SoulBands

Hermione ate a small piece of strawberry scone and sighed. Today was her tenth official day of work and she sat confined in her office pretty much overloaded with work and too much reading. There was so much to do and she almost wished she could use her wand to get things going a little quicker, but she had refused to bring it to work with her - it sat neatly on her bedside table at home. There was just no way she was going to attract the attention to herself. Already she'd had to come up with a believable story about Hogwarts and its "far-away" location, because not one person had heard of such a school.

So here she sat, reading a manuscript from a hopeful muggle novelist and attempting to make a decision: the bin or Mrs. Thawburnes's office? So far she liked her job, but it was just the loneliness that put her down like this and transformed her into a sardonic hermit who wished out, out, out.

Her office was small and crammy and smelled of aging lavender which, ironically, constantly reminded her of school and her old friends. She smiled to herself. Figures, she thought, Lav would have brightened this place loads, made it fashionable and home-y or something. There were no pictures on the pale blue walls, which looked like an exact replica of muggle hospital walls.

"Granger?" a hesitant female voice came to her from behind the door. "There's an... owl... perched on your doorknob, and it... won't go away." Now that Hermione really listened, she thought the owner of the voice sounded uneasy with her squeaky little voice. "There's a letter-"

Hermione threw the door open, red in the face, so much that the woman recoiled away from the owl and herself, probably thinking she was mad beyond recognition. "Umm," Hermione stammered before gently scooping the tawny owl in her arms. "Thanks."

The owl gave a little hoot of contempt.

The petite woman couldn't have looked more frightened than she did when Hermione slammed the door shut behind herself, regaining the sanctity of her office. The owl hooted again and went to perch itself on her desk lamp, holding its leg out, where a letter was attached.

Hermione exhaled a deep breath. "Merlin, you shouldn't have done that. Do you know how much attention you attracted to me right there?" She sighed, shaking her head as she paced with the owl still cradled in her arms. "This shouldn't be allowed. This is my tenth day here and already the wizarding world has caught up to me." She sighed again, running a hand through the owl's soft feathers, and regained her breath. "What's that you have for me?" She carefully extricated the letter from its talons and fed it with a bit of scone.

This it read:

Hermione blinked repeatedly. Hermione Granger, an Auror? McGonagall had to be out of her right mind. Yes, Hermione had considered taking that path for a short while, had even talked to Professor McGonagall about it during those Career Advice sessions, but she had often stayed up late at night to list the pros and cons of tackling this one, and had come up with something that had radically stopped her inner arguments.

Hermione was terrified. One day or another, Aurors were forced to take radical measures and, at one point, were forced to kill if a situation tumbled out of hand. She wasn't scared of firing curses - had done it on more than one occasion with Harry and Ron at school and out, but to kill... she just could not bear the idea of killing.

Hermione had watched her share of muggle movies in her life. Once, she had gone with Harry and Ron to a muggle theatre to see a movie which involved a lot of killing and gore-spilling. Everytime she would hear the gunshot, Hermione would jump and close her eyes tightly shut. The sound was too much, too real. The sight of blood repulsed her.

The Killing Curse didn't harm. It killed on impact without making its victim suffer endlessly. The victim's breath was torn out of them, impenitent. No bruising, no bleeding. But Hermione feared the green light emerging from the caster's wand since she had seen it last while cowering away in an old friend's kitchen cupboard.

"I can't," she mumbled to herself. "I'm a first rate coward."

But Hermione was reminded of that green light again, and thought of Harry's eyes and how much he'd suffered throughout his life without ever voicing his pain. And suddenly it was there, the pang of hurt she felt each time he came back to Ron and Hermione, a torn and shabby form, as he came back to them after following the Dark Lord's trails and experiencing the worst atrocities in the world. He hadn't the right to be alone in this fight between Light and Dark. Hermione had sworn to herself that she would never let him take the Darkness on his own.

It wasn't fair. She loved Harry. Friends didn't let each other down in cowering fear, or because they were asked to by their friend. It wasn't right.

