The Heiress

I'm 34 years old. I've done enough and seen enough to know that some things just defy explanation. Usually these things happen as a direct result of being pissed or getting hit on the head. But I knew that I wasn't drunk and I was injured. So, I couldn't even begin to understand why my ex-wife, who I hadn't seen in more than a year, was beside my bed dumping gold coins on my chest.

I couldn't understand a lot of things right then: How Daphne had gotten in, how long she'd been literally showering me with money, what time it was, what day it was, even.

But as the Galleons rained down, I remembered that I hadn't tweaked the wards to keep her from Apparating in. I could just see past her, out the window. It was overcast, but I sensed it was early morning. I glanced to the side. There was a set of work robes laid out on a chair, so it had to be Monday. I felt better having figured all that out with my eyes half-closed and just wearing a pair of shorts.

"Good. You're awake," Daphne said briskly. "I left the rest of it in the living room. And you said I wouldn't get a good price for the flat ..."

"The flat?" I sat up as best I could under the mountain of gold. The fog over my brain was now a light mist, but only every other word she was saying was getting through. "What flat?"

Her sigh nearly blew me off the bed. "Our flat, Ronald. The one we bought two months after we were married? The one the solicitor said we should sell and divide the profits?"

I almost asked 'what solicitor,' but my eyes were fully open and I could tell that Daphne wasn't in the mood to answer any questions.

"This is where all this is from? You sold the flat?"

"Yes. Finally. Blaise knew some people who were interested," said Daphne. "They took forever to decide, but finally they came out and just fell in love with the place. Blaise was so clever. He got them to pay a bit more than the asking price, too -"

She stopped talking and her face turned red. It was like she'd suddenly realised that talking to her ex-husband about the wonderful qualities of the man she'd left him for was a serious breach of etiquette, at best.

"I wanted to make sure you got your part of the money before I left the city," she said.

"Leaving?" I hated how my mouth felt and tasted in the morning. Firewhisky was perfect for cutting through the muck and cobwebs, but I'd sent along my last bottle a few months ago as a gift to Ginny when she'd been named Quidditch coach and flying instructor at Hogwarts. From what I remembered about learning to fly a broom and from what I'd heard about Gryffindor's team that year, I'd reckoned Ginny would need all the help she could get.

"You're leaving London?"

"I'm leaving Britain. Blaise is taking me to Cameroon to meet his mum's family," she said. "Then we're going to buy a lovely little bungalow in Martinique. It's an island in the Caribbean Sea. White sand everywhere ... blue water ..."

Daphne took out a piece of parchment out of her purse. "If you'll just sign this, please? It's an acknowledgment that I was here and I gave you your money. The amount is on that line there ..."

I took the paper, but didn't even pretend to read it. The money was all over the place, so I wouldn't have been able to verify shite. I signed my name anyway, watching as my signature embossed itself on the paper. The scroll glowed briefly and duplicated itself.

"There," she said, sounding relieved when I handed the original to her. "Then this is the last bit of business between us."

I'll admit that I winced a little at how abrupt that sounded. We weren't right for each other and we'd pretty well figured that out the minute we'd stopped shagging, but four years of marriage was still four years of marriage, even if we had spent three years and 364 days regretting it.

Daphne looked a little shaken, too, like she'd just realised how much of a heartless troll she'd sounded. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

"Blaise and I are leaving this afternoon, and I really wanted to make sure you got the money. I know that you could use it." Daphne looked around the flat. "Maybe now you can redecorate a little. New furniture, maybe? Or at least new curtains."

I reckoned she didn't approve of the Cannons T-shirts and flags and jumpers that were hanging all over the place, though I don't think she would've thought much of my flat even if it had been scrubbed clean with toothbrushes by a gang of house-elves.

She turned to leave, stepping over heaps of coins as she went. "Oh, and I'd check your wards if I were you. A second year could get around them."

"Thanks for the advice." I raised myself up on my elbows, watching as she walked away. It was still a nice sight, I had to admit. The night we'd, uh, renewed acquaintances, she'd been walking off to the ladies' toilet when I'd noticed her. All things considered, I should've let her keep walking. She did it right well.

