Three Seasons to Closure

Chapter 8. Decisions under the Stars

Noisy birds filled the stale August air with endless chatter as dog-walkers, joggers, and bike riders buzzed about the busy little park near Harry's flat. Everyone was drenched with sweat, suffering through a nasty warm front that had brought about record high temperatures to the London area.

Harry and Hermione pedaled along in conspicuous comfort, despite their brisk pace. It had been two weeks since their shopping trip to Diagon Alley - three weeks since their ill-famed movie outing - and the pair had settled back into comfortable companionship almost as if nothing had happened at all. They had kept up their Saturday bike rides and Sunday church services, much to Hermione's relief. It was likely this repetition acting as a catalyst that moved the two friends past their odd feelings and allowed them to glide back into a state of normality.

"I feel so guilty!" Hermione bemoaned. "I promised myself that I wouldn't use Cooling charms in Muggle places, it just doesn't seem fair," she whispered cautiously, pedaling hard to keep up with her fit friend.

"The whole world is a Muggle place," said Harry in a low voice, rolling his eyes. "When you think of it, there are very few areas on Earth cordoned off for us magical folk. I personally, don't feel the slightest twinge of guilt." He smiled and eased up his pace, noticing that Hermione was dragging a bit behind.

"It's five hundred degrees outside and there's not a bead of sweat on either of us!" Hermione said through her teeth in order to avoid being overheard. "We must look awfully suspicious."

"Yeah, well, no one seems to have picked up on it, have they?" Harry replied, unworried.

He held out his arm and gestured toward the crowds surrounding them. Indeed, the park-goers all appeared to be deeply involved in their own little worlds, each consisting of the people and pets within a three foot diameter circle surrounding them, happily oblivious to the magic that was being shamelessly performed in their presence.

Hermione gave a reluctant grin. "No, well they don't really notice much, I suppose." The two pedaled to a stop as they reached their final destination at the bike return booth.

"Good morning, Sam!" Harry shouted toward the booth attendant as they returned the rusty bikes to their rack.

"'Morning sir. 'Morning Miss," replied the young attendant, his eyes appraising Hermione as he gave her a small wink. "You're looking very fine today," he added.

Hermione smiled back and said, "Thank you." She walked a few paces toward the park entrance and turned to Harry.

"Don't notice much. Right!"

"He wasn't noticing your lack of sweat," Harry chuckled. "He was much more interested in your physique, if you ask me." Harry poked Hermione playfully on the arm. "And, I must agree, you look incredible in those shorts."

An involuntary gasp shot out of Hermione's mouth as she felt a bit of heat rise to her face. There's Harry again with his compliments. She had to admit though, that there was an improvement in her figure with all the exercise that she and Harry had been enjoying all summer. It had even gotten to the point that she had removed "fix thigh problem" off of her List of Things to Improve for the first time since she had turned eighteen. Hermione hoped desperately that the long winter wouldn't cause her to gain weight back in that particular trouble spot. As accomplished as she was in all other aspects of her life and despite her own beliefs, Hermione secretly cherished moments when she was admired for traits of a more physical nature.

"Hermione," Harry addressed his friend suddenly, "would you like to come somewhere with me tonight?" He looked up at the cluster of noisy birds and added in a serious tone, "I have some things I wanted to ask your advice on."

Trying to give an encouraging smile, Hermione looked over at her friend. "Oh, Harry, of course I will. Is there anything I can help with now?" she asked.

"No," Harry said, looking back up the street as they had nearly reached his apartment building. "No, it can wait."

He opened the door and took Hermione's arm, leading her into his flat where she could Apparate back to her place.

"Can I come by your place around seven? We'll have to Apparate."

"Seven it is," Hermione said, studying Harry's face for signs of what the trouble was. Giving one last thoughtful smile, she pointed her wand at her chest and Apparated home.

She spent her afternoon scuttling about her flat doing household chores as her restless mind wandered aimlessly from one set of issues to another. She had been trying in vain to revise, but found that she just kept reading the same paragraph of text over and over again without comprehension. Hermione was at once considering a recent date proposal, hypothesizing the subject of Harry's mysterious "issue", and reorganizing the self-deprecating lists that she fussed over from time to time.

