Colour Me . . .

*****
Colour Me . . . .
***

Harry stared quietly out the window with only his own thoughts as company. He was tired of the reporters, the well-wishers and those who were just grateful everything was over and done with. He was tired with the wizarding world, the Muggle world; hell, he was just tired.

"You're still in here." He heard a familiar voice call out. He pulled himself a little closer into the shadows. He knew he was dressed in enough black to make her have to look for him in the darkened room. If Grimmauld Place was good for anything, it was hiding in the shadows. He was really starting to like the shadows. They were unassuming and created an anonymity he never had the chance to enjoy. They let him just be Harry, not The Boy Who Lived, not The Worlds Defender or any of the other stupid titles the press had come up with for him.

"I know you're here. Somewhere."

Doubt. That was something he wasn't used to hearing from them but he was used to doubt itself. He always doubted. He doubted he'd be able to live up to all that was placed on his shoulders. He doubted the claims that all the death was not his fault.

He heard his intruder moving silently through the room, trying to seek him out. He heard the soft footsteps on the ratty carpet and he stayed put.

"They've all gone home." he heard. "Draco took Ginny home shortly after you disappeared."

Draco. Now there was something he hadn't seen coming. Then again. He hadn't seen a lot of things coming. He hadn't seen the attack on Hogwarts, or Diagon Alley or even Muggle London. Draco had come over after the attack on Muggle London. He was all talk in school, had always just been talk. He had watched, a couple of times, as Draco tried to physically remove the dark mark from his arm.

"Ron is still downstairs. He's worried about you. We all are." Harry sighed as he stared out the window. The rundown buildings were doing little to make him feel better. All he could think was that it was his fault they were like this. He hadn't gotten there fast enough to stop the destruction and the death. Death. Now there was something he was familiar with. He hadn't really thought about death much before all this started. Professor Quirrel's demise wasn't really death at the time it happened. But as he looked back on things, it was murder.
He had murdered someone at 11. Sure, he wasn't a nice guy and was trying to kill him as well. But he was misguided and wasn’t thinking for himself, wasn’t thinking at all really. Quirrel was blindly following Voldemort. Harry turned slightly as he heard the containers on a nearby table being moved around.

"You. . . . You're not going to do anything stupid, right?" He heard the tremble in her voice. Ron had been up here earlier and their conversation was still on his mind.
***
"Go on then! Be the tragic hero again! Poor, poor Harry Potter!" he yelled as he stomped around the room. "Just leave the rest of the world looking for a little bit of stability, then. Forget that all we need you to do now is sit on your ass and look pretty."

Harry stayed quiet, staring blankly at Ron, the anger starting to bubble just bellow the surface.

"You don't understand!" He burst out suddenly. "I have the blood of innocents on my hands! Hell, it's everywhere! I got you father killed, both of Hermione's parents killed because I'm Harry Potter. I got Sirius killed because of some stupid prophecy Trewlaney had to have 25 years ago."

Ron and Harry stared at each other for a moment.

"Get out," he said as he turned his back on Ron. Ron stood there for a moment, somewhat shocked at what had just happened. Harry had never been that angry before. He blinked a few times before slinking out of the room, feeling like a heel.

"Well?" Hermione asked as she saw Ron come back down stairs. She got now answer as Ron headed to the fireplace.

"The Burrow!" he called as he took a handful of Floo powder and threw it down. She watched as he disappeared. Hermione frowned and grabbed her own hand full of Floo, throwing it in before sticking her head into the fireplace. She then yelled at Ron for a while, finally leaving after Ginny had assured her that she'd bring him back later in the evening.
***
"Who am I?" Harry asked, finally breaking his silence. This threw Hermione for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question."

"You're Harry," she answered, not knowing what else he wanted from her. "And I think that maybe you're a little lost right now," she answered quietly as she moved away from the table.

"A little lost," he mocked.

"You never fly anymore," she remarked, seeing the abandoned FireBolt in the corner. She ran a hand over it, wiping away months of dust and cobwebs.

"I can't fly anymore," he answered softly. She clutched the broom in her hand.

"You can't have lost your soul," she said as she turned to him.

"I must have, there's no other answer. I just feel so numb all the time. I’ve . . . . I've become so numb without a soul," he told her. They looked at each other for a moment before she hesitantly approached him. The broom still in one hand, she reached the other one out slowly and ran it through his hair, over the side of his face and down his arm until she grasped his hand.

