CHAPTER 1

First Night

The night was cold and windy. In a small village, in the middle of the English countryside, on a wide street, stood a shivering figure. A long coat wrapped around a slim body tightly and a mass of auburn hair swung wildly with the temperamental wind. The figure hunched down against the onslaught and hurried across the street, through a small gate, down the pathway and up the stairs leading to a big oak door, guarding the entrance to a house the size of a little mansion.

Hermione glanced up the almost imposing slabs of wood in front of her and rapped her knuckles three times against them. A moment later the doors shuddered and clicked open. Her palm on the smooth surface, Hermione pushed against the doors and they swung silently inside. A warm rush of air hit her face and she sighed in relief as she shuffled inside. The doors swung close behind her on their own accord, trapping the cold wind outside. Inside, the house was warm, the lobby she now stood in basked in warm and soft light coming from half a dozen lamps that adorned the walls. The ceiling was high, reaching the first floor. The two levels were connected by a grand staircase winding down at the very end of the lobby. Beside it were two entrances, one to the kitchen and the other to the living room.

The walls were lined with pictures, happy, smiling pictures. As she unwrapped her shawl, moving further into the lobby, Hermione watched them. Some were moving, some were stationary, most a variation of herself, the Weasley family and a certain green eyed, black haired friend of hers. A few caught her eye, showing Lupin, Tonks or Sirius. A few were of Lilly and James Potter. But they were smiling, always smiling.

"Hermione." A familiar voice called her name, snapping her out of her thoughts and she looked up. Ginny Weasley Potter was coming down the staircase, wrapped in a soft looking robe. It reminded Hermione how cold and rough her own coat was and she shrugged it off almost awkwardly.

Ginny grew up in the four years following the Battle of Hogwarts. She matured and where she was once a pretty girl, she was now a beautiful woman. Petite, curvaceous where it mattered the most, a mane of shiny ginger hair tumbling down over her shoulders and to the middle of her back in a cascade of fire. Hermione tugged at her own knotted hair somewhat self consciously. What was wrong with her today?

"Ginny." Her voice sounded coarse to her own ears so she cleared her throat. "Hi."

"Hi." The red head replied reaching the lobby and padding over to Hermione drawing her into a warm hug. "How are you? And why, might I ask, are you here at twelve in the night?"

Hermione sighed, bending down to return the embrace clumsily before quickly pulling away to face the curious woman in front of her. Ginny was quick to judge and her temper flares were legendary but she was her best female friend and she found no suspicion on the heart shaped, freckled face.

"Just here to ask Harry something." She admitted and watched the perfect, arched eyebrows draw into a frown. It reminded her how her job left little space in her life for such things as keeping her eyebrows. They were probably as bushy as two small rabbits, leaping at her every grimace. Seriously, what was wrong with her today?

"Why not just owl him or use the Floo?" Hermione sighed again at Ginny's confusion, knowing the red head meant well but having little energy or patience for the discussion.

"It's a delicate matter and with the moods as they are I didn't want to risk anyone intercepting our conversation." She said firmly and smiled down tiredly at the younger woman. "I'll only be a minute. Is he up in his study?"

Ginny nodded, grabbing Hermione's coat and stepped aside allowing the brown eyed witch to move up to the grand staircase.

"Just don't keep him up to long, he's had a rough day." The red head called after her and added as an afterthought. "And tell him I'm going to bed, so he better hurry." The smaller woman turned to the coat hanger and didn't notice the flash of pain on Hermione's features. The auburn haired woman hugged an arm to her chest, expertly controlling the pang of loneliness those words sent through her. It seemed like all her friends moved on and she was the only one stuck in the past. And it hurt every day. Smoothing her features she climbed the stairs and turned right, walking down the dimly light corridor to the very last set of doors. They were slightly ajar and she paused to take a peek inside.

A fire crackled happily in the fire place. The room was softly light by strategically placed lamps. Ginny refused to understand why Harry insisted on electrical lighting but Hermione understood the comfort one could take from their gentle glow. Harry once told her that he would stare at the small bulb in his cupboard under the stairs for hours at a time, the only bright thing in his small existence.

The room was spacious but filled with rows of books, a couple of old, worn, leathery armchairs and a big desk, making it not cramped but homey. Two large windows took up half of the wall opposite to the doors, showing the gloomy weather outside. It had started to rain. Great.

