Not My Life

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Edited by thyme_is_a_cat.

Crookshanks was waiting at the door when Hermione let herself into her flat in London. The familiarity of his squashed, orange face was enough to send a current of relief through her limbs; maybe things hadn't changed as much as she had feared.

After tumbling forward through time, she had come straight home, her eyes determinedly fixed away from Severus' house. She would deal with it later. Her explorations of this potentially altered present had to begin from a safe haven where she could ground herself and hide away if need be. Home.

Her flat was as she had left it: comfortably furnished without too much attention to style, not exactly cluttered, but having a lived-in feel. Large windows looked over a wide, tree-lined boulevard. Books were crammed into several different bookcases dispersed about the domicile, and numerous photographs decorated the mantle above the fireplace. Smiling, she wandered over to the photographs.

"This is my real life, isn't it, Crookshanks?" She scooped his limp, furry body into her arms and cuddled him to her face, breathing in his slightly musky kitty scent. Though unresisting, he did give her an eye as he allowed the indignity, putting a paw on her shoulder and sniffing her mouth delicately. She kissed him lightly on the nose, to his apparent disgust, as he licked it clean a moment later. Cuddling him happily, she smiled, comparing this homecoming to her last one when he wouldn't speak to her. She was glad that she had had the neighbor come by to give him some company, and fortunately, that neighbor expected her to be gone for another week and would continue to check in on him. Finally tired of his stint as a plushie, Crookshanks squirmed, and Hermione let him leap from her arms. She watched him trot from the living room into the kitchen before turning her attention back to the photographs.

Several seconds later, she wished she had followed him into the kitchen for a drop of something bracing first.

The photos taken during their years at Hogwarts seemed about the same, the three of them laughing with their arms around each other's shoulders, until she found the one of the summer before their fourth year. Harry stood between them. Ron had that splotchy, guilty look he got when he had been caught doing something wrong and was shooting unhappy glances at her photographed self. In turn, she would glare at him, her arms crossed over her chest before turning to smile falsely at the camera. What on earth? And why had she framed such an unpleasant photograph?

It took her a few incredulous moments to place the next photo. She and Victor Krum were standing in a loose embrace in front of the Durmstrang ship as its sails unfurled, and a small line of black clad people trundled up a long gangplank. He pulled her close, and she grinned, turning her face toward him so that he could plant a kiss on her lips. She seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.

She almost sighed in relief when she saw the shot of her fifth-year Christmas until she noticed Professor Snape and Lupin lurking in the background under a thick garland of fir branches sharing words over a cup of something. In the foreground, Sirius repeatedly ruffled Harry's messy black hair and jostled his shoulders, his beaming smile slightly frantic at the edges, but it was Snape and Lupin chatting companionably that stayed her eyes.

"Impossible," she whispered to the empty room, wiping clammy palms on her thighs. Her heart fluttered in her throat, and a dense coil of fear was tightening in her chest. Snape had never stayed at Grimmauld Place for longer than he had to, and certainly not to spend time with Lupin. What had she done?

The next photo was of Bill and Fleur's wedding, but instead of just the three of them, there were six: Lavender clung to Ron's arm like a painted lamprey, Ginny and Harry stood close together, hands clasped discreetly and almost hidden by her skirts, and she stood arm-in-arm with... She closed her eyes a moment, trying to place the boy's name to his face. Ah, yes. Anthony Goldstein. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she let out a deep breath, trying to still the rising panic. They didn't seem to be an item, for they stood rather stiffly, but who knew what had happened between them later? Everyone but her, apparently.

The next two photos were also of weddings: Harry and Ginny's and Ron and Lavender's. Placing a hand on her chest, she staggered back to the couch, not wanting to peruse them closely. The rest of the pictures could wait until the roaring in her ears had quieted to a manageable level. She collapsed into the cushions, flopping onto her side to curl into a ball. She had attempted to prepare herself for this very thing, but still, the shock to her system was something like trying to take a seat in a chair that had just been removed.