"You don't feel numb to me," she whispered quietly. "Maybe in need of a good scrubbing," she said with a smile.

"I. . . I just . . ." he started. She dropped the broom and just wrapped her arms around him.

"I know," was all she said. "It's not your fault. I know that doesn't mean much, I just thought you should know."
*****

*****

I stood there, in the dark with Hermione's arms around me. I wasn't really sure how to react. I mean, this was a gesture that wasn't brought on by fear, it was given freely by her to myself and Ron and numerous others, though a little less frequently since Voldemort had "made an example" of her parents.


"I know," was all she said. "It's not your fault. I know that doesn't mean much, I just thought you should know."


It meant something coming from her. She had been quiet, distant for a long time now, preferring to confide in Ginny, Ron, even Draco before she'd come to me. This was what I needed. Well, some of what I needed. I wrapped my arms around her and just hung on.


"It was my fault," I told her. "If I hadn't wanted to stay at that pub," I started.


"Then I would have died, too," she told me. She pulled away and reached up to pull my face down toward her. "I may have all I need to know down in theory, but practical application of some of these spells. . . Me being there wouldn't have made a difference. If you need to, look at it as if you saved me. You kept me alive and if you need to cling to that, cling to that."


I studied her face, if for the sole reason that she was preventing me from looking elsewhere. There was a small scar above her right eye, and another by her ear. I don't remember where she got them.


"What?" she asked.


"I don't remember how you got those," I said as I ran a hand over them. "I used to remember everything about you."


"Times change," she said quietly. "You had other things to worry about."


I sighed a little and rested my head on her shoulder. "Maybe you should go to bed." I shook my head, not raising it from her shoulder. "Then what?" she asked. I thought for a moment.


"Hermione?" We jumped apart.


"Yeah, Ron?" she called, not opening the doors.


"Everything all right?" he asked. I heard him leaning against the door, but not coming in.


"Everything's fine now Ron." The hall was quiet for a moment. The floorboards creaked a little as Ron shifted from foot to foot.


"I'll just head off then."


"I'll talk to you tomorrow," Hermione told him.

"Right then." We heard him leave the hallway and then the small boom of Ron Flooing off. We looked at each other again.


"Come on," she said as she took my hand and started to pull me out of the room.


"Where are we going?" I asked as I followed her blindly. She stopped at my room and took her wand out; packing a bunch of clothes that weren't black before she handed the bag to me. Then she grabbed my FireBolt and wand.


"Let's go."


"Hermione. . . "


"Don't argue. I think it's time some one took care of you for a change."


I nodded as I followed her, tripping on the old rug a few times. I didn't want to argue. I was tired. I was tired of looking after everyone.


"I think I like that," I said quietly as I followed her blindly to the fireplace.


"Wizard's home," she called out as she threw a handful of Floo powder down and the dark room disappeared around me.

*****

*****

Harry looked slowly around the room. He had never been in Hermione's flat before. It was different from her parent's house. She had grown up in a house full of bright whites, yellows and other bright colours.

This flat was muted, the colours flat and lifeless. Darker colours, nothing like at Sirius' place. though. She had blues so dark as to almost be purple, and a green that teetered on the brink of being.

"It's not much," she said as she followed him out of the fireplace.

"It's just right," he said, his voice still flat and emotionless. He did mean what he said, even if it didn't sound like it. She smiled a little as she tossed the bag she had packed for him into the middle of the floor. He watched as she sneaked around him to lay his broom on her kitchen table.

"It's different," he said as he looked around a little.

"Is that bad?" Hermione asked as she turned to look at him.

"No," he said slowly after a minute. "Just different." She nodded and turned back to the fridge.

"Want anything?" He opened his mouth to say no, but knew she'd bring him something anyway.

"Sure," he said. He wandered over to the window and stood in front of it, just staring at the street below. He didn't flinch when he felt her lop an arm around his waist and hold out a chocolate frog to him.

"I couldn't really find anything else," she said sheepishly, opening hers without removing her arms around Harry. She smiled as she saw her card.

"Who did you get?" he asked.

"You first," she told him.

