Time Heals

sticknsnitches

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 12/07/2012
Last Updated: 15/07/2012
Status: completed

Hermione deals with the ramifications of her scar in the year following the final battle

Chapters

1. Time Heals

2. chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

1. Time Heals

She had been struggling with what to wear for weeks. Ever since the `Remembrance Gala' had been announced, her thoughts had been consumed with what she would wear. This may have been expected for most witches her age, but her reasons were about as far from those of her contemporaries as possible. She wasn't concerned with the latest fashion, getting a top designer, or a particular color of fabric, she was concerned about the six inches of ragged red letters carved into her arm with a cursed blade.

************

It would be naive, and frankly insulting, to state that things in the wizarding world had returned to normal after the battle. There was a new normal now. One that involved talks of rebuilding, restructuring, restoring what was. Hogwarts was reopening, in a limited capacity, and for a shortened term. It had been difficult for her to decide what to do. The past year she felt she had aged to the point where classrooms and house crests were insignificant. But there was no denying the security and structure that the castle and classes would provide her, and after much deliberation she decided to return.

The hardest part of that decision had been knowing she would be returning alone. The boys couldn't and wouldn't. Ron was needed by his family, and he had never enjoyed classes in the first place. Harry...Harry couldn't be there. Not in that place. Not right then. Maybe not ever.

They had understood. They knew how much it meant for her to finish up properly, she even suspected that Harry knew the real reason, how she intended to hide in her books and quills and ink stained fingers for a year and not have to truly face what had happened. He didn't fault her for this, and a part of him she thought was jealous that she would have an opportunity he would not.

They saw her to Kings Cross, and if she felt awkward and out of place she didn't allow it to show. The sight of the Trio together in public caused a bit of a disruption and before she knew it she was saying her goodbyes long before she had expected to. Ron gave her a quick hug and shoved a few coins in her hand. When she looked at him quizzically he said they were for sweets like old times.

Harry stepped forward and didn't say a word, just waited for her to throw her arms around him like she always had. If his grip was a little tighter, and a little longer than usual neither of them cared. She stepped back, hands still gripping his arms and brushed his hair away from his scar before giving him a tight smile. They agreed to frequent owls and a meet up at Hogsmeade in a few weeks before she backed away through the ever growing crowd and went to round up any lost first years.

Due to her special circumstances, the Headmistress had allowed her some leeway typically not allowed. She was Head Girl, of course, but had her own tower, and permission to leave the grounds when she wished, although it would be on her head if this affected her work. It did not.

As the months passed, she fell into a solid routine. Classes, studying, tutoring, and her other duties as Head Girl. She could make easy conversation with just about anyone, but if anyone had bothered to really look at her they would have realized her heart wasn't in it.

The only time she truly felt like herself was the once a month Hogsmeade visits she had with the boys. Their owls had been coming more than she had expected, especially from Ron, and for this she was grateful. Whatever her and Ron had hit upon during the battle had fizzled out right after, but with no ill will on either side.

She was lad to see that with every visit Harry looked a bit stronger, a bit more pulled together, not quite as haunted. He had begun talking about becoming an auror and she hid the shudder that went through her at the thought of him fighting again.

Before she knew it the end of the year was approaching and the announcement of the Gala had sent a stir through the Great Hall. Younger students were imagining what robes they would wear if they were invited, while the older ones were talking excitedly about trips to the dressmakers. Only a few didn't share in their friends fervor, they were the ones who could still shut their eyes and see the very room they were in reduced to rubble, still hear the moans of the dying, smell the blood and fear, and the sight of cloth covered bodies that lay only feet from where the were right then.

The boys suggested meeting in Diagon Alley and it was a welcome change, although the increased people and activity had her on edge. Harry noticed her slightly spooked look and wrapped a strong hand around her wrist, giving it a squeeze and silently asking if this was ok. She felt calmer and gave him a smile before they continued on, feeling strangely disappointed when his hand fell away.

They paused in front of Madam Malkins, the boys discussing whether new dress robes were necessary or not. Her eyes lit on the flowing gowns in the window, noticing one especially, and then noticing the halter style neckline, and most importantly-lack of sleeves.

She doesn't know how long she stood there. Eventually Harry's repeated calling of her name shook her from her reverie. He gave her a strange look and then gave her hand a tug, Ron had decided on new robes after all.

They were swarmed by shop assistants as soon as they entered. The boys being pulled in one direction and her in the other and she fought hard to tramp down the ridiculous panic she felt.

An enchanted measuring tape was dancing about her, while a quill and notepad magically took down the numbers without being told. Questions were being thrown at her from every direction. What was her favorite color? Did she like long or short gowns? Neckline? Overskirt? Shoes to match, or a neutral?

Flustered, she answered as best she could and before she knew it she was being showed into a dressing room, the dress from the window hanging on a hook.

It took her five minutes to even look at it properly. It was gorgeous. She knew it would suit her, knew it was exactly what the occasion called for. Without noticing she had been wringing her right hand over her left forearm. A pull of scar tissue made her wince and she finally realized what she had been doing.

So there it was. Her dirty little secret. There were only four people alive that knew what lay under her ever present full sleeves. Since that day at Malfoy Manor, she hadn't allowed her arm to see the light of day. School robes and the Scottish weather allowed her to get away with it, until now.

When they had arrived at Shell Cottage she had been reeling with shock, not only from her torture at the hands of Bellatrix, but from the death of Dobby. Focusing on giving him a proper burial had, at the time, seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It was only later, after Harry had carved the elf's tombstone that she had allowed the day to catch up with her. She was never sure how she had ended up in the west face bedroom in the corner of the house, the boys never told her.

She awoke to find herself in a borrowed nightgown of Fleur's and a plaster reaching from elbow to wrist. It was dark, and in the moonlight she couldn't tell who else was in the room with her. She had scrabbled backwards in fright, inadvertently ripping away her bandage. She searched frantically for her wand until Harry's hand landed on her shoulder and he was close enough for her to make out his glasses. His mouth was moving, but right then she couldn't hear him.

After she had calmed down she finally allowed herself to look at her arm. Harry looked sadder than she had ever seen him, but right then she couldn't assuage him of his guilt as she typically would have. She was barely keeping herself from flying apart.

She brought a finger up to trace the letters. Harry's hand raised as if to stop her but he didn't. She felt like she wasn't even in her body. As if this was someone else's hand, someone else's arm. When she made it through the to the last `d' the reality of what she was seeing slammed into her and she exhaled a soft `Oh' before completely breaking down.

Harry, to his credit, only hesitated a moment before pulling her into his arms. Ron, Bill and Fleur burst in the room, alerted by her cries. Vaguely and in a disassociated way she registered what was going on around her. Ron's violent curses, Fleur's tuts as she saw the disturbed bandage and began to prepare a new one, Bill trying to calm down Ron and explain that because it was a cursed blade there was no way the scar could be removed.

Through it all Harry held her and allowed her to weep. When she exhausted herself he placed her back on the pillows and resumed his watch post in the corner. She never cried over her arm again.

The next morning she got up, got dressed, and got about the business of hunting horcruxes. They never spoke of it again. If the boys noticed she always wore long sleeves they never said a word.

But now, in this dressing room, in a crowded shop, in the middle of Diagon Alley, she was faced with the terror of exposing herself in public for the first time.

The shop girl knocked on the door and asked if everything was ok. In a blind panic she schooled her voice and told her the dress was lovely and she'd take it. It was only after the dress disappeared that she realized what she had done.

Harry was watching her cautiously when they left, but she suggested a place for lunch and Ron's eyes lit up as he steered them in the proper direction. They chatted about her exams, how Ron had been helping out at the newly reopened WWW, and just about anything else they could think of except for the elephant in the room. The Gala.

She had noticed the tension around Harry's eyes. The way Ron's mouth tightened when he let his thoughts wander. Like her, the last thing they wanted to do was go to a celebration to mark the one year anniversary of the battle.

Finally, she gathered her Gryffindor courage and brought up what they were all trying to avoid. Harry's eyes shot to hers harshly, but she didn't fault him, especially when he mouthed an `I'm sorry.' immediately after. She didn't want to get to far into such a heavy and personal topic in public, but she did want to ensure that they would all be entering together. She knew she would be unable to make it through the front door if they were not at her side.

Twin exhales of relief assured her that they too had been worried about the same thing, and plans were made to meet up early to avoid the press before attending the dreaded event.

When she returned to the castle that evening the box from Madam Malkins was sitting on her bed, and that's where it remained until the night before the Gala.

Now here she was. Less than twenty four hours away, and still agonizing over whether to wear the dress or not. She wasn't ashamed of the scar. It was a battle wound, done to her by the enemy. She wasn't even ashamed of the word. The word had no power over her. She didn't look down on herself because of her parentage and the people in her life who mattered didn't either. So she couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that was holding her back. At the core, this was personal, it was intimate, and right then she controlled who did and didn't know about it. If she walked into that gala tomorrow there would be questions and pictures and interview requests and she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with that. With a heavy sigh she moved the box out of sight and resumed her packing. This was her last night at Hogwarts.

The next afternoon found her much in the same place. Her hair and make up were finished. Her trunk was packed and she had said her goodbyes to the younger students she likely wouldn't see again. The dress was out of the box now and hung on the full length mirror, almost taunting her. Inside her trunk, on the very top, was a folded black shrug. It was her back up plan, her security blanket. If she wanted, it would be very easy to arrange the long rectangle of fabric so that her arm would never be seen.

But as she stood there, literally about to leave her childhood behind, even though in reality she had left it behind years ago, she felt that this was one of those defining moments. One of those times she would would look back on and she didn't want to do so with regret. So before she could give it anymore thought, she tapped the trunk with her wand and sent it to the holding room awaiting transport to the Hogwarts Express the next morning.

She managed to avoid the rest of the current students and faculty who were also attending, and the brief walk to the apparition point didn't give her enough time to rethink her decision.

The air was balmy, and she felt more exposed than she had ever felt before as the warm breeze brushed over her shoulders. The dress was long enough that her wand could be concealed in a holster on her thigh, easily accessible if need be. Unintentionally she barely moved her left arm, mostly leaving it pressed to her side and allowing the sheer overskirt to hide her marred skin.

Harry was waiting for her at their predetermined spot, a short alley way two blocks from the venue. He looked quite dashing in his new robes, traditional black that suited him well. Ron was running late as usual which only added to her anxiety. Harry studied her appreciatively and she felt a flush rise to her face, grateful for the dim lighting.

Suddenly his arm whipped out and grabbed her left wrist, pulling it away from her skirts and turning it into the light. “You're not wearing sleeves.” he said breathlessly, eyes fixed on the scar. She gasped at his action and tried to pull her hand away, regretting every decision that had led up to this moment, but he would not let her go.

His green eyes locked on hers “Why?” he asked, face unreadable.

“I don't know Harry. Let me go.” she struggled, feeling desperate and trapped.