Crookshanks' head and forepaws appeared over the seat of the cushion, and he stretched his neck to give her face another gentle sniffing. It wasn't until he licked at her cheek that she realized she had begun to cry. "At least you're still the same, Crooks," she said shakily. He shifted his weight back slightly and then hopped onto the cushion in the alcove made by her curled body. Circling once, he laid down against her chest, tucking his hairy head underneath her chin. Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his little body to stave off the cold dread that was threatening to anchor her to the couch.

'Hiding, indeed,' she thought with black humor. She felt like a stranger in her own life, the captured images of her on the mantle a cruel joke. That Hermione was someone she didn't know, whose life had taken a different path than her own. How could she possibly pick up where this other person had left off? What kinds of horrible mistakes would she make, mentioning events that had never occurred or reacting out of character? She would end up in Azkaban or St. Mungo's in no time. At any moment, she expected another Hermione to come waltzing through her front door and raise the alarm.

Maybe she belonged in St. Mungo's.

Luna.

Hermione sat up quickly, and Crookshanks shot her an irritated glance, jumping huffily off the couch. Luna had felt something the last time, had known that things were off. What had she said?

"Have you ever felt like yourself, but not?"

'Yes, yes I have,' Hermione agreed silently with the memory. She would Floo Luna.

Scrambling off the couch to the hearth, keeping her eyes determinedly away from the photos, she pulled a pinch of Floo powder from the pot on the corner of the mantle.

"Luna Lovegood!" she said and stuck her head in the flames when they flared green.

"Hallo, Hermione," Luna said immediately, as if she had been expecting her. Perhaps she had. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that she was even home.

"Luna, could you come through?" she asked, hoping that her voice didn't quaver too much.

Luna held up a hand dusted with gray powder and smiled. "I was just about to drop by."

"Oh," Hermione said, somehow surprised, but yet not very. "I'll just step back, then, shall I?" Luna nodded and reached above Hermione's line of sight, pulling a thin stack of papers into view. Smiling again, Luna stared at Hermione's disembodied head. Hermione blinked up at her, then startled. "Oh, right," she mumbled and pulled her head out of the fire, backing up to give Luna some room to come through.

She stepped through a moment later and then headed straight for Hermione's kitchen, pulling out the tea things. Trailing after her like a bewildered ghost, Hermione plopped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and wondered how Luna knew where everything was. Once the water was boiling and the leaves were in the teapot, Luna fetched a packet of biscuits from the cupboard and took the chair across from her.

"How was your trip?" she asked, pulling the papers out of a pocket in her robes and setting them on the table. Hermione stared at them blankly.

"My trip?" It took her a moment to remember the cover story she had told everyone to explain her absence. "With my parents?"

Luna laughed lightly, as if they shared a joke. "No, to the past. To see the late Headmaster Snape."

Hermione's eyes immediately welled with tears, and she turned her head away so that Luna wouldn't see. For all the changes she had caused, Severus was still dead. Now, she wished that she hadn't called Luna and could go take a long, hot bath and cry until she was spent.

"Hermione," Luna said, her voice soft with sympathy as she touched the back of her hand. "Did you and Draco have a row already?"

That question jolted her out of her sorrow as if she had been doused with ice water. She even felt cold. "What?" she asked, no longer concerned about the tears that had rolled down her cheeks. "Me and... Draco? Malfoy?"

Luna sat back and eyed her speculatively. "I told you not to pay attention to those ridiculous articles in the Daily Prophet. He's not dating you for your status as a war hero. Well, not just that."

Hermione was overwhelmed with a memory of Draco at two years old, his grinning, gap-toothed mouth smeared with marzipan as he bounced in her lap. So, now she was bouncing on his lap? She dropped her head to the table and groaned loudly.

"Hermione?"

"I wasn't dating Draco before my trip to the past," Hermione informed her, her voice muffled by the tabletop.

"I see," Luna said casually as if they were discussing some mundanity instead of alterations to the space-time continuum. "Who were you dating, then?"

"Ron."