"Hermione Granger," he read. "While maintaining top grades, Ms. Granger helped, along with fellow classmates, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter defeat The Dark Lord. The Trio have since gone their separate ways with Ms. Granger returning to teach at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

She shook her head.

"Harry Potter," she started. "The Boy Who Lived, along with classmates Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, led the fight against the Dark Lord. He alone defeated the dark wizard. Mr. Potter has since withdrawn from the wizarding world for a well deserved break," she finished. "I found Ron's card the other day," she told him.

"Was he excited?"

"He ripped it out of my hands and Flooed home to show his mum," she said with a small smile.

Harry sighed; Ron should have been able to share his card with his father too, but he couldn’t.

Harry glanced at the street below again, at all the little people going about their night. They didn't understand what had happened, some didn't even know and they seemed happy in their ignorance.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. She didn't push him. She stayed where she was, her arms still around his waist. He enjoyed the warmth against his back. He also enjoyed the fact that she was undemanding, accepting his choice not to talk about things with out pushing. He liked the new Hermione.

When they had been in school, she would have pushed him until he yelled at her and she stormed out of the common room. She then would have followed him up a few minutes later and tried again before finally relenting and apologizing. She had changed a lot since school, of course, that might simply be because she was no longer lugging around masses of books, quills, inkpots and other things she crammed into her bag. She was also more confident, and manipulative.

"You should go shower," she said after a long silence. He patted her hands, but didn't move.

"Harry, I will not have a greasy git in my bed," she told him. He paused his patting.

"I'm not a git," he said. He turned to look at her. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Fine, I'll go," he said as he stalked off. She went over the duffel bag and dug out an old dark red shirt and black shorts. She couldn't take his mourning clothes away from him yet, not completely yet. She opened the door to the bathroom and threw them in before she dressed for bed herself.

She laid in the dark, listening to the water running in the other room. If only washing away layers of pain and guilt were as easy as washing away layers of dirt and grim, she thought to herself. She heard the water shut off and she waited. She heard the floor creaking as he walked around it and she heard it grow silent. She assumed it would only last for a moment but when it dragged on, she grew restless until it drove her from the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked when she saw him on the couch.

"Thinking about going to sleep," he told her.

"I was waiting for you." They stared at each other for a moment. "I'll stay on my half if you want," she told him. He stared at her for a moment.

"What are you . . ." she walked over and took his hand, leading him into her room and pushing him onto the bed before she climbed in the other side. They looked at each other for a moment before he turned his back to her, lying down. She hesitated for a moment before she settled next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist again. A silence fell over them and the soft glow of the moon and the streetlights came in the window as the two fell into a restless sleep.

*****

*****
The days passed slowly for everyone, but for Harry they simply blurred together. He didn't really care what was happening to them, or what was happening in them. He let the world worry about itself for a bit.
Hermione kept herself occupied doing nothing but busy work most of the time. Other times she just watched Harry over the cover of a book. She watched him putter around, touching her nick knacks and fingering old magazines lying on her coffee table. He still wasn't eating much, but at least he was eating something. She ducked her eyes back down to her book as he turned in his direction.

"I'm not doing anything interesting," he told her. She blushed behind her book.

"What?" she asked. He shook his head and turned back to the window. She glanced at him again, wondering why he spent hours doing just that.

"What are you looking for?" she finally asked him. He paused, and turned to face her, furrowing his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"Staring out the window. You're always staring out the window." He turned away from her and looked out the window again.

"I wonder how many of them know what happened with Voldemort, and then I wonder how the few that do know go on with their lives. How can they just move on, forget what even happened? And the muggles that cooperated with him to save their own necks, how do they go on with their lives knowing that they have the blood of innocents on their hands?"

He turned to look at a slightly shocked Hermione. This was the most he had said in several days, and the most emotion he had shown in several weeks.

"I don't know," she answered, thinking about the death eaters she killed in the war. They may have been the bad guys, but it was still taking a human life. Harry shook his head and turned back to the window.

"Do you think they're happy in their ignorance, Hermione?" She had to think about this for a moment.

"I," she started; she paused to think about this for a moment. "I don't really see how they can't be," she said quietly.

He sighed and shut the blinds. The dwindling light caused most of the colour in the room to disappear, leaving only dark tints on the wall.