His grip softened slightly, but not enough for her to get free. “You do know.” he challenged.

She glares at him now, hating him for pushing her on this “Let it be.” she almost growls, anger rising up.

“No.” he says back, his voice hard. “You think I don't know what it's like to have a bloody scar. Except mine's not so easy to cover up.”

She feels like she's been punched in the gut. Not once has thought about that. About Harry and his scar. She briefly thinks to call him out on his perpetually messy hair, but checks herself. “This is different.” she retorts, now hoping that Ron shows up so they can end this.

“It's different? How is it different?” his eyes are flashing now, and he steps in towards her, invading her space.

“She tortured me!” It explodes out of her, uncontrolled. Now that she had started she couldn't stop. “I lost track of how many times she used Crucio. But I remember how it felt while every single letter was being carved into my skin! I remember how she laughed as she pinned me down! I remember the feel of her blade to my throat!” she's screaming now, the blood pounding so hard in her head she can barely hear.

He still hasn't let go of her. Their eyes are locked and then he's pulling her to him fiercely, folding her arm between them, his other hand spread broad across her back. She doesn't even realize she's crying until a jagged sob tears from her throat. He's whispering into her hair, nothing and everything. Finally, when she's calmed some, he pulls back to look at her, finger and thumb catching her chin and tilting her head up. “This doesn't define you.” he says softly and so earnestly that she can do nothing but believe him.

Then he does the most un-Harry like thing possible. He lifts her arm towards him, and before she realizes what he's doing begins pressing the softest of kisses on each letter. Each one sends a shot straight through her, and by the time he reaches the last `d' she's no longer regretting the dress.

He lowers her arm, and finally looks at her again, eyes shining. She smiles, thanking him without saying the words, and lifts herself up on tiptoe, brushing fringe away from his forehead before placing a kiss on his scar. His eyes slide shut at the contact, and she allows her hand to trail down the side of his jaw as she pulls back.

His hands come up to cover her shoulders and he allows their foreheads to touch. “You can do this.” he whispers with conviction. “We can do this.” she corrects, and then jumps back at a crack of apparition that occurs immediately behind her. She whirls on the spot and sees Ron looking sheepish in brand new midnight blue robes.

“Sorry I'm late.” he mumbles

She shakes her head at him and sighs, opening her mouth to begin a familiar admonishment when Harry slips his hand into hers and gives it a tug. “Let's just get in there and try to remember why we're here.”

She takes a deep breath and nods her head once. She squeezes his hand but doesn't let go and slips her other hand into the crook of Ron's proffered arm. Together, the three of them step out of the dark and join the throng heading towards the blinding lights, enjoying the last few moments of anonymity. Right before the first photographer spots them she leans her head into Harry's arm and whispers `thank you'. He smiles down broadly, and grasps her hand tighter while Ron looks on with a grin.

This is the picture that graces the cover of the Daily Prophet the next morning. The Trio. Whole and healing and together.

2. chapter 2

Chapter 2

Harry arrived at their agreed upon spot a full fifteen minutes before he needed to. Already he could hear the din coming from the venue and he cast a quick distraction charm in hopes that he could have a few moments of privacy before being put on display for the rest of the night.

He didn't want to be there. Didn't want to listen to politicians, some of whom had never fired a curse in battle, to drone on about sacrifice, and duty, and leading them in toasts to the dead.

He had been assured that he would only be expected to attend, no speeches, no photo ops, and this had been the only reason he had agreed to go. He knew Hermione and Ron had no desire to be there either, although Ron had seemed a tad excited about purchasing new dress robes.

He had been thinking about that trip to Diagon Alley for the past few weeks. None of them had been themselves, but Hermione had been more distracted than usual that day and he hadn't been able to figure out why. When he had asked if she had picked out a new gown she had just nodded stiffly and changed the subject.

He had been so terribly grateful when she had suggested they meet up early to avoid having to enter individually. He hadn't known how worried he had been about doing all of this alone until she had haltingly explained her idea. By Ron's reaction he had the same concerns on his mind as well, and as usual, Hermione had foreseen the best way to attack the situation.

So this is where he was now. Waiting. There was a running list in his head of those they had lost. He couldn't get it to stop, and he hoped that during the memorial portion of the evening he didn't flinch too hard when Remus or Tonks names were called. He shook his head harshly in an effort to physically remove these thoughts. And then, as if summoned to save him from himself, there was a soft pop of apparition and Hermione stood before him.

She looked beautiful. That was his first thought. It was the dress from the shop window, he recognized, the one he had caught her staring at, not understanding why at the time.

When he looked at her closer he could see how close to the edge she was. To say she was anxious would have been an understatement. She stood stiffly, arm pressed into her dress, eyes wide.

That's when it hit him. Arms. Without thought he reached out and grabbed her left wrist, drawing it into the light and illuminating the still red scar that was burned into his memory.

For a moment he was back in that dungeon at Malfoy Manor, listening to her screams of pain. They still woke him from a dead sleep at least once a week.

They knew she had been tortured, knew Bellatrix had used Crucio, but it wasn't until much later that they knew the extent of what had happened.

They were on that sandy cliff overlooking the bay, having just buried Dobby when she had collapsed. Between the two of them, he and Ron had managed to get her back to Shell Cottage where Fleur tucked her into a bedroom, shooing the boys out in a rather impressive imitation of her mother in law. They stalked the doorway for several minutes until Fleur's shocked cry had them bursting in, Bill right on their heels.

He hadn't been prepared. He had known Bellatrix was twisted. Knew that she played by a different set of rules than even some of the more ruthless Death Eaters, but he never would have expected what he would see that night.

Fleur had buried her face in her husband's chest, whispering in distraught French. Ron saw her arm first and had to turn away, retching.

When he saw the word, carved into her flesh he stumbled, catching himself on the foot of the bed, but he wouldn't allow himself to look away. The sound of the blood rushing in his head was so loud he didn't know if anyone else in the room was talking or not.

Without taking his eyes off of her he made his way around to the side of the bed and then collapsed to his knees. Without thought he brought his hand up and began to gently trace the letters, one by one, only pausing once when she flinched in her sleep.

He allowed his head to rest on the mattress by her thigh, her arm in his eye line, never letting himself look away. Guilt crawled up inside him and made itself a nest, and he didn't know if he'd ever get rid of it, or if he'd ever want to.

At some point Fleur composed herself and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Finally he rose and moved to a chair in the corner where he sat and refused to leave until she woke up.

It was late, and he had lost track of the time when he heard her moving about. As he approached the bed she became frantic and he said her name several times, assuring her that it was only him, but she didn't seem to hear him. Not until he was close enough to touch her did she calm.

He sat gingerly on the bed, not wanting to spook her, and watched as she saw her arm for the first time. If he was being honest, it was the last place he wanted to be. The guilt ate at him, and when she lifted a hand to hover over the wound he almost stopped her, and then thought better.

His breath caught as he watched her do almost exactly what he had done hours before. Fingers skimming, reverently almost over each letter. When she reached the end she paused before letting out a quiet `Oh'. And then he witnessed something he hoped to never see again. He saw her break.

He didn't know what to do at first, but then acted on instinct and pulled her to him. He wasn't even sure she knew he was there. He heard the others come in. Ron cursed vehemently when he caught site of her arm, and demanded to know why the potions hadn't healed it yet. When Bill explained that the blade that had been used to make the cut had been cursed and therefore rendered permanent Harry pulled her to him a bit tighter. She would never get away from this. Ever.

Fleur worked around them, putting a new plaster on, consulting with Bill on if they could minimize the redness or scarring. He had some suggestions, but did not sound hopeful.

Eventually he realized she had fallen asleep, and he placed her back on the pillows before retreating to his chair in the corner. Ron offered to take his place, but he waved him off.

She woke two more times that night, but he was able to settle her back down with a few words. In the morning she had slipped out unnoticed, and when he joined them at the kitchen table their eyes met briefly and it was never spoken of again.

He had wondered over the months how she was doing, but he never had the courage to bring it up, the guilt he felt about it stopping him. He had never seen the scar since that night. In hindsight she was always wearing long sleeves, but it was Scotland in winter and sweaters and coats were a necessity so he never drew a connection between the two.

But now, in this alleyway, seeing her so nervous and self conscious, he knew she had been hiding all this time.

When the light hit her arm he was shocked to see that it looked no different than it had a year ago, still as jagged, and raw, and angry as it had been that first night. He felt like he had been punched “You're not wearing sleeves.” was all he managed to get out.

He had startled her and she immediately began trying to pull away from his grip but he wouldn't let go. “Why?” he asked. Why now, is really what he meant.

She was spooked, he could tell, but something was making him press her. She asked for him to let her go but he couldn't. He loosened his grip some, hoping he hadn't bruised her, but he wasn't going to allow her to run.

She's mad now. Eyes flashing, taking her fear and anxiety of the unknown and being able to direct it at him gave her something to focus on. “Let it be.” she throws at him in a low voice that he wasn't sure he had heard from her before.

“No.” he replies, anger of his own now responding. Why is she hiding this? “You think I don't know what it's like to have a bloody scar. Except mine's not so easy to cover up.”

It was a cheap shot, and he knows it, but it tumbled out before he could stop himself. She looks like all the wind has been knocked out of her sails. And then she rallies. “This is different.”

“It's different? How is it different?” he keeps pushing, something driving him that he can't explain, but knowing this is important.

She pauses for only a moment before the words are ripped out of her, as if she can't stop them. “She tortured me! I lost track of how many times she Crucio. But I remember how it felt while every single letter was being carved into my skin! I remember how she laughed as she pinned me down! I remember the feel of her blade to my throat!” tears are streaming down her face, and she looks so damn broken it almost kills him.

He pulls her to him, desperate to fix this. He had never been sure if she had remembered, knowing she did was destroying him. He just holds her as she grieves. Whispers `I'm sorry.' over and over into her hair.

When she begins to quiet he pulls back to look at her and tips her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “This doesn't define you.” he says, hoping she understands what he's saying. There is a flash of trust in her eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever he begins to believe they can move forward.

Without thought, he raises her arm to his eye level, her hand curling delicately over the top of his, no longer fighting his hold. He only intended to kiss her arm once, a simple gesture really, a `kiss to make it better'. But as his lips fall on the first letter, something compels him to keep going. Eight in total, and he hears and feels her gasp or a hitch in her breath with each one.

When he's done he lets her arm fall to her side again and finally dares to meet her eyes, not knowing if he's crossed a line or not. The smile she graces him with quashes the guilt just a bit. And then she's lifting up on her toes, and moving the hair off his forehead. Before he knows what she's doing, he feels her lips on his scar. His eyes fall shut of their own accord and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her hips. No one has ever done that before. Her hand brushes his face as she lowers herself back down.

It's a long moment before he allows himself to touch her, bringing his hands up to her shoulders. He lowers his forehead to hers and takes a long breath. “You can do this.” he states. “We can do this.” she replies and he smiles because that sounds more like the old Hermione.