Luna was silent long enough that Hermione picked her head up off the table. The teakettle chose that moment to start whistling, and Luna rose unhurriedly out of her chair to take it off the fire. Again, Hermione was struck with how comfortable Luna was in her kitchen. Pouring hot water over the tealeaves, Luna said, "That is interesting. He always did have a thing for you, but after the incident at the end of your third year, it was a doomed thing."

There were lots of incidents in third year. "Which one?" Hermione asked in the same casual tone that Luna had used. She supposed the grief she should feel for the relationship that had never been (and never would, if the pictures on the mantle were any indication) would hit her when she had time to process it all, but all she felt now was a sense of relief and dull sorrow.

Buttoning the pot into its cozy, Luna carried the tea and cups to the table. "While Ron was in the hospital recovering from a dog bite, he let it slip that Professor Lupin was a werewolf, and the wrong students heard. I think he was still heavily medicated, but it got Lupin sacked, and you were quite put out. It took you a while to forgive him. Then you met Victor the next year..."

"Ron got Lupin sacked? Before, it was Professor Snape..."

Luna's eyebrows shot into her hairline, and she blinked owlishly. "I can't imagine. Lupin and Snape were always... well, if not friends, then certainly on amicable terms."

"How do you know all this?" Hermione asked her as she fidgeted with a loose bit of yarn in the tea cozy.

"You told me," Luna said matter-of-factly. "We have had tea regularly for the past couple of years, after all."

"Oh. And Draco?" she asked, not even sure how to word the question.

Luna smiled impishly and poured two cups of tea. "He dropped by your office a few months ago to deliver an artifact for A.A.S.S. You hit it off." She shrugged with one shoulder and blew the steam from the surface of her tea.

"He came by personally?" Hermione asked, skeptical, and snagged a biscuit from the package.

"It is a rather high-profile project. And he and his godfather were close. He wanted to make sure that it would be well-protected; his godfather had treasured it."

"What was it?" Hermione nibbled on the edge of her biscuit, warming up to the conversation. If she pretended that it wasn't her life they were discussing, a life that she had lived, but yet hadn't, then it was a pleasant bit of gossip.

"An old Order of Merlin, third class." Luna grinned widely when Hermione choked, spraying the table with crumbs. "I thought so."

She wiped the crumbs off the table with a serviette and slid the stack of papers toward Hermione. Taking a settling sip of tea, Hermione eyed the papers nervously. They appeared to be newspaper clippings.

"Do you still have yours... Heidi?" Luna asked with the wickedest glee that Hermione had ever seen in the woman. She didn't; it was stuffed in a sock in her drawer at Madam Beetlebump's. Hermione just shook her head and picked up the top sheet. It was an article about the crime ring they had busted and the awarding of their Orders. Below it, folded back, was a small photo of her and Severus strolling hand in hand through Diagon Alley. It had been taken yesterday, on their way to Florean's, but she hadn't seen the photographer at the time.

"Where did you get these?" Hermione asked, staring at the photo in wonderment. They could easily be mistaken for a happy couple.

"Headmaster Snape had placed them between the pages of that library book. I had been about to return it when that one you're holding slipped out. I must have missed them when I found the first. Or they weren't there before," Luna said thoughtfully.

"Luna," Hermione said, setting down the clipping, "I don't know if I can do this. So much has changed... and I've been left behind." Her heart was creeping up into her esophagus, threatening to strangle her. Shivering, she wrapped her hands around her warm teacup.

"Do what?" Luna cocked her head to the side, a pale wisp of hair falling over one shoulder. "Continue on or go back?" She gazed at Hermione for a moment, her face softening into a faraway expression. "Or are you considering going back to stay?"

Hermione looked up sharply, her fears momentarily forgotten. It was an option, wasn't it? She hadn't considered it, not seriously, but now it was sorely tempting. It would be foolish in the extreme, and not even Merlin could know how much it would alter the timeline, but... but she could start a new life, one that she could live, instead of hear about over tea with a friend. A life that Severus might consider sharing with her. A tiny spark of hope flared in her chest, one that must have shown on her face, for Luna sighed and touched the back of her hand.

