Wake up. Get dressed. Try to eat. Force boys to eat. Brush teeth. Get briefcase. Put heels on. Find Floo powder. Leave for work. This had been Hermione's routine for two years now, and she was lost. She had a routine because otherwise she would do what Harry and Ron do: nothing. Since the war ended, they milled about for a while, helped fix up Hogwarts and then the Ministry. They fumbled through. And then other people went back to their lives, back to work, back to school. Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves in limbo. They had been paid millions by the Ministry for what they had done, for saving the wizarding world. But money didn't matter, they couldn't bring back the people they'd lost. They couldn't stop the nightmares that woke each of them at a different hour in the night. The money, however, did buy them a townhouse. It was hidden away, much like Grimmauld Place was, but they entered through a muggle front door. Their neighbour, Mrs. Walters, had no idea they were wizards. She was just post retirement, had four dogs, and a husband who played a game called 'boules'. In Carys' ( Mrs. Walters ) mind, the three were soldiers who didn't want to be bothered, but she brought them her latest bakes and pies anyway. She was a pretty woman, with slightly greying blonde hair that was always swept into an updo, and the trio had never seen her without an apron on, or rather a 'pinny' as she put it. She had a wicked sense of humour, and her bakes were delicious so the three of them weren't fussed by her mothering. But their other neighbours kept clear, the scars seemed to put them off. That, and the stench of alcohol on Ron's breath.

The house cost them over 2,000,000 galleons and was a typical London townhouse with a brown brick, white window frames and a soft uplighting along with a topiary. Hermione had charmed it so that it had flowers entwined around it all year round, much to the annoyance of Mr. Walters, who happened to be a keen gardener. Entering through the front door, there appeared to be a normal hallway, with soft grey walls and a wooden floor, but once you were through into the house you saw the true wizarding characteristics. The living room had tall ceilings, with soft grey/cream walls, but the ceiling was enchanted just like in the Great Hall - a little piece of Hogwarts. The windows were almost floor to ceiling, and had deep window ledges so that Hermione could curl up in them and read. Dark grey, thick drapes hung in front of the windows and the colour matched the fluffy rug that lay on the floor. Ron had charmed the rug ( it had taken him months ) to purr if you stroked it in a certain way. There was a fireplace that was used as their Floo but it had security guards enabled and was rarely used, apart from twice a day when Hermione went to and fro work. In the centre of the living room, there was a large glass coffee table, and a long roll top sofa, and two arm chairs opposite that. All of the furniture was adorned with fluffy throws and large feather pillows. The fireplace had a mirror above it, that unfortunately, was charmed to give opinions on your appearance - much to the annoyance of Harry. The kitchen was similarly decorated, with homely wooden floors, a rustic green agar and polished concrete work surfaces. Most of the time they used magic to cook, but none of them ate often. The kitchen had a dining section with a long wooden table, much like the tables at Hogwarts, it had two benches and a set of red and gold crockery. The crockery grew dust until one of them could be bothered to clean. The townhouse had 4 bedrooms, one lay dormant and the four bedrooms each had a bathroom and a walk in closet. Ron scoffed when he saw the walk in wardrobe, but he uses it more than Hermione does.

"GET OFF! NO! GET THE FUCK OFF ME! YOU BASTARD! THAT'S MY BROTHER YOU FUCKING BASTARD! DON'T YOU DARE.." Ron screamed, and then the words faded to wails and his face was covered in tears, the loose grey shirt that clung to his torso was drenched in sweat and he was breathing heavily. 4 am. Ron's turn for a nightmare. Hermione heard him this time and went into his room, gently shaking him awake. "Go away." He grumbled, as he always did when Hermione woke him up. Their relationship had been brief, and they were both working through far too much grief for any chance of it lasting. But for a few months it had provided both of them with comfort. They resorted to being friends again, and in truth, they were closer as friends as they ever had been as anything else. Hermione sat at the foot of his bed, and tied her hair into a loose pony tail, her soft ringlets a little more controlled than what they once were. From her lack of food she now had striking cheek bones, and hollowed out eyes from her lack of sleep. But she was beautiful none-the-less, and she'd become impeccable at glamouring herself for public appearances and work. She was wearing little navy sleep shorts with a paisley pattern, and a tight camisole. "Ronald, don't be so childish. I'm not leaving until you're back to sleep." She cast a silencing charm over the room, so that Harry could have a few more hours of sleep before 6 am rolled around and his nightmares would start. "Mione, why won't you let me take sleeping potions?" She rolled her eyes, this debate had been persistent for the last two years, "Because you'll get addicted, and you drink enough as it is. I don't want you to have a drug addiction as well." Hermione cared for him, and Harry. She was grateful that she had someone to wake up to, and for someone to break her out of her routine every now and again. But she occasionally longed for someone to hold her tight, someone that didn't carry their own demons. But who didn't carry demons in the wizarding world?

