A/N: Hi all! Another thank you for the enthusiastic response. I've loved reading the reviews I've got so far and it's great to see the follows and favourites :)

As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, I have edited a portion of this so it is different from the AO3 version. I've also decided to combine two chapters into one update here. There's no new 'sign' revealed but it's just supposed to set the scene for Hermione and Draco as they go into eighth year (considering this is where the books stopped). Hope you enjoy!

- x -

Chapter Four - Strange, For Want of a Better Word

2nd May 1998 – Room of Hidden Things (Room of Requirements), Hogwarts Castle – The Battle of Hogwarts

The door opened to a warlock bust, trophies, cages piled high and stacks of books. It wasn't just the Room of Requirements, it was the Room of Hidden Things, and according to the Marauder's Map Harry had come here. Something had led him to believe Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem – one of their final horcruxes – was somewhere in amongst the mountains of artefacts.

Ron tucked the map into his pocket. "We need to look for Harry," he whispered lowly, "He'll need our help destroying the horcrux when he finds it."

Hermione's reply caught in her throat at the sound of a rumble from above, then there were several blasts sounding like gunshots or fireworks, and fragments of the ceiling scattered down around them. It was undoubtedly a sign of the castle's protection charms faltering under the relentless attack.

She couldn't help but wonder how much time they had left.

Suddenly she felt Ron squeeze her hand and it pacified her, somehow. He hadn't let go of her since they had left the Chamber of Secrets, since they had destroyed Helga Hufflepuff's Cup with the Basilisk fang. Since they'd kissed.

They'd actually kissed. Nothing much leading up to it and no time for anything after. They just did it, because they had just destroyed a horcrux and because there was a battle going on outside, upstairs and everywhere around them. The moment seemed to call for it. If Hermione was going to die, she was bloody well going die knowing what it felt like to kiss Ron Weasley.

And it felt good.

"You go that way, I'll go this way," she suggested with a renewed force to her voice.

Ron nodded reassuringly and released her hand before she watched him disappear behind a glass cabinet.

Hermione took in a shaky breath, turned and started down the path shrouded in darkness and littered with fallen items. Minutes later she heard the sound of light footsteps and things being moved about.

"Well, well."

Hermione hitched a breath, her legs bolting still on floor in fear that this person was closer than he sounded.

"What brings you here, Potter?" She heard the person continue.

It was a most distinctive voice.

Yes, she hadn't heard it in a long time and something seemed to have smacked the arrogance and usual smugness from the tone, but it was unmistakably Malfoy.

"I could ask you the same," she heard Harry reply. An undertone of worry in his voice shook Hermione, urged her to get moving again and find him. He needed her. Malfoy may hurt him or worse, hand him over to Voldermort.

She rushed forward between a pile of empty guilded frames and a large sundial, sure to keep her footsteps as light as possible. She didn't want to startle either of them into doing something awful.

"You have something of mine." Malfoy sounded closer, his tone sending a tingle up her spine. "I want it back."

His wand, she remembered. He wanted his wand back.

"Well, what's wrong with the one you've got?" It was as if Harry was right next to her now, but she didn't know which direction his voice came from in this maze. She was sure the room was meant to do that, it meant to disorientate.

"It's my mother's. It's powerful but it's… not the same."

She grew frustrated trying to follow the voices, stopping and starting in every direction; looking up at the towering cabinets around her. Hermione halted, squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath and clasped a hand over her heart in a futile attempt to still it. She needed to tune out all other sounds.

"It doesn't quite understand me," Malfoy continued smoothly. "Do you know what I mean?"

It was no use. She couldn't place them, and instead she simply took a passage between a large sarcophagus and a harp. She had no idea why.

Hermione rounded a fallen birdbath to see movement in a mirror resting on the ground. They were slender, black suited legs with clean polished shoes – the kind that a Malfoy would wear – planted side by side. And there were more feet next to him. He had back-up.

Hermione sidled closer to the mirror, concealing her body against a bookshelf. She dared to peak round to see Harry's back turned to her, facing Malfoy, Zabini and Goyle in a hopeless stand-off.