"Nothing happens that isn't meant to happen," Luna said cryptically and then sifted through the pile of clippings, pulling one to the forefront. "It will work itself out."

Giving her a hard stare, Hermione tried to remember where she had heard those words before. They rang with a precise familiarity, but it was such a Luna thing to say... She shook her head when the memory refused to surface and glanced down at the piece of paper that Luna had extracted from the stack. It was a small article on Heidi Greenglass, recipient of a recent Order of Merlin, third class, of whom a record could not be found anywhere in the Ministry. Above it was another photograph of she and Severus sharing a cone of chips on a park bench in Hogsmeade. She would laugh and toss a nibble of chip to the birds at their feet, and he would roll his eyes, but drape an arm behind her on the backrest of the bench. The article was dated in October, but the photo had been taken three days ago.

She smiled fondly, wistfully, and gently touched the captured image of Severus. Funny that even in a black and white photo he looked much the same as in real life. Those few days after their adventure had been blissful; she couldn't remember a time when she had enjoyed another's company quite so much. She could see herself sitting on that bench with him, year after year, the two of them growing older, wrinkled, stooped, but always side-by-side. "Would it be so terrible?"

"Quite possibly," Luna said thoughtfully. "But there are no guarantees."

Staring at the picture, Hermione frowned. She wasn't sure if she wanted Luna to talk her into staying in the past or tell her that the world would end if she did. Black or white, good or bad, those were simple, clear-cut choices. But this decision carried the weight of infinite possibilities.

Severus sat on his ratty little couch and tried to affect an air of bored apathy as he stared into the amber depths of his tumbler of Firewhisky. Nattering on in a smoothly disbelieving tone, Lucius had been plying him with expensive drink and probing questions since he had arrived an hour ago. His excuse for dropping by was that congratulations were due, and not just for acquiring an Order of Merlin. He had wanted to toast to the future Mrs. Snape, for which woman in her right mind wouldn't accept such an honor with a man she had been dating and not turn straight around and marry him? Severus didn't bother to correct his friend's misconception that he and Heidi had been dating (Lucius would believe what he wanted, regardless), though he still failed to see the logic. Wondering if fatherhood had somehow rotted his brain, he accepted the drink anyway.

If truth were told (and with Lucius, it was a rare thing), he was grateful for Lucius' arrival. He had been in his laboratory preparing... things. He suppressed a shudder and turned his thoughts away from the... things... he had been preparing. These were the final steps before the culmination of his Plan, but now it felt dirty, wrong. It didn't make sense to him: it would get him what he had wanted for years. Just the same, he couldn't help but hear Heidi telling him which laws he was breaking in this endeavor and how very disappointed she was in him. Taking a large sip of Firewhisky, he tried unsuccessfully to burn her dear, bossy voice out of his head.

Lucius, displaying impeccable timing, unknowingly twisted the knife. "And I hear that she broke an Auror's nose with a bedpan because they had broken yours. That, dear Sev, is devotion."

Staring gloomily into his drink, Severus wondered where it was Lucius could have heard that. And if nothing else could make him feel worse, that comment could: a reminder of how she had defended him, attempted to protect him, lied to Dumbledore, of all wizards, for him. And how had he repaid her? By insulting and belittling her when she had mentioned her departure: his modus operandi for dealing with uncomfortable situations. Why couldn't he have simply told her how he felt? He was a cad of the worst sort. Gods, but he missed her.

"Severus," Lucius said as he swirled his drink around his glass in an easy, graceful motion, eyeing him knowingly. "You didn't do something to drive her away, did you?"

He had to smother a start that would have betrayed the truth of Lucius' words. He had returned to Madam's after his staff meeting, already feeling the sour taste of guilt at his words, but she had left. The crazy old bat had confirmed with the orange monstrosity that she had gone home, and he hadn't had to cast a locator spell to know that she had mysteriously, untraceably disappeared. However, he refused to start worrying until after she hadn't shown up at their scheduled time tomorrow.