"Oi, Daph?"

When she turned around, I gestured at the coins that were still rattling down to the floor. "You could've, er, sent a cheque, you know."

Her face unfroze just enough to let a smile break through, and I got a glimpse of a woman I probably had never really known.

"Take care of yourself, Ronald."

Her wand flashed before my eyes, and a second later, so did she.

I stared at the empty space for a moment and then turned my attention to the money. My "expertise," such as it was, let me know at a glance that I'd been given a tidy sum - and she'd said there was more out in the living room. I did feel a glimmer of ... something for her. It said something that she didn't just skip off with Zabini with all the money. Though her way of giving me what was mine pretty much summed up our relationship: done with little thought as to what problems it might cause and leaving a big mess behind.

I thought that over when I lay down again. I ignored the Galleons for the moment and listened to the rumble of thunder outside. I drifted off just as heavy rain started pelting my windows.

~*~

The downpour had become an annoying piss-down by the time I trudged into the headquarters of Gringotts Wizarding Bank later that morning. The weather was cold, which was usual for late February, but it the air was heavy and wet, which wasn't. I was thinking about sun and sand and blue water as I nodded to coworkers and made my way to my office.

Being at Gringotts when it was cold and damp was worse than being at the twins' shop when they were testing out new formulas for their Dungbombs. It meant that I didn't have any excuse to go outside and get some air, and that meant I'd have to tackle all the busywork I'd been putting off almost since the end of Christmas hols. But that was what I did - paperwork, that is. I was Gringotts' Officer of Operations and Protocol, which probably had actually meant having some sort of responsibility once upon a time.

For most of the morning, I read enquiry letters from freelance curse-breakers seeking employment. None of the blokes seemed to have the qualifications that were needed, but I picked out the best of the lot and marked them with my wand for further review. After that was done, there were security arrangements at the new branches in Edinburgh and Lausanne to look over, and in the midst of that, I got an owl I'd been expecting a week ago about planned treasure deliveries to the bank.

After lunch, it eased up some, though the weather didn't improve. Toward early afternoon, Warren Hartfield, who worked with a goblin named Grubkinder coordinating vault security, came round to drop off applications for the new, fortified vaults. That definitely had not been in the job description of previous GOOPs. After the war, anyone who wanted their valuables to be stored in high security had to be vetted to guard against any Death Eater contraband being placed in the bank.

I nearly went mad at how many applications there were, but Warren said that most of them were repeat customers and didn't need to be checked again. Work went by the wayside as we talked nonsense for awhile, mainly about the Cannons finally getting their heads out their arses and having a good chance at the league cup. Talk of Quidditch somehow segued into other time-wasting topics. He told me about some problem he was having with his loo and I told him about my early-morning visit from Daphne.

"You know how to pick 'em, Weasley! I'd be the richest wizard in the world if all my exes paid me back half for all the grot I've shelled out for." Warren sounded impressed, but looked annoyed. "Got a good amount, yeah?"

"Not bad." I hadn't counted, but I'd nearly tripped over the bags filled with Galleons that Daphne had left outside my bedroom door. I still couldn't figure out where she'd gotten the idea to dump a measure of them over me.

"Got plans, then?"

"A fair few." I really didn't, but I figured it was better to be vague without sounding like I'd been completely gobsmacked. I barely wanted to admit to myself that I didn't even remember the barrister who'd handled our divorce talking about how things should be divided up between me and Daph.

"Blimey. Give me two Galleons, and I'd leave Gringotts for good. Maybe you use the money and start your own business. Ever think about doing that?"

I actually had thought about doing something like that, but that had been a long time ago. Back then, I wasn't at Gringotts and I wasn't married and I wanted to get out of the country. Then I 'came to my senses,' as Mum had put it. I reckoned what she'd meant was that I'd thought about it and realised I didn't have two Sickles to rub together, so I had to give up on that plan.

"I don't know. My brothers have their own business and it keeps them on the jump most of the time. I can't be fussed nipping around here and there."

"Well, a stack of gold always comes in handy. I reckon you'll find something useful to do with it." Warren grinned. "And if that something involves Firewhisky and a few birds in see-through robes, let a bloke know, yeah?"