She almost wondered why Malfoy hadn't done anything yet. A simple Levicorpus or Petrificus Totalus would have Harry incapacitated. Even a Locomotor Mortis would work – Draco Malfoy had mastered the leg locking spell in second year – yet he wasn't doing a thing.

"Why didn't you tell her?" Harry challenged. "Why didn't you tell Bellatrix at the Manor?"

Hermione winced at the question. What was Harry doing?

It was true, for what was supposed to be his attempt to capture Harry Potter, Malfoy didn't seem overly committed. He had talked far too much about getting his wand back and done far too little about the actual capture. But it was too risky to play on Malfoy's conscience right now. There was no relying upon it, not when Harry had three wands pointing at him.

"You knew it was me…" Harry continued.

She shifted her weight forward, wand raised with a curse ready on her lips, and she peered closer at the blond boy.

She was sure Malfoy wouldn't try to kill Harry, if not for the reason that Voldermort wanted to do it himself, then because the boy simply didn't look like he could do it. He didn't want to do any of this, she could tell from lost expression on his face.

"Come on, Draco," Goyle hissed from his left. "Don't be a prat."

Malfoy's jaw tightened and that was it –

She leapt out in front of Harry and shot a Stupefy! at Malfoy, another at Zabini. Zabini flew back against a trebuchet-type device but Malfoy… he simply took a nudge to his shoulder. As if it was barely anything. It was bloody Stupefy, for goodness sake!

"Expelliarmus!" She directed at Malfoy again.

Thankfully, his wand flew from his grip. His eyes sparked and widened at her before he turned to run away.

Harry grasped her arm, "Come on, Hermi – "

"Avada Kedavra!" Goyle shot.

She felt it, the whisper of ice cold brushing past her cheek. She didn't know whether she jumped or Harry pulled her out of the way, the point was that it missed. Just.

They both fell into a hard wooden chest. Her lungs felt empty.

Harry's hands clutched tight on her upper arms and she looked up at his pained expression. It was as if he had already thought she was dead; so many people had died before his eyes that she could hardly blame him.

He squeezed her. "You're alright," he said. It wasn't a question. It was confirmation to himself.

Somewhere beyond the statues and empty fish tanks they heard Ron roaring, "Goyle! That's my girlfriend you just tried to kill!"

She could have smiled as the wisp of red ran off. Girlfriend.

It seemed like only moments later, just as Harry retrieved the diadem from where it had fallen, that Ron was running back towards them shouting incoherently. She didn't hear a thing he said, only saw the panic in his eyes and a fierce glow burn through the darkness of the room. Ron grabbed her hand and ran her down the widest passage before them.

She tripped and tumbled as the heat grew on her heels and cast a glance back to see an enflamed dragon burning a line of fire through the room. She didn't question where Ron got the broomsticks from, nor did she hesitate when she mounted it and took off towards the door.

"We can't leave them!" Harry shouted, looking back at two figures – one dark haired and one glowing blond – clinging to a heap of furniture.

Ron yelled back at her. "He can't be serious, can he?"

And for a moment she agreed with him. There was a part of her that thought they should die. She questioned how much it would matter in the grand scheme of things; whether she would ever feel the loss. She doubted it.

A heart-shattering yelp from behind had her grimacing, and if she had the time she would have punished herself for having those thoughts.

They were just boys; young lives left in the hands of bad people. They weren't the evil they came back to destroy.

She stared Ron straight in the eye, steeled herself as she began her u-turn after Harry and followed him through the growing flames. Just as she was wondering how on Earth she was going to get one of the boys on her broom without killing them both (she wasn't exactly the strongest flyer) she felt Ron whistle past her and scoop up Blaise Zabini just after Harry took Malfoy.

With the fire reaching its full blaze, the flames licking at their feet, she threw a quick spell to part the flames before they soared out the door. She dismounted, only to be knocked to the floor by Ron and Blaise.

Hermione managed to lift herself to her feet just in time to see Harry and Ron stabbing the diadem with their Basilisk fang, and to see Malfoy and Zabini disappear off into the chaos.

Malfoy had just run into the midst of battle without a wand. She had to wonder what would come of them – how long they would survive, whether they had just saved them from the fire only to have them die another way.