Bent over a stack of papers scattered atop the mahogany desk sat one Harry Potter. His hunched shoulders showed her the strain the day took on him. He was holding his head up with one hand, cupping it against his forehead as if to shade his eyes from light, a habit he picked up over the past four years. He sat like that when he didn't want anyone to see how worried he was. His other hand rested over the papers, holding a quill, moving here and there, scribbling down words and figures. He wore a well worn sweater and his hair grew out again sticking out above his hand. He usually wore it very short nowadays, never letting it grow over his ears. It was covering a good half an inch of his ear. He was definitively overworked. Hermione heart throbbed painfully again as she thought of how little she got to see him these days.

Steeling herself, she knocked quietly on the door. He glanced up and she watched surprise being chased by happiness transform his face. The frown lines (when did he get those?) smoothed over and wrinkles appeared around his eyes as he rose behind his desk and quickly made his way around it. Hermione stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

In three big strides he was in front of her, his long arms coming around her in a tight embrace. Hermione closed her eyes and drew him close, her arms coming around his surprisingly broad shoulders and her hands finding their place in his soft hair. Ginny did him good, she healed him. A few years back he would never be this free with his hugs. He would shy away or stand stiffly. But now his body curved down to accommodate her and for a few moments Hermione let herself forget that she was alone. Suddenly she was warm and loved and she let out a small sigh of contentment as she rested her cheek against his unexpectedly firm shoulder, tucking her head under his chin. In the year after the war, under Mrs. Weasley's careful eye he grew and filled out, creating a body to fit his adult mind. He now had a few inches over her and she found herself liking the way she fit in his arms. Dangerous thoughts.

Shaking herself she drew away but couldn't help but return his broad and earnest smile. His emerald eyes twinkled down at her as he took in her appearance. The worry lines tried making an appearance and Hermione's smile fell. She knew how she looked. Thin and straight, her body betrayed the days, weeks, months on the road, on the go, with little rest and a lot of worry. And loneliness. Seriously, was her brain against her today?

She lost the body of a little girl, lost the body of a growing woman, lost the body of the half starved fugitive and instead of growing that of a woman she replaced it with a well oiled machine of muscles and sinew, firm and straight. She yearned to be able to stop, to eat and sleep and grow curves like Ginny, to be shiny and happy. But wasn't quite there yet.

So instead she looked at Harry. What the baggy sweater hid their embrace and her imagination made up for. Harry's wasn't a soft, full body of a man of privilege but it wasn't that of the scrawny boy she knew either. His shoulders! They were so broad now and his arms were so heavy and warm. Her eyes trailed up to his square jaw, dusted with evening stubble, over his sharp cheeks, to his messy hair and back down to his eyes. They were watching her carefully now and she looked back. How many nights in the wilderness had she yearned to see them again, just for a moment, just for a little while. Stop.

Shaking herself she smiled up at him and he smiled back, content for now. Leaning down he gave her a peck on the cheek, almost startling her, and grabbed her hand, leading her to the two chairs in front of the fireplace. His hand was big and warm and slightly rough. But it was comforting, like it always had been.

Harry sat her down in chair to the left and took the other one, drawing it closer, sitting down and leaning forwards, forearms resting on thighs (When did his thighs get so thick? And why was she thinking about it? Well, to be fair the well fitted jeans weren't helping.), his curious eyes on her. Silence settled around them, not entirely comfortable but not awkward.

"So" He started quietly and she was shocked at how deep his voice was now. For a very brief moment she felt her throat close up with grief over how little she now knew about her best friend. Yes, they met over the last few years but she never seemed to pay him the amount of attention he was due. And just like that missed the most amazing transformation in him. From a sulky boy to a steady man. Oh, but it hurt! Consumed with hiding her emotions she almost missed his question. "How have you been, Hermione?"

She glanced up into his green eyes and saw nothing but honesty. Swallowing the lump in her throat she answered, her voice a bit scratchy.

"Oh, you know, not too bad." The look on his face clearly said he wasn't buying her story and she shook her head. Quicker then her conscious brain could register she reached out and took his hand, her long fingers caressing the scarred skin. "Seriously Harry, I'm doing good." His frown deepened, bringing out his worry lines and she wondered briefly when they had exchanged roles. She had always been the one to pester him about his well being and he would answer curtly and simply, unwilling to reveal his true feelings. And now here she was, doing the exact same thing, with his deep, serious eyes on her face. She tried a smile but must have failed miserably because his frown only deepened.

"Come now, Hermione." He coaxed gently. "It's me. You can talk to me." His baritone rumbled and she listened to it. It was so serious and straight forward. It was him but not him at the same time.

