Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over Harry Potter and/or Twilight.

A/N: I'm really, really sorry meldz! This story was supposed to be a Christmas gift to her… in 2015! Not only the story grew longer than originally planned, but real life got unexpectedly in the way (I'm not complaining though, because 2016 turned out to be relatively good for me, and I have a feeling I must be one of the few who aren't cursing last year!) and I got sidetracked.

Truth be told, I haven't even attempted to go near my unfinished stories in all of last year for a number of reasons; but waking up the other day – although I had a lot to do – I felt strangely energized and determined.

I always said I'd never give up on my stories, and I never planned to go so long without updating any of them, but it happened. And I regret it, not only because I let my readers down, but mainly because writing is so, so important to me.

It helped me through the most difficult times of my life, when it'd have been so easy to lose my way and do something moronic that could have destroyed my life; I found a sense of confidence in my writing that I previously lacked. You guys gave me that; you made me believe in myself, and you helped me through so much.

So this is me being officially back; I know I should focus on my WIPs, and I will. This story is already written to completion; I will post a new chapter every week until it's done. Meanwhile, I will work on Rewriting History's revision, and new chapters for all my stories. I don't promise weekly updates, but I will try my darnest to update at least once every month.

Christmas Special

September

Impulsiveness had never been a part of Hermione Granger's meticulously organized life; she made lists of pros and cons before making any decision, and always made sure to have at least three alternate plans customized for any possible outcome, before embarking on any endeavour, be it something as trivial as a holiday trip, or planning on surviving out in the wild for months while trying to overthrow a maniacal dictator hell bent on killing her best friend. One could say that Hermione Granger would implode if anything in her carefully scheduled life went awry, but her friends knew better.

Indeed Hermione operated better with a plan, but she was also quick on her feet; a quality that would have made her an excellent Auror if only she was so inclined. Harry himself could attest to that; after all, he had survived long enough to finish Voldemort off only thanks to Hermione's forethought, her quick thinking even in stressful situations, and her ability to remain ration in the direst circumstances.

That was who she was, and Harry loved her for it.

So, to say he was shocked at her actions at the moment would be an understatement.

After her disastrous relationship with Ron, he'd never believe his sensible friend to make another rushed, half-brained decision like this! Eyes wide behind his spectacles, Harry watched as his best friend calmly set another bundle of neatly folded clothes in her suitcase; her school trunk laid at the foot of her bed, already packed to bursting point. Her demeanor was relaxed but guarded as if she was afraid of his reaction, but determined to go through with her inane plan.

"It's not like we won't be seeing each other ever again," she was saying, her tone soothing. It was hard to miss the tension simmering in the room, and she was obviously doing her best to diffuse the situation before he erupted. "I'll make sure to purchase an owl after I settle it, so we can communicate that way, and I'll make sure the estate agent will find me a place with a fireplace. Getting an approval to connect it to their floo network might take some time though; God knows the Congress is worst than the Ministry with paperwork, but we can always visit each other with Port keys. I'm sure Harry Potter won't have a problem getting an authorised Port Key every other month, so it's really notthat big of a deal – "

"Merlin's sagging balls, woman, stop talking!" he yelled, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

Hermione froze, her fingers tightening on the wine red sweater she was holding; she did not turn to face him, but her back was tensed. For a few short moments, neither of them spoke, the silence only broken by Harry's harsh breathing.

"Why –" he stopped, shutting his eyes to reign in his temper. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at her searchingly. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why."

"Ron – "

"Ron has very little to do with my decision, Harry," she cut him off, annoyance clearat his insinuation.

"But you two – "

"We tried, Harry," she murmured, dropping the sweater in her suitcase and finally turning to face him. "We gave it our best shot, but we… We just don't click."

"You love each other."

"Sometimes love isn't enough," she said sadly, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. "I love you both so much, but I need to do this, Harry."

"Why?" he repeated quietly, hating himself for his weakness. He knew he wasn't being fair to Hermione; she had sacrificed so much to stay by his side during the war, she'd risked her life for him more than once, and stood by him despite everything even when Ron had bailed. Not once had she asked him for anything in return, so why was it so difficult for him now to do the right thing by her?

He knew she wasn't happy, and hadn't be for a long time; it wasn't just the heavy cloud of the war's aftermath hanging around them all, but her stubborn refusal to visit a Mind Healer as well.

Like her, Harry had refused to visit a Healer at first, determined to fight his demons alone, but after breaking down during an operation two months into his Auror training, Robards had ordered him to attend regular meetings with Healer Jenkins, a renown Mind Healer who had studied phychology both in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, if he wanted to be an Auror.

After his prerequisite counselling sessions were done, Harry continued to meet with Healer Jenkins every month, and strongly encouraged Hermione to do so as well, but she'd refused. Quite adamantly.

He had hoped she'd find some peace after she finally located her parents in Sydney, but Mr and Mrs Granger weren't so inclined to forgive their daughter for erasing their memories and uprooting them across the world without giving them a chance to decide their own fate; they felt Hermione had violated them by taking away their free will.