- x -

Returning to Hogwarts was… strange, for want of a better word. After their whole magical community had been at war, fearing for their lives, it was peculiar to be back worrying about essays and who the next Gryffindor seeker would be. It all seemed a little redundant and there was the smallest part of Hermione that thought she didn't belong at Hogwarts anymore.

Ron and Harry hadn't come back, they had been allowed straight onto the auror training program off the back of their war efforts. Hermione had received many similar offers from the Ministry of Magic – some in Magical Law Enforcement, some in Creature Rights – and she had seriously considered taking them. But then she knew she would always regret not coming back to take her NEWTs.

So she was here, in this reconstituted seventh/eighth year and everything was different.

For one, she had Ginny and Luna as study companions instead of Harry and Ron, which took getting used to. They talked far less about Quidditch and both had remarkable work ethic; they didn't need to be molly-coddled through anything. Neville went from being the butt of jokes to everyone's hero, and even a sort of heartthrob amongst the younger girls (something he found more than a little embarrassing); and Hermione, well, she couldn't walk down a corridor without everyone gawking. When people looked at her like that before, it was usually something to do with her birds-nest of hair or having ink smudged on her face. It was never because she was just her.

She suspected everything would die down in a few days, once classes had actually started and work piled up, but the point was things had changed. She could tell that already.

- x -

7th September 1998 - The Great Hall, Hogwarts – The Sorting Ceremony

"'Any other,' you say? Well, you can ask all you like but you were made for…" The little boy gulped with fear while he waited. "Slytherin!" The Sorting Hat shouted with glee (and its normal hint of arrogance), but Hermione saw the child's face fall and there was a muted applause from the tables. Even from the Slytherin table.

It had worked for Harry way back then, asking to be in any other house than Slytherin, but those were different times. That was the time when many were glad to be sorted into Salazar Slytherin's house; they wore their green-lined robes proudly and reported eagerly to all their relatives. What did it matter if one boy had snubbed them?

Things had changed now the war was over. It seemed that every child had asked to be kept out of the house – the house of Voldemort and the Death Eaters – and it simply wasn't possible.

Hermione watched the boy trundle along the length of the table and slide along the bench. Even with all the first years now sorted into their houses, the Slytherin table was only just over half capacity; numbers across all the years seemed to be dwindling.

"Durmstrang," Neville whispered, guessing what she was thinking. She had been so lost in her mind that she jolted a little in surprise. "A lot of the families with Death Eater connections pulled their children out of Hogwarts and sent them to Norway. They thought they'd be discriminated against or bullied if they stayed – ironic, eh?"

Hermione gave a weak smile and nodded a little in agreement.

It made perfect sense, really. The Durmstrang Institute had a reputation for sympathising with dark wizards, especially since it excluded muggleborns and apparently included the Dark Arts in its curriculum (she'd been quite troubled by this when Viktor had told her this in fourth year, thinking it was misunderstanding due to their slight language barrier). It was the perfect place for Death Eaters to take their children, especially given the more stringent monitoring of their families in Britain.

The only thing that really didn't make sense was why Draco Malfoy was still there.

He was found innocent of his alleged crimes, of course, that was why he wasn't going stir crazy in Azkabhan right now. He was underage, acting under duress and hadn't truly wanted to do wrong, as testified by Harry.

But that was largely irrelevant.

To the whole school and to the whole of wizarding Britain, he was still the one that went up to the Astronomy Tower that night and held a wand against Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of their time. If there was anyone who should have fled the country, it would be him.

Instead he was here, listening to McGonagall with that hard, uncaring expression on his face, flanked by the only other Slytherins in his year to return, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass.

Malfoy looked better than when she had last seen him at his trial before the Wizengamot. He was less frail and more toned, relaxed (but obviously not entirely comfortable), and his face no longer looked like it wore a thousand sleepless nights upon it. His robes were pristine, as you might expect, but he had turned up at his trial with a rather grubby looking suit that hung off his frame; and his hair was now perfectly coifed as opposed to dishevelled. Although she noted that his hair never really looked bad.

