Forever Young

"May the good Lord be with you

Down every road you roam

And may sunshine and happiness

Surround you when you're far from home

And may you grow to be proud

Dignified and true

And do unto others

As you'd have done to you

Be courageous and be brave

And in my heart you'll always stay

Forever Young."

~ Rod Stewart, FOREVER YOUNG

A light breeze rippled through the white curtains in Hermione's room, blowing through and caressing a bare leg that had stretched itself out of the covers. The feeling was heavenly, and Hermione stirred with a soft moan and a shiver, pulled her eyes open, and stared at her ceiling blearily. She felt warm on some parts of her body and cool on others, and looking down she noticed that the covers were skewed all around the bed from her constant tossing and turning over the course of the night. Sleep hadn't taken her over until almost four in the morning, and she was still drowsy.

Ginny's phone call was still fresh in her mind from the night before, no matter how many times she tried to shake it. It was like a pulse pounding through her ears, loud as drums, heavy as hammers, restless and uncontrollable. Maybe she had been doing too much. Biting off more than she could chew. No, she thought. Stop thinking about it. It won't get better if you harp on about nothing important. Shutting her eyes tightly against the throbbing headache inside the bridge of her nose, she shook her head to rid herself of all thought and flung the covers off of herself. She frowned for a moment, seeing herself with nothing on. And then thinking back to why she had opened the windows, she faintly remembered roasting in the heat of the room, even though it might have only been her, and she had flung open the windows and shed her clothes, slipping back under the covers, and she hoisted herself from the sheets and padded to her private bathroom. She had a thing about always wearing her covers, even when it was warm. If it was, she'd make it cold somehow as an excuse to bury herself into her bed of a thousand comforters.

Her bathroom was definitely high on her Favorite Room List. It was larger than large. White tiles lines the walls, the ceiling wasn't a ceiling, but rather large iron-framed windows, and covering the floors was a white fur carpet, charmed to never get wet or cold, and the moment she stepped on it and she felt it between her toes and around her heels she relaxed with a content sigh. The day was glorious as she looked up at the sky through the windows. Immaculate blue with scattered puffy clouds made her somewhat happy. It was indescribable. Beautiful days with lots of sunshine had a good effect on the senses and she was well aware of the feeling. There had been good weather so far for the past few months, as though nature was trying to compensate for her awful days. Of course, she mused as she made her way to the shower, the moment I actually get the opportunity to go out in the nice weather, it'll be awful; rain, snow, volcanic eruption, the usual.

A heated pool was cut deep into the center of the floor and there was a bridge that rose about eight feet over the surface with an invisible Fencing Charm so that no one could slip on the tiles and crack their heads open. The pool was enormous, and still didn't cover the whole floor. The shower was on the other side of the bridge, and Hermione walked over the bridge lightly towards it, the pool under the bridge bubbling lightly with the heat. It fogged the large mirror at the basin near the shower, which was made of glass and silver frames with a tile floor and a silver nozzle.

The glass door made a brisk metal-on-metal sound, like a sword being pulled out of a sheath, when she opened the door and stepped in. It was a comforting sort of sound, even though when Harry had come to check out her new house, it was that sound that gave him the shivers.

"Get it fixed," he said with a disgusted expression. "Sounds like nails on a chalkboard, makes me want to grind my teeth or something!"

"I like it," she had replied admiringly, running her hand up and down the smooth metal. "Sort of comforting, like sheets of rain on a tin roof."

Harry's face had then split into a goofy grin and he chuckled. "Whatever you say, Granger. Your house. You're the boss."

Hermione smiled at the thought of that grin, and then shook it off as she stepped under the nozzle, wetting her hair and feeling the rivulets run down her skin, hot and relaxing. Steaming rivulets of water cascaded through her hair and down her neck, falling down between her breasts and disappearing below her stomach. Sighing, she tilted her head back. She stretched her arms and arched her back under the spray, trying and failing to stifle her yawn.