Their relationship was strained to say the least, and Hermione kept her distance even after her parents' return to England.

Now, if the witch had been allowed to deal with her issues privately, Harry had no doubt she wouldn't be running across the Atlantic, but Hermione had not been afforded that simple luxury.

A War Hero, the most famous Muggle-born, and Harry Potter's best friend, and former flame – according to Rita Skeeter – was a source of much juicy gossip in the months and years following the rebuild of their world. Still struggling with her demons, Hermione had been forced to live under the spotlight, having her every word and action picked apart and judged by every witch and wizard with a subscription toThe Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. Every half step forward she managed in her efforts to eradicate prejudice and pass more humane laws about magical creatures, meant another month of articles printed about her sleeping her way to the top or screwing the Saviour behind his girlfriend's back.

"You know why, Harry," she repeated, dropping her hand and taking a step back. "I can't keep living like this."

"We can apply for a super injunction – "

"That will take months, and it won't solve the problem. Not really. I just – " she closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her temples, "I just need to not beHermione-Granger-War-Hero for a little while. I need to be able to take a walk and not have people stare at me, and gossip behind my back. I need anormal life."

"But you aren't normal, Hermione. You are a witch, and a prominent one at that."

"I know! I know I'm famous for something good, I know people look up to me, and I'd be okay with that, with working for bettering our world, but it's not just that now, is it?" She carded a hand through her hair, pulling at the strands. "I can't go out to dinner with you, or Ron, or Neville, or a friend who happens to be male, without the tabloids portraying it as something lewd and running articles about me supposedly stringing along half a dozen men! I can't have a friendly chat with Kingsley or Arthur, or – and especially! – you in the Ministry, without having my co-workers assume I'm sucking up to the boss, or using my connection to you and my 'fame' to advance my career! I can't got out on a date without a voice in my head asking me if the guy's really interest in me, or being seen with me!"

"Don't you think it's the same for me?" he asked, a dose of accusation lacing his tone. "Don't you think it's the same for Ron?"

"No, it's not, Harry," she denied, pointing a finger at him. "You don't get called a slut, a harlot, a home-wrecker whenever your picture shows up on the front page of a magazine with a witch. People don't send you hate mail for supposedly stringing along your best friends! Every articled written about you doesn't start with pointing out your flaws, or who you dated last week! You don't get criticized and ridiculed for wearing unflattering clothes or your hair decided not to behave that day! For Merlin's sake, I passed Moony's Law single-handed last week, and it was not mentioned in any of the articles written about me! They were more concerned with my romantic life and how I'm handling my break up with Ron, than my accomplishments!"

"I know – "

"I can't do this anymore," she insisted, taking deep breaths. "I can't, and I won't."

"But, Hermione – "

"No," she cut him off. "This isn't about you, Harry. This is about me, and my needs."

"But you haven't thought this through, not really – "

"So what?" she snapped, withdrawing her wand from her back pocket, and pointing it at her stuff. "Pack!"

"You don't need to go to America to leave all this behind!"

"I know I don't, but I want to."

"Hermione, what you need – "

"Don't tell me what I need, Harry James Potter!" she finally snapped, fed up with the situation. For days Harry had been trying to convince her she was making a mistake, and trying to dissuade her, without once thinking what was best for her! She had had enough! "This is not your decision to make! I didn't ask your permission, and I don't expect you to understand why I'm doing this, but after everything we've been through, the least I was expecting was your support!"

"I – "

"You don't need to agree with my decision," she said, her wand loosely held in her hand. "But you have to accept it's mine to make."

"Even though I think you're making a mistake?"

"I'm an adult, Harry. I've lived through a war. If I'm making a mistake, so what? After everything, don't you think I deserve to make some mistakes? I'm only human after all."

xxXxx

30th September, 2004

"It took me a while to figure it out, I haven't met one before you see, so I was doubting myself, but now… Now I know."

"Know what?"

"You are a witch."

"You are a vampire."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I thought we were playing 'State the obvious'. Was I wrong?"

"… I like you."

"What ar – Stop sniffing me! What are you, a dog?"

"You smell funny."

"Witch, remember?"

"So that's what magic smells like?"

"My magic, yes."

"What?"

"You don't think all wizards and witches smell the same, right?"

"I have never met one, so I wouldn't know."

"But youdo know not all people smell the same, right?"

"Why do I have the feeling you are being condescending right now?"

"Trust that feeling."

"You are kind of a bitch, huh?"

"No, I just don't care about sparing your feelings. Now, if you aren't buying anything, get out."

"That's not very good customer service."

"You are not a customer, you are just an annoying vampire with nothing better to do."

"Hey! I have plenty to do! I want to be here!"

"Dear Merlin, why?"

"Well, first I was curious about you. I knew you weren't a normal human, but I couldn't figure out exactly what you were. And now that I properly met you, I want to get to know you better."

"Again… Why?"

"Told you. I like you."

"… Please, leave."