Ron's sudden arrival causes them to jump apart. His mumbled apology is sure fodder for her to begin a classic Hermione to Ron lecture and he steps forward just as her mouth opens. He slips a hand into hers and gives it a tug to break her momentum. “Let's just get in there and try to remember why we're here.”

He can tell she knows what he's done, but she acquiesces and squeezes his hand. Ron shoots him a look over her head, and he knows he's noticed the lack of sleeves as well. Harry gives him a quick nod to say all is well, for now. This is all Ron needs, and he goes to flank her other side, sticking his elbow out comically towards her. She slips her free hand into the crook of his arm and they head out of the alleyway together.

The street is teeming, and there is no mistaking which direction they need to head. For a few short moments they are just another group of attendees, lost in the crowd. He feels her press her head into his arm and he looks down at her. `Thank you.' she whispers and he can't stop the smile that crosses his face. Ron sees the exchange and looks on with a grin. Right then a photographer from the Prophet spots them and captures this moment. She only falters slightly before lifting her head upright and steeling herself for what's to come.

They all stand a bit straighter now. A well schooled facade slipping over Harry's face. They were now `The Trio'. As those around them realized who was arriving the crowd began to part, giving them a straight shot to the front steps of the mansion hosting the event.

He sighed to himself, he hated how people he didn't know acted around him. She must have felt him tense, because the next thing he knows, she's rearranged their grip so their fingers are intertwined and he looks down quickly to give her a smile of thanks.

Someone begins clapping and then it spreads, they are walking a gauntlet of happy, smiling, witches and wizards, all calling their names and yelling out accolades. He wants to bolt.

Hermione tenses and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ron bring up his other hand to cover the one she has on his arm, giving her a bit more support. Her grip on him tightens even more and he hears her mutter “Let's do this.” before flashing the crowd a brilliant smile, even if it didn't reach her eyes.

With her to guide them, they reach the top of the steps no worse for wear. And even though he had been promised no photo ops, they agreed to one picture. When they turn, he has to let go and for a moment he assumes she'll keep her arm to her side or tuck it into Ron's again.

What she does next shocks him fully, and he is in awe of her. She raises her left arm and begins to wave to the crowd. They are too far away for anyone to be able to see clearly, and the lights are too bright, but he know the cameras will pick up the scar and he knows it will be all over the Prophet the next day. And he knows she knows this as well.

He slips an arm around her waist and lifts a hand to wave as well before leaning down to speak into her ear “You're amazing.” he proclaims and she turns to him and gives him a small smile and a shrug “Gryffindor's, right?” as if she knows she couldn't have made any other decision.

Ron's arm snakes around her waist too and she gives a little laugh as he pulls them together, hamming it up a bit for the crowd. They indulge the masses for another minute before they are thankfully pulled away.

As they enter the building they resume their previous positions and once again she laces her fingers through his. He runs his thumb over hers, as much to reassure her as himself.

They are ushered up a broad staircase to set of impressively tall double doors. Two uniformed men stand on either side and before they can even pause for a breath the doors are opened.

Two steps in they realize they are on a raised landing of sorts that looks out over a room almost the size of the Great Hall. Elegantly set tables have been placed throughout, and there is a raised dais at one end with a long table, overladen with candelabras. The small orchestra that had been playing comes to a halt and all eyes in the room turn to them.

This was exactly the scene he had wanted to avoid. He supposed it was naive to think they could have slipped in unnoticed. A man he had not seen suddenly stepped forward and put his wand to his throat, silently casting the spell to project his voice.

“Mr. Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class.” the deep voice boomed and Harry had to swallow down the bile that threatened when he heard the swell of applause. He had never wanted that damn award.

The announcer paused, clearly expecting Harry to step forward, but Harry stayed precisely where he was, not intending to leave his friends.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly and then continued. “Ms. Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class.” the pause this time was much shorter before he went on.

“Mr. Ronald Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class.” the applause continued longer than he would have liked and then they were allowed to descend the staircase. As they wove their way through the tables Hermione had to release Ron, but Harry kept a grasp on her hand, bending it behind his back a few times when the walkway became too narrow.

Eventually he realized they were being led to the raised table at the front of the room and he came to a swift halt.

The man leading them took a few more steps before realizing his charges were not following him and he hurriedly returned. “Is there a problem Mister Potter?”

“I expressly asked that we not be given any preferential treatment. We'd prefer to sit with Mister Weasley's family.” he said tightly, nodding his head in the direction of the table more towards the center of the room, surrounded by red hair.

The man began to sputter and protest and go on about table arrangements, and the Minister, and months in advance, but then took one more look at Harry's stony face and regained his composure. “Of course Mister Potter. If you'd follow me.”

The Weasley table greeted them enthusiastically and within a few short moments more chairs and place settings had been conjured and the table magically enlarged. Once they were sitting Harry felt much more comfortable. If he only focused on the people in front of him he could pretend they were at the Burrow and this was just another Weasley family dinner.

He was glad he could sit here with them and it not be strange. After the war, he and Ginny had tried to continue their relationship, but something had broken, probably him, and he couldn't give her the attention she needed, or help in grieving her brother's death. They parted amicably, her idea actually, and after a couple of uncomfortable months he no longer felt guilty whenever he saw her.

He chatted with Ron's father and tried to block out the rising noise in the room as more and more guests entered. He did notice ruefully that no one else was announced until the Minister arrived.

He had yet to let go of Hermione's hand, and she hadn't protested either. Maybe he shouldn't need a lifeline, but he did, and he wasn't ashamed.

Water goblets magically filled and she automatically reached out with her left hand to lift the glass. Ginny, who was sitting three places to Harry's right let out a gasp and covered her mouth in horror as she saw Hermione's arm for the first time. “Oh, Hermione!” she exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone else at the table, who had varying reactions as they too saw the scar. Only Bill and Fleur remained silent.

Hermione had frozen, her arm outstretched halfway to her glass. He watched her internal struggle and then once again was astounded by her as she finished her motion and picked up the water, albeit shakily, and took a small sip before placing it back on the table.

“What happened?” Ginny blurted out, earning her a reproachful look by her father and Ron.

“I got it in the war.” Hermione replied, unnecessarily, as that much was evident. The grip she had on his hand was even tighter and he turned towards her in his seat to both give her support and shield her.

“Who could do such a thing?” Ginny went on, unheeded

Ron reached behind and grasped her shoulder and Harry heard him whisper “You don't have to tell her.”

Hermione gave Ron a swift smile and tight nod before turning back to his sister. But when she answered she turned her gaze on the Weasley matriarch instead. “It was Bellatrix.”

Molly never looked away, but her eyes immediately swam with tears as the two women shared a moment. “Oh my dear.” she said softly “And will it never heal...” she trailed off, obviously noticing how fresh the wound still looked.

“Never.” Bill supplied, “Cursed blade.”

The silence was deafening and then George, bless him, cracked a joke at Percy's expense and the regular chatter resumed.

Hermione sat back in relief, air exiting her lungs in a `woosh'. “Well, that's done.” she said mostly to herself.

They didn't have to wait long before the official parts of the event began. There were speeches and toasts. The three of them had to stand one more time as they were recognized by the Minister. Eventually the dinner portion started and they were able focus on the food and the others at the table.

Harry had to, at some point, let go of Hermione's hand so that she could eat. She gave him a sly smile and then grabbed his hand again when she saw how disappointed he looked at their loss of contact, and placed in on her knee. Seems she needed the contact as much as he did.

While Hermione had never been shy with contact, hugging him whenever the mood struck her it seemed, he had never reciprocated that often. But tonight he couldn't seem to stop, but it didn't feel strange or wrong, it felt right. And maybe that's what was so confusing.

If anyone else noticed that the two of them were sitting closer than usual they didn't mention it. His hand on her knee was well covered by the table cloth. At some point he began drawing small circles with his thumb and felt the hard edge of what could only be her wand strapped into a thigh holster. He hadn't noticed her lack of wand until now, but realized there was no where else on that dress to hide it.

She cleared her throat softly and he saw that he face was a bit flushed and stopped the movement of his hand. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Ginny looked up right then and saw Hermione's red face and his guilty expression and gave them a knowing smirk which only made Hermione go more red.

He began to remove his hand but she stopped him and gave his hand a pat as if to say `Stay, but behave.'

Part of Harry's arrangement with the organizers was that he wouldn't have to do anything ridiculous like lead the dancing portion of the night. Thankfully they listened to him and after the last course had been served, several tables were magically vanished and a dance floor revealed all without his name being called.

The younger crowd headed for the floor enthusiastically, and from their table George allowed himself to be pulled away by his date, Angelina. A boy Harry didn't recognize came over to ask Ginny to dance and she disappeared with him. Even Bill and Fleur joined the crowd, eager to enjoy one of their first outings without the baby.

Luna Lovegood wandered over from a nearby table and merely pulled Ron up by his hand without saying a word, and lead him away. Harry and Hermione stifled laughs at his slightly gobsmacked expression.

As a slower song began the rest of the table began to clear out, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, until it was just Harry and Hermione left.

“Looks like we've been abandoned.” he observed dryly, glad to see her smile.

“You could always ask me to dance.” she said

“Or you could ask me to dance.” he countered cheekily

Her eyes lit up “Touche' Mister Potter.” and then held out her hand.

He slid his into hers automatically and lifted her from her chair in one, thankfully smooth move.

They kept to the outer edge of the dance floor and at first he tried to hold her in a more formal pose, until she moved closer and aligned her body with his. One hand rested on her lower back, the other on her hip and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her head over his heart. It was more a swaying hug than a dance but neither of them seemed to mind.

She took a shuddering breath and without thinking he pressed a kiss to her hairline, causing her to look up at him in surprise. “I couldn't have made it through tonight without you.” he admits

“Me either.” she replies before stretching up on her toes to give him a tight hug around the neck. He could feel her lashes against his throat and when she put her head back where it had been he wondered if she could hear how fast his heart was beating.

One more song and then Ron and Luna came over to them and they switched dance partners. As the night progressed, he found himself relaxing and actually having a good time. He danced with Ginny and Fleur and even Mrs. Weasley. There were girls who he didn't know who asked him for dances but he politely turned them down, put off by their jittery, over excited behavior.

“You fancy one more with me or are your feet dead.” Hermione asked with a smile

“For you, I think I can manage.” and he pulled her into him, glad when she once again laid her head on his shoulder. He had to school his traitorous hands, as they kept wanting to rub circles over her back and his thumb seemed drawn to her very inviting hipbone.

Hermione had inviting hipbones? Since when, his increasingly befuddled mind asked. But if she minded she didn't let on and if he wasn't mistaken the new cant of her head was causing her lips to occasionally brush his neck when she spoke. He swallowed audibly and was about to work up the courage to say something when the enchanted voice of the Minister broke over the crowd.

“If we could have your attention please. As this evening draws to a close we would like to unveil the design for the new war memorial which is to be erected on the grounds of Hogwarts in the coming days.”