Sighing she let go of his hand and leaned forward, letting her head fall into her hands and her hair over her face.

"I've been better." She muttered and the sound of him shifting in his chair confirmed that he heard her. Gathering her strength she sat straight and looked him in the eye. "The past few months haven't been easy." She admitted and watched worry flash across his face before it closed up. So some things haven't changed. It was a small comfort.

Harry watched her closely for a few more moments before it was his turn to sigh and nod.

"They haven't been for anyone." He muttered and Hermione immediately knew this was true.

After Voldemort's fall they all envisioned a Britain free and at peace. But apparently a society that lived in fear and oppression that long and was still so divided, didn't stand up to such a thing. It buckled and warped on itself, creating chaos. Leader after leader rose to take Voldemort's place and she, Harry and Ron were on the frontlines of what quickly became known as the Glory War and lasted for almost a round year after the Battle of Hogwarts. The wizards who didn't fight directly bickered and warred with each other, neighbor with neighbor, friend with friend, mother with daughter, father with son all the way from Eastbourn to Thurso and back. Government after government was formed under new Ministers but none lasted longer than three weeks. It was after a particularly bloody revolution in Glasgow, known as the Sunday Massacre, where a hundred wizards and three hundred muggles died as an outright war broke out between two factions controlling the city, that Harry decided enough was enough. He stopped chasing after Voldemort supporters and wannabes and took up the position he loathed and vowed never to take. He became the Minister of Magic.

Hardened by the years of war Harry refused to be bowed and broken and tossed aside like play thing. He stood by his ideas and implemented them with ruthless efficiency. He was called many things, most not very pleasant but just three months into his reign things begun to smooth over. The society, so broken and wronged slowly begun to mend and make amends. Gradually the roads became safe again and the country side grew green, the poppy seeds growing violent red on the fields where wizard blood had been spilled. Those poppies were the sole reminders of those dark days. Harry forbade building any monuments to commemorate the war, saying that it was a failure of humanity and nothing to be celebrated. Slowly, step by step he rebuilt a broken country. And during it all Hermione was chasing down any enemies that weren't brave enough to face him. It was horribly ironic that she would be the one on the road for five straight years whilst both he and Ron (now happily settled down with Luna Lovengood Weasley and two beautiful daughters) would stay back. She always envisioned it the other way around and she guessed that she wasn't the only one. But Harry couldn't leave his position and Ron couldn't leave his family. Which left Hermione, with a warped feeling of duty. With Britain as volatile as it was she refused to return her parents there and after the Sunday Massacre she was left alone. Not really, she always had Harry and Ron, but as she threw herself into her job, Harry into his and Ron into his family, they grew apart, friends but strangers. Hermione glanced up at Harry as the thought passed her mind. Were they really? He might look different, speak different and sound different but somewhere beneath that he was still the Harry she knew, a scrawny little boy who couldn't mend his own glasses.

"Enough about me." She decided earning a dry chuckle from him. "How about you? How's the Ministry been on you these days?"

Harry leaned back in the armchair and looked thoughtfully at the flames in the fireplace.

"Hard." He answered truthfully. "I can't keep ruling the way I did when we were at war. Back then people needed saving and they needed strength and in the confusion and chaos I could get away with almost anything." He winced at this and Hermione saw a memory in his eyes but it passed as quickly as it came and he continued. "But now, I need to let the people rule but without relenting too much power." He sighed and rubbed his face before casting her a wan smile. "It isn't the easiest thing to juggle."

"We never said it would be." Hermione said quietly also watching the flames. In the corner of her eye she saw Harry shake his head.

"Enough about this." His voice became firm and Hermione saw Harry the Minister of Magic. Strong, determined, a leader like no other. "As much as I'd like to believe you came here to chat and catch up, I sense this isn't so. So, how can I help you?" He leaned forwards again, watching her closely. When did he become like a hawk?

Seeing no point in beating around the bush Hermione leaned forwards also and looked him in the eye.

"We're going after Morgen tomorrow." She stated and watched him wince. Morgen was a particular pain in Harry's backside, had been since Voldemort's fall. Smart, quick, powerful and charismatic he was, as much as Hermione hated to admit it, every bit a leader as Harry was. Every time they hit him hard he would fall back and gather more followers. People listened to him, to his sick ideas of purity, near anarchy and a world free of muggles. He represented everything Harry stood against which made him a hard opponent. They'd been after him for years, even back when Harry and Ron were both on the hunt.

