Disclaimer: JKR creates, I just borrow.
He opened his eyes to a thousand points of light over his head and Ron snoring beside him.
Memory found him, swift and sure as an arrow. Tom Riddle was dead, as were too many others. There was no smelly tent to call home, no Horcrux hunt. One hand moved to his chest, so he could feel the reassuring beat of his own heart against his palm, and he took a deep, calming breath. The war was over; this was peace, or it was supposed to be.
Maybe someday Harry would actually feel peaceful. At the very least, he hoped he would be able to stop this ritual of remembrance and grief that had haunted him every time he opened his eyes since the final battle.
He snorted, quietly enough not to wake Ron or Hermione. In the Prophet, his last confrontation with Riddle had achieved capital-letter status—the Final Battle—but in Harry's mind, it never would. He curled up into a sitting position, feeling the sandy soil under their blanket shift under his weight, and he went through his own list of tragedies he felt deserved such importance: the Death of Fred, the Deaths of Remus and Tonks, the Death of Snape, the Destruction of Hogwarts.
He drew his legs up toward his chin and rested his crossed arms on his knees, looking out to sea. Behind him, Shell Cottage was dark and still. The only light came from the stars above them, painting the cliffs in dim, silver brilliance. He had come here, with Hermione and Ron, after the funerals and memorials were done, and once here, they had all been drawn outside to the stark beauty of the cliffs. On a blanket overlooking the ocean, they had passed the evening in near silence, watching the sparks from their driftwood campfire climb toward the sky.
He took another deep breath, enjoying the tang of the salt air on his tongue. The sound of the sea pounding the rocks below almost muffled Ron's buzzy snoring, and Harry glanced at the other side of his sleeping friend, wondering if Hermione was managing to sleep through the noise.
Her spot was empty.
He looked over his shoulder at Shell Cottage and scrambled to his feat. He did not think Hermione would go in for the night and leave the two of them out there, but it wouldn't hurt to check. He took one step toward the small house when movement caught his eye.
Hermione sat on the very edge of the cliffs, her legs dangling over the water and an endless expanse of dark sea and night sky before her. Her long hair, glossed with a patina of starlight, rippled in the cool breeze, and, as he watched, she reached up to wind the heavy mass into a knot at her nape. As soon as she let go, the wind began to pull strands free, and he knew it would soon be in her face again. He picked his way over beach grass and sea lavender until he could reach her side.
"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her off her precarious perch.
She turned and graced him with a small smile. "Hi. Did Ron wake you, too?"
"Little bit. We should be used to it by now, don't you think?" Harry eased down beside her, checking her face for telltale tracks of tears and sighing in relief when he didn't find them. Hermione didn't look sad, per se, but she did look tired. She was ghostly pale, and her dark eyes were cast in shadows that he didn't think he could blame on the dim light.
"You should, at least." She shifted to make more room for him. "You were his roommate for seven years."
"It's different when it's right in your ear." They both peeked over their shoulders toward where Ron slept alone on the blanket. "You should have rolled him over when he woke you, given him a poke or something."
Hermione looked at Ron for a moment longer before looking back out to sea. "I wanted to let him sleep. I don't think he slept at all before Fred's funeral."
They were silent at that, both caught in their memories. Harry didn't think he would ever forget how it had felt to stand by that grave, watching Fred's brothers levitate his casket to its final resting place, watching Mrs. Weasley and George stagger to their feet, both so grey and heartbroken. Ginny had curled into his arms, trembling, and her tears were scalding hot against his neck.
He took a deep breath again, not trusting himself to speak, and Hermione's hand grasped his in understanding. Her fingers were cold against his skin, and he clasped their entwined hands to warm her. When she sighed, he studied her profile as she looked up at the stars.
The edges of her mouth were on the verge of turning down, and her brow was creased in deep thought. It was a look he knew well, one she wore when she grappled with a complex problem.
"What message do the stars impart to you tonight, Miss Granger?" he asked in his best Trelawney impression, which he knew wasn't any good but hoped might lighten her mood, at least temporarily.
It worked because she almost laughed. "The stars are strangely silent. Fancy that." She sighed again and swung her legs over open space. "I'm just thinking."
"You're Hermione, you're awake…naturally, you're thinking." He smiled when she laughed again, more genuinely this time. "What about?"
She shook her head, and for a moment Harry thought she might keep her secrets, but she suddenly blurted, "Everything. What we've gained, what we've lost." She bit her lip. "What do I do now? What will I be doing five years from now? What am I supposed to do? What do I want?" She pulled her hand free from Harry's and clasped her temples as if to contain the cauldron of thoughts boiling within.
"Hermione—" he interjected, but she shook her head with enough force to shake the last remnants of her bun apart and send her hair swirling around her in the cool wind.
"I don't know what to do, Harry." Her voice was strained with emotion. "And I don't like not knowing. For once, I wish I could stop thinking."
Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He thought he knew something of what she was feeling; he had the same sense of not knowing which way to go, of being pulled in too many directions, of knowing living meant moving forward but feeling overwhelmed by the past. McGonagall had already spoken to him about returning to school. Shacklebolt had invited him into the Auror program. Every wizard newspaper in Europe wanted an interview, every war widows' charity wanted him as a guest speaker, and everyone he passed on the street seemed to want his autograph. Part of Harry wanted to take Ginny and his friends and just disappear. A bigger part of him wondered if he even had the right.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, while his thoughts made his stomach clench. He let his head fall back until all he could see were stars. Not knowing what else to say, he pointed upward at a constellation. "Look, there's Andromeda."
