A/N: My first attempt at writing a fic. Please, honestly tell me if I should bother to continue. Hope you enjoy.

The night air was crisp, tickling Harry's nostrils as he cautiously crossed a street, sights set on a particular house. The home didn't exactly bear a distinction from the other houses that filled the street, but this house was different, and Harry knew house possessed aging reddish-brown brick on the ground floor, but an almost decaying looking white painted wood covered the second floor, no doubt a later addition to the home. Ivy had begun to grow up the sides of the building from the wildly growing garden. Surrounding the property was a shabby white picket fence. The owners were either long gone or too immersed into other things to care about a tidy garden.

Taking a last look around to make sure nobody was watching, Harry quietly hopped the curb and, careful not to make a sound, pushed open the fence's gate, wand in hand. Silently he shuffled his way up the sidewalk and up the two steps to the front door. He reached for the knob, but then thought better of it. He tried to peek a glance through the window but found the curtains thoroughly blocking sight into the home.

Deciding going round back was the better option, he quietly ducked under the front windows and made his way around the left side of the building, fighting through the tall, abandoned hedges as soundlessly as he could. Upon reaching the back door, he tried the knob but wasn't surprised to find it locked. Raising his wand, he flicked it at the knob with a simple unlocking charm. Again, not surprised as he tried the knob again to find it still locked. Flicking his wand again with more eloquent strokes, the unmistakable sound of a turning lock could be heard. Gently, he made his way inside.

He was confident someone wouldn't go through that much trouble to lock a door with advanced magic if they were simply trying to ward off a possible muggle break-in. Logic stated that there was either someone living here, or that they had left something here for safekeeping. Either way, Harry was determined to search the house for clues. Stepping on his toes, he made his way through the house.

Without the light from the moon anymore, Harry was forced to produce a small light from his wand. The back door opened up to a small kitchen and led off in two directions. One way seemed to lead to a simple storing area, filled with dust covered boxes. Harry quickly mapped the area, and satisfied nothing of note was there, turned back to the kitchen to make his way through the rest of the home. Turning out of the kitchen there was a small dining area, a table, four chairs, and some paintings making up the room. Sharing a room with the dining area was a living room. A small sofa with a few pillows was opposite a pair of armchairs, seperated by a coffee table. Strewn across the low table was a very large number of books. Then Harry noticed the rest of the room was also covered in books. Across lamp tables, bookshelves, and cupboards, books were stacked so high it looked like a strong sneeze could send the whole room raining in hardcovered text.

As peculiar as the living room was, Harry couldn't let his guard down. Pressing on, he found a hallway leading to a bedroom and a bath, both filled with either boxes or books. Having checked the main floor, Harry continued his search upstairs. Inwardly groaning at the loud creaks the stairs gave with each step he took, Harry kept his wand pointed at the top stairs, prepared for somebody to investigate the noise. Remarkably, Harry reached the top undiscovered, and peered down a hallway that led to several rooms.

Entering the first room on the left, Harry was disappointed to find another simple bathroom. Continuing search on the next room, Harry entered to find what appeared to be a study. Approaching a desk, it continued the theme of the rest of the house and featured several stacks of books. However, next to the stacks was clear space that displayed signs of a writing station. There were parchments stacked on top of eachother at the center, and on the right was a quill resting in a bottle of ink. Somewhat fresh ink, Harry noticed. He also found a small lantern sitting atop a small stack of books to the left of the station. He could tell it was recently lit from the faint smell of burning wax still in the air.

This alerted Harry even more and quickly turned around to continue his search, but as he did he heard someone say confidently, "Expelliarmus!"

His wand was suddenly torn from his grip and thrown across the room, clanking on the wooden floor, into a corner. Over the last two years Harry had immersed himself into learning wandless magic. Over the two years he was sad to say the most he had accomplished was that he could summon his wand to him. It was a treasure of a skill to have, but he was disappointed to not have accomplished more. Harry wasted no time here using that skill, almost immediately as he felt his wand torn from him, he summoned up his energy and sent it flying back to his hand. But before he could put himself on the offensive, the witch, for he was sure it was a females voice who uttered the spell, turned on the lights, thinking she had perfectly taken care of the threat when hearing his wand scatter. Harry was about to attack when he stopped himself.

"Hermione?" he asked, incredulous.

"Harry!" she shouted back and leaped toward him, ensnaring him in a gripping hug. He slowly came to realization of what was happening and firmly hugged her back.

Hermione, seeming to come to her senses, disentangled herself from him and stepped back, guarded. "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"What am I doing here?! I thought you were abroad! What are you doing in this house?"

"I live here! I have for about three months now. What are you doing here?" she asked again.

"I came here to investigate a possible hide-out of a Death Eater," he said simply.

"What? Why would you think that I was a Death Eater?"

"The Ministry has been getting reports that this place has been recently inhabited by a witch or wizard. Owls had been sent here for a possible resident to confirm its new home in a Muggle suburb. We like to keep track of things like that, you know. Anyway, the owls always returned without a reply, so you could understand our suspicions."

