Tree Houses and Daisies

12 August 1998

I wish you'd been here this morning. You would have died.

Or is that a bad choice of words...?

Either way, last night, at the end of Ginny's birthday party, we all went inside, and Harry and Ginny stayed in the garden, talking. I could hear them through my bedroom window when I went to sleep. Anyway, it was a bit crowded, as Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy decided to stay the night. It was rather late when the party finally wound down.

The next thing I knew, Mum was screaming bloody murder about Harry and Ginny not being in their beds and something about rogue Death Eaters.

We - Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and me - ran outside, still in our pajamas, (did you know that Percy sleeps in boxers with Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle on them? Oh, wait, of course you don't... Well, neither did I until this morning!) wands at the ready, only to find them curled up under the apple tree sound asleep.

Harry looked as if we were going to spread honey on his bollocks and stake him out over an ant hill. I have to admit, though, it did cross my mind. Ginny went red, and I don't have to tell you what that means.

I don't think they just 'talked'. No more than you and I just 'talked' in the tree house. Harry's shirt was untucked and half-unbuttoned, and Ginny's was buttoned up all wrong.

And yes, it bothers me that they were doing the same thing we've done. But we're older than Ginny!

Long story short, Mum set them a curfew until school starts. They have to be inside the sitting room, at least, at ten. Harry accepted it, of course, but Ginny raged and stormed, shouting at Mum that she was of age.

It was highly entertaining.

That's not all, though.

George finally laughed. I mean, really laughed. It was over how he thought Fred would have reacted. He had to sit down he was laughing so hard.

That was it for Gin. She stalked back to the house, Harry trailing along behind her.

Ron shut the diary and settled into the bed. Harry was still downstairs with Ginny.

He was tired, but pleasantly so. Working in the shop was harder than anything he had ever done before. Hogwarts students were coming into Diagon Alley to buy their things for school. They were busy from the time the shop opened until it closed at five.

George was actually a good teacher, when it came to teaching him how to make the merchandise. He was patient and, above all, thorough. Ron began to think if Fred and George had put their minds to it, they would have been the top in their class.

Ron was also beginning to realize how much he missed Hermione. She had always been there, either at school, or the Burrow. He was beginning to regret their decision not to write letters while she was gone. But neither of us thought she'd be gone this long, Ron sighed to himself. He wondered why she hadn't thought to use the... What is that? Telephone? The Burrow didn't have one, but maybe she could have called the telephone box in the village.

Ron pulled the diary back out.

I really miss you, Mione. I hope you're coming back soon.

Ron placed the diary on his night table, and rolled over, leaving the lamp burning, so Harry wouldn't stub his toes. He hugged a pillow to his chest, but it wasn't the same as falling asleep with Hermione's body snuggled next to him.

-Merlin, Mione, please come home soon.

******

Hermione used her wand to push the sofa back against the wall. They had a bit over a week until they left Adelaide for Sydney. Then to London, she thought. She stretched, arching to stretch the muscles in her lower back. Jane didn't think cleaning with magic was as thorough as doing it by hand. Jane had wanted to make sure the house was spotless before they left. Hermione hadn't tried to argue, and just rolled up her sleeves. Today she had scrubbed the baseboards in the sitting room and both bedrooms. Luckily the house was on the small side, and there wasn't much furniture.

Tomorrow Jane would handle the kitchen, while Hermione scrubbed the bathroom.

Richard had been seeing to the laundry. He was in the process of washing all the curtains and bedding. He would take care of their clothes that weekend, and they would pack on Monday.

Hermione had forgotten how exhausting it was to do everything the Muggle way. But she found the repetition of motion somewhat soothing. For the first time in years, Hermione found herself with nothing else to do. Nothing to research. No school on September first.

A week from today, someone else would worry about making sure they got on a flight to Sydney. Then someone else would worry about them making the flight to London. And someone else would worry about picking them up at Heathrow and getting them home to Oxford.