I was still chuckling at that long after Warren had gone off. After puttering around for a bit, I got sucked back into my scrolls. I'd made just enough headway to feel that my day wasn't totally pointless when a Muggle 100-pound note floated onto my desk. A high-pitched voice warbled:

"Excuse me, sir. Might I have change for this? In Knuts?"

I looked up and did a double take. No one was there. In a bit of a sweat, I got up and glanced around. Nothing. I walked to the door and stuck my head out, but didn't see anything except for assorted goblins lugging bags of gold toward the underground caverns where the vaults were located. I was wondering if somehow I'd been wrong about not having been hit on the head lately when turned and looked over at my desk again. I froze and my breath caught in my throat. Sitting in the chair Warren had been in was Harry Potter, laughing his face off. His Invisibility Cloak was puddled in his lap.

"Smegging wanker!" I laughed, shutting the door. "What's all this, then? Skiving off work this early in the day?"

"Something like that." Harry took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "Good day to sneak away for a bit. Not much happening at the moment."

I could believe that. Me, Harry and a bunch of others had entered the Auror Division together soon after Harry had sent Voldemort to a richly deserved hell and ended the war. Strangely enough, the largest-ever class of Auror trainees had come at a time when dark activity and Dark Wizards had all but died out. By the time I'd had left the Corps, Aurors had started doing rather boring and mundane tasks, taking over for Hit Wizards and Witches in tracking down petty criminals and quelling disturbances. I remembered back at Hogwarts when Harry and me talked about how much fun it would be to be Aurors together. It made me feel a little sad knowing that me and Harry were both about equal when it came to being bored with our jobs.

"I've got some more bilge to sort through, then I can knock off early," I said, sitting back down. "Fancy getting a drink or does Ginny have a string attached to your bits to keep you from larking about?"

"Uh ... not quite. Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff today. If I'd had a hinkypunk attached to my nose, Ginny would'nt have noticed," Harry said, smiling. "She says Slytherin got the best players this year and Gryffindor's Chasers need a lot of work. I was actually heading up to Hogsmeade to meet her for dinner after the game, but I wanted to stop by here first and ... talk. Seems we haven't done that in awhile, mate."

"Talk. Er, okay." I could hear something not quite right in Harry's voice. You had to listen to pick up on it, and I'd learned how to listen well. Harry was twisting his cloak over and over, and I figured I should start it off.

"Aside from work being its usual bag of wank and Gryffindor's Chasers needing a kick in the arse, is everything else all right?"

"All right? Well ... yeah. Sure." Harry cleared his throat. "Things are good. Really good. How about with you?"

"Eh, pretty much the same. Though, you'll never guess what happened this morning ..." I grinned as he imagined what Harry might say once he heard about Daphne, but my smile went away right quick at Harry's queer expression. He looked like he was trying to smile but wasn't getting the hang of how his lips were supposed to work. I watched him struggle with it for a moment.

"Right. What's really going on?"

I'd startled him, but he recovered fairly well. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's just after three in the afternoon and you're here," I said quietly. "Wanting to talk. Gin invited me up to yours for dinner on Saturday. I reckon that if you just wanted a talk, it could've waited until then, yeah?"

There was a long period of silence. I tried to narrow down the subjects that would make Harry so twitchy. I knew that whenever Mum brought up the subject of children - specifically when Harry and Ginny were thinking about having any - Harry did a right good impression of a Flobberworm, wiggling and flopping around, and such. Talk of the war and/or Voldemort usually resulted in a tormented expression on Harry's face. Quidditch talk frustrated him now that Puddlemere United was playing like boiled arse -

"Okay," Harry said quietly. "Before I say go into it, I have to tell you this - Ginny and I had a row about whether we should say anything to you right now. She thought we should wait, but I didn't think it would be right for you to go around and get blindsided."