"I don't want to go to work," she said aloud miserably, punctuating it with yet another yawn. But she washed herself, stepped out, dripping wet, and walked back across the bathroom, over the bridge of the pool, and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels and draped it under her hair and over her shoulders, not bothering to wrap it securely and cover herself. The one (and probably only) thing she loved about living by herself is that she didn't have to worry about being seen wearing nothing. She could do whatever she wanted, even something she would never get caught dead doing in public, and never feel uncomfortable. It was something she just guessed was very blunt about women. They loved privacy and took total advantage of having a house to themselves. No worries about looking good or grief because your hair's out of place. That was one of the few luxuries of having an enormous, empty house.

Hermione dried and changed into her school uniform, pulling her gray knee socks to their fullest extent and buckling her black buckled shoes, which were shining with a Polishing Charm. She stared at herself in her full-length mirror.

"Hermione, you poor, capricious, naive dear," she said to herself softly. "What have you gotten yourself into? It's almost like you've never left school." Pausing, she added, "Actually, that's exactly what it's like."

She spun around slowly and critiqued herself self-consciously, from her pleated skirt to her wavy hair that fell to her mid-upper-arm. Finally, it was half-past six. She slumped.

"Oh well." Grabbing her robe and bag off her coat hanger, she threw them on and Apparated half-heartedly off to Diagon Alley. Her bad mood continued as she headed off to McDruggen's Portkeys across from Gamble and Japes, pulling open the door with the tinkle of a bell and strode over to the counter, where Mr. McDruggen stood. He was a short, stout old man with silver hair that rested flat on his head under a very old maroon hat that seemed flattened and unfixable. A pair of glasses was perched on his nose as he read over a schedule. Hermione was marked on that schedule for every day, so besides catch her ride, she needed to arrange her holiday. McDruggen looked up and smiled as he saw her. Walking back into the store, which was made of tall shelves packed with strange things like old dirty sneakers and rusted post and pans, he began to sift through the items for hers.

"Morning, Miss Granger," he said. "Got your portkey right here."

Hermione returned the smile slightly. "Thank you, Mr. McDruggen, but it'd be better if I made it clear now rather than when I returned tonight. After today, I'm going on holiday for the next two months."

This obviously came as a shocker as he turned to look at her, concern etched in every crook of his. "Two months? Are you sure, Miss Granger? That's an awful long time."

"Damned straight."

McDruggen laughed. "I'm guessing you planned it to be that way."

"Actually, it was barely planned. Spur of the moment type of thing. And it wasn't even me who called it in."

The old man's thick, silver rose up high. "Oh really? And who might I ask . . .?"

"A gift from a dear friend, sir. A gift from a dear friend."

"Very well then, Miss Granger," he agreed, pulling a messy-bristled and rather grimy-looking toothbrush out of a shelf and handing it to her. She gave it a disgusted look, but he chuckled and waved a hand. "Hasn't been used. Just a charm to make it seem used. Would you touch a used toothbrush?" he added with a sly grin.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head. He chuckled again. "And neither would a Muggle, so we're all in good hands. So, let's see, let's see . . . two months, eh?" Tapping the parchment lightly with his wand, she watched as her name vanished from every day for the next two months exactly. "Very good, then," she said. "I can't wait to actually relax after so long. It's been so stressful, you know . . ."

He winked. "I have a slight idea. You wouldn't believe how many a types I get in here who argue over what currency is and isn't allowed. Countless times I've turned down rocks from those godforsaken ogres. . . ."

Hermione laughed. "Rocks? You're joking."

"Yeah, I wish, otherwise I'd be ten times richer, don't you know. But I've always got to keep my wand with me, in case one of those overgrown mushrooms tries something. You think Harry Potter's got a tough job," he added, shaking his head. "Him off fighting the Dark Lord, and mind you, that's in his contract. I'm in here fending off these great beasts, and all I'm doing is selling portkey flights."

He laughed again, but this time Hermione didn't join in. The mere mention of Harry's name brought back the memory of last night. Almost four times she was about to pick up the phone and call him over. Her cravings to be comforted by her best friend of almost ten years was becoming too much, but something just as strong gave her reason to hold back. What if he though she couldn't do it? After she'd ranted and raved and implored and jumped for joy over her job, she was only four months into it and she was ready to throw in the towel. "Yeah . . . crazy."