"Okay," she told herself. "Let's take these one at a time, then. I need to clear my mind for Harry tonight and I need to get at least one chapter of this blasted book read!"

She tackled the date offer first, dishing herself a cup of yogurt and summoning a bowl of cut up strawberries from the refrigerator. Hermione had met a wizard at the university where she spent most of her weekday evenings attending classes. His name was Theodore, and he was short and a somewhat stocky, but rather cute. Hermione particularly liked his thick black hair, which he wore a bit on the long side. Theodore had approached her last week as she was studying in the snack court, admitting that he'd noticed her there many times and asking for a date.

"Yes, well I'm kind of a permanent fixture here, I hear they're thinking of naming a corner of the library after me," Hermione had joked, noticing that Theodore hadn't laughed at this. They exchanged a bit of small talk and when Theodore repeated his offer for a date, Hermione heard herself politely ask if it would be okay for her to think on it for a few days.

Dumping strawberries into her yogurt, Hermione stirred and spooned the mixture automatically into her mouth.

"Where do I get the nerve!" she berated. "A cute, nice, polite wizard - one who is actually my age - asks me out and I plead for time to think it over! It's a wonder he didn't tell me to go fly a broom!"

Hermione was appalled at her own behavior, but it had all happened very quickly and the words had just sort of spilled out of her. Instinctively, Hermione knew that her subconscious was probably trying to tell her something.

"So, you need to think more. About what?" she mused, licking her spoon and dipping it back into the bowl of yogurt. "What should keep you from enjoying a few drinks with a cute, dark-haired wizard who fancies you?"

Hermione dropped her spoon, splashing pink blobs of yogurt all over the white tiled table.

"Right," she thought, cringing. "You'd rather spend your time with another dark-haired wizard. How poignant."

She shook her head and drew her wand, sending the dish flying into the sink and Vanishing the spill. "Best put that subject away for now," she thought, and switched her attentions to less complicated matters.

The afternoon passed at a wretched pace, but Hermione was finally able to get in a bit of good, hard reading and then took some time to freshen up. She showered and changed, selecting a blue skirt and a tailored white blouse and keeping her makeup and perfume light. Harry hadn't mentioned where they were going, and so she was at a bit of a loss as to how she should dress. Smiling at herself in the mirror, Hermione felt satisfied that she looked fine, and that her cleverly selected outfit would work for most outings.

"Just as long as Harry didn't plan on doing anything physical..." she thought, adding "like sports or something..." rather unnecessarily.

It was ten minutes past seven, and Hermione sat on her sofa waiting for Harry. He wasn't very late yet, but she was getting fidgety, worrying about her friend and his mysterious problem. She was passing the time by sifting through her lists again. In a sudden stroke of brilliance, Hermione had decided that it was redundant to keep at once a List of Things I Stink at and a List of Things to Improve, and had resolved to combine the two. She had also decided to simplify her life by keeping the new list to ten items - no more, no less. "Who needs more than ten things at a time to fuss over anyway?" she asked herself.

As she waited for her tardy friend, Hermione set about resorting and relabeling her lists. A soft pop jarred her out of the internal musings as Harry Apparated right in front of the sofa, just missing the table by inches.

"Harry, Hello!" Hermione said, studying his face. Her mind was already busy trying to spy any new clues as to the evening's purpose.

"Hi," he said and smiled, not looking nearly as concerned as Hermione had imagined he would. "You look great."

"Thanks." Hermione motioned for Harry to have a seat. She still didn't know where they were going, but thought that it would be polite to offer a drink.

"Drink?" she asked.

"Okay," Harry said and he bent down to take up a seat on the sofa, pressing his hands into his thighs and looking about the flat carelessly. Hermione summoned two Butterbeer Extras and popped the caps off with a wand flick.

"Oh!" gasped Harry, eyeing the bottles. "Drink, right."

Hermione smiled. "Harry, it's O-K," she enunciated with a small chuckle. "We can have alcohol, you know. I promise it'll be all right."

"Yeah. Guess I'm just a bit...paranoid." Harry forced a nervous laugh and took a swig.

They chatted a bit about each other's day and Hermione inquired whether Harry had eaten dinner yet.

"Dinner? Right!" he said. "No, I was rather hoping you'd like to catch a quick bite. Then we can go to the place. To talk a bit." His voice trailed off as he spoke.