He stormed off a moment later and Hermione watched him go. She knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. The saying "the truth hurts" was running through her head and she smiled bitterly as she threw her book across the room and watched satisfactorily as it landed in a heap against the wall.

"Where are you going?" she asked when she saw him come out a few moments later from the bedroom. He had changed; he was now in dark blues, almost black.

"To Ron's."

"The Burrow?" He shook his head. She understood. Molly and Arthur Weasley had taken Harry under their wing when he was 12 and she had grown closer to him after Arthur's death. The smothering mother was not what he needed right now.
"Is this guys only?" she asked. He nodded. She just about told him to have fun, but held back. "See you later," she finished as he stepped into the fireplace. He threw a glance at the copy of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ that was crumpled against the wall, but said nothing.
"Ron's!" he called out as he threw down the powder and disappeared. She stood quietly for a moment before heading to open the curtains he had shut. But when she got there, she hesitated. Hermione turned away and picked up her book from the floor, smoothing pages and brushing the cover as if apologizing to an old friend. She placed the book on the coffee table before grabbing her own cloak and wand.
"The Burrow!" she called as she headed off to get some motherly advice from the only mother the three of them had left.

*****

*****
Molly Weasley cast a quick glance over to the fireplace when she heard someone floo in. She expected it to be Ginny or Charlie or even the twins coming to give her their weekly reports about how they were doing and to ask her the same old questions: how are you, how are you doing and have you heard from Harry.

She looked up from the dishes she was waving her wand over when she didn't hear anyone calling to her right away.

"Molly?" she heard a quiet voice ask from the other room and she sighed in relief.

"In here, dear," she answered. Hermione had been coming and going from the Burrow long enough that Molly wasn't surprised she had come.

Hermione schlepped into the kitchen, feeling a little better after entering the chaos that was The Burrow. She plunked herself down at the table, but said nothing as she glanced around.

This house had always seemed so much brighter when she was a child, so full of life. Then again, when she had been a child there were still four children and two parents living in this house. Now there was only Molly and Ginny when she came home on the weekends.

Molly turned to look at Hermione and they locked eyes for a moment and she sighed, wordlessly putting on the kettle for tea before sitting down. "What did that bone headed son of mine do now?" she asked, a slight smile on her face.

"It's not Ron," she answered, shaking her head as she ran a hand through her hair. Molly understood what this was all about now.

"Now, now, it can't be all that bad," she replied.

"He can't even fly any more."

"Have you seen him try?" Hermione shook her head as she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, trying to maintain some sort of composure. Molly reached out a hand to Hermione. "He was just making a show then. You know Harry, always the center of attention," she concluded, making a stab at some humor. Hermione obviously didn't get it. An awkward silence filled the room, broken only by Hermione's snuffles and finally the kettle¹s shrill cry.

"Come on, Hermione dear. This isn't a kitchen table conversation," Molly said as she pulled Hermione to her feet, handed her a cup of tea and ushered her into the living room.

Mrs. Weasley made several attempts to pull more information out about Harry but the most she got was that he was staying at Hermione's flat and had headed off to do God knows what with Ron a few minutes before Hermione had come to The Burrow.

"And I can't even be sure that the most I'll have to do is get the drunken prats home in one piece. Merlin only knows what the two of them will do together," Hermione concluded as she stared into her cup. Molly frowned. She knew that Ron meant well, but Hermione was right, who knew what the two of them would get up to other than a little mild debauchery.

"Ron's a good man, he'll keep Harry out of trouble," she reasoned.

"Ron also still has a case of follow the leader when it comes to Harry,"
Hermione pointed out. "And Harry¹s so mad at everything and at himself."

Molly kept her mouth shut, having seen Ginny go on like this many times before.

"And he just keeps it all inside. The closest I've seen him come to wearing colours all month are the dark red and dark blue shirts he has. Everything else is black! He hardly talks any more, hardly eats and just stares out that damned window!" Hermione stopped her self for a moment. She hadn't meant for this to all come out like this, but it was and she couldn't stop it.

"He just has a lot to deal with, its going to take him some time to sort it all out," Molly reasoned.

"And he doesn't think the rest of us have a lot to deal with?" she asked.

"He doesn't think that on top of everything else I sit there day after day watching him wondering what he'll do next, worry about him?" Hermione demanded as she jumped to her feet and lost her last bit of control.