"Well, guess we can't all The Boy Who Lived, can we now?"

". . . No . . . no, guess not." Then she remembered, "Oh! The portkey --"

"Yes, yes, into the booth, then." She walked into the traveling booth behind him, which was lined with long red curtains. "Eight seconds, Miss Granger. See you this afternoon, love."

Hermione shut the curtains and shut her eyes. Here we go . . .

"Three . . . two . . ." he called in a muffled voice through the curtains, and all of a sudden, it felt as though a hook from behind her navel yanked forward, and she was rushing through a gusting tunnel of wind and color, and her fingers seemed hot glued to the wasted toothbrush. She shut her eyes even tighter against the jerking and shaking, almost spinning but not quite. It made her feel sick. Every day she went through the same thing. But thankfully, she was well acquainted with the Nausea Charm, and made sure to cast it on herself when she touched ground again.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she felt the ground of the dark alleyway collide with her feet and lost her balance, falling unsteadily to the ground on her backside, the gnarled toothbrush still clutched in her hand.

"Ouch," she moaned, sagging against the wall behind her. Every morning she landed in this exact spot, but the amount of seconds it took to get there varied on certain days, and every fall caught her off guard. Cursing, she got to her feet, brushed dirt off her robes and back, and pulled out her wand. First she muttered the Nausea Charm, instantly relieving herself of the incredible motion sickness she was experiencing, and then with the exasperated air of one who did this on a daily basis, she whirled the wand over her head, emitting bright purple sparkles of light in the moist air above her, and brought it swishing down, and with it came a large blue overcoat, covering the cloak with the even more obvious Salem Academy crest. She looked at her reflection in a blackened window beside her and straightened the collar.

"Very nice," she murmured to no one in particular, perplexed at her own creativity in disguises. "This'll do fine."

Fluffing her hair a bit, she walked confidently out from the alleyway onto Sharington Road, which was bustling already with Muggles on their way to work, the hurrying ones side-stepping people left and right to get to the front of the crowd. Hermione checked her watch. Six forty-five. She had quarter of an hour to get to school. It wasn't far, either. Nor was it small. It was a castle resembling Hogwarts but not nearly as grand or full of magic. Sure, it was magical, but not as much as Hogwarts.

While she was walking through the crowd towards her destination, she heard a young girl, probably fourteen if not younger, shouting in a thick American accent, "Hey! Hey, Miss!" about twenty feet behind her. Presuming she was talking to someone else, Hermione kept walking. But then she felt someone tap her shoulder.

"Miss?"

Hermione turned around to find a girl. She was nearly as tall as Hermione with dark blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail of ringlets and a smooth, pale face. Startling blue eyes were gazing at her from behind thin, silver-rimmed glasses, and she had a fit, athletic build, obviously some type of sports player. All in all, Hermione thought she was very pretty in a natural, makeup-less kind of way. She was wearing blue flannel pants and a dark blue shirt with some Muggle band's name. Hermione looked at her questioningly. Then she saw her bag in the girl's outstretched hand. She gasped, and looked disbelievingly at her waist, where previously, her bag had been hanging. Nothing was there.

"You dropped this back there," the girl said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder towards the alley she's just come out of. "Didn't you feel it fall?"

"No, I guess not," Hermione said, taking the bag, thoroughly relieved. Her wand was inside the purse, and she thanked God the girl hadn't looked inside. "Wow, thank you." And then she thought of something. "Hey, it's almost seven in the morning. What're you doing out this early? Where're your parents?" She immediately blushed at the sound of her worried mother-like tone. But the girl seemed to look past it.

"Dead," she said simply. "I'm an orphan."

Hermione's heart constricted. That was very . . . blunt. It came out of nowhere. Hermione tutted unconsciously.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine."

"No it isn't. I shouldn't have even asked. Oh you poor thing . . ." But the girl cut her off with a quick hand gesture.