"Leaky?" Hermione injected. She smiled as she made the suggestion, sitting down beside Harry on the sofa.

"Why are you smiling?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's just...well..." Hermione stuttered. "Okay, I had been trying really hard for months now to be less bossy. I decided today that it just wasn't going to work, so I crossed it off my list." She folded her arms and gave a wide smile and an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry," she added.

"You're not bossy," Harry said, grinning. He nudged Hermione's elbow and then looked earnestly at his friend. "I love that you know what you want and where you'd like to go. I think it's...I think it's great that there is one clever witch in this world who doesn't need to consult with everyone she knows about every small detail of her life."

Hermione sipped her drink, feeling all of a sudden embarrassed for having turned the conversation onto herself.

"I have absolutely no preference as to where I'd like to eat tonight, and so I'm very glad that you do," Harry continued. "Makes things simple."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said quietly, wondering why Harry was being so...formal...with her, and why she felt warm in the face.

"No problem, boss," Harry replied, receiving a slap on the shoulder for his cheek.

The pair Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and strode right back to the patio. After turning around in place to scan for an open seat, Hermione tapped Harry's arm, pointing to a table near the back. Five happy young people were laughing at something and making enough noise to fill the pub.

"Hello, party people!" Hermione called out, greeting the group with a huge grin. "Having fun tonight, I see?"

"Hippy! Hunky!" shouted the chunky witch, standing up and motioning for the two to join their table. "Come join us! We're celebrating tonight!"

"Well, okay. We're only here for dinner though," Harry replied. He was feeling very nervous, still desperate to avoid drinking in Hermione's presence. The party group, while fun, definitely liked to encourage people to overindulge.

"Hunky, hunky, hunky..." the witched named Meg addressed Harry, putting her arm around him, "now is not the time to turn old on us. We've got something important to celebrate tonight." She swaggered a bit as she delivered the speech. "We're losing two of our own."

"And at such a young age..." the wizard Brian added in mock sympathy.

"Okay, I give!" Hermione said. She grabbed a chair and smiled at the group. "What are you on about?"

It was Bob and Francis, the couple, who answered. Draping their arms around each other's shoulders, they replied together, "We're getting married!"

"Ooh!" Hermione squealed.

Harry looked about the pub as Hermione settled into an animated conversation about the news, spying a vacant chair and summoning it. He managed to land the thing directly behind his knees, coercing himself in a perfect sitting position. After a while, Harry joined in the conversation and bought Bob and Francis congratulatory shots of fire whiskey. He relented to drinking a few Butterbeer Extras, once he noticed how much fun Hermione seemed to be having - he didn't want to spoil her evening by being overly serious.

Harry and Hermione ate their dinner and stayed with their party friends for a few very enjoyable hours, laughing at the young group's jokes and filled with the contagious exuberance radiating from the newly engaged Bob and Francis. Sipping slowly from his mug, Harry watched from across the stained and battered table as Hermione engaged in a friendly debate with Alice - the subject of which appeared to be traditional versus modern wedding ceremonies.

Harry found himself to be quite surprised that his friend, whom he thought he knew quite well indeed, was in reality quite well-versed on the matter of weddings and held some fairly strong opinions regarding them as well.

"Of course she does," he scolded himself. "She is a witch, after all, not a wizard."

Harry's eyes took an involuntary dip to where his best friend was now crossing one leg elegantly over the other, her hand smoothing out her summery skirt as she continued to speak to Alice.

"Wizards don't have legs like that, do they?" Harry's mind continued.

"See something you like?" Brian asked, winking at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and refused to respond to Brian's impertinence, returning to his Butterbeer instead. He had been caught staring at his best friend's legs. What was going on with him anyway?

"So what?" he thought. "She does look nice today, and I've always had a preference for those bouncy skirts that come to just above the knees." Harry took a few more deep swigs, turning his gaze to Bob and Francis, who were still hooked around each other's shoulders and smiling shamelessly. Tiffany wore skirts like that often; it was one of the things that Harry found most attractive about her.

"Tiffany," he sighed inwardly. Harry didn't imagine that his girlfriend would be pleased to see how he'd chosen to spend his afternoon. Harry wondered whether he'd ever stop disappointing her. He finished off his mug of Butterbeer, too lost in thought to remember his desire for sobriety as he poured another mug and joined Brian in conversation.