I felt the blood rush to my face as the word "blindsided" made something click in my mind. I was thrust back in time two years. My parents' anniversary dinner at the Burrow. I'd walked in to the smell of roast mutton and sight of nervous smiles on people who had never shown nervous tendencies in their lives. I still don't remember what had made me turn my head instead of going straight to Mum's outstretched arm. But I did turn my head, and what I saw there - or more correctly, who - made me turn and storm out, but not before I heard Fred hiss that someone should have told me so that I wasn't blindsided like a Beater about to get walloped in the head.

I looked at Harry. He'd stopped fidgeting and was now looking quite serious. I knew that I'd caught on, and I knew that Harry knew that I had. I nodded slowly.

"Right. When?"

"Friday morning. She's coming by aeroplane," said Harry. "I'm going to meet her flight when it gets here, since Ginny'll be at Hogwarts."

I started to say something, changed my mind, started to say something else, and then settled for running my hands through my hair.

"It's February," I muttered. "Why now? I thought the American Muggles had their hols later in the year."

"They do," said Harry. "But that doesn't matter anymore, not for her, anyway. That's what I wanted to talk to you about." He paused and gave his cloak another twist. "Ginny told me this morning that she's taken leave from the Muggle school where she's been teaching. We're not sure, but it seems like she's coming back for good. We said she could stay at ours until she gets sorted on a place of her own."

I went from running my hands through my hair to grabbing fistfuls of it. "She's what?"

"We don't know what it's about," said Harry. "Reckon we'll find out when she gets here. Maybe she's just gotten tired of America. Maybe she wants to be closer to her parents."

"They're in Spain now!"

"Well, London's closer to Spain than America is, isn't it?" Harry looked uncomfortable, and I did swear. That only meant there was more to come. "Look, Ron, I know that you and she aren't exactly, er, friends anymore, but -"

"We're not anything anymore. Haven't been for yonks."

Harry was silent for a minute. "You know that I've always had mixed feelings about the trial and Hermione's part in it ... and everything that's happened. I suppose I see your way of it more than I see hers, obviously."

I didn't think it was very obvious at all, but I knew that wasn't fair to say. Harry was the Occlumens, not me. I nodded.

"But the fact is, Hermione's one of my closest friends and Ginny loves her like a sister. I can't forget what we all meant to each other at Hogwarts. I can't forget what you and she did to help me defeat Voldemort." Harry looked me in the eyes. "And I won't turn my back on her. I can't."

I nodded again, even though I heard the and neither can you, now, as clear as if he'd said it. But I didn't say anything. I knew that Harry had been torn in two ever since the trial happened. To Harry's credit, he'd never said or done anything to make me feel as if I'd done the wrong thing in casting Hermione out of my life for good, and that was more than I could say for pretty much everyone else. My parents had cut down on talking about Hermione after I told them that it upset Daphne. They didn't completely stop, and when Mum had accidentally mentioned Hermione and Daphne's only response was to pass the pecans, she started building to bringing her name up every other second. The twins referred to her now and again and Charlie seemed to think something was still going on between the two of us.

I'd always suspected that Harry had more sympathy for Hermione's position than he let on, but I understood why he'd keep that close to the vest, even from me. Harry was still an Auror, and as such, he had to keep his head down and his mouth shut as far as his true opinion of the trial. Most of the wizarding world had already forgotten what had gone on in front of the Wizengamot 10 years ago, but the Auror Division never would, and Harry was in the thick of it. But I didn't think he'd kept quiet out of fear. Why should he? He'd defeated the darkest wizard in an age and had a marble statue of himself smack in the middle of the Ministry's atrium. Harry was the last person who had anything to be afraid of.

"It's all right, mate," I said softly. "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"Yeah, I do, Ron," said Harry. "I do have to explain one thing: You're my best friend. You're welcome in my home anytime, but Ginny and I promised Hermione that she'd be comfortable while she stayed with us. I thought maybe, considering, y'know, everything, it might be a good idea -"

"Right. I understand." And I did. Though the food was almost always inedible, dinners at Ginny and Harry's had been the high point of my week ever since the divorce. It no use being cross about it, though. It'd only be for a little while.

I looked at Harry and tried to make my voice light. "Reckon we could grab a bite next week, if you're free? Just the two of us. We could catch up then."