"No waterworks, please. I only wanted to give you your bag back." Hermione nodded, not very oblivious to the fact that the girl obviously didn't want to touch base on the subject. She opened bag. "Here, I want you to have something . . ."

The girl's eyes widened and she shook her head, her hands up as if trying to hold Hermione off. "No, please."

"I can't just let you go empty-handed!" Hermione said, shaking her head as she dug around for her wallet. "My whole life is in this thing, and if I'd lost it, I'd be in big trouble. I want you to have something for it."

"No!" the girl half-way shouted, making passerby glance uncertainly at Hermione. She noticed and softened. "Please. People shouldn't get rewards just for doing the right thing. That's the problem with this stupid world. No. I won't take your money, your gifts, or anything, just have a nice day. For me. As my reward, help somebody else out today when they need it, okay?"

Breathless hardly described the effect these words had on Hermione. The girl offered her a smile and side-stepped her, walking away as though nothing had happened to interrupt her early morning walk through the town. She looked back at the girl.

"Hey!" The girl looked around. Hermione stumbled through the crowd to get to her and said, "What's your name?"

The girl, unfortunately, shook her head. "I can't. Sorry. I don't exactly know you, Miss." Turning back around, she shuffled off through the crowd. When she disappeared behind a few people who had blocked her from view, Hermione squinted to find her again, but she was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

"Gone! Just like that!"

Gwen looked up from her sandwich that was halfway to her mouth. "Gone? How?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea. She got lost in the crowd, and when it cleared, she was just . . . I don't know. Just vanished or something."

It was noon, and she was sitting in her classroom with Professor Gwendolyn Graves. She was about forty-two and in stunning condition with red hair and dullish green eyes. As one of her only teacher pals, Gwen always made work somewhat worthwhile. Hermione was the only British professor in the Academy, and the youngest, so the other teachers were rather scornful of her, but not Gwen. She thought Hermione was the greatest thing since sliced cheese. They gossiped about life and what's going on in one another's homes and days.

Hermione still hadn't been able to get over the girl she'd met earlier, and classes seemed longer than usual as she began to anticipate her lunchtime to talk with Gwen about her.

"It was so strange," she had implored to Gwen across her desk, her lunch still untouched in front of her. "When I looked in her eyes, I felt this really weird sensation, like I could feel her gaze passing straight through mine, like she could tell what I was thinking. And my bag! Do you understand that there's about one hundred American dollars in there, not to mention my wand? And she just waltzes right up, innocent as anything, and hands it over." She sat back and shook her head slowly. Gwen was still staring at her, obviously letting everything sink in.

"Was anything missing?" she asked, placing her sandwich back down on her unfolded napkin. "I mean, she didn't swipe anything, did she?"

"No!" Hermione said softly. "I checked when I was sure she was gone. Even though I wasn't even sure. I had no idea where she went."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Did you ask her name?"

"Of course." Hermione grabbed her water and took a gulp. The excitement of her story had made her mouth dry.

"And?"

"She wouldn't tell me. She said that she didn't know me. But God, what she told me was just . . . astounding! It was so touching. I don't think I've ever come across anyone like her." She paused, biting her lip, and then asked the question that was nagging at her mind. "Do you think she could have been an angel?"

This time Gwen burst out laughing. Hermione's jaw dropped. "What's so funny?"

Gwen's shoulders were shaking as she gazed up at Hermione, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, but that was just too adorable."

"What? What was?"

"That." She straightened and did a perfect imitation of Hermione's smooth British accent and said, "Do you think she could have been an angel?" before laughing again.

Hermione thwacked Gwen over the head with a packet of papers. "Don't make fun of me, Graves. I was being serious. I mean, the girl practically came out of nowhere, was beautiful, gave me back my bag that was loaded with cash, and wouldn't except a reward for it. What kid do you know of who does something like that?"

Gwen eyed her warily as she took a sip of iced tea. "Well," she said, placing the glass down again. "I guess you've got something there. But the kid was an orphan. What could they possibly buy? And they don't really know how to steal, do they?"