She hurled the mug across the wall and watched it smash against the brick fireplace before stomping out the door and into the yard toward the small forest behind the house.

Molly didn't try to stop her. She simply took her wand and cleaned up the tea, repairing the mug before walking calmly to the window. She wanted to do more, wanted to go after her but she knew Hermione far too well to go and do that. Hermione Granger had always been a girl who couldn't do everything at once, but tried to.

Molly knew that Hermione as going to stomp off into the forest, find that little pond she and the boys spent so many hours around and sit for a few hours; working things out for herself. She'd collect her thoughts and arrange them in as logical an order as she could before finally wandering back to the house, embarrassed by her out burst, sorry for breaking the cup and making a scene.

Molly knew her job at this point was to simply wrap that babbling girl in her arms and hold on; knowing that the ramblings would cease and the rest of the story would finally come out.

She glanced out the window as she put the cups in the sink and frowned at the clouds that had suddenly rolled over. She heard the thunder in the back ground sighed before going to start a fire, heat some blankets and dig up some clothes Ginny had left behind. She knew Hermione was going to stay out in the thunderstorm, by the pond, until her fingers were numb and her anger had rolled on.

She knew this because it was the kind of thing a mother needed to know to take care of her children and she was going to do that, even if the two that needed her the most didn't have red hair and blue eyes.
*****

*****
Ron stuck his head out of the kitchen when he heard some one floo into his flat.

When he saw Harry, he turned to the fridge and pulled out two Guinness and walked into the living room. He wordlessly handed Harry one and the two sat down, finding a quidditch match on the TV he and Harry had charmed. They sat in silence for the longest time.

"I made Hermione throw her copy of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ across the room," Harry said after the first half had ended. Ron paused mid-swallow when he heard that.

"Really?" he asked. Harry nodded and looked down, suddenly finding the rim of his bottle very interesting. Ron let out a low whistle; Hermione never did anything to mar her copy; never cracked the spine, dog-eared the pages or even pick it up without washing her hands first. "Are we talking, tossed it on a table across the room?"

"Across the room, where it hit the wall and slid down, crumpling the pages in the process." Ron sat quietly for a moment.

"What happened?" Harry shrugged; he wasn't really sure what had led to that himself. "No idea at all?"

"She asked my why I was always looking out the window. I answered her and then she responded. I went to change and I heard a big thunk. I saw the book just before I flooed over."

"She's worried about you."

"I know."

"We all are."

"I know," he said again, getting a little annoyed with Ron, who got up for more beer. Harry finished off his bottle before taking the new one from Ron. The both turned to the window when they heard the thunder. "Poor Crookshanks," Harry said absently.

"Still doesn't like the thunder?"

"Not in a dark house when he's home alone." They fell into silence again and watch the rest of the quidditch match. Ron checked the fridge.

"Want to head to a pub, mate? I'm out." Harry considered it for a moment.

"Which one?"

"Leaky Cauldron? Three Broomsticks? Hog's Head?" Ron named off a few more.

"Three Broomsticks," he replied after a moment. "Hermione's not going to like this."

"Nuts to Hermione," Ron replied as he retrieved his cloak and wand. "It's just us tonight. She doesn't like it; you can pass out on my couch." Harry nodded, that sounded fine to him. The two got ready and quickly apparated over to the little pub in Hogsmeade to drink away whatever they could.

*****

A/N: Yes, I know that Ginny has brown eyes, but for the sake of the story and making the last line work, I fudged that. Besides, I like the idea of red hair and blue eyes. I also know that there’s nothing about what has happened to Voldemort and his crony’s, but the story is not about him, it’s about Harry. Thanks also to Allie, my beta extraordinaire who though she doesn’t read Harry Potter, agreed to at least check my spelling/grammar for me.

*****
Hermione walked quickly from the house for a few strides before breaking into a blind run. She just needed to get away from everything. She knew Molly meant well, but right now she didn¹t give a damn.

She hurried through the trees, barely feeling the sting of the branches slapping her face and arm as she ran on. A slick rock underneath her foot stopped her mad dash. She lay where she had landed, trying to catch her breath as the damp ground cooled her face. She pushed up slowly, glancing at the small pond in front of her for a moment. She felt the tears start to come when she thought about all the hours they had wasted away here.