An hour later, Harry and Hermione emerged from the Leaky Tavern and spilled out onto the street. They had both had a great time, Hermione proving to be quite a help with Francis's early wedding plans as she'd been in quite a few of her cousins' bridal parties and had experienced the gamut of themes and styles. Harry had performed his usual dance - sidestepping questions about his Auror experiences while trying not to come off as cold or aloof. He had enjoyed himself, though, and was feeling rather happy as they sauntered down the street. Harry was thinking about whether he should suggest they Apparate home now or -

"Harry?" Hermione said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Weren't we going somewhere?"

"Somewhere?" Harry asked, turning to his friend with a puzzled look on his face.

"Yeah. To talk," Hermione said. "You had something you wanted to talk over with me." She turned to look closely at her friend, trying to decide if he was perhaps a bit tipsy.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" Harry yelled, slapping his head rather sharply with his palm. "Yeah. I'm supposed to have figured something out. By tomorrow." He grabbed Hermione's hands and twisted her around to peer directly into her eyes, making Hermione freeze in her step.

"Can you help me?" he asked, looking a bit like a puppy dog begging for a bowl of water.

Hermione was about to reply "That depends on what..." but the slightly desperate tone in Harry's voice made her reconsider. "Of course, Harry," she said, gently. "Of course I'll help you." She squeezed Harry's hands and gave him a little tug. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

Harry sighed and pointed his wand at his chest, grasping Hermione's hand tightly, and the two friends Apparated onto a breezy perch. Hermione could see what looked to be slate tiles beneath their feet. When her vision cleared, she realized that they were facing a beautiful view of London from about eighty feet up.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, grabbing him about the waist. "We're on a roof!"

"Shh...It's ok. It's a shallow pitch," Harry cood. "We're on top of the Ministry of Magic Headquarters." He motioned toward the roof and gave a mischievous grin.

"Right," Hermione said, not letting up on her hold. "Harry friend? Why are we on the roof of the Ministry of Magic?"

"Because I like to come here to think sometimes," Harry laughed.

He pried himself free of Hermione's arms and sat down, pulling her with him. "Ron and I drank a whole bottle of fire whiskey up here one night. We thought it was a kick to have a drink and toast to the idiocy of the ministry right over their heads, so to speak."

"Oh," said Hermione, waiting patiently for Harry to explain further. When he continued to stare out over London looking like a school boy who was cutting class, she prodded, "Are we here to make fun of the ministry?"

Harry laughed. "No."

"Someone else then?"

"No," Harry replied. "We're here," he gave a deep sigh, stretched his arms in front of his chest and then brought them up over his head and finally behind him, leaning back on his elbows, "because of Tiffany."

"I thought this was something to do with her," Hermione said. She mimicked Harry's position and they sat side by side gazing skyward for a few moments. "The night is absolutely gorgeous. The sky is the most beautiful shade of blue."

"Mmm," said Harry. "The city looks amazing from here, yeah?" He looked over at his friend, who had a smile beginning to spread over her face, despite her earlier trepidation.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Neither was drunk by any means, but they had each consumed enough Butterbeer to feel rather lazy. Harry decided he'd better just get on with his question, or they end up spending the entire night up on that roof.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Hermione answered, eyes still staring at the turquoise sky.

"Okay. Here goes..." Harry said. "Okay..."

"Spit it out," Hermione said abruptly, losing patience rather suddenly, "or I'll send an owl to your office tomorrow addressed to 'Hunky Potter'!" Hermione's patience was beginning to wear thin. She hated suspense and was desperate to find out how serious Harry's problem really was.

"You wouldn't dare!" Harry said, laughing.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Hermione broke into a smile. "Now come on. How bad can it be?"

"Bad," Harry said, without a note of humor. "I told Tiffany about...you know." He glanced sheepishly at Hermione, who nodded. "She was already chuffed about a number of other things. She said I needed some time to think things through." Harry took in a deep breath. "She stopped coming by, so I could have that time. To think."

"Oh." Hermione turned her gaze to Harry. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. Did she break up with you again?"

"No," Harry said. "No, she just...well she's coming over tomorrow night."