"Oh hush, don't insult them. They have no families." Hermione picked up her sandwich and brought it to her mouth, but she found she wasn't hungry at all. Her mind was racing. She just couldn't take her mind off that girl. There was something so indescribable about her. Something untouchable that she couldn't explain. "I felt so bad. She just told me straight out about her parents. Like talking about the weather."

"She wasn't even uncomfortable?"

"Well, when I started talking about it she clammed up and gave me the hint to drop it. But I just don't know. I have this feeling about her. Like she was too innocent but not in the least bit vulnerable. And her presence was strange, like I was the only one who could even see her, and . . ." She stopped abruptly when Gwen began to play an invisible violin and hummed a mournful tune. Hermione whacked her again, but this time they both started laughing. "Ugh, I know. I'm much too dramatic."

"Yes, you tend to be." Hermione glared and she said, "Chill out, chick. I'm only kidding. Maybe this girl was something special. Or magical. Perhaps she was a witch," she offered, taking a large bite of salad.

Hermione shook her head slowly, tracing figure eights on the surface of the desk. "No, she'd have been in school. There aren't any Wizarding schools besides this one for about a thousand miles in all directions. But I definitely think she wasn't a Muggle." She sighed, looking around. "Maybe I'll find her on the way home."

"Maybe, but Granger, I think you're going a little overboard with this girl. She was just probably a good kid."

"And just how rare are good kids these days? One in a million and I happen to come across that one?" She shook her head and watched as Gwen took another massive bite of her sandwich and shrugged. "Are you even listening?"

"Perhaps. Wow, this sandwich's really good. Want a bite?" she grawfled through a mouthful of ham and cheese.

Hermione moaned and fell forward, slumping onto the desk in a heap of raw frustration. "Ugh, my head."

Gwen leaned forward and patted Hermione kindly on the shoulder. "Don't worry, hon. I'm sure you'll find her soon enough and interview the crap out of her, but at the moment, you've got about five minutes until your next class."

Hermione's head snapped up. She looked disbelievingly at her watch, and seeing this was true, hurried Gwen out the door and cleaned the mess as her students were walking in, chatting, fresh from lunch.

"Good afternoon, class," she said as they all began to sit down, but they were all talking, and clearly couldn't hear her.

"Uh, good afternoon!"

Still talking.

"GOOD AFTERNOON!"

Dead silence filled this shout, and every eye of every student, either sitting or standing, bent over another desk to talk to a friend or sitting on the radiators, laughing and joking, and they all made their way, grudgingly to their desks.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," they all droned.

"Please, don't sound too excited," she said lazily, writing the lesson plans on the board. The class was muttering deftly under their breaths, but she came to ignore it all. When she finished, she hesitated, and then set the chalk back down on the holder again, brushed off her hands, and turned to the class, looking into each face.

"Well, I ought to tell you now." They all perked, interested. She went on, putting her hands on her hips and pacing. "I . . . will be taking a break."

Grins broke out all over. Evil children, she though to herself, restraining herself from scowling openly.

"I'll be gone for about -- no, exactly two months. You'll be getting a substitute. Chosen by me," she added, wiping every grin from every face. "Oh calm down, I'm sure whoever it is won't be as bad as I am. But don't expect any of the leeway that I myself don't offer. If I get one owl from him or her about you being bad and whatnot . . ."

"Will you come back?"

Hermione looked far into the back, where Jude was sitting. Jude was tall; about six foot one, with sandy blonde hair that hung softly near his hazel eyes. He was nineteen, two years younger than she was, and unlike his classmates, thought Hermione was an awesome teacher and enjoyed hanging around her. He liked to spend his lunch period with her sometimes, and they would talk and laugh about things. Hermione didn't mind his company too much either. She thought he was very handsome, and in all seriousness, was extremely attracted to him. Unfortunately though, she could lose her job should she ever tell him. He wasn't that attractive anyway.

"No, Jude. I'm sorry. But I just need this break more than anything. I'll find another one, and so on and so forth, though you all know just how embarrassing that would be for me," she said dangerously, "and how bad it would turn out for you once I returned. Use your brains, please, while I'm away. For both our sakes."