"She is plainly not here," he snapped, scowling at Lucius' moue of disappointment. "Don't give me that look. I think... I think she is seeing someone else." Saying the words left a bitter taste at the back of his mouth, and he took a large gulp of Firewhisky to clear his palate. Right, that was the reason he hadn't said anything.

Lucius tossed back the last of his drink and stood in one fluid motion. Setting his glass on the coffee table, he smoothed the wrinkles in his robes, which had creased while he sat. "I fail to see the bearing that has on your situation. She is smitten with you. If she is seeing someone, then steal her away. You know the spells..." Leering and trailing off meaningfully, Lucius paused for effect, and then his tone became serious. "Few enough women will accept your attentions. You should not take this one for granted."

Saying nothing, Severus slouched further into the couch and glowered at his drink. With a final pleasantry, Lucius saw himself out, leaving the bottle of Firewhisky behind.

"Good evening, my dear," Malfoy... no, Draco (she was now dating him, after all) greeted her as he rose from his chair and pecked her cheek. The waiter pulled her chair from the table, and Draco waited until she was seated before sitting again himself. "I didn't expect you back until late next week."

"Disappointed?" Hermione asked, trying to gauge his reactions. Tall, handsome and pale, he was the spitting image of his father twenty years prior. He had let his hair grow long and gloriously shiny, and it was tied back into a neat queue with a navy blue ribbon. His robes were a complimentary shade of blue, and though clearly expensive and well made, they were not ostentatious. Usually gray, his eyes had acquired a blue cast and now resembled the ocean during a storm. He cut a fine figure; she had to wonder what he was doing with her. Even cleaned up and dressed nicely, she felt dull and drab in comparison. Not to mention the fact that he had despised her through their school years.

The small restaurant was just as tasteful and understated as her date. Small and moodily lit with beeswax candles, its walls were lined with private tables separated from each other and partially obscured from the main floor by rich, red, velvet drapes. The seats were padded and lined with soft leather, and the cherry tabletops shone with polish. In one corner, a piano played light classical music somehow in tune with the quiet ringing of silver on bone china. None of the menus listed prices.

"Quite the contrary," he said, smiling at her and reaching across the table to clasp her hand. It was a true smile and transformed his normally sneering, pointy features into a rather effeminate beauty that she found appealing. And immediately after silently admitting her attraction, she felt a pang of guilt. Here she was, holding hands and finding other men attractive when who she really wanted was Severus. But this was a test, wasn't it: to dive into the waters of her new life to see if she could swim? She would simply have to pretend that she wasn't in love with a man now four years dead. Oh, bugger, she had admitted that, too.

She forced a smile, praying that it appeared genuine as she tangled their fingers together. "Glad to hear it."

"And to what do I owe the honor of an early visit?" he asked teasingly, but she sensed an undercurrent of suspicious curiosity. Then again, perhaps she was imagining it. She decided to answer with as much truth as she possibly could.

"I had a run-in with a werewolf in New Zealand and wanted to have St. Mungo's check the wound. No, everything is fine," she added quickly as his eyes widened to saucers, and he began to rise out of his chair. "He simply scratched my back. I didn't want my parents to worry, so I popped back here for a couple of days on the pretense of checking on Crookshanks."

"Hermione," Draco said lowly, his gaze intense as he raised her knuckles to his lips. Ah, but it was nice for an attentive man to say her name. Her real name. Maybe... maybe she could give it to Severus, just to hear him say it... "You must be more careful. I know that you are a brave, resourceful woman, but even you have your limits. I'll have the beast hunted down and slaughtered."

"He is in New Zealand," she said sharply. Draco Malfoy knew jack all about her limits.

"There isn't a place on this globe that he could hide from me." Draco's eyes snapped dangerously.

"Leave it alone, I'm fine," she said tiredly. The only reason she had used the werewolf story as an excuse in the first place was because the scratches were still barely healed, and if he were truly her boyfriend, then he would find out about them sooner rather than later. She hadn't meant to start a blood hunt. "I'd rather not talk about it. I came to see you."

