MY NOBLE LINEAGE!"

Harry of course, had woken with a yell, rushed downstairs to find Ron and Hermione frozen to the spot in shock, arms still around each other and blushing furiously, while he just about died with laughter. Truth be told, she had no idea how far things were going to proceed that morning, and had no particular desire to see them stopped, despite the heightened danger that accompanied her and Ron's best friend also sleeping in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Harry's smirk couldn't have been more obvious, and soon he was roaring with laughter at the shell-shocked Hermione, still trying to fight back. However, she fought fire with fire, and there was one memory sure to sober Harry up.

"Need I remind you Harry," she began with false sweetness, "about Ginny's Party at the Leaky Cauldron?"

Harry very quickly sobered up. Ginny had come of age on August 11th, and the Trio, plus Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Lavender, Luna, Neville and Hagrid in addition to the Weasleys, had all been invited. Arthur and Molly had stayed at home, allowing the embarrassing events to unfold. Harry had finally staggered out of the Leaky at 3 a.m., absolutely plastered. It was the only time anyone had seen Harry drink more Firewhiskey than either Seamus or Charlie. Some of his least spectacular resulting antics were claiming an anonymous bar patron was a sparkling vampire, calling his two best friends "Ronnie and 'Mione", and kissing a very startled Percy. The latter incident had resulted in a kick to the groin from Ginny, who hissed "I don't tolerate infidelity, you bloody idiot."

Harry opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Hermione had won this round.

"Well come on then," he muttered grumpily. "Time to head back to the Common Room."

"Indeed!" came the irate voice of Madam Pince as she stormed around the corner, making Hermione squeak with fright and spill a nearby bottle of ink. "This is a Library, used for silent study, not chit-chat! Now leave before I call the Headmistress!"

Hermione waved her wand, clearing up her workspace, and sucking everything into her beaded bag.

"Impressive," Harry remarked. "I bet that comes in handy with NEWT Study."

"You have no idea," she replied nervously. "Come on!" Pulling Harry by the wrist before Madam Pince could yell any further, they headed up towards Gryffindor Tower along a dark, abandoned corridor.

A groaning of metal from a suit of armor. Hermione squeaked yet again as Harry, old instincts taking over, whipped around and ignited his wand. "Show yourself!" he called.

Laughter came from behind the suit of armor. Familiar laughter, Hermione realized.

"I heard there was a party," a voice called out. "I've only just finished that damn paperwork."

A figure, still bathed in shadow, walked steadily towards them.

"Nice try Harry. But you should have realized that you, Hermione and Ginny needed some help finishing off the Butterbeers."

Ron's voice. Their best friend stepped into a patch of moonlight, still in his dark Auror robes and with a heart-warming grin of delight that sent Hermione's heart into somersaults, like it usually did.

Ron Weasley was here.

The Trio was now whole again.