"… the War made many of us do things that we would never even think of doing in peacetime." The Headmistress' voice broke her thoughts, "But the War is the past and, as we approach this new year, I ask that you think not about what may divide us but rather of what brings us together." She paused for a moment, gave a penetrating look that seemed to focus on everyone but, then again, at no one in particular. "We are all here, in these hallowed halls, with a common purpose: education. And it is my belief, that the highest result of education is tolerance…"

Tolerance. Minerva McGonagall was too wise a woman to expect unity so soon; to expect the whole school to become chummy with the Slytherins overnight, especially since many had suffered injuries and loss of family. It may not, however, have been too much to ask that they don't perpetuate the war and make each other's lives a complete misery.

Tolerance was the right word.

Just then Malfoy took a slow blink from the front of the hall and settled his eyes directly on Hermione. His gaze seemed softer than it had been not long before, but she still struggled under the intensity, wondering whether he truly meant to look at her at all or if she just happened to be in his line of sight. She didn't know whether to look away or even if she wanted to look away.

His eyes abruptly dropped from her, as if he had realised. He dragged his arms off the table to his lap and bowed his head further, staring down intently.

A heartbeat later she realised. His mark.

A heartbeat after that she remembered her own.

Mudblood.

- x -

10th September – Classroom 3C, Third Floor – Seventh/Eighth Year Defence Against the Dark Arts

Well, this was something she wasn't used to. One year out and she had totally forgotten what it was like to be around obnoxious idiots.

"Cormac, don't be so rude!" A feminine voice scolded from the table behind, but the lilt and giggling that accompanied clearly showed she was loving whatever he had just said.

Cormac McLaggen. She was rather hoping the war would have matured him – made him less vain and more thoughtful – but there was apparently no such luck. If there was anyone who truly had enjoyed returning to Hogwarts, it had to be him. He had struck out long ago with all the girls in their year and all the Gryffindor girls who had progressed past a training bra, but this mix with Ginny's year brought him a fresh new crop to lay his slobbery kisses and oafish advances upon. Exhibit A being the busty, blonde Hufflepuff with the piercing laugh, Priscilla Dyer, who was sitting beside him right now.

"No really," McLaggen muttered in his companion's ear (but not so quietly that Hermione and Ginny could actually ignore him, he obviously wanted them to hear), "I think it's true what they say about blondes – they are way more fun."

Ginny and Hermione collectively rolled their eyes at each other.

"Oh, you really think so?" Priscilla asked in a hopelessly dreamy voice that made Hermione want to gag. She didn't look back but imagined the girl tossing her hair, basking in her blondeness.

"Definitely. You'd think redheads would be kind of exciting, but they're all crazy. Awful tempers."

Ginny flashed Hermione a look.

"And brunettes," he continued, "They're all just boring old prudes."

Both Hermione and Ginny were already half turned to give Cormac a piece of their minds when the mild murmur of the classroom suddenly died around them. Hermione only saw the faces fall and necks crane towards the door.

"Wha - ?"

"Malfoy," Ginny answered instantly, in a sound that was little more than a breath.

Hermione's reaction was delayed, but she slowly peaked round to see him with his books tucked into his side and his friend, Blaise Zabini, walking in front of him.

She had barely seen him around in the past few days since their return, but she figured he was hiding. Anyone would probably go into hiding if they got such a frosty response every time they walked into a room.

"What's he doing here?" Cormac sneered loudly.

Hermione shot him a piercing glare. Merlin, could he ever just keep his mouth shut?

"I know. The bloody cheek!" Priscilla added.

Her jaw tensed even further. She was so sure Malfoy could hear them, and the last thing anyone needed was a riled up Death Eater on their hands.

Well, ex-Death Eater. She supposed.

More whispers had erupted around the classroom and dozens of eyes watched the two of them as they made their way to a table a few rows back and to the left of Hermione.

"It's ridiculous that they let him come back," Cormac said again, and after several minutes of the same circular conversation between McLaggen and his companion – when Hermione thought anyone with a normal level of patience may have snapped – she dared to look round to Malfoy again.

She was surprised to see the stoic expression on his face, glancing down at his clasped hands while he sat back in his chair and listened to the odd comment from Zabini.

A picture of complete diffidence.