Harry perked right up, and I smiled. Using alcohol as an olive branch of sorts never failed. For the next few minutes, we talked about stupid things that we knew we'd forget about the minute we were out of each other's sight. We were both grinning when Harry got up to leave.

Harry wrapped himself in his Invisibility Cloak, one arm visible for a moment when he snagged the 100-pound note from my desk. Harry's footsteps faded out and I stared at nothing for a while, a little sad that I hadn't gotten the chance to tell Harry the Daphne story. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn't seem so funny anymore.

~*~

"A year? Crikey, you're joking!"

"Maybe you need to invest in spectrespecs?"

I intensified my grin at the pretty blonde at my side. "Maybe you should wear those robes more often. They're a nice ... colour."

She answered that she was very fond of colour, especially when it came to her more private garments. When my eyes returned to their normal size, I stumbled over an invitation to dinner on Saturday, and she accepted, promising she'd wear something equally as eye-catching.

"I'm sure you'll look beautiful in whatever robes you choose."

"I wasn't talking about my robes." She lowered her eyelashes until they brushed her cheek, and then raised them slowly like a duelist preparing for the first strike. "But I suppose I'll give some thought to those, too."

"Brilliant." Already it was shaping up to be a good day. "Shall we say eight o'clock?"

We chatted a bit more, and then she sighed and said she had to be off. I watched her go - a nice way to spend a good minute. She glanced over her shoulder and did something with her mouth that seemed promising. I waved and she disappeared around the corner.

I walked to my office, whistling a little. I was pleased with myself, but I could have predicted what had happened. It always did, after all, every time I thought about Hermione or saw her or something like that. For days afterward, I'd notice women who were about as similar to Hermione as dragon dung is to a pumpkin pasty. I usually had good luck, too, with those women, never really having trouble getting a snog or a grope or a one-off, or, as it turned out with Daphne, a short-lived marriage.

The pattern was holding. On the underground, a tall, shapely brunette had asked me for the time and had lingered long after I'd told her that I hadn't worn a watch since I was 17 years old. On my way to Charing Cross Road, I'd turned a corner and jostled a dark-skinned woman with curly hair and a beautiful smile. She'd apologised to me and fussed about even after I'd mentioned that I was all right. She insisted on making sure and spent a good bit of time running her hands over my shoulders and back. I almost wanted to not be okay just so she could keep on with it, but I had to get to work.

And there was Wren, who was some sort of assistant to the bloke who supervised the dragon feeders at Gringotts. According to her, she'd said hello to me each morning for a year but I never said anything back. I reckoned that it was so. She could've flashed her baps at me every day for a year and I probably wouldn't have noticed that, either.

Right. Bugger that. That, I would have noticed.

Actually, I was a little surprised at how all right I felt, considering. The idea of Hermione being back in Britain didn't sit well with me at all, but I was able to think about it philosophically. There wasn't any other way to think about it, since there was nothing I could do. After a good bit of ale, I was able to come to terms with it. Britain was Hermione's home as much as it was mine. She had a right to live here if she'd pleased. No one could or would force me to interact with her - Harry had said as much. I'd been going about my business for 10 years and so had she, and if we happened to cross paths now and again, well, the ability to Apparate was a bloody gift from Merlin.

I was thinking about how ... perky Wren was first thing in the morning - a nice trait, that - while I fiddled with my door. Usually the first thing I noticed when I get into my office is how much parchment my desk is buried under. Not today. Today, my first sight was a pair of legs. To be more exact, a pair of the most beautiful legs I'd ever seen. Said legs were crossed demurely and a flower-patterned Muggle dress rode up to expose a tantalising hint of thigh. They glowed like newly minted Galleons in the half-light of the room.

I fancied myself a connoisseur of pretty legs, and usually I could stare for hours at them, but I knew this pair and all I wanted to do was leave. The door shut behind me and I backed against like a cornered rat. The legs uncrossed in a hurry. She was standing up.

"Hello, Ron."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. There was just enough breath left in my body to make me wheeze like a sick hippogriff.

Hermione was looking at me, arms folded. She looked calm, but I saw that one foot was tapping restlessly on the floor. My mind was mercifully blank for a few seconds, but then the memory of Daphne came rushing back. I groaned.

