Chapter Two

Sometimes it was the little things that brought the most comfort. Hermione chewed mechanically on another Stringmint as she tried to process what had just happened, counting to one hundred and twenty in time with her steadying pulse. The face that stared back at her from the mirrored doors of the lift was nothing like the put together young woman who had arrived only an hour before. No amount of tan could hide the fact that underneath, she was now a sickly greenish-white.

The lift shuddered to a stop, and Hermione stumbled out into the busy Atrium, only to be nearly knocked off her feet by a tornado dressed in Aurors' robes. She swallowed reflexively, wincing as the sensation of minty freshness spread down her oesophagus, and glared at her overwhelmingly familiar assailant.

"Harry!" she cried, throwing her arms around him, already feeling some of the interview-induced tension leave her as he returned her hug. She had almost forgotten her promise to meet him. "Is it lunch time already?"

"Hello, Hermione!" He grinned. Harry wore sensible, wire-rimmed glasses these days, but when he grinned he could easily have been eleven once more. "It's almost one o'clock. I thought you weren't going to turn up. Trouble with the 'Keys?"

"I'll tell you all about it over lunch," Hermione replied, unable to keep the answering grin from her face. "That's if we still have time?"

"Don't worry." He smiled as they strolled through the Atrium. In her heels, they were almost exactly the same height, and she matched his stride easily. "I've taken off some owed hours. I wasn't going to rush this for anything. It's been two whole years since I saw you last. God, you look different! I take it Australia agrees with you?"

"Solomon Islands, actually," Hermione couldn't help but correct, "but yes, I loved it out there!"

Auror Potter raised an eyebrow. "Loved?"

"This isn't just a short visit," she explained. "Well, hopefully not. I've had a job interview with the Ministry. If I get it, I might be coming home for good."

"An interview?" This Harry might look just the same, Hermione decided, but there was a seriousness to him that she hadn't known before. This was how his co-workers must see him, she realised – a professional man, not a little boy desperately trying to do the right thing. "Which department?"

"I – I can't say," Hermione realised. "That sneak! I didn't sign a thing!"

"Mysteries, eh?" Harry chuckled. "Ron owes me five Galleons. He thought it would be Archiving that called you back. I can't wait to have you home for good. We'll be able to have lunch together every day!"

"Maybe." Hermione sighed. Harry's enthusiasm was catching, but it couldn't stop her wondering just how on earth she was ever going to pass the Department of Mysteries' silly test. Then it occurred to her that she was talking to a renowned Quidditch player who just happened to be one of her best friends, and she felt a sudden spark of hope. "I might need your help with that."

"Of course," Harry agreed happily. "Now how about we collect Ron and find something to eat, eh?"

Hermione was about to reply when she became aware of a momentary chill prickling across her shoulders. Looking up, she saw a disturbingly familiar figure in black robes stalk past them with almost predatory grace.

"Is that...?"

"Keep walking." Harry caught her elbow and steered towards the Floos. "That is one conversation I want to avoid if I can help it."

Perplexed, Hermione let herself be steered from the Atrium and through the spinning green flames.

The Atrium was busy with workers returning from lunch breaks. Severus swept through the crowd and down to the lower floor, passing a couple cuddling by the lifts.

Smith was waiting for him. Severus had long ago learnt to expect almost Dumbledorian omniscience from the Interviewer and was no longer fazed by it.

"Back so soon, Mr Snape? Have you completed your task already?"

"You know that I haven't, Smith. I'm here for a retry."

"That's the spirit," commended Smith, whom Severus best remembered as an overly inquisitive little Hufflepuff. The boy had been one of the unfortunate few to earn a punishment from the Carrows that Severus had been unable to mitigate to something less harsh. Oddly, the round of Crucio had done nothing to break the boy, leaving him instead with an almost insatiable curiosity and resilience when it came to Dark magic. Severus hadn't liked to ask the boy what it was he specialised in for the DoM. "Follow me."

Hilary was sitting at her desk, typing up a report when they entered. She waved towards the Device without missing a stroke on her antiquated keyboard. "You know how it works by now; help yourselves."

Severus placed his hand in the opening, wondering, as always, if something unpleasant was going to happen. There was a clicking, whirring sound before a slip of paper was spat out into the tray.