It was so very unlike the Malfoy she knew – not to react or be provoked despite everything going on around him. No one was exactly being subtle, after all. But then Slytherins were known for their adaptability and, in particular, their sense of self-preservation.

Gryffindors, apparently not so much.

"I just can't believe Potter testified for a Death Eater..." Cormac spat again. Like a broken record.

Ginny finally cracked. "It's because Harry didn't bloody think he deserved to go to Azkaban," she hissed. In truth, she hadn't been particularly happy that he had testified either but she knew it was right thing to do, so she had supported Harry and now fiercely defended her boyfriend's decision.

Cormac, though, was unrelenting. "Doesn't explain why he's here. At Hogwarts – "

"Have you ever thought I may be here for the same reason as you, McLaggen?" Malfoy voice cut in like a dagger. There was an odd… calmness to it, sending a shiver up Hermione's spine. It had her reaching for her wand. "To study Defence Against the Dark Arts? Get a decent NEWT? Well, in your case, maybe just a NEWT."

"Draco…" Zabini warned quietly, but Malfoy placidly ignored him.

"Obviously you don't believe that though," he continued evenly. "You think I'm some living embodiment of the Dark Arts. Voldermort 2.0. So maybe," he leaned forward on his desk and narrowed his pewter eyes at Cormac, "I'm just your final exam."

From the corner of her eye she could see him sit back in his chair, not the least bit concerned about the awkward silence that had fallen about the room, his mask of indifference falling perfectly back in place. But there was one change. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but she was sure so sure she saw the hint of a smile. That was when she realised she hadn't seen it in years.

There was a sudden, inelegant snort of laughter to her right.

"Ginny!?" Hermione gritted, giving her a wide eyed glare. It was absolutely not the right time to laugh or draw any sort of attention.

"What?" She whispered back, "We've wanted to shut McLaggen up for years! Someone's finally been able to do it." She looked back and sniggered, "Look at Cormac's face, pouting like he just got his bottom smacked."

Hermione pursed her lips but she couldn't help it when they turned up into a small smile, or when she found herself sneaking another look at Malfoy, only looking away when their teacher entered the room.

"Morning class," he flashed them all a grin. "Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Their new teacher was Evander Newell, an experienced curse breaker who had spent his life travelling the globe and had avoided the happenings here at home before his return. His eyes still sparkled with excitement and his disposition was completely untainted by the pain the British wizarding community had endured these past few years.

"So," he began, perching on the edge of his desk, "The Headmistress has informed me that we have a mixture of age groups here, perhaps some different levels of experience because of the… interruption in your learning."

Interruption? Hermione felt her eyebrow creeping up.

"But I have been assured that you are all most competent and I'm sure we'll be well on our way to filling in those gaps in your knowledge. We'll get you that Outstanding NEWT!" He declared animatedly. "Or, you know, at least have you all pass," he added, somewhat less animatedly.

"If I may do quick survey of your experience? How many of you know the basics of defensive shields?"

Some were faster than others, but eventually the whole class had put their hands up.

He nodded approvingly, "Oh good. Very good. What about casting a Reductor Curse? That's a risky one."

Hermione gave a sideways smile to Ginny. She was particularly good at it.

Again, everyone had raised their hands up and they continued to for every spell Professor Newell listed off. They were the essential spells, their bread-and-butter for survival and she began wondering whether he truly appreciated just how affected they all were by the war, how involved they had been. She couldn't blame him really, they were practically children and no one ever imagined children to be fighting these wars.

"Well, we seem to have quite a bit of experience here! Okay…" He grinned smugly, as if he was going to catch them all out. "How many of you have successfully conjured a Patronus? Corporeal or incorporeal?"

Hermione and Ginny reached up and watched as others (most of whom had been Dumbledore's Army members) joined them. The majority had their hands raised. In fact, possibly all except – and most notably – Malfoy.

Everyone knew a Patronus was highly complex to cast in any form, let alone the corporeal form, and it required the purest and happiest of memories to successfully conjure. The average witch or wizard may never master it, even gifted ones may struggle well into their adulthood, but dark wizards – it was said – would never be able to cast it. The books hadn't been clear when Hermione had read up on the topic way back in third year (when she was equal parts curious and jealous that Lupin was teaching Harry the spell), but it was claimed that dark wizards were unable to form pure memories, that with a corrupted soul came corrupted memories.

