Author's Note: This is a Harry/Hermione romance. So if that somehow inherently disturbs you in some way, I wouldn't read. Rated M for later lemons and language. Please leave me a review. I haven't written fanfics in a very long time. I am also an avid shipper of Dramione so there may be another fic coming soon with that pairing. Enjoy, lovelies!

Disclaimer: I'm a broke teacher and J.K. is god.

Perhaps it was everyone's steady anticipation of the New Year's Eve festivities that rendered him nostalgic. Or maybe it was the gathering of all of his favorite people in one place, so soon after the War, all of them glittering with a happiness he hadn't seen them wear in far too long. Whatever it was, Harry was having a difficult time concentrating on his one job of stringing up the fairy lights around the tent they would be occupying that night. His thoughts were rushing, thinking back over the last few months, and wondering how things could have so differently in May. How he could have lost so much more than he did.

He watched as Andromeda and Luna Lovegood cooed over a babbling Teddy who was playing with a glittery ornament from the Christmas tree. Despite losing his parents before he could get to know them, a fate Harry was all too familiar with, he was glad that Teddy was growing up far differently than he did: surrounded constantly by people that adored him. His eyes flitted over to Neville, who was aiding George in arranging the long picnic tables and folding chairs according to Molly Weasley's meticulous plan. George had taken the longest to heal without Fred by his side, but he was slowly coming around these days. Molly and Ginny were no doubt tethered to the kitchen, cooking and baking far too much food for the amount of people in attendance of the New Year party. He was ashamed to identify the feeling as relief as he thought of Ginny not being in the tent helping at that moment. While his love for the witch had grown exponentially in the last few years, he couldn't help but gain immense clarity with the ending of the War. Ginny was beautiful, all red fire hair, smooth skin, and sharp wit, and she could make him happy. She could have his children and keep his bed warm at night, but all of a sudden, Harry wasn't sure if that was what he wanted. Or if that was all he wanted. Lately, he could feel himself pulling away from her, and he was almost certain that she didn't feel the same. Although she wasn't clingy, Ginny definitely believed that they would be together forever, especially after everyone couldn't stop commenting on how 'lovely' they were together. Ginny seemed like stability when he was certain he was going to die at any moment. She gave him space when he needed it, kept quiet when processing required silence, and that had been what he wanted then. But now?

He let his eyes drift over to Ron. Forgiving Ron had been difficult, even after they had fought side-by-side in the War, even after his own brother had sacrificed himself for the good of the Wizarding World. Ron's betrayal during the Horcrux hunt had broken something inside Harry. When he yelled, accusing Harry of impossibles, and turned to walk out, something snapped inside him. His best friend had unknowingly played on his own insecurities. Harry had always been afraid that the two of them would finally become fed up with almost losing their lives over him and desert him. Harry was disgusted by Ron for so long, but was made even sicker by the thought that he believed Hermione could ever leave him.

As if reading him through Legilimency, there she was walking over to him, looking positively Muggle in her blue jeans and cream jumper, tentative smile on her lips. She invaded his space, hands reaching out to touch his...no...to grab the lights from his closed fist. He blinked hard. "You look like you could use a bit of help over here," she said softly. He watched as she levitated the lights wordlessly, hanging them from the designated hooks. "There," she said turning to him. She frowned, and he found he really did not like the curl the left side of her mouth made when she did. "You look like you have a lot on your mind, Harry." He nodded, still somehow unable to speak. She took his arm for real then, looping hers through his, guiding him toward the tent flaps. "Walk with me." Hermione always demanded and never asked.

The air was crisp, clearing out his lungs, and he was suddenly thankful for the warmth of her body next to his. "It's unnerving for me, too, sometimes," she began, "to think of this time last year." Her voice was so soft, he thought he imagined it. But then she looked up at him through her thick lashes, chocolate eyes all shiny, and he knew it was his turn to talk.

"Do you ever wonder how things could have turned out? If he won?" She released a cloud of breath he didn't realize she was holding, squeezing his arm tighter.

"I try not to."

