Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Author's note: I intend to continue with this. This is not a oneshot.
A brown-haired witch trudged through the thickening snow, cursing the anti-apparition wards perimeter set up around a certain residence in Godric's Hollow. Not long after, Hermione came to a stop before the gates of this particular residence. Gently, she placed her hand on the statue of a owl, which had an uncanny resemblance to Hedwig. The owl shifted, spreading its wings and intoned "Hermione Jean Granger, Permission to Enter." Instantly, Hermione felt a warm glow within her and continued in her advances, walking right through the gates as if they were smoke. Finally, the Potter Mansion was in sight. After the final battle and his emancipation, Harry finally had full access to his whole inheritance and found to his delight that he owned several handsome properties, Potter Mansion being his favourite. When the three had graduated from Hogwarts, Harry was almost as determined to restore the Potter Mansion as Voldemort was to rid the world of Muggles. Hermione had to admit, grudgingly, that he did a great job of it. If asked for opinion, nobody could have guessed that this place was not inhabited for nearly 2 decades. Hermione shook her head as if physically getting rid of the stray thoughts and was positioned to knock, when a resounding crash made her fumble with the doorknob and stumbled in.
Hermione drew her wand out, poised for battle, as a feeling of dread welled up inside her. Thoughts of resentful deatheaters, rebirth of Voldemort, and images of the dead, Fred, Remus, Tonks, flashed past her mind's eye. She threaded carefully down the hallway, wand at the ready. Cautiously, Hermione toed her way into the sitting room. WHAM. In a flurry of movement, Hermione was tackled and pinned to the floor. Panicking and irritated that she was caught off guard, Hermione was about to blast the offending person off her when she noticed a mop of jet black hair.
"H- Harry?" Hermione almost whispered, looking down. The mop of jet black hair disappeared, and the face of one Harry Potter came into view. Hermione crinkled her nose. Harry smelled faintly reminiscent of Firewhiskey.
" 'Mione… " Harry replied, rolling off. Harry thudded to the floor, looking immensely satisfied with his current position. He was spread eagled on the carpet and faintly resembled children creating snow angels in winter. Hermione would have laughed if not for Harry's sobriety, or the lack of it.
"Harry." Hermione said more firmly. Gently prodding him, she tried again. "Harry, Harry!" Harry blinked his eyes open in response, his emerald orbs latched onto her hazel eyes. He held the gaze without blinking, and without warning, sat up quite abruptly. Hermione flinched back at the sudden movement. Steadying herself, she mirrored Harry's actions, so that they were eye level and peering at him worriedly.
"Remember that night, the final battle?" Without preamble or Hermione's reply, Harry rattled on. "I died. I never told anyone, not even Ginny, but I saw Dumbledore… I was given a – a choice. To return to the living, or carry on, yknow… " He trailed off. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at this nugget of information Harry never divulged. "Sometimes, I – I feel as if I made the wrong choice…" Harry slurred, his tone bitter. Harry sighed, and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione stiffened at the gesture that she was sure Harry would never initiate if he was sober. Against her better judgement, Hermione hesitantly reached out and embraced Harry closer to herself. Hermione buried her nose in Harry's hair, seeking comfort from him just like he was from her. Shaken by his confession and blinking back unshed tears, Hermione attempted to soothe him by running her small hand over his muscled back repeatedly. The two old friends remained in this position. For a while, the only sound was the gentle cackling of the fireplace.