Hermione tipped her head to the same angle and shook her head. "Actually, that's part of Virgo. An astronomical genius, you aren't, Harry." When he shrugged, she patted his thigh. "You've got Mrs. Tonks on the brain."
His gut clenched tighter and he closed his eyes. Unbidden, memories of Remus and Tonks's double funeral filled his mind. He had tried to hold Teddy for Mrs. Tonks and been refused. She had clutched Teddy against her chest instead, the baby's pale violet hair contrasting sharply with her black dress and his sweet, small mouth working an invisible bottle in his dreams.
I'm his godfather, Harry had said.
And I'm his grandmother, had been her response before turning away. Harry felt like he had failed in his responsibility to his godson before it even really began.
Hermione jiggled his leg, drawing his attention, and he saw another familiar look on her face—the one that said she was wiser than he so he had better pay attention.
"Don't worry about Teddy, Harry," she said, reading his mind. "Mrs. Tonks isn't going to cut you out of his life." When he shook his head, mute, she continued. "Teddy's situation isn't like yours was with your aunt and uncle. Mrs. Tonks adores him, and you know she'll take good care of him."
"Then how am I supposed to be there for him as Remus and Tonks wanted?"
She looked back out to sea. "Just give it time. Give Mrs. Tonks a little time to heal. Teddy's all she has left. I'm sure she'll come to see how good it will be for him to have you in his life." She smiled wryly. "In fact, she may realize it the first time she needs a babysitter."
Harry laughed and felt marginally better.
Hermione kept swinging her feet. "I bet in a few years, you'll be like a father to him. And he's lucky, Harry, such a lucky boy, to have someone just waiting for the chance to love him." She ducked her head and her silver-brown hair obscured her face.
He watched her in silence, wishing he was as good at solving her problems as she was at solving his.
"Hermione…" he hesitated, "what don't you want?"
"What?" She raked her hair back and held it at her nape. "What do you mean?"
"You said you don't know what you want to do." He shrugged. "What don't you want to do?"
She met his gaze levelly, thinking. "I don't want to give another interview," she said firmly. "I don't want to be the 'face of Muggle-born suffering' for the papers because I'm not!" Her voice cracked on the word and lowered to a fierce whisper. "I was lucky. I was free, and I kept my family safe while I fought. Ted Tonks and Colin Creevey, everyone who faced the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, who went to Azkaban, who lost their families and their wands and were reduced to begging in the streets…they suffered far worse than I did."
Harry blinked. "Who called you the 'face of Muggle-born suffering'?"
She snorted and dashed her hand across her eyes. "Rita Skeeter. That woman isn't happy unless she's a thorn in my side."
He nudged her. "You gonna seal her up in a jar again?"
"I should." A wicked smile flickered to life for an instant. "I'm certain she deserves it."
He brought her back to their conversation. "So you don't want to do any interviews, fine. Maybe you could stay here at Shell Cottage for a while. Bill and Fleur won't mind, I bet, and it would give you a chance to get away from all this mess for some peace and quiet."
"'Get away,'" she murmured and twisted her hands in her lap. "If I want that, I could go to Australia."
"Australia?" His eyebrows rose. Australia was a hell of a lot farther away than Cornwall.
"I need to find my parents," she said quietly. "They're still under that memory charm, and —"
"Oh, right, of course!" He was embarrassed to have forgotten them. "I'll go with you."
"Actually," she glanced over her shoulder toward the blanket, and Harry realized she was blushing, "I thought I'd ask Ron to go with me."
"Just the two of you?" Harry teased. "How romantic."
"It's long overdue, I think," she answered primly. "Anyway, it would give you a chance to be alone with Ginny."
Longing and anticipation moved through him like heat lightning at the thought. For the first time, he realized that, no matter what path he chose in the future, Ginny could be part of his life. It was an idea he couldn't let himself think about much before the final battle, when the thought that that it might never happen was too painful. The possibility was open to them now, and the thought soothed Harry like the cool breeze on his brow.
They sat, arms around each other and swinging their feet in unison like children, until Hermione broke the silence again. "Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"Have you figured it out? What you're going to do in the future?"
"Not really," he said honestly. "And no, I don't like the feeling, either." He tightened his arm around her and let all the hope he felt when he thought of Ginny fill his voice. "The one thing I do know, Hermione, is that we're still here. Our stories are just beginning. For tonight, that can be enough for me."
He kissed her temple, and she tucked her head against his shoulder.
Harry heard quiet footsteps behind them seconds before the sandy wool blanket was draped around their shoulders.
"What're you two doing?" Ron asked just before his face was split by a huge yawn. He settled on the other side of Hermione and stretched his arm around them both.
Hermione smiled and shifted over to kiss his cheek and rest against him. "Just stargazing."
"Yeah?" He rubbed his wide, freckled hand over his face, chasing the ghosts of sleep away. He took in the sparkling stars above and the pounding surf far below. "You can see forever from up here, can't you?" His free hand found Hermione's. "Beautiful night," he yawned.
"It really is," Harry agreed, and they sat there together until the cheerful sun chased the stars away.