"Oh! I believe that is my fault. I placed anti-owl wards around the house. I'm sick of every bloody magazine in Britain sending me request upon request for an interview. Not to mention some annoying fan mail and the not-so-nice mail," she said, crossing her arms with a slight huff.

Harry chuckled. Hermione had become a minor celebrity in the academia world. After their seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione immediately went abroad to study and do research. She had already published three works. One a textbook that she and Harry had actually co-written about the Defense Against the Dark Arts. She wanted to spread the knowledge to as many as possible, especially because of the dark times, and since Harry was a natural expert, she asked for his help and he was more than willing to oblige. The second was an inspirational essay describing how important it was to keep up with your studies at school and to excel in every subject, not just one or two. The third had been a book detailing the social atrocities the wizarding world had committed against house elves. That last one he assumed is where the death-threats came in.

Harry was immensly relieved. He had not seen Hermione in three years, and hadn't spoken to her in two. He wasn't sure why it had been so long since they spoke. Owls from her abroad kept getting more infrequent as time went by and eventually they just stopped altogether. He was worried for her, but he didn't want to intrude on her or nag her and risk pushing her away. Besides, there was plenty of work for him here to keep his mind busy.

"Well, when did you get back?" Harry asked, wondering why she had been here for three months and hadn't made contact with him.

Hermione stepped back and a slight frown formed on her face. She seemed to read the hurt on his expression and seemed sheepish. "Four months ago," she said softly.

Harry, obviously hurt by the knowledge, took a step back as well. The hurt turned quickly to anger. He didn't know why she was distancing herself from him, but if that is what she wanted, he wasn't going to deny her her right to do that. He had to get out of there before he did something stupid in his anger.

"Well, I'd better go inform the Ministry that you're not in league with Voldemort. I'll get out of your way," he said, making his way into the hallway and starting down the stairs.

"Harry, I'm sorry!" she said, though it came out almost like a whimper.

He stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked up at her, still standing at the top. "Its okay, Hermione. The Ministry isn't going to hand out any kind of punishment because you didn't want to be bothered. I'll just let them know its you that's here."

"No, Harry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was back in town. I...I didn't want to bother you..."

"You wouldn't bother me, Hermione. I've been worried about you."

"You have?" she asked, timidly.

"Of course! It's been ages since I heard from you. How would you expect me to feel?"

Hermione put her head down, hiding her face in her bushy brown hair. "Relieved...?" she asked in an almost whisper.

Shock went through Harry. Did he hear her right? How could she ever believe that? She was his best friend, his only real friend. How could she think that he didn't care for her? That he wanted to stop talking to her? Did he do something to suggest that?

"Hermione, I can't even comprehend how you could ever think that. You, the brightest witch I've ever known. I..." he trailed off in frustration, raising his arms in the air questioningly, not able to comprehend her thinking process.

Hermione's eyes smarted as she fought back a couple tears. She finally brought her head up and looked at Harry in the dark. He had changed so much since she last saw him. Instead of the boyish, unruly hair that she was so used to seeing on him, he sported a short cropped head. Still, there were places where his hair wouldn't behave and sort of stood up against the others. It still gave him that sexy "fresh out of bed" look that she so loved. A small smile crept across her face at that.

Also gone were his glasses, but he seemed to be able to see well enough. Perhaps he had opted to adopt the muggle contact lenses? It wouldn't surprise her. She was glad that he had gone for a more practical option, but she still missed him in his glasses. It was part of his charm.

Harry was looking up at her, watching her watch him. He noticed she had changed her appearance somewhat.. She had straightened and thinned out her hair quite a bit, but it still had that bushy look that he was so fond of. She had outgrown some of the freckles on her face, but quite a few were still there. She had grown out, too. It was hard not to notice. She looked more like a young woman than a teenager, but still petite and frail looking.

The sun was starting rise, light began to shine through the windows, and Harry realized how late it was. He looked down at his watch and said, "Well, I'd better get to it. If I don't make it back soon they'll think somethings wrong. Don't want them sending a whole team to harass you, do we?"

When Harry moved to go, Hermione realized she had to try and do something to fix things before he left. She fled down the stairs.

"Harry!" she called after him. "Would you...would you like to get some dinner tonight?"

Harry paused at the back door, turned and smiled at her. "I'll pick you up at eight?" he inquired, testing to see if she really wanted to do this.

"Eight sounds lovely."

"Great, see you then." And with a new determination to get back to the office and finish work early, Harry strode out to the backyard, glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then disapparated.

Hermione fled back inside the house, and relocked the door. She hadn't realized she had followed him outside into the cold. Slowly, she made her way back up to her study. She had let herself hope again, and she was afraid of the consequences that might follow. Still, anxious about tonight, she hopped up the stairs to at least try to get some more writing done and get some sleep.