"What was your nightmare about this time?" He shrugged, and she gave him a pointed look. "It was about Fred. He didn't deserve to die. He was a good person. He'd never killed anyone." Ron shuddered, replaying the names of the people he'd killed in his head. "Don't do that. Ron, they weren't people, they were death eaters. Don't even think about their names." Ron ran a hand through his hair, "I can't just 'not think about their names', I see their faces every time I fucking BLINK Hermione. I killed people. That isn't what I intended, I" but he was cut off, Hermione interjected. "Do you think any of us went into the war intending to do what we did? Do you think I went into the war intending for me to wipe my parents memories? Intending to kill dozens of people? Destroy one of the only places that I've been able to call home? Ron, they were consequences of war, that was Voldemort." Ron shuddered. That name. That man.

Hermione looked at the clock, 4.45 am and Ron was finally asleep. She took away the silencing charm and crept out of the room, it was the smallest bedroom, but Ron didn't like overly grand conditions. He'd grown up in the burrow for gods sake. It had floor to ceiling windows along one wall, and it was on the second floor of the townhouse, the windows looked out onto the garden, with his bathroom window the only window looking out onto the street. The room had a wall in the middle of it, that had a king size bed against it, and a bright red ottoman at the foot of the bed, the base of the bed was made from black velvet and he had white sheets with a red throw and gold decorative pillows. The colour scheme revolved around Gryffindor, and there was a portrait of a lion where a mirror had been, the lion roared once in a while. On either side of the bed there were mahogany side tables, with lumps balls hanging around the room, instead of muggle lamps. He'd charmed the windows so that they darkened at sun down, and the walk in wardrobe was also made of mahogany. Much to Hermione's annoyance: "Have you never heard of endangered trees Ronald?" .. His room was minimalistic, and his bathroom even more so. Slate grey tiling, a double walk in shower, two sinks.

It was a Saturday, and they were all sat in the garden, pretending to ponder breakfast. "Maybe we could go out for breakfast?" Harry murmured, trying to continue the illusion that they all ate like normal people. "Oh yeah I've heard that there's a new place that opened up around the corner, it's muggle." Ron tried to vein an interest. "It's the bluebird cafe, I think. But boys, it's been there 6 months. Me and Fleur have been several times.. I told you about it." They laughed, "Any good?" Ron grunted. "It's nice. Pleasant. Good cake." Hermione never resisted a cake, especially in the company of Fleur, who could rant about patisseries for hours. Harry got up, he was wearing slack jeans in a dark denim, and a black tee, he had flip flops on and his usual round glasses. "Let's go." Ron rolled his eyes, "I didn't think you were being serious. I'm not really very hungry." Hermione got up too, she had better go out at some point this weekend. "Come on, I'll pay." A running joke between the three of them, because it really didn't matter who paid, their vaults got topped up every month, so they equally had the same wealth. In the beginning they'd tried to spend as much as possible to see how much the Ministry would pay, but every month their vaults were topped up.

Finally, they managed to get out of their front door. Just as removal lorry was pulling up. "Did Mr and Mrs. Walters move out?" Ron turned to Hermione, "Nope.. Saw her last night. She brought us a blueberry pie.." Out of the cab, a slender, suited man jumped out. "No.." "FUck" "I don't believe it." And then, as if by magic, a smaller, also suited ( which seemed peculiar,
as he couldn't have been more than 2 ) little boy scrambled out of the cab. Both with that shocking blond hair, that smug expression painted over their face. All three of them at once muttered, "Malfoy."