"That's good," Hermione said, hopefully.

"No. She's coming over tomorrow night to hear my decision. I was supposed to have been thinking about 'us' and 'our relationship' since our fight."

"And have you come to any conclusions?" Hermione asked.

"What? No! That's what we're doing now. I need you to help me," Harry gasped. Wincing, he reached out his hand out to tug at a loose roof slate. The piece of slate broke off at the slight pressure and Harry absently tossed it with his left hand, and then snapped it out of the air with his right. The troubled wizard continued to play with the tile in silence, rubbing it idly between his thumb and forefinger, looking out over the city while Hermione stared at him. She willed her eyebrows to relax so she didn't appear to be judging, although her mind was itching to let Harry know exactly what she thought of his indifference.

"She wants to know where she stands with you?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"She wants to know if you're serious, if you'll want to marry her someday?" she continued, receiving another shy nod.

"She wants to know if you'll spend more time with her...instead of me?"

Harry didn't respond immediately to this last question, but looked into Hermione's eyes, wincing again as if broaching these subjects was causing him physical pain.

"Kind of," he choked out at last.

Hermione laid down on her back, staring at the clouds and allowing the cold, hard rooftop to clear her mind. Harry's arm brushed hers as he followed her lead, lying on his back, a solemn look overtaking his handsome face. A kaleidoscope of images and thoughts floated through Hermione's mind as she wrestled with the brevity of Harry's problem.

"Didn't you think about this over a nice cup of tea?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Harry laughed. "No," he said.

"Mull it over in a hot bath?" she asked.

"No," Harry replied, laughing again and shaking his head.

"Harry, why not?" Hermione was exasperated. Why hadn't Harry put in an effort? Didn't he understand what was at stake?

"Because, Hermione...I'm a guy," Harry responded, giving a slight glare. "Bath." He laughed again.

"Right, then," Hermione sighed. "So let's start with how you feel about Tiffany..."

Hermione began a slow and grueling process by which she pried details of Harry's relationship from his unsettled mind. It felt like what she imagined pulling feathers off a chicken must feel like, if said chicken were still alive and able to grimace and stutter and act put out. She discovered that Harry was physically attracted to Tiffany. That was good. He loved that she was a school teacher. Okay, so there was an element of healthy respect there, that was sweet. Tiffany adored children. Harry had mentioned that a few times during the interrogation. That was...interesting.

Finding out how Tiffany felt about Harry - from Harry's point of view - proved to be difficult to say the least. Hermione managed to unearth that the school teacher often told Harry she loved him, and her actions seemed to support the notion. It had transpired that Tiffany had broken down into tears when she visited Harry's flat on the evening after Harry and Hermione's trip to Diagon Alley, probably quite broken-hearted to learn that the two friends had kissed.

Hermione's heart lurched at the thought that she herself had caused so much strife in the other witch's life. It made her feel selfish, and more than a bit tarnished. She felt sorrowful for Harry, who had expressed to her such a profound desire to make a go of this relationship not long ago in her kitchen. She also knew that Harry had put himself in this situation of his own choosing.

Somewhere about an hour into their conversation, Hermione had drawn the undeniable conclusion that Harry just wasn't as invested in this romance as was Tiffany. Overcome with a rush of sadness for the witch, Hermione tried to imagine how it would feel to love someone as special as Harry Potter, only to have him return the gesture with lukewarm intensity. Still lying down, Hermione turned her head toward her friend.

She spoke carefully, "Harry..."

Harry, who had been studying the stars in silent reverie, slowly turned his own head. He had the look of a prisoner about to receive his verdict. Hermione laughed involuntarily at his somber expression.

"I see," Harry pouted. "My love life giving you a good laugh, is it?"

"No, it's not that..." she began. "It's just that you look like you're off to the gallows or something."

She chuckled again, but Harry showed no signs of being amused.

"Right," Hermione said, clearing her throat and forcing a more appropriate look of concern on her features. "Harry, I have a question to ask...I need you to consider it very carefully before answering. Can you do that?" She sounded like she was speaking to a four-year-old.

"I'll try my best, Ma'am," Harry replied, in a thickly sarcastic tone.

Hermione moved even closer, peering directly into Harry's eyes so she could gauge his reaction as he considered the question she was about to pose.