Severus picked it up and read the single word in old fashioned typeface. "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

"Same again?" Smith queried. "Well, these tasks are intended to try you." He didn't seem the least put off by the look Severus gave him. Still, Crucio was known to addle the brain. "Nothing the Device asks for is impossible, though. I'm sure you'll find a way."

Hermione had wondered if seeing Ron again might be awkward, but she knew from the moment he gathered her up into a hug of almost Hagridesque proportions, that all was forgiven. Hermione hugged back happily, remembering a time when all three of them had been uncomfortable with showing physical affection and grateful it hadn't lasted. No matter how long they spent apart, being with Ron and Harry felt far more like coming home than anything else so far.

Stepping back, she looked up at the boy she had once dreamed of marrying. Unlike Harry, Ron had been busy at work during her previous visits back to the UK, and the five years apart had seen him lose the gangly look that coloured most of her memories. His shoulders and chest had finally caught up with his long legs, and he had let his hair grow out a little, which, combined with his easy smile and smiling blue eyes, gave him a handsome, almost roguish air.

Hermione felt a momentary tweak in her chest as she smiled back. This handsome, happy man had been hers once, and might still have been if only things had gone differently. Then he began explaining recent sales patterns to her with as much enthusiasm as he used to describe Quidditch, and Hermione felt the odd feeling pass.

Both the boys seemed so happy to see her, so comfortable with her back in their midst, that Hermione began to believe that she might have a real life waiting for her back in the UK, even if her parents were to remain overseas. Leaving her current friends and colleagues would be a wrench, but it wasn't as if she'd be setting out on her own. She'd be coming home.

Muggle London was crowded as ever and Hermione followed the boys happily, quietly amused at how comfortable they seemed amongst the crowds. It was fascinating to watch Ron cross a road without risking his life or see Harry dodge the charity workers with their clipboards.

"It's not that I don't care about puppies and orphans," he sighed as they reached the restaurant and ducked inside. "But they always want your bank details. They think you're taking the piss if you mention Gringotts."

"You need a Muggle bank account, mate," Ron advised. "What?" he asked defensively, noticing the look on Hermione's face. "I needed one if I was going to get the Sky sports channels."

Hermione shook her head and gestured at the high bar stools and colourful plates of food constantly moving along a tiny conveyor belt. "Sushi? You eat sushi now?"

"Hey, I live in London now, not the wilds of south Devon! Besides, it was either this or the Afghan restaurant by George's flat, but Harry normally only gets an hour for lunch and this is quicker."

"But raw fish?"

"Oh, I won't touch sashimi, but they do the most amazing little plates of katsu chicken."

Just when Hermione was wondering if he had changed beyond all recognition, Harry put her mind to rest.

"Here," he explained, "Ron gets to take food from every plate on the table, and no one can tell him off."

Finding three stalls together in a little corner counter, they ordered their drinks and began the serious business of catching up.

It was, Hermione realised, perhaps the first time they had ever done this properly. Every time they had gone to Hogsmeade together, there had been little time for sitting in a cosy corner of the Three Broomsticks, sipping Butterbeer. No matter how mundane their intentions, there had always been some drama about to unfold. She wondered idly what life might have been like for them should things have been different at school. Would she have been able to return from a career overseas and simply pick up her place in the trio had there not been a time when they had proven their willingness to walk into danger's path on each other's behalf?

She took a sip of her beer – sake being too much of a challenge for lunch time – and enjoyed a moment of complete contentment. All this was waiting for her to return to. She just had to pass one little test and all of it could be hers again. Which reminded her:

"Harry, was that really Professor Snape we passed in the Ministry?"

Ron looked up. "Is he still hanging around, mate?" he asked around a mouthful of chili squid.

Hermione looked from one to the other. "What's going on?"

"Snape's been hanging around the Ministry lately, acting all weird," Harry explained, before leaning forward and pitching his voice low. "He actually offered to talk to me about my mother."

Hermione frowned. "And you don't want to?"

"I'm dying to!" Harry whined. "But if Auror training has taught me anything, it's that if something is too good to be true, then it probably is, and that there's no such thing as a free lunch."

"Horrible mixed aphorisms aside, that's some very sage advice," Hermione concurred, rubbing her fingers on her napkin. "Now, seeing as I've fed you lunch, I have a request for you."