It was the truth, but not quite the truth that Draco believed. However, it seemed to mollify him because, after kissing her hand again, he settled back in his chair with a smug smile, looking so much like his father that she had to resist the urge to bolt from the table.

"Your dress has arrived," he said, changing the subject abruptly.

Hermione had been about to take a sip of the deep burgundy wine in the glass next to her plate and paused with the rim touching her bottom lip. Draco's eyes seemed fixed there. "My dress?"

"For my parents' Halloween party. Surely you have not forgotten?" He raised one blond eyebrow questioningly.

"Of course not," Hermione denied. "You just caught me off guard."

Draco smirked and leaned toward her. "I'll have to write that down for posterity: Hermione Granger, caught off guard."

The comment struck her funny, and she laughed. "You do that," she told him, finally sipping her wine. He grinned at her and then proceeded to launch into the details of his parents' party. It wasn't a one-way conversation, however. He engaged her, asked her opinion, and made snide comments about the guests. Somehow, they got on the topic of the history of wizarding balls and the significance of masks worn by the guests until midnight and chatted right on through dinner. Hermione found his company delightful and his personality similar to Severus'. Though prickly and sarcastic, he had the self-confidence that Severus lacked. If she weren't already head over heels for someone else, then she could have seen this relationship possibly working for her. However, a particular question forced its way through her enjoyment of the evening, beating about her brain and poking holes into his affectionate gestures and adoring glances.

'Why does Draco Malfoy, blood purist, first person to call me "Mudblood" and hellion throughout my schooldays, want to date me?' she asked herself as Draco insisted that she choose a dessert.

Luna had mentioned him dating her partially for her fame as a war hero. She had to wonder what this Draco had done during that final confrontation, and if it was any different than the actions of the other Draco Malfoy. It must have been; otherwise, she doubted that she would have ever considered dating him, but the lack of knowledge irked her. It wasn't that she could ask, either, for that would clue him in that something was wrong. She should know that kind of thing. The strain of guessing at his new past while trying to maintain an intelligent conversation finally got to her, and a headache blossomed behind her temples. Draco noticed the moment that she raised her fingertips to rub them and called immediately for the check.

"Headache?" he asked sympathetically, helping her into her cloak. "I didn't realize that you were sensitive to red wines. You haven't been before." He pulled her mass of curls out of her collar and arranged them to tumble down the back of her cloak, fingering them with a distant, absorbed expression. His hand brushed one of her healing wounds, and she hissed. Snatching his hand away, he stared at her clothed back in horror. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe that I..."

"It's fine, Draco," she assured him. "And I'm not usually prone to headaches from wine. It must be a reaction with the potions I've been taking for my back."

He merely nodded, escorting her from the restaurant with his hand hovering protectively at her lower back, but not quite touching. "I wish you would allow me to destroy that beast."

"Honestly, Draco, you'd never find him. Besides, it wasn't his fault; he couldn't have controlled his actions."

He smiled fondly and teased, "That's my Hermione, always looking out for the underdog." Before she knew it, he had drawn her in for a brief kiss. It was chaste and sweet, tasting of the rich chocolate cake that they had shared earlier. He pulled away before it could become more intense, but his stormy eyes held a promise of deeds dark and sensual. She shivered, wishing those eyes were black, but smiling up at him just the same.

"Go take care of your headache, and I will see you in a week, after you finish your trip," he said as he caressed her cheek. With a courtly, old-fashioned bow, he Apparated away.

Hermione Apparated back to her apartment, her mind whirling with the strange, enjoyable evening she had had... with Draco Malfoy. She still couldn't quite believe it. As she keyed open the lock, she made an oath to herself that she would kiss Severus on this final trip to the past, no matter what his attitude might be. She had to know how his lips felt pressed against hers, if his eyes would light up with a similar carnal desire for her. Yes, she was now dating Draco, but there was no guarantee that she would still be dating him when she came back. If she came back.