A hush had fallen over the attendees. Most people stopped where they had been dancing, but Ron made his way over to them.

A shining silver fabric had been draped over the model of the memorial, and when it was lifted there was a collective gasp. It was perfect. Exactly what a memorial should be. Not too ostentatious, or pretentious, and around the base he could see carvings of what could only be the names of the deceased. As the memorial began to rotate, so that it could be seen from every angle, a screen appeared behind the dais and on it the names of those that were lost began to scroll.

Hermione made a sound he hoped to never hear again and hunched over as if she'd been punched. He stepped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist and she clung to it as if it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

The names didn't seem to be in any particular order, and suddenly there was Fred. Ron blanched and Hermione's left hand quickly shot out to cover Ron's right which was now clenched in a fist at his side. Harry dropped a supportive hand on his friend's back and this is how the trio stood as the rest of the names went by.

When Remus's name appeared his eyes stung and he dropped his head to the crook of Hermione's neck, trying to control his breathing. She let go of the arm at her waist and reached up to run comforting fingers through his hair.

When Harry finally felt like he could look up he saw Tonks and his thoughts turned to his godson. Hermione turned her head to look up at him and gave him a sad smile. He returned it and pressed another kiss to her temple. When she turned back to face the screen she settled towards him more solidly.

With every name he felt a pang. Most he knew, some he didn't. There were far too many.

When the last name faded away the large room was completely silent. Quietly the Minister thanked them for coming and wished them a good evening.

The dance floor was quickly evacuated, but the Trio stayed as they were and then as a unit approached the memorial. Anyone else who had wanted to do the same hung back and allowed them this moment.

It was still spinning slowly and as it turned again Hermione reached out a hand and let it gently trace over the name of Fred, and then Remus, and then Tonks. Without saying a word to each other they turned at the same time and walked out of the room the same way they had walked in.

In the foyer the rest of the Weasley's were waiting for them, Molly dabbing at red eyes. She insisted they all come for dinner that Sunday and they agreed. A round of hugs and kisses and they were once again on the street, which was thankfully not as crowded.

The temperature had dropped drastically and Harry shrugged out of his jacket when he saw the goosebumps on Hermione's arms. He dropped it over her shoulders and she smiled her thanks.

Ron cleared his throat nervously “Uh, Luna sort of asked me to go see this thing afterwards...” he flushed red and scratched the back of his neck before continuing “I'm not sure if it even exists, but she asked and...”

Harry decided to put his friend out of his misery. “No worries mate.”

Ron grinned broadly before giving Hermione a loud smacking kiss on each cheek and a thump to Harry's back, and with a crack he was gone.

“So...” he started, suddenly unsure of what to say or do. But when he looked at Hermione he realized her whole demeanor had changed. She seemed to have deflated, his coat swallowed her up and she looked almost frail.

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked worriedly, hands coming up to grasp her arms, afraid she might topple over.

She allowed herself to lean forward until her forehead touched his collarbone and she let out a long exhale “I'm just so tired.” she said wearily. “Please Harry, take me home.”

He didn't think twice, just wrapped her up and with a practiced twist apparated them to his flat with nary a sound. It didn't occur to him that she may have meant for him to take her someplace else, but she didn't protest.

Although he had been willed Sirius's home, he had never felt comfortable there. He and Ron had stayed at the Burrow for a few weeks after the war, but soon Harry had realized he needed to get out of there and be on his own. He had found this place rather quickly. It was outside of wizarding London, but close enough that he could walk to Diagon Alley easily. Living amongst muggles gave him anonymity, and for that he was grateful.

They apparated into a short hallway and with a wave of his hand the protective wards around his door fell away. He guided Hermione through the narrow passage, concerned at how much of her weight he was supporting. He kicked the door shut behind him and waved a hand again, restoring the wards.

It was only a short walk to the living room where he carefully helped her sink into his plush red couch. The coat still envelope her and her eyes were shut, dark lashes standing out starkly against her pale cheeks.

He felt completely helpless when inspiration struck “Tea?” he said suddenly “Would you like some tea?”

She nodded once, still not opening her eyes and he headed for the kitchen. The familiar routine of filling the kettle and setting it to boil on the stove gave him a few moments to clear his head.

Tonight, with Hermione had been well outside their established norms, however, it didn't feel wrong or weird, it actually felt very right and he wondered if she was thinking the same.

The sharp whistle of the kettle broke him out of his thoughts and soon enough he was setting a steaming cup on the table next to the couch.

She had kicked off her shoes while he was gone and drawn her legs up next to her, wrapping the coat around her more securely. When he sat down next to her she blinked up owlishly at him and gave him a tired smile.

“How are you?” he said with concern

“Just tired. Mentally, I'm just exhausted.” and then scooted to her right some until she could lean into his chest. His arm came up automatically to allow her access and then settled down around her waist.

“Hermione...” he began until she cut him off

“Shh. Not now. I know. We need to talk. But not now.” her hand emerged from the coat and reached up to stroke the side of his face. “Can we just be?”

And he understood what she meant, nodded his consent and then trapped her hand under his before pressing a kiss to the palm and then clasping it to his chest.

“That sounds good.” he assures her, “Actually, that sounds perfect.” and for the first time in maybe his entire life he shut his eyes and he was content.

3. Chapter 3

She remembered where she was and the night before prior to opening her eyes. Early morning light was diffused by the drawn blinds in Harry's flat, and other than a slightly asleep right hand and the fact that she was overly warm, she was quite comfortable.

Harry's breathing remained even and she risked raising her head a bit to glance at him. She smiled at the sight. His head was tipped back, mouth slightly open, and his glasses askew. Quietly as she could she slipped out from underneath his arm, wincing when he muttered and moved, but he quickly settled back down. She plucked the glasses from his face and laid them on the side table before grabbing her shoes and heading towards the foyer.

With his coat still wrapped around her she paused, conflicted about what to do next. She hadn't thought much about what had occurred last night, breaking habit she had instead just gone along with the ride. But now, in the silence of his flat, alone with the very real reality of what was going on she was confused.

Her and Harry. She cared for him, obviously. Loved him, yes (but how? a voice in her head whispered) Would do anything for him, she had proven this. He was her best friend and they had seen and done things together that no one else could understand. She always had a suspicion that that was one of the reasons he and Ginny hadn't worked out, although she had never said a word to him about it.

But how he acted towards her last night...that was different, and she liked it. Only once had she ever allowed herself to consider Harry as something other than a friend. That night in the tent, not long after Ron had left them. He had shocked her completely by asking her to dance. It was the effort he put in that affected her the most. He was just as miserable as she was, but he shoved those feelings aside to cheer her up. It was a beautiful gesture. And when they parted, she'll never forget the look in his eyes. It was possibly the most honest and open exchange she had ever had with another human being and they hadn't said a word. In the end she stepped away. Chose the safe path. And she knew he understood. Knew he hadn't been disappointed in her decision.

But if she's honest with herself, sometimes she wonders `what if'.

She was so lost in thought she didn't hear him come up behind her. Didn't know he was there at all until the weight of his coat was being lifted off her shoulders. She started at the action and spun quickly, hand starting to head for her wand in it's holster until she saw it was just Harry.

Just Harry who looked downright gorgeous right then. He'd loosened his bow tie at some point and let the ends dangle around his neck and had undone the top two buttons of his formerly starched white dress shirt. His glasses were still off, and the overnight stubble combined with his sleepy eyes made for a very pleasing look.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but she could detect the strain in his voice.

“Ah, No! I mean yes! I mean, no?” she stammered, feeling like she had just been caught trying to sneak out.

He tried hard to school his features to not betray the slight hurt she had just inflicted but he wasn't entirely successful. “You're welcome to stay.” he said softly “But I don't want to keep you if you have plans.”

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes for a moment to center herself and think. She couldn't run. She remembered him trying to talk to her last night and she had asked him to wait. She owed it to him to stay and figure this out. She owed it to herself as well.

“Of course I'll stay.” she replied, glad to see his eyes light up.

“Brilliant! That's excellent. Really, excellent” he said, sounding so much like a much younger Harry that she took pity on him and removed the coat from his hands to hang it on the rack behind her.

“Go, make us some tea.” she suggested, shooing him in the direction of the kitchen “I'm just going to go...” and she gestured down the hall towards his bathroom.

They did an awkward shuffling dance as for a moment they both tried to step into the same space, but eventually he grabbed her by the waist and halted her movement so he could step around her.

Her cheeks still flushed she leaned against the cool porcelain sink in the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror. The `morning after' look may work for Harry but it certainly didn't work for her. Her make up from the gala was long gone, and the carefully constructed up-do she had managed had half fallen down, not to mention her dress was rumpled beyond all hope and she was fairly certain she was going to have a permanent indentation in her thigh from her wand.

When she walked back into the kitchen she saw that he had reclaimed his glasses. Her hair was down now, and without her heels she was a good six inches shorter than him. She was well aware that she most likely looked like a little girl playing dress up.

He pressed a warm mug into her hands and she smiled gratefully, taking a moment to inhale the fragrant steam and gather her thoughts.

He was looking at her expectantly, except she had no idea how to start this conversation.

“So...” he began

“So...” she replied, not trying to be amusing but he began to laugh anyways and before she knew it she was was joining him.

“This shouldn't be weird, should it?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly

“No, but, it's not weird. I think that's what's making it weird for me.” he said with a shake of his head “I know I'm not making sense, but”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand “Actually, you're making perfect sense. That's exactly how I feel.”

Their eyes locked and suddenly the atmosphere in the room became charged. He advanced on her slowly, never breaking his gaze, and then the tea was being removed from her hand.

His hand came up to brush her cheek “Do you know how much you mean to me?” he asked

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow twice before she could respond “Probably as much as you mean to me.”

“So what is this then?” he questions as his hand becomes bolder, stroking down her jaw line and under her hair to cup the back of her neck, his thumb brushing over the shell of her ear.

She was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what she wanted to say. “I think...” she began shakily “I think this is the natural progression of things.”

“I was hoping you'd say that.” he replied with a grin before dropping his gaze to her lips. That was the only warning she got before his mouth was on hers.

The hand that wasn't on her neck wrapped around her waist and she felt herself being pulled up into him. She was on her toes now and after only a moments hesitation began to participate in the kiss herself.

`You idiot' she thought `You shouldn't have walked away in that tent', mentally chiding herself.

When he sat her back down she hoped she'd never forget the slightly goofy, entirely adorable look on his face. He looked happy she realized, and it was because of her.

She gave a very uncharacteristic squeal combined with a very characteristic hug and launched herself upwards to wrap her arms around his neck. She burrowed her head in his open shirt collar, pressing her lips to his warm throat and enjoying the gasp he let out when she did so.

A loud thunk caused her to lift her head and she saw a Daily Prophet land in the open windowsill.