She and Ron had coaxed Harry into the water and convinced him that swimming was fun when there wasn't someone trying to drown you. She noticed the old tree with the branch Ron had broken when he was trying to show off to her. He nearly broke his neck at the same time.

She sniffled a little as she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and just sat, trying not to cry because she knew what would happen if she started to cry. She'd feel guilty about throwing Molly's cup across the wall and then she'd feel guilty for walking out and for not being able the help Harry and tell him what he wanted to hear or to help him save Arthur or Dean Thomas or keep Sirius from falling through the veil. . . .

"I'm tired," she said out loud. Her control broke and racking sobs shook her whole body as if everything that hurt her were trying to leave at the same time. It wasn't long before thunder roared and rain fell upon her bent head.

If she hadn't been so distraught, she would have laughed at the irony of it all, but instead she stayed where she was, and the rain soaked her to the skin, carrying away her tears.

She sat in the rain until her fingers and toes were numb, but she still didn't leave. She stayed until her hair was soaked. She stayed until she couldn't cry any more and felt numb all over. She stayed until the wind picked up and the storm turned nasty.

She stayed until she could see the lightening in the sky, breaking her out of her reverie. She finally got up, her common sense finally swaying the confusion in her brain enough to allow her to leave the little grove.

She slogged her way up to the house, whipping her nose on her sleeve like she had so many times when she was little and she looked up to see Molly waiting for her in the door way, blanket in hand to wrap her up in. She looked away from Molly's eyes, not ready to meet her gaze yet and kept her eyes on the ground for the last few meters before she got to the house.

Molly held the blanket out and wrapped Hermione up in it, holding her close for a moment before guiding her to a near by chair. Hermione sniffled as Molly took off her shoes and fingered the small tear in her pants, deciding if it was fixable or not before pulling her to her feet and leading her up the stairs. She pointed Hermione toward the warm bath and left when she was sure that Hermione was getting in.

Hermione sat in the tub for ages until the warmth soaked all the way to her bones and the feeling came back to her fingers and toes. She pulled herself out slowly, finding the clothes Molly left for her. She slowly dried off and slipped into them, trudging downstairs to a waiting Molly. She sat quietly as the older woman brushed and braided her hair before placing a cup of tea in front of her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, a sniffle escaping now and then. Molly Weasley patted her hand and got her own tea; in the cup Hermione had broken earlier.

"Good as new," she said with a smile. "Sooner or later, everything is as good a new," she told girl and sat quietly waiting for Hermione to start talking, which she eventually did.
*****

*****

Harry stared bleary eyed at the fire whiskey in front of him. He glanced at Ron who was trying, badly, to pick up some girl. He chuckled as the girl quickly rejected Ron, and then turned back to his own fire whiskey. Bottles and glasses of all different shapes and colours littered their table.

"Last round boys," Rosmerta said as she gave them each one more glass of fire whiskey.

"Come on now love," Ron said. "We're the quietest ones here."

"You're also the drunkest ones here. Last round," she said as she walked off with some of their empty containers. Harry finished off his glass in one swallow before picking up his new drink.

"So," Ron asked. "Feeling better?"

"Not really," he admitted as he swayed a little in his chair. Ron furrowed his brow.

"Your line was supposed to be 'yes Ron, I feel loads better.'" Harry shrugged.

"I wonder if Hermione's okay." Both of the boys paused. They hadn't thought much about how she was doing.

"Let's go see her," Ron suggested. Harry shook his head. He had a feeling that he knew where Hermione was and he didn't particularly feel like seeing Molly Weasley when he was drunk off his ass. "Right then. Home?"

"When we're done." Ron nodded and the two drank in silence. The two shakily stood up to leave as soon as the last drop of fire whiskey was gone.

"Come to my place?" Harry shook his head. "Night then. And good luck," Ron said before disapparated to his place.

Harry stood outside the little pub for a moment, enjoying the cool air before he concentrated on home, disapparating shortly himself.

"This isn't where I wanted," he said when he realized he was in the Burrow. He stared blankly at Hermione and Moll, gave them a little wave and sheepishly turned and stumbled up the stairs to Ron's old room.

***

"Well, there's one drunken prat home in one piece," Molly remarked. "Now where's the other one?" she asked as she headed to the fireplace to floo to Ron's.