Hermione frowned as she peered underneath her sofa. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly Crookshanks could confiscate a dropped earring and knock it underneath some heavy piece of furniture. And where did it go under that piece of furniture? It was as if there were several small black holes in the floor of her flat, and Crookshanks knew exactly where each one resided.

"You were lying in wait, weren't you?" she accused the cat that was on his belly reaching under the sofa with an orange paw.

The fire on her hearth suddenly leapt with a whoosh, bathing her living room with bright, green light. Sighing, Hermione sat back on her knees, aware that her visitor had just had an indelicate view of her bum. She had a moment to wish that she had worn her nice bathrobe before he spoke.

"So it is true, then."

Clambering to her feet, she met a pair of emerald-green eyes gazing woundedly at her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed and hurried around her coffee table to give him a hug. Feeling a fair amount of shame for not making a greater effort to see him before her previous trip and not bothering to contact him during this brief respite, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed tightly. He stiffened momentarily and then patted her shoulder like an awkward teenager, fortunately missing the wounds on her back. She released him immediately and stepped back, unnerved by his reticence. Since when had Harry not welcomed one of her hugs? A sense of loss swept through her as she smiled up at her best friend who had changed so much and yet so little.

He was still her height: short for a man, no doubt due to the neglect he had experienced as a child. His eyes still put gemstones to shame, glittering a clear, verdant green. He was thinner than she remembered and more fashionably dressed than she had ever seen him. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "What have you done with your hair?"

He looked at her askance and then smoothed a hand over the long black mop that was tied back with a simple elastic. "I tied it back," he said. "Ginny was complaining that I was shedding hair into her cooking."

"Oh, erm." She was saved from further possible blunders when he gestured at the large vase of purple hyacinths, which had appeared on her doorstep that morning and were now sitting on the coffee table. The accompanying note had been short, sweet and smug, leaving her little doubt as to the sender even without the florid DM at the bottom.

"You tell him you're in town, but you don't bother to contact your friends? I had to read it in the Prophet."

Hermione frowned at him. His comment struck home, but she didn't appreciate being scolded. "Honestly, Harry, I was only here for a couple of days. I was getting ready to leave again, in fact. The Prophet?" she asked incredulously. That was awfully fast; she had just gone to dinner with Draco last night.

"Has he got you on such a tight leash that you have to check in with him every other day?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's enough to make a bloke sick," he said petulantly as he flopped onto her sofa, giving the flowers a death glare. "I know you've been lonely since Ron and I got married... but Malfoy?"

"Why do you assume that my dating Draco has anything to do with either of you?" she asked him, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head. She realized that she couldn't look very intimidating in a faded yellow bathrobe with a fraying hem, but she was too irritated to care.

He stopped eyeing the flowers to give her a long, appraising stare that made her want to fidget. Harry might not have been the most perceptive of men, but he had a strong intuition that he trusted almost to a fault. The thought of him discovering her trips to the past to help Severus made her acutely nervous, for she was sure that he wouldn't approve... would he? It occurred to her that she had no point of reference for Harry's opinion of their ex-Professor besides a couple of photographs on her mantle. Though he had gained respect for the man and an appreciation of his efforts, Harry had little positive to say about Snape as a person. His eyes narrowed as if he were following her train of thought, and she clenched her hands to prevent them from wandering off by themselves to tug on the loose threads on the ends of her sleeves.

"Alright, Hermione?" he asked, sitting forward and propping his elbows on his knees as he gazed intently into her face. She got the uncomfortable impression that she was now being interrogated. Abruptly, she wondered if he were still in the Auror training program and if he were now applying some technique to know whether or not she was telling the truth. Luna hadn't mentioned it, and she had forgotten to ask. It seemed a gross oversight at that moment, not to mention the fact that she felt like a heel for having ignored her friends. Had she truly considered staying in the past without saying some sort of goodbye to her friends and family?

On the other hand, Harry obviously sensed that something was amiss, and knowing Harry, he wouldn't leave her alone until he figured it out.