"It's dangerous, Hermione. You know better than anyone." Harry mused but didn't make a move to argue for her safety. They fought that war long ago, when Hermione refused to stay at his side when he became Minister. It caused a rift between them which never fully healed. But if they managed to take Morgen down it would be the last major piece in the peace puzzle both she and Harry so desperately fought to complete. She knew it and by his haunted eyes, she knew he did too.

"We're prepared." She insisted but it sounded almost a hallow consolation in her ears.

"That's what we always say." Harry pointed out darkly and she couldn't argue with the truth of his argument. They lost so many people, so many good men and women chasing him down.

"Where is he?" Harry asked.

"Hiding in a small village in the Orkney Isles. Stromness." She filled him in on their plan and strategy and he listened silently, his eyes never leaving the leaping flames. Once she was done he heaved a great sigh and stood up, walking over to the fire place and throwing in some extra logs.

"It's dangerous." He repeated his previous statement at which Hermione shrugged.

"It always has been."

He looked at her, really looked at her and she felt vulnerable and naked beneath his gaze. These weren't things she was supposed to feel with him.

He returned to her side but instead of sitting down in his chair he knelt down next to hers. Her breath caught slightly as he reached up and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. His eyes shone with emotions and she couldn't look away.

"I worry Hermione." He said quietly his palm resting on her cheek, cupping it with such tenderness she thought she might cry. Wasn't it enough she was emotionally unstable? Did he have to throw in this openness he never showed before?

She lowered her head which made her lean into his touch and once she started she could seem to stop. Her hand came up to grab his wrist, her short nails digging small half moons in his smooth skin as she barely held in check a whimper.

"I can't let go, Harry." She breathed. From beneath her long lashed, she watched with tear laden eyes as Harry's softened in compassion.

"He's gone, Hermione. And no amount of revenge can bring him back." He said quietly.

For Harry and Ron weren't the only ones who found happiness in those dark months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione found it was well in the form of a young, brown haired and black eyed man named Jack. He was a wizard and they met as she, Harry and Ron chased Morgen across Scotland for the first time. Of the three of them Hermione never saw herself succumbing to love at first sight. But it was just what happened with Jack. Like two pieces of a puzzle they clicked. It was so right and despite everything for the seven months they spent together, she was happy. But then he left for a few days, saying he had some business to take care of. In Glasgow. And then the revolution started. When they arrived she found his body, crushed and bloodied under a pile of rubble that once was a house. Harry once told her he never heard a more terrible sound then that which came out of her throat when she saw him.

After that she couldn't seem to stop. She felt as though if she did she would die out of the grief that tore her body into pieces every day. And so, much like a shark, she needed to move, always forward, just to survive. That was when she parted ways with Harry and soon after with Ron when he learned of Luna's pregnancy. And with them gone she focused her existence on holding the frontier for Harry, like the last legions of Rome held Hadrian's Wall. And so for the past three years she moved ever onward, ever forwards, never stopping in one place longer than absolutely necessary. She traveled the breadth and length of Britain and a fair amount of the small islands surrounding it. But she never found what she was looking for. Only new opponents and loneliness. Boy, wasn't she sentimental today?

She shook herself out of the dark memories and rose, forcing Harry to move away.

"I just came here to tell you." She said in a rough voice and felt his presence behind her. When she turned around he was right there, close, so close she could see the splinters of sliver in his green irises.

"This is not good bye." He growled and she almost felt waves of power roll from him. Her body acted without her brain again and she raised her hand to trace his sharp features. Those beloved features. She felt him tremble beneath her fingers, his whole body quivering. Smiling softly she leaned up and placed a slow kiss on his jaw and watched his eyes darken as she drew away.

"It'll never be goodbye Harry, not between us." She whispered placing another quick kiss on his cheeks before withdrawing and moving to the door. He didn't follow her and she was glad for if he did, if touched her now, he'd know her heart was drumming a tattoo against her ribs and that her stomach was clenching in painful knots. This was not the way she was supposed to feel.

She stopped in the doorway and braved a look back. He stood where she left him, his eyes smoldering, his shoulders tense with those strange and foreign emotions which were playing through his eyes like an old movie.

"Ginny asked me to tell you not to stay up too long. She's waiting in bed." With that she turned and quickly made her way down the corridor, down the stairs to the front door and back into the weather which much resembled the emotions that were now tugging at her heart. She pulled on her coat quickly and took three steps before apparating away. Had she looked back she'd have seen his figure in the window.