Hermione looked at the tawny owl and, for a moment, saw the face of her Hogwarts Professor in its place. She downed the contents of her burning mug and, determinedly, grabbed a pen and scribbled furiously on a piece of stationary paper.

Ron wasn't there when Hermione woke up, that morning. Today, she remembered just as the heavens broke loose outside, was her first training day as an illegal Auror. Just two days ago she had quit her job at Bloomsburn and had ever since wandered the house aimlessly when Ron left the house to go to the Omega Forces. He hadn't come back home last night. He hadn't told her anything but she strongly suspected he might be doing an overnight preparatory assignment. Ron was secretive enough when it came to the OF; he hardly ever spoke to her about the sorts of things they did. But she wasn't grudging that; Hermione completely understood that he might be pressed to keep everything a secret. However, usually, he told her where he would be so she didn't worry.

It was unsettling how Ron had changed so much in the span of a few weeks. However, she wasn't much surprised by it anymore. Hermione only had to tell herself that he was going to be one of the best law enforcers of their generation that the government had ever seen, if he wasn't already.

Hermione wrapped herself in a black cloak, pocketed her wand and pulled her bushy hair up into a neat ponytail. Nothing was going to get in her way. Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, she inhaled deeply. My last day as an innocent young witch, she though to herself as the ghost of a small smile painted her lips.

Biting the latter, Hermione Granger pulled out her wand and concentrated on the street on which stood the Unplottable Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She felt the pull of every fiber tugging at her body, torn between two places at once, and then finally settled on one. Hermione felt her head spin - an after-effect of Apparating - as she looked up at the space where the House of Black should stand.

And then just as suddenly as Hermione had blinked and Apparated to Grimmauld Place, number twelve stretched out before her, grim and old as it was the last time she had been there. Just as austere. As a grown woman Hermione should not have let this get to her, but she could not suppress the images of old reliquaries and unfair deaths.

Shivering underneath her otherwise warm cloak, Hermione regarded the street stretched out on either side of her, spying for unwanted figures, and quickly made for the porch, banging the silver knocker quite heavily on the plain black door. It opened at once, revealing a tall young witch with red hair who was careful about the neighbourhood as well.

"Quick, inside," Ginny rushed out at once with an abrupt, dry tone before ushering Hermione in. "Hush, Mrs. Black's portrait won't come down yet. She's sleeping now but no doubt you made her stir in her sleep." Suddenly she regarded Hermione as one would someone they hadn't seen in years. "My, Hermione, I haven't seen you in ages," she continued in hushed tones. "Everyone will be thrilled. McGonagall just told us. We've been waiting anxiously all afternoon. Everyone's been coming at random hours. Of course, Bill couldn't miss," she said, and Hermione was reminded with a small smile that he was Ginny's favourite brother. "He got transferred to London; he asked for a transfer, didn't want to miss the training for all the gold in the world. Says he'll fight with us as long as we defeat the Dark Lord once and for all."

Presently they were at the kitchen, where a sight much like the first time she had been here met her: everyone - everyone, Ginny had said - was there: Padma Patil, who had lost her twin sister to Death Eaters; Lee Jordan, who was currently enjoying the presence of his girlfriend Angelina Johnson, who hadn't yet taken off her Harpies-coloured Quidditch robes; the Weasley twins, who were busy in a corner of the kitchen talking like an accomplice to Katie Bell, who laughed heartily at all of their jokes; Tonks, of course, who entertained the kids in the house while Susan Bones took good care of the meal with Colin Creevey, who still wore his professional wizard's camera around his neck after an apparently gruelling day at work - he took photographs for the Prophet regularly but was in fact a freelancer and provided photographs for all and any magazine and paper who wanted his work; Luna Lovegood, who was currently busy at the dinner table, taking good care of avoiding Seamus Finnigan's Kilkenny beer bottles while editing an article for the Quibbler - her father had left her the paper in inheritance and she had done fantastically well in the last months: the paper closely followed the happenings in the wizarding world since the first attack but also offered some comedy relief for those who were in terrible need; Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was also working at the table - since Sirius's fall he had been assigned to monitoring the more prominent escaped Death Eaters: that is, Malfoy senior and junior, although the latter hadn't apparently made any decision yet even after gaining adulthood, Macnair, Pettigrew and Bellatrix Black to name a few.