"Yes, Harry, I'm perfectly fine. I'm simply in a hurry. I told my parents that I would only be gone a couple of days, and my father wants to sneak onto the set of The Two Towers. You know how much he loved the first one. They'll likely toss us off the set if we even manage to get close to it, but that won't stop him from trying." She smiled winningly and hoped that he hadn't noticed her babbling.

"Right," Harry said, standing up slowly as if she were a timid creature likely to bolt. "I hope you know that you can tell me anything."

"Of course, I do..."

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "We've grown distant over the years, with Ron and I settling down and starting families. And you've been wrapped up in your work, saving the world one project at a time." He grinned wryly, and Hermione finally succumbed to temptation and began to fiddle with her cuffs. "You kept Draco a secret for a month, and I've forgiven you, even if I still think he's a poncy arse and not nearly good enough for you."

Hermione had no idea what to say to that. She couldn't imagine herself hiding a boyfriend from any of her friends. Excluding Severus, of course, who wasn't her boyfriend, per se.

"I just wish we could get past all the secrets and you would tell me what is really going on."

Breaking eye contact with the man that she had considered her best friend for the past eleven years, Hermione felt a yawning chasm open between them, filled with the distance of ages. He wasn't the Harry she knew, nor was she the Hermione that he knew, and though she had managed to fool Draco, a close acquaintance of only a few months, she would be hard pressed to pull the wool over Harry's eyes. Or Ron's, for that matter. Just the same, he was her best friend, and she felt that she owed him something, some small jot of truth. There was no need to bring Severus' name into it. Her mind racing, she spoke slowly to allow her story to form. "Do you promise not to tell anyone? And I mean, anyone?"

Harry's face lit up but he nodded hesitantly, as if afraid of what her secret might entail.

"I... I might have met someone. A foreigner."

"Who?" he asked a trifle too eagerly. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes; Draco wasn't that bad. She could hardly believe she had just thought that.

"I'd rather not say at the moment. I don't know if he feels the same."

Harry eyed her shrewdly though a smile had started to stretch his lips. "So what's the catch?"

"If – and this is a big 'if' – he does, then I might... stay with him," Hermione said, bracing herself for the inevitable explosion. When Harry simply stared at her silently, mouth slightly agape, she questioned whether this Harry might have learned a bit of self-restraint.

"Not the Ferret?" he asked finally after a few unsuccessful attempts. She shook her head. "I, erm. Well. What do you mean, 'stay with him'?"

"He's foreign," she evaded.

"Ah. Right." He scrubbed a hand over his face and then ran it over his ponytail, blinking distractedly into the fire.

"It really has got nothing to do with you or Ron," she assured him, just in case he was trying to blame himself in some way.

He nodded absently, still not looking at her. "How long would you be gone?"

Shrugging, she said, "I don't really know. And it might not even happen. I just... wanted you to know."

He nodded again, fingering the ends of his hair, then glanced up at her. "Just like that, then? We'd miss you. A lot. But," he shrugged one shoulder, a gesture reminiscent of a young Severus Snape, though Hermione would never have told him that, "you have to do what makes you happy." Looking at her intently, he said, "He will make you happy, right?"

"He could."

Shrugging again, this time with a resigned helplessness, he gave her a sad smile. "You'll keep in touch?"

"Of course," she lied unhappily. Denying him that would have led to a much less understanding Harry Potter. "I'm a witch, you know. I can operate the Floo Network."

"That's all I ask." Giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, he patted her shoulder and stepped toward the Floo. "I'll tell Ginny you said hi. Maybe you'll stop by for supper next weekend?"

"We'll see."

He nodded shortly and strode toward the Floo, grabbing a small handful of powder from the jar on the mantle. With a final wave, he tossed it into the fire and stepped into the column of green flame.

A/N: Before you start howling for my blood over the whole Draco thing, remember that I started in the Potterverse as a DM/HG shipper, and that there is a bit of story left. Don't give up on me!

I'm sorry that I'm so far behind on review responses. Thanks to all of you who have left a note – I read and treasure all of them. :)