All the anxiety she had last night came back to her in a rush and and she pushed away from his shoulders and lowered herself back down quickly before stepping out of his embrace and heading for the paper.

She opened it after only a moments hesitation and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding when the large above the fold photo was one of the three of them walking. He was right behind her then, looking over her shoulder.

“That's quite nice.” he said, studying the picture. She liked how the Hermione in the photo went from laying her head on his shoulder and looking up at him with a smile to looking straight ahead, determination plastered all over her face. She liked how they were all connected, their hands intertwined, her arm through Ron's. With one shot anyone who looked at that picture knew who they were to each other.

But she knew that couldn't be it. There was no way a paper like the Prophet would ignore one of the biggest stories of the year. And once she flipped the paper all the way flat she saw it.

It took up the bottom left corner, a bigger shot of the three of them at the top of the stairs waving and then an inset close up of her arm. `War Heroine Scarred in Battle?'

She felt slightly light headed and was grateful when once again his arm wrapped around her waist like it had the night before, giving her the support she needed.

She allowed herself to sink back into him until her legs didn't feel like jelly and then she gripped the counter in front of her and tried to read the article. She didn't get very far. It was pure speculation. Because no one knew the story, there wasn't a story to tell, and every paper has to tell a story. The writer must have gone to the same journalism school as Rita Skeeter because the way it was written, these `speculations' were being presented more like assumptions of truth. When she got to the one that suggested Harry had her carve the word herself to pass as someone who wanted to defect to the other side in order to gather intelligence the words began to swim and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the couch with Harry crouched in front of her pushing her hair out of her face.

“How...how could they write that.” she stammered, half angry, half horrified. “How could they think you could ask me to do such a thing!” her eyes were shiny with unshed tears and she could see the simmering rage he was trying to keep under control for her benefit.

“Hey. It's not true. You know it and I know it. It does't matter what anyone else thinks.” he said as calmly as possible, capturing her face in his hands and brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. He leaned in and was about to kiss her when there was suddenly a frantic pounding on his front door.

“Oi! Harry! Have you seen the Daily `Rag' this morning?” bellowed Ron's voice from the hallway “It's complete shite! You can't let Hermione see it, she'll go bananas. Rotten bastards, going on about things they couldn't even understand much less...” but his rant was cut off by Harry opening the door on him.

“Good, you're up.” Ron said by way of greeting and stormed past him straight into the kitchen where he rummaged around in the fridge, his current rant being lost into it's cool interior.

He came out with a two day old chicken leg which he was now brandishing about as he continued. “You should hear Mum and Ginny, if you think I'm hot, the two of them shouldn't be let near Diagon Alley or Dad won't be able to handle the scandal. You've read this, right?” he asked Harry again, shaking the offending piece in his face before taking a large bite of chicken. “She can't see this, mate. I don't know what you need to do, but you got to keep it away from her.” he said around the mouthful, but luckily they were well used to Ron talking with his mouth full and understood every word.

“She's already seen it.” she replied, Ron's ranting actually helping to calm her down some.

His completely shocked look as he caught sight of her helped as well. And then he took in her appearance, both their appearances actually and his face changed from shock, to mocking incredulity.

“Well, well, well. Ms. Granger, do you have something to say for yourself.”

“What?!?!” she exploded “We didn't...I mean...not THAT...not that it wouldn't, I mean, we are...no, we're not...we don't really know right now...and, I mean...I love him, but that's not the point...ARGH! Ronald Weasley!!” she sputtered and fumed, tripping over words and almost over her own feet as she stood abruptly in order to pummel his arm.

Harry looked like someone had slapped him in the face with a board, and frankly so did Ron as he wasn't even trying to stave off her attack.

“Whoa!” Ron exclaimed “I was just messing around a bit. I thought you just fell asleep on Harry's couch like you have loads of times.” he turned to look at his friend, who was still in his coma like state. “So you mean...Sweet Merlin...you mean something actually happened between you two.” he said, gesticulating wildly between the two of them, chicken all but forgotten.

She open and shut her mouth a few times, unable to reply. Harry finally shook himself out of whatever stupor he was in and walked right up to her. “Did you mean it?” he asked, so quietly she almost didn't hear him, and he sounded so hopeful, but so scared.

“M...m...mean what?” she finally got out, honestly unable to remember all that she had just said.

His hand came up again to cup her jaw “When you said you loved me.”

“Oh.” remembering now, that she had indeed said that, and then she too brought her hand up to brush across his cheek. “Of course I do, you silly man.” and she realized she did. She knew already she loved him, but this was just another facet of how she loved him.

His eyes shone and he was looking at her as if she had given him the world. “No one has ever told me that before.”

“Of course they have, Harry.” she said incredulously “There are tons of people who love you and have loved you.”

“I know that, but you're the first one who has ever said it.” he admitted, and her heart swelled for him.

“Oh, Harry.” she exclaimed unable to keep herself from once again flinging her arms around him.

She pulled back and let her forehead rest on his, and just as she was about to capture his lips with hers Ron once again interrupted.

“Oi! Knock it off!” he yelled, this time from the kitchen “A bloke's trying to eat in here.”

She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and kissed him quickly before grabbing his hand and pulling him behind her into the kitchen.

“You two through? There needs to be some ground rules or something. I mean, I'm thrilled and all that, and about time, and good on you, but we've got to figure out a system if this is going to be happening.” He had procured another leg of chicken and once again wasn't paying attention to where it was going as he spoke.

“How about we just stick with you knocking before you come in and I think everything will work out fine.” Harry said wryly

Ron agreed to these terms over another mouthful of food and then they all turned their attention back to the paper.

“How do you want to handle this?” Harry asked, his hands settling on her shoulders

She took a deep breath before replying “I'm not sure. Part of me says it's no one's business, and part of me says I shouldn't be quiet because it will look like I'm ashamed. I've spent the past year ignoring it.” she admitted and he squeezed her reassuringly “But I can't ignore it anymore. Maybe a written statement would be best. I could control what information went out and then that would be the end of drivel like this.”

“I'm sure Dad could help you set that up.” Ron said, already finished with his `snack' and much more easily understood.

“That would be great.” she agreed, nervousness creeping into her stomach as she was already worrying about what to say and how to say it.

“Hey. It'll work out.” Harry reassured her and she smiled at his words

“I know. And thank you both for your support. And your mother and sister as well Ron.” she grinned at this, the mental image of both Weasley women infuriated on her behalf was quite heartwarming.

“It's just...” and she trailed off, not wanting to bring the topic up, but knowing she had to

“What?” Harry asked, voice full of concern

“It would have to be soon. I don't...I don't want any of this to overshadow next week.” she bit her lip nervously waiting for his reaction.

His hands fell from her shoulders and she felt him back up a step. She knew he was trying to avoid it all costs. They had only spoken of it once and it hadn't ended well.

The memorial that had been revealed at the gala was being dedicated, at Hogwarts, a week from tomorrow. Harry had been requested to give a speech and there was no possible way for him to say no considering the occasion.

The closest he had been to the site of the final battle were the visits to Hogsmeade over the past year to visit her. It had not escaped her notice that he had never once looked in the direction of the skyline where you could just make out the tallest spire.

The topic of Hogwarts was never broached. She had found she could talk about general things like her classes, or the goings on of the students, but the few times she had brought up the reconstruction work he had shut down emotionally and their visit was usually over.

Personally, she was ready for the dedication. The castle was almost back to how it was pre-war, the oldest students who had fought were now graduated, and they had all survived the first year. Something to mark the sacrifice of those they had lost and the impact that the war had had was important in the healing process, and something that she was just beginning to realize she needed to move forward with herself.

She had long known that Harry had not been moving forward, not really. He may have physically improved, and his general attitude was better, but she knew that he avoided discussing the war at every opportunity, and with her returning to school she had not had the chance to try and help him.

Ron, no doubt aware of the growing tension in the room, announced he was going to go speak to his father and would owl them later with the details and then with barely a good bye was out the door faster than you could say `self preservation'.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself before turning to face Harry. His arms were crossed and he was staring stonily at the cook top.

She tried not to be hurt when he flinched at her touch, just laying a hand on the bunched muscles of his back. “Harry.” she started hesitantly “I know...I know this is difficult, but it's one speech and...”

The look he shoots her is heavy “It's not just `one speech'.” he grinds out, and shakes off her hand before exiting the room.

Tears spring to her eyes and she bites back the sting of his words. She follows him and finds him sunk into the couch, head cradled in his hands.

“I can't Hermione. I just...can't. Not right now.” he says, his voice rough and he doesn't look her direction.

“Ok.” she responds “I understand.” and then she was at a loss for what to do. She was expected at her parents house this afternoon, but right now it was the last place she wanted to be. Her trunk was probably on board the Hogwart's Express right now, completely inaccessible, and she was still wearing her gown from last night.

Harry must have had a similar thought because suddenly he was pulling the loose tie from around his neck and undoing his cufflinks. “I've got to get out of this.” he said harshly, getting ready to storm past her down the hall to his bedroom.

Taking a chance she reached out a hand as he passed and clutched a handful of his shirt. Startled, he looked down at what had stopped him and then followed the arm up to her face.

“Oh Gods, Hermione.” he exhaled before pulling her to him, hands grasping at the extra fabric around her hips as if he could somehow pull her inside him.

“It's ok.” she soothed, stroking a hand through his hair, his head buried in her neck as he tried to calm himself down.

“I'm so sorry.” he mumbled and she reassured him again that there was nothing to be sorry for.

After holding him for several more minutes she finally pulled back. “Go change. Take a shower if you want and then we're going to discuss this.” his eyes flashed once and he opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off “You can't put it off anymore. You just can't.” If he wanted to continue to argue with her he clearly had decided to try later and just gave her a stiff nod.

He was halfway down the hallway before he came back “What about you?” he asked, gesturing to her gown.

She explained her predicament “I'm afraid my trunk is somewhere in Scotland right now.”

He flushed briefly before suggesting she borrow something of his. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded that that would work fine.

She had never been in his bedroom before. It wasn't very large, and didn't have much in the way of decoration, but what there was was very reminiscent of the Gryffindor dormitories.

He grinned sheepishly at her, snatching up dirty clothes that seemed to cover almost every available surface and tossing them into a mostly empty closet before she could look to hard.

She wandered over to his bedside table and saw a collection of photographs, some wizard, some muggle. The one closest to the bed was a candid shot of the two of them, taken from afar. It took her a moment to figure out where it was and then she realized, it had been at Dumbledore's funeral. In the photo, she went streaking across the grass to throw herself into his arms.

He came up behind her and saw what she was looking at “That's the last photo of us Colin took.” he said sadly and then pushed the bundle in his arms towards her. “It's all I had that was clean and had a chance of fitting you.” he said apologetically.

She assured him it would be alright and headed to the bathroom in the hall to change.

Once inside, she leaned against the solid wood of the door and let out a long breath. The clothing in her hands finally registered and she looked down, only to discover he had given her a pair of boxer shorts and his quidditch jersey from the last year he had played.

