It's nice to arrive at Grimmauld's Place and not be verbally eviscerated by Mrs Black, for a change. The summer they spent cleaning the big house meant very little, in comparison to what it feels like to not have the portrait lying around anymore.

She hears the thuds up the stairs as Harry rushes up to meet her, her heart skipping a little. She's beaming right back, and then straightens her shoulders. "A witch is neither late, nor early, Mr Potter," she declares, dramatically and with a hand flourish. "She arrives exactly when she intends to."

It sounds like something an old Headmaster would've said, in his whimsy, and Hermione can't really keep the straight face any longer before she rushes over to hug him. Oh, the reunion. "It's been ages," she murmurs, chin on hooked on his shoulder. Harry still smells like home to her, no matter how long it's been. There's something about that she can't quite dare to analyse yet, so she just hugs him tighter. "Not that I don't love getting your letters. I'm sorry I rushed here, I promise to compensate for it by making tea?"