"I can't believe it sometimes...that we won...that it's actually over," he offered. She chuckled to his surprise.

"That we'd all be here planning the party of the century after being on the run for nearly a year, in the same tent no less, " she said shaking her head. Her curls swung around her face and he was overwhelmed with the soft lavender scent that flooded his nostrils. Had she always smelled like that?

Images of him holding her close as they danced in the exact tent they were walking around invaded his mind. Snapshots of her nuzzling into the crook of his neck, her deep sighs singing a song much sadder than the one floating out of Ron's old radio he had left behind. She's been so upset then, walking around with her head down in a completely un-Hermione-like manner. She barely ate, only pushed the beans they'd nicked from the convenient shop in town around in her bowl before retiring to her bed. He hardly slept back then either, so he always pretended that he hadn't heard the sniffles coming from her bunk. He remembered her throwing her arms around him as he told her he was leaving to the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort himself. She had held him so tightly, her tears and blood staining his shirt. He has stared at Ron the whole time, giving nothing away when he felt her lips press against his neck in a soft kiss. Tried not to shatter when he felt those lips open to release her despaired cries. "I'll go with you."

Yes. She had always smelled like lavender.

"Harry?" Her voice floated to him again. Like her soft strokes on the piano keys back at Grimmauld Place. Her eyes had gone softer again, worried, like she spent most of her time when it came to him.

"I never did thank you, Hermione." She faltered in her steps momentarily, the frown back on her lips.

"What?" Her brown was furrowed, and he knew that she had a permanent crease in between her eyebrows from doing it so much. He resisted the urge to lift his hand and smoothen it with his thumb.

"You never left me." She stopped completely then, releasing his arm and whipping around to face him. He was hit with the lavender again. Her mouth opened like she was going to say something, but it closed again. She turned her head to look over the dusty brown field. It hadn't snowed as yet for the winter, and all of the trees looked petrified. He was about to apologize for upsetting her; Hermione only ever faded into silence when someone upset her. Then she turned back, tears in her eyes. Now he'd done it.

"Harry," the way she said his name made his heart break. "I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. I will follow you until my last breath." Her voice broke then, tears spilling over. She wrapped her arms around her frame, something she did a lot around Ron. Her hair covered most of her face, her head bowed down so he wouldn't see the tears. "You are my home. I don't know how to leave you. Where would I even go?"

"Ron left." She looked up then. Her eyes were shining with something other than sadness.

"Yes, he did."

"You could have gone with him."

"He wasn't an option." She took a step closer to him, still holding herself.

"You loved him."

"You needed me."

"You say that as if it was so simple," he argued, taking a step closer. He could smell her lavender again. But there was something else, too. Maybe, shea? She took another small step then, dropping her arms, and staring at him so deeply he really thought she was trying to enter his mind. They were so close he could see the glints of gold in her eyes, like miniscule snitches zipping just beyond his grasp. They were so different from Ginny's, he noted.

"It was," she breathed. Harry was suddenly aware that his heart was thumping as hard as a hippogriff. Her upper lip bowed more distinctly than Ginny's did, too. And they were less pink. But her cheeks...those were almost red. He could feel her breath on his face, minty from all the white chocolate peppermint bark she pretended not to eat every holiday season. He could see it then. Him just leaning forward so slightly and catching the bottom lip of She-Who-Had-Never-Left. He he could have sworn he saw her golden eyes flicker down to his own mouth briefly before returning to his eyes, tears still staining her cheeks, and he wondered why women were always crying when they kissed him. Is that what was happening here? Was Hermione Granger going to kiss him? Was he going to kiss Hermione Granger? Time was slowing down, and the lavender and shea were sliding down his throat like thick cold cream. He swallowed, trying to clear out her sweet scent, unwilling to make a move in case this was all some bizarre daydream he was having, and he was actually still back in the tent hanging the lights.

"HARRY!" Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice came ringing out from the kitchen window, snapping them both out of their slow-motion movements. She jumped back about three feet, smoothing down her hair as if her tendrils had somehow gotten tangled in their conversation. "COME AND TASTE THIS STEW, WILL YOU!" Ron came dashing out of the tent then.