Her cheeks flamed red. If you had asked her yesterday what she had thought she'd be doing twenty four hours in the future, this wouldn't have been in the realm of possibility. She probably would have said she'd be doing a crossword puzzle with her parents.

Before she could change her mind she took off the gown and hung it on a hook on the back of the door, and slipped on the shorts and jersey. When she bent over to unhook her wand holster her hair slid over her shoulder and she caught a glimpse in the mirror that gave her pause. `POTTER' in five inch high letters was displayed across her back.

No. She wasn't even going to think about going there right now.

Quick as possible she finished up and padded down the hallway into the kitchen. She could hear running water and assumed Harry was still in the shower. She kept herself busy making more tea and some toast and was about to sit at the table when a noise from the doorway caused her to look up.

It was just Harry. Hair still damp from the shower, jeans and a t-shirt and bare feet. But his eyes were dark and then suddenly he was right next to her, one hand fisted in the material at her side, the other wrapped around her neck to pull her in and before she can so much as utter a sound his mouth is on hers.

This kiss was different, it was demanding and possessive and it felt like her heart was about to flip out of her chest. All coherent thought left her, and all she could focus on was him. When he finally pulled away for much needed air she gave a breathy laugh “That was...wow...what brought that on?”

But he was still looking at her like that, hands skimming over her back. “Do you know what it does to a bloke to see a girl in his clothes? To see you in my jersey?” his voice is like nothing she has ever heard from him before, and cool heat is swirling in her belly, making her mouth dry. And then she shocks him by grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him to her.

Next thing she knows her back is being pressed into the counter that had been three feet behind her and his hand has found her knee, which is now, somehow halfway up his thigh. His thumb has found the groove left from her wand and he seems determined to explore that line as thoroughly as possible. As he moves from her lips to her neck there is an impatient `hoot' from the window and they slowly break apart to see a Ministry owl looking at them with disapproval.

The owl has such a look of disapproval that by the time she takes the letter from it she's red with embarrassment. “Oh go on.” she says irritably to the creature, who merely turns tail and leaves.

“It's from Mr. Weasley.” she says, tearing open the seal and scanning the short note. “He has an acquaintance at the Prophet, not the writer of the article.” she added quickly at the flare of Harry's nostrils “Anyways, he says she can meet with me tomorrow morning and they'll have the statement in the afternoon addition.”

The reality of the situation caused her to slump against the table as she realized what she was agreeing to do.

“You don't have to go through with this.” he said

“I know. But if I don't...I'd rather people know the truth, if only because of principle.” she explained, shakily, somewhat second guessing her decision to not hide her arm last night.

“Hopefully this will be the end of it and then we can move on. Like I said, I don't want this drawn out, next week is going to be difficult enough as it is...” she was just talking out loud now, and hadn't mean to bring up the dedication so soon, but as she witnessed Harry's reaction and immediate attempt to withdraw she knew it was something they couldn't put off any longer.

She approached him slowly, before reaching up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his scar and then grabbed his hand and towed him into the living room, pushing him down on the sofa and then curling up next to him, but giving him space. “Now. You need to talk about the war.”

4. Chapter 4

She wanted him to talk about the war. Like it was one thing. One thought. One moment. It was so much more than that and she knew better, she had been through most of it with him. His emotions were so high right then, he wouldn't be surprised if he was vibrating.

And she just sat there, calmly, waiting. The only betrayal to her composed demeanor was how she kept tracing her scar with the thumb of her right hand. He was quite sure she had no idea she was even doing it.

He finally raised his eyes to hers “What do you want me to say, Hermione?” he said, voice strained. “You know you're not much better off than I am. Don't think I didn't notice you had you wand in a holster under your dress. Did you think Death Eaters were going to pop out of the cake last night?” he was being unnecessarily cruel, but she was pushing him on this and he felt like pushing back.

She sighed deeply before clasping her hands together purposely. He could see the struggle in her face to ignore his jabs. “Fine then, I'll start.” she said decisively “I have nightmares. All the time.”

Her admission stunned him. He didn't know why he would have thought he would be the only one affected. She wasn't looking at him now, fiddling with the hem of his jersey, but she continued to speak.

“I have two different ones.” she said shakily, and he wants to stop her, but he wants to hear it as well. “One is with...Bel...with her. It's starts like it happened, she's torturing me, trying to get me to give her information about the sword, but it never ends. It just keeps going, you never stop her.” she pauses for a moment and wipes her wet face and he hears her swallow audibly before continuing. “The other one. It's about you. Hagrid brings you back, but you're really dead.” her voice breaks on the word and she almost can't go on “And then I see what the world would be like if Voldemort would won, and it's more terrible than you could even imagine. I don't wake up screaming from that one, but I feel such despair afterwards, as if it really happened.” she's wiping her face again and he chances a glance at her.

She catches his eye and gives him a sad smile “You know, last night was the first night since we started hunting horcruxes that I've had more than three hours of straight sleep.”

He scrubs his hands over his face and then leans back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He does not want to do this. He's fine. He's survived the past year, hasn't he? Why does she insist on doing this now?

At some point he's gotten to his feet and has begun to pace the room. “Why are you doing this to me?” he grinds out, unable to look at her

“Because it's important. Because you've been dealing with this alone for too long. Because I think you've been hiding from the world, and the future, and that you don't have a clue what to do if you're not `Harry Potter-fighter of dark wizards'.” his head shot towards her, his eyes dark on that comment, but she proceeded “And mostly because I've been doing the same thing. I spent the last year hiding at Hogwarts, not talking about it to anyone, and frightened to death of spending one second thinking about what I was going to do when I left.”

He had stopped by the window and spent a long minute watching the people on the street. “It's your screams.” he said unexpectedly

“What?” she replied, confusion evident in her voice

“My nightmares. It's your screams. That's it. A black void and you screaming. Every. Damn. Night.”

He didn't move from his spot, part of him still angry with her for making him talk, and part of him recognizing that he did feel better after making the admission.

Her arms slipped around his waist from behind and he felt her lay her head on his back. They stood like that for a long time.

“Did you have them last night?” she said, breaking the silence

It took him a moment to register her question “No.” he said, surprised “I didn't”

“So that's something.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” he said distractedly, his brain trying to fully comprehend the idea of a terror free night.

“You know, earlier, I was thinking about that night.” she said, almost shyly, and he felt her press her face further into his back for a moment. “That night in the tent.” she clarified

“Oh.” and in a flash he was back. To the tent, and the wireless, and how completely forlorn she looked. How he had made the decision to cheer her up, no matter what kind of fool he had to make of himself. And she had smiled, for the first time in days. And then, something changed. Suddenly they weren't dancing like silly children anymore, and when she pulled away from him...he will never forget the intensity in her eyes.

“I was thinking that I shouldn't have walked away from you.” she said softly

He turned in her arms and brought his hands up to hold her face. “I wish you hadn't.”

She graced him with a broad smile and he pulled her towards him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“You're worried about the dedication? About being back at Hogwarts?” she asked, hands soothing over his back when she felt him tense.

The thought of being back there made him want to run and not look back. He hadn't returned once. Trips to visit Hermione at Hogsmeade had been too close for him although he tried to hide that from her. If he closed his eyes all he could see was destruction and death. No matter how hard he tried he could not replace his last memory of the place he had considered his home, with images of anything other than the battle.

The Great Hall was not the amazing structure that had awed him at a young age. Now when he thought of it all he could see was Tonks and Remus laid out side by side. Dead.

“I was thinking...” she began, slowly, as if to gauge his reaction. “I was thinking about contacting the Headmistress. Asking her if it would be alright if you could come a day or two early. See the school again without the crowds, and the press, and the pressure.”

He shut his eyes tight. He didn't want to. Not really. Not ever, if that was possible, but he knew it wasn't. And he knew she was trying so hard to help him, just like she always had. A flash of memory from last night came over him. It was her, standing at the top of the stairs and making a decision to bare her arm to the world. If she could be brave enough to do that then he really didn't have a choice.

“Alright.” he said stiffly and he felt her jump in surprise. She didn't think he would agree. “But you have to go with me.”

“Of course. I never thought otherwise.” she assured him and then squeezed him tighter.

“I'm sorry about earlier.” he said, need to absolve himself somewhat “I should't have called you out on carrying your wand. I never sit with my back to a door anymore, and loud noises make me jumpy. I almost blasted a hole in my kitchen last month, but it was just an owl knocking over the sugar bowl.” He was going for nonchalant, but she saw right through him.

“I know. I used to love being in the library by myself, but now...”and she gave a little shudder “I can't. If it was empty I'd take everything back to my tower. There were so many wards on it I'm not even sure McGonagall could have gotten in.”

He ran a hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. “I'm sorry I couldn't go back with you. I'm sorry you had to be there alone.”

She was sniffling now, and when she raised her head her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I missed you. It wasn't the same, not at all. But I missed you so much. I missed the little things like walking to class, and eating meals, but mostly, I just missed your presence.” She reached a hand up and lay it against his cheek. “We were together every moment of every day for almost a year. I felt like I had lost a limb and my best friend. If it wasn't for all the extra help the professors needed rebuilding the castle and fixing the wards I'm not sure I would have made it.”

He knew exactly what she meant. He hadn't recognized it at first. Right after the war he was numb for awhile, but then he began to notice that he felt like he was missing something, and one day, while he and Ron were flying lazy circles outside the Burrow he realized it was her.

“I almost didn't.”

She looked at him quizzically. And then he began to tell her the story of how he almost fell into a pit so deep no one would have been able to save him.

It was two weeks after the war. They had all been staying at the Burrow, but Hermione had left a few days prior to find her parents in Australia and restore their memories. Harry had offered to go with her, but she said it was something she had to do on her own.

He hadn't had any sleep. Every time he would fall asleep he would awaken an hour later with her screams reverberating in his head. On the second night he slipped away, and after a few glamours to change his appearance he stepped into Ottery St. Catchpole's only pub.

A bottle of firewhiskey and a dark table in the corner were all he needed. Other than a few sips of something the boys had smuggled into the dorms one time and a cup of champagne punch at Bill and Fleur's wedding he had never touched alcohol.

On the third night of this Ron followed him, found him half a bottle later, so drunk he could barely hold his head up. When he tried to take the bottle he fought back, even threw a punch at his best mate, luckily it was wide. When Ron questioned him, wanting to know what he was doing, all he could say was that his job was done. He had killed Voldemort, saved the wizarding world, and there was nothing left for him to do. Ron argued with him of course, but nothing was getting through.

He soldiered on for over an hour. Even had a couple drinks with him, trying any tactic he could. Would he finally had realized Harry was intent on his mission he pulled out his trump card. Ron got up from the table and then leaned over him, making sure his attention, wavering as it was, was focused only on him. “I'm just glad Hermione's not here right now. If she saw you like this it would break her heart.”

And then he left.

Harry didn't take another drink.