"Not this again. Blimey, I do have check my wards."

Hermione dropped her arms and gave me a long look. "Well ... I suppose that's a bit better than what I expected you to say, but ... 'not this again'? I'm not sure I understand."

I didn't think it would help to explain to Hermione what had gone on yesterday morning in my flat. She didn't have a bag of gold in her hands, but I reckoned that Galleons would be about the last thing Hermione would want to pour over me.

"You're here," I said numbly. "How?"

"Well, I took an aeroplane -"

"No, here. My office. How?"

"Oh, well, when I walked through the door, I asked someone sitting at the front desk where I might find your office."

"I don't mean ..." I passed a hand over my eyes. Obviously I wasn't asking the right question, so I tried another.

"Why?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. I was sure that she'd go storming by me in a minute or two, telling me that I hadn't changed, that I still was a stubborn prat, and such. But she did exactly what I hoped she wouldn't do, and I had to think that she did it knowing that I hoped she wouldn't. She sat back down. I noticed that she was holding a pile of papers, and I kept my eyes on there, trying not to let my gaze slip below her knees.

"Ron, I need your help."

I just stared. She stared back. After a second she repeated what she'd said, and that snapped me out of it. Bloody buggering hell. It was happening. She really was standing there, and it really was like two years hadn't passed since I'd last caught a glimpse of her. This wasn't how I wanted to start my day.

I took a breath and answered her. The papers dropped to the floor.

"What did you say?"

"I said, get out."

I couldn't even say what I was feeling. It wasn't anger, really. It never had been with her. Not anymore, anyway. That was all done with. Now I just felt impatient. I had work to do and I didn't have time to let whatever it was I felt every time I saw her nibble me up from the inside.

Hermione stooped to gather her papers, never taking her eyes off me. "Ron, please listen -"

"Get out!"

Her head jerked back. "But I haven't -"

I felt something pounding on my back. It took a moment for me to realize that someone was knocking on the door so hard that I could feel it. I peeled myself off and the door creaked open.

"Ron?"

I turned around and ran into Wren's bright smile and fluttering eyelashes. It looked to me that she'd unbuttoned her blouse a bit since I'd last seen her. Her cleavage was all but poking me in the eye.

"I was thinking about where we might go Saturday night. There's a very nice lounge in Whitehall that I hear is very lovely. Private ... and intimate."

Wren leaned her body in the doorway, and I got an unobstructed view down her neckline. She hadn't been kidding about her preference for bright colours. I saw her glance over my shoulder and her face went white.

"Oh! Oh, Merlin!" she squeaked, straightening and putting a hand to her throat. "You're here with a customer! I'm so sorry -"

I'm not sure what I could've said to that, but I didn't have to say anything. Hermione's face was pinched like a person who'd gotten a whiff of something rotten.

"Quite all right. It's obvious that Mr Weasley has other business to attend to."

She breezed out, not looking at me as she walked by. The blood drained out of my face when she cleared the door, but I didn't find breathing to be much easier. Wren goggled after Hermione for awhile, her head dipping like a nervous duck's.

"I'm so sorry. If I interrupted something -"

"You didn't," I said, yanking at my collar. "She had the wrong department, anyway."

"Oh!" Wren smiled brightly and flung her hair again. "Good. Then we can talk about what I had in mind for Saturday ..."

"Er, not now, sorry. I need to tuck in to all this work I've left sitting. We'll, uh, talk about it more later, yeah?"

Wren seemed less than thrilled to hear that, but after a few seconds of distracting wiggling, she flounced off. I closed the door and secured it with an extra-strong locking charm. After thinking about it for a few seconds, I cast an Imperturbable. Just in case.

Somehow I made it over to a chair. My heart was going like mad and I could barely believe what had just happened. In all the years that I'd worked at Gringotts, Hermione had never come here. I couldn't imagine what had changed that would make her want to come round. It certainly couldn't have been to see the ugly stone mural in the main corridor of the bank's Founding Goblins.