~*~

The paddock behind the Burrow was the de facto Quidditch pitch of Ottery St Catchpole. Hermione had attempted a few games there herself when she had been younger, and trying to impress boys had still been an acceptable pursuit. Once Ron's teenaged indifference had been established, Hermione had felt free to quit torturing herself over her lack of airborne athleticism and admit that she was far more comfortable at ground level, preferably with a good book or an even better film.

Somehow the Department of Mysteries had stumbled across the one thing she just couldn't do, even it appeared, with Harry Potter as her instructor.

At first, she had wondered if it was the old Cleansweep she was using. Spells could weaken over time or perhaps brooms, like chess sets, became accustomed to their owner and wouldn't work in quite the same way for anyone else.

Harry had almost been forced to concur she might have a point, until he had made the ultimate sacrifice, and allowed her to try his brand new Zephyr 3.0, at which point all her careful arguments fell apart.

Tired, sweaty and with that gnawing anxiety Hermione had come to associate with Muggle driving lessons, she had yet to make it more than three feet above the ground.

"It's no good, Harry. It just won't stop jolting."

"You're overcompensating," Harry repeated for the umpteenth time. "Stop flinching and it will stop trying to correct you."

"Why is it trying to correct me? I'm the one who doesn't want to fall off!"

She was embarrassingly close to tears when Harry finally allowed her to stop "Face it, Hermione, no one can be good at everything. Why are you so keen to learn? We had six years at Hogwarts when you could have tried, but you've never shown the least bit of interest. Why is it suddenly so important?"

"I can't tell you," Hermione sighed. "But if I can't learn, then you'll never have to worry about me not being able to tell you things again."

"I'm fairly certain it's not meant to be that easy to circumvent Secrecy Charms." Harry grinned. "So, they've given you a test to fulfil before you can join, eh? I wondered if that might be the case. And flying? That's a bit harsh."

"Harry, stop speculating! You're making my insides feel all squishy." Hermione grimaced, holding her hand to her chest. This was just a quick charm flicked at her when she wasn't looking. What would a full Secrecy Oath feel like? she wondered.

"Sorry," Harry apologised, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "It's just I considered applying a couple of years back. I wonder what my task would have been?"

"You survived a Killing Curse twice, Harry. Do you really think they'd feel the need to test you?"

"Of course they would. You helped Ron defeat a troll when you'd only been in school for a few weeks, not to mention the whole Voldemort thing. Instead of something dangerous they ask you to do something you've always had trouble with. Oh God," he muttered. "They'd want me to learn Occlumency. From Snape."

"Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione chastised, only half in jest. "You know, I plan on learning Occlumency anyway... I wonder if Professor Snape works for the Mysteries? That might explain why you keep seeing him in the Ministry."

"Or he's applying, only his impossible task is to teach Occlumency to me." Harry shivered. "I'm definitely avoiding him from now on, just in case!" He took the broom from her and absently wiped her sweaty fingerprints from the handle with his sleeve. "We just need to find a way to make you fly. Does it have to be by broom?"

"I'm not sure. The only other things I've flown are a thestral and a dragon, and I'm pretty sure they expect me to do more than cling on to something with my eyes closed." They trudged back towards the house. "If only there was a way to fly without relying on something else's magic. I'm never going to trust a carnivorous animal to keep me safe, and when it comes to brooms, I just can't get over the fact that there's only an enchanted twig between me and a very painful landing."

"She doesn't mean it," Harry placated the Zephyr as he leant it against the porch. "She just doesn't understand the artistry of your construction. Besides," he added, turning to Hermione, "if you learn how to fly without a broom, people are going to start wondering if you're the next Dark Lord."

"I didn't mean it like that." Hermione frowned.

"Good," Harry said. "Because the only person we know who could teach you is Snape, and I can't see him consenting to an afternoon in the paddock while you snap at him."

"You're right." Hermione shook her head. "That would be even more excruciating than today has been. And I'm sorry if I snapped at you. You've been brilliant. Do you think you could get me a job with the Aurory, instead?"

"God, no," Harry smiled. "You'd drive me mental within a week. We've only had one go at flying; just give it time. Now let's head inside and see if Molly's left anything in the cake tin. I think both of us could use the sugar."