After several failed attempts he made it out the door and found Ron waiting for him. They made their way back to the Burrow, Ron supporting most of his weight and helping him to the side of the road when he was sick.

When they got back Ron put him up in the attic with a hangover potion and a glass of water. Before he left Harry made him promise never to tell Hermione what had happened.

They never spoke of it again.

Harry had stepped away from her as he told his story and eventually she had taken a seat.

“So see, Hermione. You saved me again, and you didn't even know it.”

She was still for so long he didn't know if she had realized he had stopped talking. Her look was fierce when she did turn to him “If you do something like that again I will kill you myself, Harry Potter.”

He swallowed thickly and just nodded his understanding.

Then she was beside him again, arms wrapped around his neck, telling him over and over again that he was a stupid prat, and daft, and lacking even less brain cells than Ron for pulling something like that. He didn't contradict anything she said, just let her berate him, until her tirade became kisses on his jaw and then he thought some participation would be acceptable.

“Thank you.” he whispered right before covering her lips with his. Her surprised `Oh' gave him the perfect opportunity to explore her mouth further. He was really enjoying how her fingers were weaving through his hair, and the newly exposed skin of her shoulder that the too large quidditch jersey was allowing him access to when, once again, there was a large `hoot' and crash from the area of the kitchen.

Her head fell to his collarbone with a mumbled curse.

He stepped away quickly to investigate, hoping to get right back to what they had previously been doing. Barely glancing at the owl he snatched up the letter and saw that it had Hermione's name on it.

“It's for you.”

“Me? Mr. Weasley again?” she asked, confused

He shrugged in reply but she was already breaking the seal.

Her cheeks took on a faint pink. “It's from King's Cross. My trunk is in holding there.” her eyes met his and he didn't understand why she looked slightly embarrassed.

“So we'll pop over there quick and get it.” he replied

“Yes, but I've just remembered that my parent's expected me home hours ago, I believe there was a mention of dinner with some relatives tonight. There are going to be questions about where I've been all night and day.” she flushed again, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ah.” he said in understanding “You could just tell them the truth. That you've finally seen the light about your best friend, and have spent the time snogging him senseless. Or, at least trying to.” he added, not forgetting how they had been repeatedly interrupted.

Hermione grinned and smacked him on the chest with the letter. “Very funny. Somehow I don't think that's going to go over so well.” she sighed and studied the note again “I guess I had better go get my things and head over to see them.” but he could tell it was the last thing she wanted to do.

He didn't want her to leave either. He wasn't sure about how to go forward with them, they weren't exactly a `normal' couple, but he did know that he had spent the last year apart from her and he didn't want to be anymore.

She was biting her lip, like she would do in the common room while worrying over a particularly difficult assignment. He could see her in his head, firelight glinting off her hair, books spread all over the table, quill not going as fast as she would like.

With a start he realized it was the first time he had remembered Hogwarts in a good light since the war.

“Harry!” she said sharply, hand on his arm shaking him slightly.

When he turned to look at her she gave him a worried smile “Where'd you go? I've been calling your name.”

“Sorry, just lost track I guess.”

“Anyways, I was saying, I'm going to have to transfigure a pair of your pants or something and maybe some trainers. I can't exactly walk into the station looking like this.” she said with a sweep of her hand, indicating her borrowed clothes.

He looked down and saw that from this angle the jersey hid the shorts underneath, and with the hem skimming the tops of her thighs and the smooth expanse of bare leg...His hand came forward of it's own volition and began to lightly touch the skin there, the indentation from her wand almost gone.

“Harry!” she cried in mock indignation “See, that's exactly why I can't go like this.”

In short work they had managed to make the suitable changes. When he saw she intended on changing the jersey as well he stopped her. “No. I, uh, I like you in that.” he said, voice deep and she blushed furiously before whispering an `Ok Harry.' and leaving it alone.

When she was ready to go she looked at him anxiously and then gave a nervous laugh “This is ridiculous! We've barely seen each other all year but now I don't want to go.”

“I don't want you to go either.” he admitted

She came into his arms and stroked a hand along his face “I'll see you tomorrow at the Weasley's. But if I don't go back to my parent's place now and deal with this dinner I'll never hear the end of it.”

“What about your interview tomorrow? Do you want me to come?” he offered

Her eyes lit up “Would you?”

“You don't even have to ask.” he answered, stroking hair away from her face before giving her a slow kiss.

“Ready? I'll walk over with you.”

King's Cross was only a short walk from his flat and it was through a muggle area so he wasn't worried about being recognized. They strolled hand in hand, enjoying acting like any other normal couple.

When they reached platform 9 3/4 she had to search for a moment before discovering the `Lost Baggage' claim area tucked away in a dark corner. He had never been at the station when it wasn't teeming with students, and it was a bit eerie to see it so still.

Her trunk was retrieved in short order and as they turned to leave a blinding light caught them by surprise.

His wand was out in an instant and he saw Hermione draw hers as well as they both dove for a nearby pillar for protection.

Before he could even consider what or who could possibly be attacking them all they could hear were overlapping shouts.

“Ms. Granger! Comment on your scar.”

“Ms.Granger! Who did it to you?”

“Ms.Granger! Were you coerced into harming yourself?”

“Ms.Granger! Did Harry Potter put you under the Imperious curse?”

His head was spinning and he knew they had to get out of there immediately. He accio'd Hermione's trunk, put an arm around her and apparated them back to his flat in seconds.

She had her left arm pressed into her stomach and wild eyes when they arrived. He was furious.

“I didn't think...I never expected they would...” she started, clearly in shock from what had occurred.

He didn't trust his voice right then. Didn't trust his magic either, and purposely threw his wand on the couch, not that a wand was always necessary when he was like this.

As he paced the suddenly too small living room he raked his hands through his already messy hair, trying to tramp down the visceral need he had right then to blow up every newspaper and magazine in the wizarding world.

Her heard Hermione give a scoffing laugh and he turned to her with a raised eyebrow.

“I just had the thought that if I had just wore a wrap last night none of this would be happening.” she said, shaking her head and looking down at the hands in her lap.

He was in front of her in two long strides. Kneeling at her feet he captured her hands in his. “Hey. Don't ever doubt what you did. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen.”

“Oh, Harry, really.” she said dismissively, but he could see the tears beginning to glaze her eyes.

He tilted her chin up “Really.” he confirmed “What you did took courage. We'll deal with this. You can't let them get to you. Tomorrow you'll do the statement and then that will be that, you'll see.” by the time he was finished he didn't feel as murderous and then he caught the slightly knowing glint in her eyes and knew she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Minx.” he growled, and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her lips before pulling her to her feet. “Come on, you've got to get to your parent's house and I've got some howlers to write.”

“Harry.” she said disapprovingly, but made her way to her trunk. “I'll just be a minute.”

When she returned he saw her surreptitiously shove his shirt in the trunk along with her gown and heels, but he didn't say anything. Knowing she had it and would most likely wear it again made his heart race.

And then she was standing in front of him, jeans and a sweater, hair in a pony tail, looking so much like `Hogwarts Hermione'. As if she could read his thoughts she grinned and threw her arms around him in one of her trademark hugs, and he flashbacked to the first time she had done so all those years ago.

“You know, you were the first one to ever hug me as well.” he said, referring back to their previous conversation “You've staked a lot of firsts with me.”

“I hope the trend continues, Potter.” she said with a laugh and then flushed beet red as she realized the implications of what she had said.

A rush of desire shot through him, and he had to hold himself back from attacking her mouth. “So do I.” he managed to get out before placing a trail of kisses along her neck.

Her head lolled to the side and allowed him better access. The breathy mewl she let out made him smile and he promised to explore that area fuller the next chance he got.

She finally had to place her hands on his chest and push back slightly, both of them breathless. “If I don't leave now I'm not going to.”

“Would that be so bad.” reaching for her again, but she danced out of his arms.

“No, it wouldn't.” she said shyly before cupping his face in her palm “I'll send you an owl later if I get done early, but I can't make any promises.”

He kissed her again while he had a chance and then stepped back, smiling broadly until she was gone.

The silence was deafening and he hurried to the small desk in the corner, intent on keeping himself busy.

The rest of the day went by faster than he would have guessed. The howlers he'd written were cathartic and by the time he and Ron met at a local pub for dinner he was in a good place even though he missed her.

Ron, to his credit kept his mouth shut until they had ordered, before turning a rather intense eye on Harry “So...why now?”

Harry took a long drink before answering “Can't exactly say.” he said honestly “I think maybe it's always been there but I've been too daft to see. And yesterday...I don't know...it was just obvious or something.”

“I'll agree with the daft part.” Ron replied, smiling his thanks at the waitress who had just sat a basket of chips in front of them

“Thanks mate.” Harry said wryly.

“Why do you think I was always so worried about you two? I could see it. Even if I didn't exactly know what I was seeing I knew it was there. The two of you...you just worked. Always have, ever since the beginning.”

Harry couldn't bring himself to look at Ron right then. If there was a chance he still harbored feelings for Hermione he didn't know what he'd do. “You don't still...I mean...you and...”

A chip hit him square in the forehead and he looked up suddenly to see Ron's glaring face. “Sod off. That's done.” he said simply before returning to his pint.

“You know when I knew we didn't have a chance?” Ron asked, and Harry glanced at him expectantly “The night of the final battle. When you told us you had to go to Voldemort and what you had to do. And she begged to go with you.” he shook his head and gave a slightly strangled scoff “I'm not sure she knew exactly what she was saying, but it didn't matter. If she had gone with you she would have died, and that didn't matter to her. The night I left you two in the forest she didn't offer to go with me and I wasn't exactly walking into my death.”

They were silent for a long time before Ron began speaking again.

“She's always chosen you, mate. And maybe she didn't know why all those years, but it's been pretty obvious to the rest of us.”

“Yeah.” was all he could manage as a reply and they sat in companionable silence for a while, eating chips before Ron decided he'd had enough and began going on about that years World Cup semifinals.

He couldn't say that he wasn't disappointed when he returned to his flat two hours later to find it both empty and with no owl from Hermione. He thought about sending one of his own but didn't want to disturb her first night with her parents.

He headed to bed grumpily but only got a few hours of sleep before he sat up, drenched in sweat with her screams echoing in his head. He scrubbed his hands tiredly over his face and then got up slowly, knowing he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night.

A long shower, and a couple of hours of mindless television wiled away the time until the morning edition of the Prophet was delivered. As he waited for the kettle to boil he wondered if they would be bold enough to print any pictures from the `sneak attack' at King's Cross after his latest correspondence with them. He didn't notice anything on the first few pages and let out a sigh of relief.

It was only later, when he was flipping aimlessly through to the end that he saw it. Highlight of the society page, it was a picture of them from the back walking towards King's Cross. He hadn't even known it had been taken. They were holding hands, and she was leaning into his shoulder, but the most damning image was how her hair had been pulled over one shoulder revealing `POTTER' splayed across her back, like he was staking a claim.