She felt Malfoy there, in her periphery, and wondered if that was what he was. A dark wizard. Tainted, corrupt, incapable of pure happiness. He certainly had the mark to suggest so.

"Oh." Newell sounded stumped, his eyes only lingered momentarily on Malfoy. "Conjuring a Patronus is definitely beyond NEWT level. You almost don't need me."

Ginny couldn't resist scoffing. "Too true," she muttered under her breath and Hermione found herself biting back a smile.

"But," their professor continued, "To ensure you all pass the practical element of your examinations, you will need to be able to draw on these spells at a moment's notice, under pressure. Therefore, we will prepare for this in the form of bi-weekly duel sessions."

Duel sessions?

Her eyes fluttered around the whole room which was suddenly buzzing with chatter and she could feel Ginny stirring beside her, becoming more engaged.

Years ago she may have welcomed this in Defence Against the Dark Arts. That was, after all, why they had set up Dumbledore's Army back in fifth year, because they had never truly been able to practice defensive techniques in class, only learn the theory of them. Teachers had thought it was too dangerous and now, she had to admit… she almost agreed with them. Duelling wasn't meant to be fun, it was necessary. You did it to stay alive. And when they practiced with the DA they had been able to choose who they invited, keep it between friends who were capable and trusted rather than having to be up against the likes of Cormac or Blaise Zabini or –

Malfoy.

- x -

"You didn't seem that happy," Ginny stated later as they were walking to their next lesson, "About the duel sessions."

She had almost forgotten that Ginny was both more perceptive and more nosy than Ron or Harry had ever been. It was much harder to hide things from her.

"No, it'll be great," she said, straining a smile, "Like Dumbledore's Army all over again."

Ginny laughed, "Yeh, except it's not fifteen-year-old Harry teaching us!"

"Harry wasn't bad – "

"No, of course not! He was – is – great," Ginny almost rolled her eyes at herself. She was still shy about gushing over Harry. "But I don't remember us thinking very hard about health and safety in the DA," she frowned playfully, then rather unexpectedly tugged Hermione's free arm and hugged it to her side. "Newell will keep us safe," she said matter-of-factly.

Hermione's mouth curled with doubt but suddenly, in a much more serious tone, Ginny added, "I'll keep you safe."

Hermione looked into her blue eyes – the kindness that stared back – and gave her the smile she knew she wanted to see, nodded in understanding. In that moment she both loved and hated that Ginny could see right through her, could see how shaken she still was.

- x -

12th September 1998 – Gryffindor Common Room

Hermione huffed at the page in Spellman's Syllabary and roughly pulled a strand of hair behind her ear before looking to the page she had open in Advanced Rune Translations, then to another page in Boone's Runes. Then back again.

She had to admit she was out of practice – she hadn't exactly had the time to run through translations last year – but it was so frustrating to have things that were practically second nature at one point in her life suddenly become such an effort. And this passage was particularly challenging, with some odd contextualisation that she simply couldn't get her head around.

She furrowed her brow at her parchment again –

Tap tap.

She breathed deep.

Tap tap tap.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

Urgh, and that bloody bird kept turning up!

She dropped her quill and threw open the window to let the owl fly in and sit expectantly in front of Ginny, slumped forward over her Charms work in sleep. Hermione took the letter from the owl's beak, the parchment slightly damp with rain (or possibly even slobber) and looked at the tell-tale handwriting across the front.

"Gin," Hermione shook her. "It's another letter from Harry," she explained quietly (and with a pained effort to sound less irritated) when Ginny woke up and looked at her drowsily.

Her face suddenly lit up and Hermione almost felt bad when she pulled the letter out of her reach at just the last moment.

"I'll only give this to you if you promise to sleep tonight rather than owling Harry until the crack of dawn," she said sternly.

"How did you kn - ?"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her. "You're asleep on the table at 3 in the afternoon! Not to mention that owl is ridiculously loud."