She didn't even have to worry about the house. Shacklebolt had told her he would see to removing the charms she put on it before she left. He also said he'd see to it that any maintenance that needed to be done would be completed before they arrived. Hermione hoped he wouldn't use house elves. Or if he did, she could find out where they were and offer them payment of some sort.

Nothing to worry about at all.

The relief was nearly palpable to Hermione.

The sound of music reached her ears. Hermione traced the sound to the kitchen, where a small radio sat perched on the counter, music from a long gone era softly wailing into the sitting room. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to place the song. It was written by some American in the 1940s. -Moonlight Serenade.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she palmed it away. The song had a yearning feel to it. Passionate, yet plaintive at the same time. One more week, she told herself. Hermione drifted toward the kitchen, and found Richard and Jane entwined in each other's arms, swaying as one body to the music.

Hermione watched for a moment, before averting her eyes, feeling as if she was intruding on a most intimate moment.

She hurriedly slipped away, back to the sitting room, where she used her wand to pull the bookcases away from the wall. She stooped for the pail of warm, soapy water, and took up her task again.

As she worked her way down the wall, Hermione came to realize something. She sat back on her heels, and contemplated a hairline crack in the plaster of the wall in front of her.

She really didn't have anything to do.

Hermione didn't have a job. Worse yet, no N.E.W.T.s. How would she earn a living? Would the examiners let her take her N.E.W.T.s, even if she hadn't technically finished school?

She huffed to herself. Even though worry was practically her middle name, there was no use worrying about when she was halfway around the world. There was one thing of which she was absolutely certain.

Hermione Granger was not going to become an Auror.

She had had enough of that the past year. 'Past year, my arse,' she muttered. More like the past seven.

Well, that takes care of what I don't want to do,' she thought crossly. It does, however, leave a whole lot of what I might want to do. Maybe she could take a year off. It wasn't uncommon for Muggles to take a year between school and university. She threw the sponge back into the pail and began to massage her temples.

Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket, and stood up, nudging the pail out of the way with her toes. She levitated the heavy bookcases back against the wall, and set them down with hardly any noise at all. She picked up the pail and took it into the back garden, and began to pour the water around the base of the roses that climbed the side of the house. She idly wandered to the middle of garden, where a patch of sunshine warmed the grass.

Hermione sat cross-legged in the bright sunlight, tilting her face toward the sun, closing her eyes against the glare. She sat up, looking around carefully. Nobody else was around. Hermione surreptitiously slid her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the back door. Accio, she thought, and in seconds her diary landed in her outstretched hand.

She opened the diary, and uncapped the ball-point pen that lay in between the pages.

-August 26, 1998

It just occurred to me that I don't have anything to do when I get back. I didn't even make arrangements for anything.

It's a little scary not knowing what I'm going to do with myself.

Aside from school, I don't know what I'm any good at. The only thing besides study that I truly enjoyed was in third year trying to help Hagrid's case for Buckbeak and S.P.E.W.

Maybe I can do something with that.

I just know I can't sit by and watch all that pure-blood rubbish take over again. People like Remus shouldn't be forced to live in inhumane conditions. Certain werewolves aside, they should not be shunted aside. It's not like most werewolves were itching to become one in the first place. I wonder if Greyback would have turned out the way he did if wizards hadn't treated him like something worse than pond scum.

Don't scoff, Ron. You saw what happened with Kreacher, when all we did was treat him with a bit of respect and decency.

Maybe one day I can make things better for them.

Do it for Remus. And Winky. Dobby, too.

But if I ever become as pompous as Percy, you have my permission to smack some sense into me.

Hard, if need be.

******

'I almost envy her,' Harry commented.

'Who? Ginny?' Ron gave Harry a look that clearly said he thought Harry was bonkers.

'Well, yeah.' Harry shrugged. 'It was the first home I ever had. I almost wish I could go back and finish.'

'You'd rather go back to all that homework?' Ron peered at Harry. 'You feeling all right, mate?'

'It would be the first year I wouldn't have to worry about Riddle rearing his ugly head in June,' Harry pointed out wryly.

Ron leaned against the wall, watching the steam from the Hogwarts Express billow in the clear September sunshine. 'McGonagall might've made an exception for you, had you asked,' he said.