This was so much more than Hermione could bear. However her eyes found other familiar figures.

Lupin sat on the farthest corner reading a book about - Hermione could barely make out the words - More Uncommon Yet Powerful Spells for Fighters Unequaled. Mrs. Weasley was wearing an apron and was currently helping Susan take the food onto the table while Colin magicked platters, utensils and goblets onto the table as well. It seemed every little nook and cranny of the kitchen was bustling with life.

"Hullo," came a voice at Hermione's ear. She closed her mouth, realising that she'd been gaping like a fish out of water, and turned to face the owner of the voice.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, bewildered. Quite frankly, she hadn't expected him here. "I didn't know you'd been asked to come too."

Ron shrugged and grabbed a beer bottle and wine glass off the table. He handed the glass to her and quickly uncorked the muggle beer - lately Hermione had caught glimpses of muggle beer bottles in their fridge... he seemed to enjoy the bitter taste - before taking a quick swig. "Well, for one, the training's part of my programme, so I'm getting more practice time than the rest of my class. Then, there's the fact that I can't stay here and sit on my arse, hoping that Harry will beat the living daylights out of Vol-Voldemort without a little bit of help."

Hermione smiled. "I quit my job for this," she said quietly.

Nothing could have rewarded her comment better than the utterly astonished face that Ron awarded her with. "The bookworm extraordinaire has failed? I am... I am rendered speechless, Hermione Jane Granger... speechless, I say."

Mrs. Weasley called for dinner and soon Susan had filled everyone's plate with British and exotic goods.

And the small conversations strayed to one.

"What are we learning first?"

"Where are we being taught?"

"When do we start?"

Tonks laughed uproariously, then winked at Shacklebolt. "Yes, now I remember my very first day of Auror training..." she said with amusement and malice dancing in her voice and eyes, which were a deep turquoise at the moment. Then she nodded, "Shacklebolt, if you'll do us the honour..."

Slowly Shacklebolt stood, and when he did all eyes became trained to him. "First," he said gravely, "this is not a playground." He eyed the future Auror trainees' children. They wouldn't take part in the training because they were too young; this was why Mrs. Weasley had been attuned to the job of keeping them out of the trainees' paws until nightfall. Kingsley then returned his small hawklike black eyes to the rather large group of future trainees. "I don't want anyone to think they can amuse us with silly trickeries and carelessness. We are not going to tolerate it at all." Hermione and Ron both glanced at Fred and George, who grimaced. "Second..." Here he smiled. "I am glad so many of you turned up so enthusiastically. If you think this cause is important, you're wrong, it's more than important; the future of our world is in the hands of Harry and Voldemort. Frankly, I would much prefer a world of peace than one of hatred and fear. Third," he sighed dramatically, teasing those who had been so eager to know about their training, "I can't really tell you; inside this house; at a nearby park - we've set up anti-muggle charms so we wouldn't be disturbed - and; first thing tomorrow morning." He turned to Tonks inquiringly. "Anything to add, Tonks?"

Tonks waved her hand. "No, I think you covered it all."

Kingsley turned to Lupin and Mrs. Weasley, who regarded each other and shrugged. "No, nothing to add," Lupin said for them both.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "Professor, are you going to be training us as well?"

Remus looked up at her and smiled like only he could; it was a tired but nonetheless happy smile. "I've been asked to teach you how to fend off Dark Magic."

Susan Bones piped up. "Like a Defence Against the Dark Arts class?" she asked.

Lupin laughed a bit. "Well, if you put it that way... then yes."