"Excuse me, Miss Granger, but I don't believe I own a brain."

"Sit down and don't speak again, Marko."

"But --"

"Hush."

The class laughed quietly. Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand. "Okay. Take out your wands, please, and turn to page forty-seven in your text books. We've got a fun lesson today everybody. . . ."

The class clearly caught her sarcasm.

* * *

Draco strolled out of the studio, hitching his back over his shoulder and sweeping his icy locks out of his eyes as he made his way through the parking lot. The sun was beaming on his tight black jeans, and he had long before discarded his leather jacket, where his hand was inside now, digging around for his cell phone. He had found it to be quite useful to get in touch with Ginny after work; they didn't allow fireplaces in the studios. They called it a fire hazard or something silly like that.

Draco Malfoy was famous. About two years ago, he had grown quite an interest in Muggle soap operas. Hermione had been watching one with Ginny over at their pad one Monday morning, and he had sat down with them. It was so . . . dramatic. Much like himself, he had stated. Having been so enthusiastic about it all, he had gone to a casting agency, as Hermione had suggested, and auditioned as Tommy for a certain soap called Addiction, and, needless to say, they loved him. The popularity of the show had risen almost forty percent over the year, and he was trailing Harry Potter only slightly in every single Most Eligible Bachelor poll in the wizarding world. Potter, of course, ranked number one.

He flipped the cell open and held it to his ear, saying "Home."

It immediately rang their home number. Two rings later, Ginny picked up. "Hello?"

Draco grinned widely at the sound of her voice. "Hey, love. It's Draco. I'm heading home now. We had a really long shoot."

"Have fun?"

"Yes, naturally. What man wouldn't enjoy having an incredibly sexy woman throwing herself at him for six hours of the day?"

"Draco Malfoy!"

"Don't worry, they aren't even pretty. Dog ugly, to tell the truth. Revolting."

"Much better. Oh, could you pick up some Floo? The jar's empty."

Draco's jaw fell open as he stepped up to his silver Jaguar. "Again? Ginny . . ."

"What?" she asked, almost innocently.

"That's the third time in a month and a half. You can't use it like it's going out of style. It's not."

Well, if we just get a bigger jar, then we won't run out so fast . . ."

"No, if you don't waste it on trips to the Alley, we wouldn't need to refill so often." He opened the car door and ducked inside, slamming it behind him. "I mean, Floo Powder isn't exactly cheap like it used to be, Gin. I can't use a whole paycheck on the stuff anymore. You know that, sweetheart." The engine roared to life and he pulled out of the parking lot. "May I ask what you have planned for tonight, dear?"

There was an enormously loud pause. "Pardon?"

Draco was confused. "I said, 'what do you have planned for tonight?'"

Ginny gave a short, uncertain laugh. "You're joking, right?"

"No, no, not at all. I just want to know what you're doing."

"Harry."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"Hello? Have you forgotten the match tomorrow?"

Draco groaned and hit the steering wheel lightly in frustration. "Oh, Jesus, I forgot. Potter's pre-game party. When is it?"

"Six thirty. At Hermione's place. I'm going over in a few to help decorate, so I won't be home when you get here, but I'll have your pants and shirt on the bed. When're you getting home?"

Draco consulted his watch and turned off onto his exit. "Say, forty minutes? Granted I don't get caught in traffic."

Ginny snorted. "Darling, why the hell do you drive? I thought you were Mister Anti-Muggle."

Draco shrugged. "Who cares? Driving's fun. I should've done it years ago."

Ginny giggled. "Whatever. See you when you get home. Love you."

"Likewise."

Draco flipped the phone shut and pressed the gas a bit harder, the Jag zooming down the empty road as fast as he could make it go.

* * *

"Hang it up there -- here, give it to me. . . ."

"No, I've got it."

"Yes, that's why you can't even lift it up high enough."

"Hush up, I'm doing fine . . . damn it!"

Hermione jumped off the stool and sat on it hastily, shoving her finger into her mouth. Ginny hopped off as well. "What happened?"