'Maybe. But it would be like putting a twenty-five year-old in with a bunch of first years. It's better this way.'

Ginny came over to them, and threw her arms around Ron. 'This feels so weird!' she exclaimed. 'To go to school alone.' She took a step back. 'Do you realize I'm going to be the only Weasley at Hogwarts? For real, this time,' she amended.

'When was the last time there was only one of us?' Ron mused.

'I don't think you can count that high,' teased George. He pulled Ginny into a hug, nearly lifting her off her feet. 'Make us proud, Gin-Gin. Hogwarts bathroom fixtures for us all at Christmas, mind you.'

'Matching toilet seats for the whole family,' she promised solemnly.

'That's my baby sister.' George grinned at her.

Ginny pulled Harry aside, behind a pillar to say their good-byes before the train left. They reappeared a few minutes later, Ginny's once-neat ponytail now in disarray, and if it was at all possible, Harry's hair was even messier than usual. Before Ron or George could comment, Harry looked at them both with a smirk. 'Shut up,' he said without heat. 'I won't get to see her again until the first Hogsmeade weekend next month.'

Ginny scrambled on the train, leaning out the window. She waved until the train went around a curve and disappeared. Harry came to a stop on the edge of the platform, not realizing he'd run after the train. Ron and George flanked him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. 'She'll be all right,' assured George.

'I know.' Harry reached up to rub his scar. It wasn't hurting. Or burning. Or tingling. Or anything. It was as inert as the scars on his chest from the locket. 'I know,' he repeated. He turned to look at Ron. 'I just realized,' he began. 'It hasn't hurt since I woke up in the Forest.' He traced the scar with his fingertips.

******

Hermione stood next to her mother, trying to pack their clothes into the large suitcases on the bed. Jane was humming under her breath. 'But the dawn is breaking/It's early morn/The taxi's waiting/He's blowing his horn/Already I'm so lonesome I could cry...'

Hermione looked at her from the corner of her eye. 'So kiss me and smile for me/Tell me that you'll wait for me/Hold me like you'll never let me go...'

Jane looked back at her and the two of them belted out the rest of the song. 'I'm leaving/On a jet plane/I don't know when I'll be back again/Oh, babe, I hate to go.' Jane grabbed Hermione's hands and danced around the room with her, like she had the night before Hermione took the train to school the first time, until the song was over.

Hermione collapsed on the bed, giggling. 'We didn't do that last year,' she said wistfully. 'I missed it.'

'I did, too.' Jane stuffed a jumper into the suitcase. 'I hope you do that with your children one day.'

Hermione grinned. 'I will.' She picked up a pile of socks and stuffed them into any open space in the suitcase next to Jane's. 'If we weren't travelling the Muggle way, I'd just shrink all this stuff.'

'That might look a bit odd at customs,' agreed Jane.

'Just a bit.'

Jane leaned on the suitcase to hold it closed so she could pull the zipper around the edge. 'Do you know who's going to pick us up at Heathrow?'

'No,' admitted Hermione. 'But it'll be somebody from the Ministry. They'll have transportation to get us home to Oxford. Everything's been taken care of.'

And so it was.

With an admirable amount of efficiency, Atticus MacNeill picked up Hermione, Richard, and Jane at the house the next morning, and drove them to the airport, helped them check in their luggage, and flew to Sydney with them. The next evening, with the same level of efficient competency, he helped them board the flight to Heathrow.

Hermione could barely contain her excitement at finally going home. Sleep was nearly impossible. She kept checking her watch, calculating how many hours it would be until the plane landed in London, then trying to figure out how many days it would be until she could get to the Burrow. Let's see... Tomorrow's Friday, and it'll take a few days to get over the jet-lag... Maybe I can go next weekend? Hermione thought to herself, watching the clouds under the belly of the plane, as it flew over them.

******

Hermione wearily followed Jane and Richard through the customs line at Heathrow. I thought Portkeys were a pain, she thought. She was even more exhausted than she had been when she landed at Gavin MacAllister's feet in Canberra. She wanted the biggest cup of coffee she could find. Better yet, she wanted to find a bathtub full of coffee and swim in it.