Then something dawned on me. It was Tuesday - Tuesday morning to be exact. Harry had said Hermione was going to be coming to London on Friday morning. So either Harry had gotten his days mixed up or ...

Or I'd been blindsided. Again. I just barely kept from banging my fist on my desk. I couldn't believe that Harry would let me walk into something like this. What would be gained by it? I'd read once about something Muggles do with mental people, something called shock therapy. I really wasn't sure of the particulars, but I wondered if Harry and Ginny had thought that maybe by shocking me by having Hermione stop by, I could pretend that what had happened 10 years ago was all just some stupid nightmare I'd wake up from any minute now.

Otherwise it didn't make any sense. Hermione and I had barely exchanged a civil word in all that time. What could possibly have changed that she'd feel comfortable seeking me out? Certainly had legs hadn't changed, because they were still magnificent, and she still had that way of lifting her chin in the air when she was really hacked off about something. And her hair was as bushy as ever, and a little longer, too. Her voice, too, still held that odd, slightly husky quality that had crept in and stayed some time after the trial had ended. It was completely different from the way she'd sounded when we'd started at Hogwarts. The way she sounded now put me in the mind of what Harry had once said about Cho Chang. After Cedric Diggory had died, Harry had said Cho always sounded as if she were an ace away from bursting into tears. That sort of voice fit what I'd known of Cho's personality, but not so much Hermione.

Taking up my quill, I tried to put it - her - out of my mind and get through some work. Pushing aside yet another boasting letter from an out-of-work Cursebreaker, my eye fell on a rolled scroll bearing Gringotts' seal. Next to the scroll was a card of some sort. I picked it up, a little surprised to see that it was a card from a Muggle inn in Knightsbridge. Room 5 was written at the bottom of the card in slanted scrawl.

Against my better judgment, I took a look at the scroll. I hesitated a little and then tapped my wand on the seal and the parchment unfurled. I wasn't sure what I thought I'd find, but it turned out to be one of the annual year-end statements owled to Gringotts' customers a few weeks before Christmas. It detailed all transactions, including number of visits to the vault in the past year, withdrawals, and a balance, of course. The arrival of the annual statement had always sent my Dad into a swearing fit.

Almost before I knew what I was doing, I'd glanced at the gold, silver and bronze numbers that notated the exact amount contained in this particular vault. My jaw dropped at the amount. I truly hadn't known that we had vaults big enough to hold all those Galleons. My eyes rolled to the top of the page. I blinked my eyes twice, and each time, the same name jumped out at me and did a little jig.

Hermione J. Granger

I started reading more carefully then. The parchment seemed real enough; it had the faintly metallic glint that the bank used on its official correspondence. I couldn't even begin to guess where Hermione had gotten such a fortune. I didn't suppose that the Muggles paid their instructors any better than wizards did, after all.

But there it was, and the goblins were extremely meticulous in their calculations. I gave it another glance, but felt a little strange about having opened it. Statements were personal, after all. If you were found tampering with one, you could be fined heavily. I wondered if Hermione had missed her scroll yet. It was possible that she'd be back any minute to retrieve it. I rolled it up quickly. I couldn't reengage the seal, which was bad, but I reckoned that I could explain it away as having mistaken it for some other piece of correspondence.

I looked at the card with the address of the Muggle inn. The name of the place sounded familiar to me, and I didn't doubt that Hermione was staying there. What I wanted to know was why. Harry said that she was staying with them, and she was all the way in Knightsbridge - three days earlier than when she'd said she was going to be here. What the bloody hell was going on?

I looked at the clock and then back at the door. I looked at the parchment and then back at the door. I looked at the card and then back at the door.

Nothing.

I shut my eyes. I could owl her papers to Harry and Ginny. After I'd buried myself in enough work, I'd be able to forget that she'd been there and had asked ... had asked me for help. Asked me for help. Asked me for help. That was the oddest of all, that she'd have cheek enough to ask me for anything. And it was a bit late, in every sense of the word, for me to be able to do anything for her.

I reached for the first piece of parchment I could reach. I'd made a few halfhearted notes, but then I stopped when I realized that I was writing nonsense. Instead of starting over, I slammed the quill down and put my face in my hands.