"I cuh mah finga on da tack," Hermione mumbled around her index finger, which was bleeding freely into her mouth. She plucked it out and shook it wildly. "Ah, man alive, that hurts."

She had developed a rather bad mood over the last half hour, what with her stressful day at school finally sinking in and the fact that she had searched her route back to the Alley for about an hour, waiting for that girl to show up again so Hermione could catch her name. Finally, cursing to oblivion, she grudgingly had headed home.

Ginny pulled out her wand and grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Hold it still, sweetie. Lemme heal it up." She muttered something under her breath and tapped Hermione's bleeding finger gently. Instantly the blood around the cut vanished and the cut itself began to glow blue and tingle. "Well," said Ginny, straightening up. "It'll do. I'm no Madame Pomfrey, so it might take a bit." Ginny picked up the discarded tack that Hermione had dropped to the ground and inspected it. "Wow. That's quite a spear. Trust you to pick out the dangerous decorations."

"Shut up," Hermione said, but couldn't suppress a slight grin. "Maybe if you hadn't been tossing it around like a damn Frisbee . . ."

Ginny faked an expression of utter shock. "Who? Me?"

They laughed again. Hermione leaned down and picked up the decorations that she had thrown. "Well, I can't believe I'm finally off."

"Tell me about it. I won't be surprised if it winds up in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning." She held up her hands to demonstrate how big the headline would be. "'BREAKING NEWS! HERMIONE GRANGER TAKES A BREAK FROM HER JOB. AS IN, SHE WON'T BE WORKING. AT ALL. FOR LONGER THAN AN HOUR. And in other news, the world is going to be ending early tomorrow, and giant pigs predicted to fall from the sky at around noon. . . ."

Hermione blushed heavily and slapped Ginny on the arm, who was laughing uproariously, her arms around her stomach to keep herself from exploding.

"Ha, ha," Hermione said, the edges of her lips curled only slightly, but her face was hot enough to boil water. "You're so funny, Ginny. Whatever would the world do without your humor?"

"You know I'm funny. Scoot over, toots, my legs hurt." Hermione edged as far over on the stool as she could to leave enough room for two half-bottoms to sit on the cushion. "Ah, better by a long shot." Ginny grinned at Hermione, but it faded when she looked at her best friend of almost nine years. She was looking sadly, unblinkingly at the cardboard cutout of a snitch in her hands, fingers sliding softly around the edges. The glumness was so exuding Ginny's heart instantly began to ache. "Hermione, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I dunno, Gin. It's just . . ." she gestured with her hands as if trying to conjure words out of the air.

"It's just, you feel like you're not doing the right thing, right? I mean, with the whole taking a break thing."

Hermione looked up in surprise. She was about to tell her exactly what Ginny had told her. "How'd you know?"

"Because I'm your best friend and I saw it coming before it even happened." Ginny stood up and grabbed the cutout of Hermione's hand and stood on the small bit of stool not covered by Hermione herself, who stood up at once to let Ginny stand with both feet. "You have to realize, Herm. I have those instincts that nobody else has when it comes to you."

"I know I should be thrilled," Hermione said as Ginny tacked the decoration up and then hopped down again to look around. "But I just don't know how to feel. I hate those little monsters. I really do. But they're my responsibility, and this makes it all seem like . . . like I don't want the responsibility."

"You don't, though."

"That's the thing! It's my job to want to though. Am I that bad at my job?"

"Wow," Ginny said, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips in deep consideration. "Jeez, Hermione, you really thought that deep?"

"I can't help myself!" Hermione said, burying her face in her hands as she flopped down on the stool again. "It's all I can think of."

"Well, personally, if you take things from that perspective, forget being bad at your job. You downright suck."

Hermione groaned, looking at her clock through her fingers. They had started a while ago, and their goofing off propelled the time forward a few hours. The party was a little ways away.

"Herm, I know you're reluctant about leaving and everything, but by tomorrow, I guarantee it. You'll be so happy you're not working. Cross my heart."

Hermione bit her lip. "Promise?"

Ginny lifted her hand in oath. "Hon, I swear to God. This break will be the greatest break of your life."