The room became essentially silent save for the little gurgling sounds a baby was making. Kingsley surveyed the table and all the faces trained on him as if asking silently if anyone had any remaining questions. Many squirmed under his scrutiny, but none dared speak up anymore. Shacklebolt gave off that air about him. He was not dangerously mean, but he could quite easily send shivers down anyone's spine. Hermione wondered for a moment if it was a requirement. "Back to the meal, then. Susan, Colin, Molly, delicious."

Colin blushed a rosy embarrassed pink. "Oh, sir," he started, "I didn't do much. Mostly stared, is all," he rushed out in one hasted breath.

Kingsley shook his fork at Colin. "A man who enters the kitchen without being sent back out humiliated and injured deserves all the praise he can get." With that wise statement, he turned his undivided attention back to his orange flavoured chicken wing.

Ron heard the creak of the door and cringed by instinct. "They still haven't bloody repaired this one," he grumbled under his breath, pushing it fully open to reveal two tiny twin beds. He turned to Hermione, who stood stiffly behind him, biting her lip pensively. He smiled kindly, seeing her nerves quite raw on the surface. "Which side do you want?" He motioned to the bed nearest a heavily curtained window and added, "Harry usually took this one when we came here."

Hermione shrugged, securing her ruksack for the tenth time on her shoulder. "I don't mind. If you prefer the other one, I'll take this one."

It was a bad idea to start with, she had known it at once when Mrs. Weasley had told the group about the sleeping arrangements. Hermione hadn't minded Ginny when they had stayed together during Voldemort's second rise to power, but now the young energetic woman shared her bed with Colin.

Ron had literally burst out laughing at the public announcement, and Ginny had slugged him hard across the head to shut him up.

It had been a bad idea to pair Hermione with Ron, but apparently everone had assumed that the infamous trio was hard as stone and could never break. Hermione knew better.

"Okay." Ron proceeded to rummage into the closet and come out with sheets, blankets and pillows for the both of them. "Make yourself as comfortable as you like and if you need anything at all -"

"Ron," Hermione sighed scorningly, "we live together. Stop the pampering already."

Ron slouched back on his bed - a simple spell had magicked the sheets onto his bed - and crossed his arms under his head. "All right, then," he smirked, "miss Bossy-Pants..."

Hermione took one long look at his slightly squared face, scowled, and found she couldn't help the smile from her face.

Later, they both stared at each other while talking quietly in the dark.

"You reckon it'll be very hard?" Hermione asked anxiously from her curled up form. Her blankets were pooling in her lap and she had her back against the headboard, almost afraid to look at Ron.

Ron hesitated before answering wistfully. "Hermione," he sighed wearily, "I know it'll be painful. Why, are you having doubts?" he asked softly, the tenderness of his words caressing Hermione.

Hermione bit her lip, finally answering after a long period of consideration. "Well, yeah... I mean, I've decided to help Harry any way I can, but I can't help but feel like I'm being pulled back along. It's... frankly, I don't know if I'm scared or not."

Ron nodded slowly. "It'll be dangerous, if my OF training was any indication. But you're a tough... a very strong woman. You're about the wisest witch I've ever met." He broke out into a small smile, dimples showing shadows on his cheeks. "I always wondered what it would be like to be so crack-full of intelligence."

Hermione tutted softly. "Don't be so daft, Ron. You're just as cunning as I am clever. Those chess games? Any indication, you think? I always wanted your wits."

Ron smiled ruefully, feeling his face grow hot in the instant, but suddenly his face froze. Hermione was shaking, her teeth chattering ever-so-slightly in the cool bedroom they were to share together. "Are you cold?" he asked though he did not need an answer.

A pause, some guilty rustling, and a tiny squeaked, "Yeah."

"Come here," Ron demanded gently, lifting his bedcoverings to let her in and nodding her over.

Such an innocent gesture from his part; Hermione sighed, knowing full well that it was her heart she was trying to slow the beat of; her breath that had quickened in an instant; her hands that had gone colder than they already were.

Hermione slipped in next to Ron and was immediately engulfed in bodily warmth. Ron was always a furnace, no matter how cold a room was. Presently he was drawing her to him, snuggled and spooned to him as she was, and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck...