"If Tiffany couldn't bear children...if she was barren, or didn't want to. Harry, would you still want to marry her...some day?"

The question was asked in a measured, tender voice, but it seared into Harry's consciousness as if Hermione had spellotaped it to a hot poker and impaled him with it.

"How could she?" he thought, incredulous. "What's that supposed to even mean?"

Bits and pieces of sentences were flying in and out of Harry's mind like broomsticks on a Quidditch pitch. He was beginning to feel dizzy, fraught with indignation, and Harry breathed heavily as he engaged in an internal struggle. He wrestled with the blasted question. First, he chastised Hermione inside his head for asking such a ludicrous thing in the first place. Then, he searched his brain for the strongest way to answer "Yes! Of course I would! How can you ask that?" In the end, Harry felt a pang of loss as he realized that there just might be a very good reason for his clever friend to be questioning this aspect of his character. How much of what he felt for Tiffany had to do with the fact that she loved children? Harry wanted a family. He wanted so badly to fill a deep void that had been within him all his life.

"But, Hermione..." Harry's eyes looked sad as he finally addressed his confidante, his chest rising and falling visibly as his body struggled for more oxygen to calm his emotions. "How do I know if I like any witch just because she'd make a great Mum someday? Just about anyone, to me, would be great in comparison to Petunia Dursley." He scrunched his nose at the offending reference to his monstrous Aunt.

Hermione didn't reply. She grabbed his hand and caressed his thumb, holding his gaze and looking very much like her own heart was breaking at Harry's predicament.

"Well," Harry continued, "I suppose if I think on it, I enjoy hanging out with you in your flat more than going on dates with Tiffany."

Harry said this matter-of-factly, but the affect on Hermione was that of mild shock.

"Oh, Harry!" she gasped, adding quietly, "You'd rather be with your friends?"

"Well," said Harry, "I enjoy the adult-rated bits more."

"Sex!" Hermione choked, sounding even more displeased with this latest confession. "That's not a real great reason to love someone. You know that, don't you?"

Harry felt as low as he had ever felt. Hermione was painting him out to be some kind of gigolo, holding on to his girlfriend mostly out of need for carnal pleasures. He didn't think of himself as that kind of a bloke. Harry had always thought he was a bit of a gentleman. How had he come to this?

"Harry," Hermione spoke in a whisper, looking back up at the still sky. "I think you should break up with the stripper." She didn't smile at her little reference, but kept her gaze on the heavens, blinking. "It's not right to string her along."

Harry turned his head upward as well. He didn't respond, wondering to himself why he didn't feel more miserable. "Probably a sign," he thought.

"Come here, you," Harry said softly and he scooted an arm under Hermione's shoulder. He pulled her into his chest and placed a kiss on top of her head. "Have you ever slept under the stars?" he asked. Stretching his body, Harry reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wand. He transfigured a pile of molding leaves into a chenille blanket and levitated it over their entwined shapes, dropping it softly over them.

Hermione felt cozy and warm lying cuddled her friend's arms. Something about the broadness of Harry's chest and the heat it provided made her feel safe, cherished, and infinitely more special than any other witch who didn't have his permission to rest her head there. She had hated to break his heart, and she wondered if she should have been so bold in her statements. But, Hermione was positive that Harry didn't love the stripper. It was an inarguable fact that people in love would rather spend an evening together than watching television at a friend's house. How had Harry missed this gigantic detail?

As she closed her eyes and gave Harry a squeeze, Hermione tried to remember if she had ever felt closer to him. Had she known him this well when he was a skinny school boy coming to her for help evading dark plots and avoiding capture from Death Eaters and Voldemort himself? Did their tryst have something to do with this new level of familiarity? Lying on his chest, Hermione could feel Harry's even breaths and listened to the loud, periodic drumming of his heartbeat. She smiled as she felt herself drifting off to sleep. Harry's mind may always be a complete riddle to her, but his heart...that was something that she understood better than her own.

Harry watched his pretty friend as her eyes fluttered closed. He pulled her into a hug and lay awake for a few more hours, pondering his situation and reflecting on his life before finally giving in to slumber himself.

"Thanks again," he whispered into Hermione's messy hair as he closed his eyes to the night.