It wasn't quite as bad as Erroll, of course – it didn't slam into windows at breakneck speed and knock over everything in its general vicinity – but it had kept her up last night with its rather enthusiastic tapping on their dorm window, and then when Ginny had stumbled through the darkness out to the common room, she'd still been able to hear the insistent screeches every now and then signalling the arrival of a new letter.

"Oh… Bertha." Ginny cringed at the round-bellied owl and stroked her beak. "Poor thing, she's quite old, and Harry and I think she may be deaf – hence the loudness… Sorry," she added sheepishly.

Hermione shook her head gently, "Don't be," she smiled, "Just promise me you'll sleep tonight?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and snatched the envelope from Hermione's grip with her annoying Chaser reflexes. "Yes, mother."

Satisfied, Hermione turned back to her parchment and frustrating Runes work, only to look back and see Ginny smiling goofily as she read the words.

It was actually quite sweet that Harry's scrawly letter could have such an effect on her, but in all honesty Hermione couldn't understand how they had so much to say to each other. It had only been five days since Harry and Ron had seen them off on the Hogwart's Express but they must have exchanged at least two dozen letters in that time. She and Ron hadn't sent any yet. She assumed he would write if he had something to say and she didn't think there was anything much to report on her end – he was unlikely to care about the advanced Arithmancy project she was taking on this year.

"Harry says he's coming up to Hogsmead in two weeks' time," Ginny beamed from over the letter, "Is that when Ron's coming as well? Maybe we could all do something together?"

"Erm," Hermione shifted awkwardly in her chair, "I don't know yet – I'll have to write to him."

"Oh." Ginny's eyebrows twitched into a slight frown before jokingly saying, "Sorry, I just thought Hermione Granger – planning extraordinaire – would have every boyfriend's visit pencilled into her calendar months in advance."

Hermione laughed it off half-heartedly, shaking her head as she got back to her work.

But that did sound an awful lot like her, and now she wondered whether it was odd that she and Ron hadn't discussed the idea of visiting or even writing to each other. They never really talked about those things. They had never really talked about them, actually.

After years of bickering and jealousy over each other's love lives, the War had thrown them together and they found what they needed to deal with the aftermath in each other. Or more specifically, each other's beds. They'd both been through so much over the year, and then they each had their own struggles. Ron had lost Fred, and every day he woke up to see George a shadow of himself and his once happy family fraying at the seams.

Hermione as well, had her parents back and the Ministry had helped her reverse the Obliviate spell, but it was nothing like she had hoped. Her Mum and Dad returned with half the memories and broken hearts because they hadn't been able to help their daughter when she was in need, and they didn't know what they had forgotten of their lives together. They had started to remember more and more but she could see them doubting themselves at every turn, and that normal family life that had kept her rooted through all her magical troubles over the years was odd and uncomfortable.

Sex and Ron had just been such an easy way to deal with it all. It made her feel good.

Hermione had been a virgin before and, yes, it went a lot faster than she ever would have planned, but she figured that she didn't need time to get to know Ron – she already trusted him – so it was about healing first and the talking, she had presumed, would come later.

It hadn't, she now realised.

Of course, they still talked, but it was about Death Eater trials and taking up auror training and how Mrs. Weasley was doing. They didn't talk about them and where they were going when life resumed 'as normal.'

"If you fret over every Ancient Runes text like that you'll have wrinkles before your twenty," Ginny suddenly said, folding up a piece of parchment.

She hadn't even realised she had been frowning over her work in thought, apparently for quite a while since Ginny had already written her response to Harry, ready to send off.

"Ginny, wait," Hermione called as she was giving the owl her letter. "Let me just write a letter to Ron. Bertha can take them both to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione determinedly started scratching out her note.

The problem was that she didn't know how to be someone's girlfriend, but she did know that she had wanted this relationship for as long as she could remember, so she was bloody well going to try and make it work.

- x -

A/N: Hope that wasn't too dull? I know, it may be considered a filler chapter but I wanted to establish how Hermione felt about Draco's involvement in the war and returning to Hogwarts and her relationship with Ron.

Now, I'm not sure whether anyone spotted something weird or unusual that hints at the next sign? A clue: the weirdness happens in the Room of Requirements scene. Let me know what you think it is :) Hope you enjoyed, and next update in a few days!