"Ouch! Damn it!" Hermione heard from upstairs. She sat at the table for a moment, wondering if she was ready to deal with Harry again. When she heard the banging and swearing that was going on upstairs, she decided that she was and she headed up stairs.

"Have fun?" she asked him.

"Not really," he told her. "All I could think about was how you were." Ah, alcohol, the fastest and easiest way to loosen Harry's tongue.

"I'm okay now." Hermione walked into Harry's room when she heard his reply and found him fumbling with his shirt, stuck halfway on and halfway off. She pulled it off and the two stopped for a moment and stared at each other.

"I like your hair like that," he commented, not really knowing what else to say.

"Thanks," she said. "Fire whiskey?"

"They didn't supply muggle beer," he answered. She nodded and he turned away, taking off his pants and kicking them across the room and dug through Ron's drawers, hopping to find a shirt and he found two; a black one and a Gryffindor red one. He grabbed the red one and threw it over his head. He noticed Hermione smiling at him. "What?"

"You look good in that red," she told him simply. He looked down at it and played with the hem.

"I was starting to miss it a little," he told her as he sat down on the bed. Hermione nodded and sat down next to him.

"So was I."

"Thank you," he said after a long moment and she nodded, understanding. Another long silence fell over them before he started to talk again.

Molly came home a few hours later after she had berated Ron for taking Harry out to drink. She looked around for Harry and Hermione and when she couldn't find them, headed up the stairs and paused at Ron's door, a soft murmur coming from inside. She peaked in the room and smiled a little. The two were in bed. Harry was curled around her, and they were talking in low voices. She left them alone and she knew that things would be fine now.

*****

*****

"And just what do you think you’re doing?" Hermione asked as she saw Harry staring at a wall in her flat, waving his wand to change the colors every few seconds.

"I'm testing."

"Testing what?" she asked when he stopped on a bright purple for a moment before moving on.

"I'm tired of the colours. They're drab," he announced.

"Okay," she said as she headed to the kitchen. Things had been better for them after that night they spent curled up in Ron's bed. They had discussed much, and she was pleased with the small step they had taken toward being as good as new again.

Harry had never gone back to living at Grimaulde place after that night at the Burrow and they both preferred it that way, they had been alone for far too long. Slowly but surely, they had gotten over old wounds together and were all the closer for it.

"How about this?" he asked. She grabbed a couple of chocolate frogs and handed one to him.

"It's very. . . . . Green," was all she could think of.

"I like it."

"Get out of my flat," she told him, taking he wand and making the wall a soft blue colour. He laughed and looked at the blue.

"I like that. That is good too," he told her with a smile.

"So, when do we start?" she asked. He looked at her, assuming she would have been happy just to charm the walls.

"As soon as we buy what we need?" "I want to do more than just this room," Hermione told him as she headed to the bedroom. "I was thinking Gryffindor." Harry watched the red and gold stripes appear on the wall and he quickly changed it to red walls with a gold border. "On second thought." Hermione changed the walls to plain yellow.

***

It took weeks for them to get the paining finished, since the brushes seemed to slip quite often, especially when they were near each other.

"I like it," Hermione said as they sat on the drop cloth covered floor with their Chinese take-away. He looked over at her.

"Are you sure this time?"

"Yes," she said with a laugh. He laughed too. "What made you want to paint anyway?" she asked. He paused for a moment.

"I was tired of the dark. Hey, what do you say to heading to Hogwarts and borrowing the quidditch pitch for a while?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," Harry said as they traded boxes. "Fly away with me?"

"Never," she told him with a laugh. "Who knows what kind of indecent things you may try." Harry shook his head.

"You're covered in paint."

"Wouldn't be surprised," she commented, looking at her hands. "Most of this is because of you."

"You look so good in that shade though." She shook her head and put her box down before standing up. She got up and dipped a finger in some of the left over paint and smeared it on him before he could protest.

"It looks good on you, too." The two grew silent for a long moment.

"I know this is the corniest, most soap opera-ish line you'll ever hear, but I can't think of any other way to say it. You colour my world, Hermione," he told her quietly. "Without you, it's all shades of black and gray."

"That was pretty bad," she told him with a smile. "I understand, though."

"Good," he nodded as she leaned against him and them stared at their handy work for a little longer. Hermione smiled to herself, Molly had been right. Sooner or later, everything was as good as new.

*****