"YOU NEVER ASK ME TO TASTE ANY STEW!" Harry turned back to face her then, sure he had to say something before he left her standing there. There were still tears threatening to spill over, and he almost shouted back that he couldn't at the moment. Hermione was always quick to find the answers, though.

"You should go. Molly will throw a fit if Ronald eats all the stew before the party," she said softly.

"Hermione…".

"It's okay, Harry. I'm okay," she laughed. It was fake. "I must be close to my monthly. I've been a bit over emotional lately. Cried at a Pygmy Puff two days ago in Diagon Alley with Ginny." She smiled a watery smile.

"You're a bad liar."

"And you're too good a friend." There was something about the way she said that that made Harry's gut hurt. Like it wasn't necessarily a compliment to their outstanding friendship, and more of a...discontentment. He had to be imagining things. There was no way Hermione, his best friend, the girlfriend of Ronald Weasley, the girl who had seen him in his skivvies too many times to think sexy, was harboring feelings for him.

"HARRY! HURRY UP BEFORE IT'S ALL GONE!" She smiled, and shoved him toward the Burrow, shaking her head. Her hands were warm on his chest, then his back, and he wondered if Hermione had always radiated this much heat. The War had made everyone so cold.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, she had disappeared up the flight of stairs before anyone could notice her. Ginny handed him a bowl of stew, brushing her fingers against his purposefully as she did, and smiled prettily at him. He felt guilt bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, over what, he had no idea. Nothing had actually happened. He shook his head. Had he really even wanted to kiss Hermione? He had always thought of her like a sister. But he had to admit to himself that their relationship did become more intimate in the time that Ron had left. The morning after their dance in the tent, Harry had come out of the shower, towel around his hips as usual, only to see Hermione sitting on his bed.

"Hermione?" She looked up at him, and he suddenly felt very aware of his nakedness. She suddenly stood up, took the room in four long strides and threw herself on him, arms wrapped around his damp shoulders. He hugged her back in surprise, trying to make sure his towel didn't slip. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt the muscles in her back relax through her sweatshirt.

"Thank you for last night, Harry," she said softly against his neck. Her warm breath on his bare skin raised goosebumps, but he blamed it on the draft coming in from the tent flaps. She took a step back, when he didn't say anything, hands on his shoulders. He noticed her jumper and tugged at the sleeve with a smile. She blushed. "Oh, sorry. Did you want it back? You left it on your bed and I was a bit chilly so I…it smells like you and I guess I just wanted a bit of comfort"she stopped, beet red now, and began tugging the hem to take it off.

He grinned at her rambling and grabbed her wrists to stop her. He had worn an old quidditch sweatshirt of his to bed last night and she must have taken it when he took it off to shower. It was big on him, so it swam on her, hitting her thighs, the sleeves far too long. She looked kind of adorable in it with her hair up in a loose, messy ponytail. "Keep it. It suits you better anyway." The bright smile she gave him was worth one-hundred silly jumpers. Especially if all she wanted to do was smell him…

When she came back down fifteen minutes later, she had washed her face clean, a few damp baby hairs sticking to her forehead. "Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley started when she saw her, "have a bit of stew before the party. I'm sure you lot will be doing quite a bit of drinking tonight. Best to do it on a full stomach." She nodded, accepting the bowl of stew from her, and sitting in the only available seat next to Harry on the sofa. She smiled a full smile up at him as she sat down, her bowl steaming. This time it flicked the golden snitches. He smiled back at her, unable to resist. He never noticed before how daintily she held her spoons, or how puffy her lips looked when she blew on something hot. He felt something new stir in his belly, pushing the guilt out of the way swiftly and replacing it with... Was that desire? Yes, he definitely wanted to kiss her. He tore his eyes away from her mouth, and caught Ginny's eye from across the room. She offered him a small smile from the kitchen, before returning to the oven screaming that something was done.

He was in trouble.