'Hermione!' Someone was yelling her name. 'Hermione! Over here!'

She looked up and saw Percy waving his arms excitedly in the air. 'Mum, Dad, this way,' she said, perking up. They trudged to where Percy waited, beaming.

'Good to see you back, Hermione,' Percy said. 'We'll have you in Oxford in a bit.'

'Thanks, Percy. I'm glad to be back.' She followed in silence for a moment. 'Percy?'

'Yes?'

'If I give you a letter for Ron, can you owl it over for me?'

'It would be my pleasure.'

'Thank you, Percy. And thank Shacklebolt for all of this, too.'

She got into a Ministry car, recognizing the small flag on the front of the car. They drove off, and Hermione dug in her knapsack, looking for the diary. She ripped a few pages out of the back, and began to scribble a letter to Ron. The only problem was, she kept dozing off, and losing her train of thought.

When the car pulled to a stop in front of the house, Hermione stuffed a wad of crumpled paper into Percy's hand. 'Tell him, see him soon,' she slurred, asleep on her feet.

******

Ron was trying not to pace the kitchen. He had gotten a note from Hermione last week. She was back in England, at her parents' house. Percy had told him at Sunday's lunch that she was pretty tired when he picked Hermione and her parents up last Thursday. The letter he'd received was long and rambling, and Ron wasn't sure, but he thought she might be coming over today. The handwriting on the letter was so messy it took both him and Harry squinting at it in bright sunlight to decipher what it said.

It was pouring rain outside today. Dark and dreary as the afternoon shifted into night. Harry came into the warm kitchen, balancing Teddy on his hip. Normally, he would have taken Teddy back to Andromeda's by now, but she had agreed that morning to let Harry have Teddy until tomorrow afternoon. He sat at the table, and settled Teddy into a more comfortable position. 'Hey Ron, could you hand me that bottle over there?'

Ron glanced at the counter, and picked up the bottle, passing it off to Harry. Harry crooned to the baby as he fed him. 'Do you think she meant today?' Ron asked, a faint note of anxiety in his voice.

'Hermione? I think so.'

George poked his head into the kitchen. 'Are you still waiting?'

'Shut up, George.' Ron stopped pacing and stood at the window, trying to see in the murky dark. A loud -crack came from beyond the fence around the back garden. Ron and Harry exchanged looks. Harry rose from his place at the table, and silently handed Teddy to George. He jerked a thumb toward the front of the house, while Ron's hand rested on the doorknob of the back door. Nearly simultaneously, they pulled their wands from back pockets and held them aloft.

'You two are mental,' muttered George, who was making faces at Teddy, trying to make him laugh.

Ron ignored George's remark, but Harry snorted. 'They're still out there, you know,' he said softly, his voice even. Ron nodded, affirming what Harry said. Harry had come home a few days ago so pale that Molly feared he would have another round of nightmares. Before he and Ron went to sleep, Harry confessed in the darkness there were sill some of Riddle's supporters in hiding. Neither one of them was willing to take that chance.

Ron opened the door enough to slip outside, and closed it behind him. He squinted suspiciously into the rainy night. 'Lumos,' he whispered, holding the wand up.

'Ron?' It came from the other side of the gate.

Ron ran to the gate. 'Mione?' She opened the gate and stepped through, letting her knapsack hit the ground with a splat. Ron muttered, '-Nox,' and stuffed his wand back into his jeans pocket.

They stood facing each other, almost not breathing, ignoring the rain sluicing down their bodies. Ron reached out and rested his hand against her cheek. She turned her head, and kissed the palm of his hand. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

'It's about time you came home,' he said, before kissing her. She tasted of rain and tea.

Hermione broke the kiss. 'I agree.'

Ron pulled her back into a kiss, lifting her off her feet. He overbalanced and fell backwards, Hermione landing on his chest. Ron mentally shrugged, and wound his hands into Hermione's wet hair, and began to make up for lost time.