The bright light of the morning sun woke Hermione the next morning. She pried her eyes open and felt a wonderful breeze caressing her face. To her surprise, she found that she was no longer lying on top of Harry's chest, but was snuggled up close to his side, with a heavenly soft down pillow beneath her head. "Harry can transfigure a diamond from a speck of dust," she marveled, guessing at how the pillow had come to be. She had been leaning on Harry, hugging his firm arm and felt him stirring.

"'Morning," she said, closing her hand around her mouth. Morning breath was never something Hermione wanted to impose on anyone.

Harry rose a hand to his own mouth, smiling. "'Morning," he muttered, drawing his wand and flicking it toward Hermione.

"Mmph!"

Startled, Hermione jerked her head backwards as her mouth filled with minty foam.

"It's just a modified Scourgify charm," Harry said. "Don't be frightened." Harry laughed and repeated the charm on his own mouth.

Hermione shook her head, spitting out the foam. "My tongue feels like it's been scrubbed with a wire brush! I'll take my toothbrush any day, thank you!" she said, slightly irritably, but with affection.

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "It's something us Aurors do sometimes on stake-outs."

Harry donned his glasses, which had been tucked neatly in a crack between two roof tiles near his head, and flicked his wand at the foggy sky, squinting at the fuzzy scripted time reading he'd conjured against the thick, moist darkness. He stood up and offered Hermione a hand.

"Come, we've only got about seven minutes before the 9:00 mass," he said.

"Oh, Harry. No, no! I've got to go home," Hermione whined. "I need a toothbrush, a shower, tea, a nice plate of sausages...I'm afraid I can't make the early one today."

"Please?" Harry asked. "I love the early service, gets us out before the games come on."

Hermione's expression softened a bit, but she didn't reply.

"Hey," Harry continued, "want to come to my flat after mass? I could make us lunch. You could bring your books and study?"

Hermione frowned. "Aren't you in a good mood for somebody who's just about to end a long relationship?" she asked.

"Well," Harry began, "I stayed up for a while after you passed out," he paused to watch Hermione deepen her frown at his choice of words, "and I thought things over. I came to the conclusion that you were right. It's not going to work with Tiffany."

"And you just want to hang out all day?" Hermione asked. "Don't you have to meet her tonight?" Her frown was now replaced with a look of someone who was deeply perplexed.

"I just want to have fun and relax a bit," Harry said as he transfigured the blanket and pillows back into leaves, swishing them up in an impressive swirl. Brown, gold and orange leaves whirled around high over his and Hermione's heads and then drifted lazily down onto the city below them.

"She's going to kill me tonight. You know that?" Harry said, wincing. "I just want to enjoy the day before I face my deserved, but untimely death."

"Mmm, serves you right," Hermione teased. "What'll it be? Toss your Firebolt out the window and watch you leap after it to your mortal peril?"

Harry jumped back, holding a hand over his heart. "No! Not the Firebolt!" he gasped.

"Force you to listen to Celestena Warbecks until you turn your own wand on yourself to end the suffering?" Hermione squatted down and gazed once again at the city, chuckling at her own wit. "No, I've got it! She'll sell your secrets to the Daily Prophet and wait for you to die of embarrassment!"

"You're a foul, cruel little witch!" Harry said, giving a piercing glare. "Don't think I hadn't secretly feared it - the Prophet thing! You're not the least bit funny," Harry finished, stepping closer and readying his wand.

"Am too," Hermione said childishly. She grabbed Harry's arm to be Apparated home.

Except, she landed in an alleyway.

"Harry? Harry!" she shouted.

Harry laughed and grabbed his very annoyed friend by the hand, pulling her out onto the street. "I told you we didn't have much time before the nine o'clock service!" he mused.

Hermione straightened her skirt and prepared herself to suffer through a holy service while dressed in yesterday's clothes - bar clothes, more or less - and accompanied by a wizard who was similarly rumpled. Why, she wondered, was she so very capable of saying 'no' to anyone on the planet except Harry? She sighed and looked at the centuries old church ahead of them. She wished terribly that the idea of spending the day with Harry, just studying in his flat while he obsessed over his sports, didn't make her feel so...happy. It occurred to Hermione that maybe she was beginning to develop an obsession of her own, but she pushed that thought promptly to the back of her head. Better leave that for another day.