The headline read `Walk of Shame: What did the world's most famous `couple' get up to in the hours after the Gala?'

He was too angry to even think about making tea. With a sharp flick of his wrist he turned off the cook top and stalked into his bedroom to change, the Prophet left in a crumpled heap on the table.

The owl from Arthur the day before had said they would meet the reporter at the Leaky Cauldron around eight in the morning, hoping to avoid the crowds. Harry made his way over there now, the walk helping to calm him down some.

He greeted Tom when he arrived and asked for a pot of tea and several mugs, knowing Hermione at least would want something to do with her hands during the interview.

The back room was empty, and Harry waited there, asking Tom to tell Hermione and Arthur where he was when they arrived.

He didn't have to wait long before his best friend's father and an older man he had never seen before were walking in.

“Hello, Harry.” Arthur said warmly before gesturing to the man beside him “This is Clemment Hopkins, free lance journalist.”

Hopkins nodded once and held his hand out to Harry. “It's a pleasure, Mister Potter.”

“Mr. Hopkins.” Harry replied somewhat tersely, but he recognized the name. Hopkins had only written a few articles after the war, but Harry remembered they stood out because they focused on rebuilding rather than on speculation or sensationalism.

“Arthur has only told me a little about why I'm here, but I want to assure you that I take my job seriously and I will print only what Ms. Granger is comfortable with sharing.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” Harry said, hoping he was a man of his word.

“Good morning.” came a soft voice from behind Arthur as Hermione entered the room.

Arthur greeted her with a hug and fatherly kiss on the cheek and then introduced Hopkins.

Harry watched her, wondering if she had always been so beautiful or if he had really been that dense. He was betting it was the latter.

Then she was in front of him, lifting up on her toes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.” she whispered breathlessly in his ear, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her senseless.

He didn't miss Arthur's raised eyebrows but he chose to ignore them right then.

As they made their way to the table he let his hand rest on the small of her back, and when they sat she grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers and letting them rest on her leg.

Tom arrived with the tea and after they assured him they didn't require anything else he backed out of the room.

Harry performed a rather complicated silencing charm that would allow the four of them to talk but not be heard by anyone else around regardless of how close they were.

After the tea was poured Arthur explained why he had contacted Hopkins and then asked Hermione if she wanted him to stay or not. She smiled at him nervously but told him she wouldn't mind if he did.

She took a deep, centering breath, squeezed Harry's hand once before letting it ago, and then turned her attention to Hopkins.

He sat back and watched. He recognized the look of concentration and determination on her face, it was the same one she would get when she was answering a particularly difficult question in class.

Hopkins was fair but thorough. He didn't pry or become invasive, but he asked his questions in such a way that Hermione was giving him answers Harry didn't think any other reporter could have gotten out of her.

It was difficult. Sitting there, listening to her relive the night that literally haunted his dreams. She only faltered once, when she was describing seeing the scar for the first time. Harry made to wrap an arm around her but she waved him off.

It took almost an hour and even the ever-warming charm placed on the tea pot had started to fade. Finally though Hopkins closed his notebook and declared they were done saying he had more than enough for the article. He apologized for having to leave so quickly, but he had promised them the afternoon edition and if he didn't leave then it wouldn't be done in time.

Hermione look pale and worn out, but she smiled at Hopkins and thanked him for coming. Harry shook his hand again and hoped the man knew what he was doing.

Hermione was once again holding his hand and had turned to him with a sigh, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“Should I ask if congratulations are in order?” Arthur asked suddenly, breaking the silence and Hermione jumped a foot, clearly having forgotten he was there.

Harry cleared his throat before speaking “I think they definitely are.” he said, grinning broadly before tugging her closer and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Well done you two!” Arthur exclaimed and came around to pull Hermione away for another hug. She laughed at his reaction and thanked him. “Molly will be so pleased. Should I say something now or would you like to make an announcement at dinner?”

Hermione's eyes caught his and he shrugged, they hadn't discussed this yet. Arthur saw the exchange and waved them off “No matter. I'll stay quiet and you can decided what to do later. Now, I'd better be off before Molly starts wondering where I've gotten to. See you two lovebirds later.” he said with a laugh and was out the door before they could respond.

In unspoken agreement they apparated back to Harry's flat. As soon as he had the wards down and the door opened he found himself getting pushed back against the wall, almost knocking over the coat rack. Hermione's mouth slanted over his, her tongue doing wondrous things while her hands raked through his hair. Her nails dragged over the nape of his neck and he groaned before grabbing her by the waist and flipping them.

Hermione let out a startled squeak and he took the advantage by reintroducing himself to her neck, the area above her collarbone was especially inviting and if the noises she was making were any indication she was enjoying it as well.

The hands he had on her waist capitalized on her rucked up shirt and began exploring the smooth skin of her lower back while she continued to run her hands over his back.

When he hit a particularly sensitive spot she arched her back and pushed her hips into his and he swore he saw stars “Oh gods, Harry!” she gasped before planting two hands on his chest and pushing backwards until his lips detached from her neck with a slight `pop'.

Her hair was mussed, mouth red, and he could still see several inches of her midriff with the way her shirt was twisted. He started for her again and instead of stopping him like he thought she would she met him, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth before marching slowly forward, forcing him backwards, her kiss becoming more and more heated until he felt the couch hit him in the back of his legs.

She gives him a shove when she realizes where they are and then he's sitting on the couch, staring up at her, wondering how in the hell Hermione Granger got so damn sexy.

With an almost feral grin she straddles his hips and lowers herself down on his lap, moaning as they make contact. He captures her face in his hands “Gods I missed you `Mione.” he breaths before plundering her mouth.

She gasps and replies in between kisses “I was miserable last night. I just wanted to come back and be with you.” he kisses her again, and then finds her ear, loving the groany little noise she makes. “I don't want to be apart anymore.”

“No. No more.” he agrees, moving down her neck again to see if this side is as sensitive as the other. “Move in with me.” he states and then his hips buck involuntarily as she has succeeded in removing his shirt from his waistband and is running a hand across his stomach.

“Yes. Of course.” she says immediately, hands now roaming up his chest.

“Excellent.” glad to have that sorted, he can now focus on her shoulder and how she twitches when his thumb grazes her hipbone.

Then suddenly his arms are empty and she's standing above him again looking shellshocked.

“Wha..wh...huh?” is all he can get out, not understanding why she's there and he's here.

She drug a hand through her hair and then covered her swollen lips with it, “Did you just...” she began, “I mean did you just ask me to move in with you?”

“Uh, yeah.” he answered and then realized exactly what he had done and he felt his blood run cold. Had he ruined everything.

“And I said yes?” she said, puzzling out what had just happened.

Hope leaped into his chest “You said yes.” he confirmed, leaning forward to wrap his hand around her wrist and gently tug her towards him. She took a shuffling step and then slowly sank back down on his lap.

“I said yes.” she repeated. “You're sure?”

Now brimming with confidence but his head reeling a bit from the last minute his eyes twinkled and he slid a hand along her jaw “I've never been more sure of anything in my life.” he said before kissing her softly, the frantic need from earlier having dissipated.

“Well alright then.” she replies before kissing him sweetly.

She snuggles her head into his neck and exhales slowly and he wraps his arms around her back. “This is it, isn't it?” he hears her ask.

Lifting a hand to smooth over her riotous hair he gives himself a moment before he answers “Yeah, it is.”

“Good” she replies, and he can feel her smiling.

Epilogue

The last week had gone by quickly. The Weasley family dinner was one for the record books. True to his word Arthur had kept silent on the new development. Ron was also playing along, although the twinkle in his eye suggested that if they didn't get around to saying something soon he was going to do it for them. Molly was so thrilled they thought she was going to shriek the house down. George cracked a couple ribald jokes and Ginny gave them both hugs although she seemed a bit shocked.

Hermione was enjoying the first real downtime she'd had in years. Her few meager possessions (besides the books) were moved in and they settled down quickly into a new/old routine. After living together on the run for almost a year in a minimalistic tent, little provisions, and no privacy, a proper flat with electricity was easy.

She had chosen not to give him any forewarning about the trip to Hogwarts until the morning of. An owl from the Headmistress had arrived the day before and told her that, of course Harry was welcome at the castle anytime he wished.

He had known something was up because she had been quieter than usual over tea and toast and when she had suggested he wear a jumper that morning he knew why. He didn't say anything, just placed his cup back on the table and headed for the bedroom, brushing a kiss to her head as he passed.

She gave him a watery smile before they apparated and he squeezed her hand to let her known he was ok.

It was harder than he thought it would be but not for the reasons he had expected. The castle and the grounds looked nothing like the destruction he had burned into his brain. They looked whole and fine. It wasn't until you really looked close that you could see the scars. The mortar damage, spell-fire burns, gargoyles with missing ears, and the like. In a way though he preferred it like that, proof that even though it had taken a beating, this mighty building was still standing.

The longer they were there the easier it was to walk around without feeling like he was going to suffocate at any second. They walked around the lake, went by Hagrid's Hut, past the Whomping Willow and the pitch. When it came time to enter Hogwarts itself he reached for her hand and together they walked through the main doors.

He paused before the Great Hall before pushing in. It was the same as it had always been. Long tables, banners, and candle filled sconces. Now instead of death and destruction he saw the happy moments he had there and he gave Hermione a tight hug before they walked out.

They spent the next several hours wandering the halls and various rooms before joining McGonagall for tea in her office. Harry thanked her for the opportunity and she waved him off saying he was welcome anytime.

He was quiet that night as they lay on the couch, Hermione facing him, their legs tangled together. He fell asleep stroking her hair as she trailed lazy finger over his shoulder and down his arm.

The morning of the dedication they apparated into Hogsmeade and walked in with the other attendees. Ron was waiting by the gate and joined them, Hermione slipping her hand into his arm much like she had for the gala. They were seated in the front row and Harry didn't dare look behind him to see the many seats filling up.

The memorial had been placed by the lake, visible from the castle but secluded enough that it had a bit of privacy to it. Dumbledore's tomb was in sight from it as well.

When it came time for him to speak he brushed his lips over Hermione's quickly before taking the stage, their first public demonstration.

He hadn't prepared a speech and had a moment of panic when he saw the sea of faces staring expectantly at him. But then he looked down at Ron, with his arm around Hermione and saw the love in her eyes as she smiled at him, her bare arm with the scar he kissed every night caught his eye and he knew exactly what to say.

And as he spoke of those they had lost and the way they had been affected by the war he knew that it had all led to this and that there was a purpose to everything. He spoke of the future, and of hope, and of change. As the audience applauded, he took a final moment and locked his eyes with hers and let her know that he was alright, and that it was time to move forward. Together.

A/N:

THANK YOU!! Thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews and for missing my stories. That is definitely what every writer wants to hear.

This is now the end. For sure. :) It was supposed to only be a one-shot and then a two-shot...and now here we are.

Hope you've enjoyed. Please review and let me know what you think.