Drawing a mewl from Hermione's slightly parted mouth.

Ron drew away, regarded her strangely and then did it again and again; Hermione was pretty sure she couldn't hold back much longer. "Are you okay?" he asked finally, settling his cheek to the nook of her neck.

"Better, thanks," she quickly replied, hoping that the quivering in her voice hadn't shown so much.

Slowly, she drew her leg in a more comfortable position and pressed back accidently against Ron's body. The moan that escaped his lips and danced to her ears was unmistakable even though he quickly stifled it with a loud cough.

Hermione felt her whole body grow taut, along with his. She was so surprised that, at first, she didn't feel it... but there, pressing right against the back of her leg, Ron's appreciation demonstrated itself to the backs of her thighs.

It was silent in the dark bedroom for what felt like a thousand millennia.

"Erm, uh, really?" Ron stammered suddenly. Hermione could swear that, had the light been turned on - oh, the pun - and had she turned around to face him, there would have been no telling where hair rooted and face reddened.

Hermione closed her eyes tightly shut. She tried desperately to remember something, but nothing at all came to mind. There was no book about being in bed with your best friend and feeling his penis straining against the back of your leg. So what were you to do in that situation then? And did that mean... no, she couldn't think like that. It was incest but with a best friend. But what if - no. No, Hermione, don't kill yourself with this. It's just... no.

"Yes," Hermione replied, but when she did it sounded strangely like a hiss, a sexy hiss she had never heard coming from herself.

"Good," Ron replied quickly, squirming to change positions. But Hermione grasped his hand, the one with the ring, and pulled him back against her. What possessed her to do that, she didn't know, but the sighed moan that escaped her lips when his chest pressed back against her, and when his warmth found her again, was feral.

Hermione turned around, looking up into Ron's stormy eyes in the dimness. His mouth was gaped open like a fish out of water. She smiled and closed his mouth with a touch of her hand. That full mouth, pink and inviting every hour of the day. She sometimes wondered why he never brought women back to their flat.

Slowly she leaned in, and Ron instinctively closed his eyes, expecting the kiss. Instead, she went to work at his neck, again tearing a surprised moan from his lips. His stubble was barely there, but she enjoyed the slight scraping sensation as she ran her lips from point A to point B to point C.

His hands pulsed on her skin with every moan torn from his mouth. Suddenly he went to work at her breast through the thin fabric of her nightshirt... his shirt. But it didn't register in his mind; just that this woman was ripping him apart.

This woman, Hermione, his flatmate and best friend.

A moan resounded in the room. Who had moaned, exactly? It didn't matter as Ron's fingers ran past the lining of Hermione's knickers, and suddenly the air changed, charged with sexual electricity, around them. But Ron's fingers froze in their adventure, as if he'd been touched by the Stupefying Charm.

Hermione panted at his frozen position. "Ron? Ron?" she asked frantically.

Ron blinked rapidly, like shaking himself out of it. "Bloody hell, Hermione... we shouldn't be doing this."

Hermione swallowed around her incredibly dry mouth. In the bottom of the pit there was a lump and she felt like she couldn't get past it. "You're - you're right." Something hard fell upon Hermione. Reason. The voice of reason. She quickly pushed away from Ron, away from the man who had made her heart turn to jelly mere seconds ago and more than a few times in the past.

Ron bit his lip and watched her turn away again, embarrassed beyond reason. He felt his heart constrict in his ribcage and then drop to the floor with a clatter, shattering him completely.

How could he have let his guard down? He wanted this woman; Merlin, he wanted her more than should be allowed. Ron had been holding back for years: holding back when he saw her hardened nipples through sheer blouses; holding back when he saw her blurred naked form in the steaming shower; holding back when she wore something he was sure he could enjoy slowly peeling off her skin. She drove him slowly insane every hour of the day. She was no puritan in his mind, and he knew it by the way she teased him mercilessly.

But right at this moment, Hermione Granger had pulled the strings to make him feel completely miserable.