The war had been long and bloody, but it was finally over. Many good men and women had died valiantly defending Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, and in the end they had been victorious. Voldemort was vanquished, but all was not well for Harry Potter.

Harry was sitting in the Great Hall, which still looked a little the worse for wear. The war had ended only the month before, and he had decided to stay at Hogwarts to help with the reparations. Even with the teachers working full time to restore the castle to its former glory there was a lot to do, but the work was progressing slowly but surely. This wasn't the only reason Harry was still at Hogwarts, though. He also needed to sort his feelings out. One of his main reasons for fighting was to protect Ginny, but after a short period of dating, she broke up with him. They had spent so long apart that the fantasy outweighed the reality, and though it was amiable, Harry felt hurt. He also debated his feelings for a certain brown-haired witch, with whom he'd shared a dance. Said witch was currently standing next to him, and she looked worried.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked her.

"Harry," Hermione asked him in return, "Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask, 'Mione?"

"Ever since the end of the war, you've seemed... off. Moodier. You've barely spoken to Ron or me in the last two weeks, and Mrs. Weasley says you've turned down three invitations to the Burrow. What's wrong?" After asking the question, she wished she could take it back. His expression scared her. He didn't look angry, he looked... haunted.

"Wrong?" he asked, and his tone was like Atlas, the voice of someone just barely holding the world on his shoulders. "Wrong? Hermione, where do I start? In the last year, I died, killed Voldemort, and got a lot of other good people killed or almost killed. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Moody, Dobby... They died. For or because of me. So many of the ones I care about... Gone. And even the survivors have scars, not least me."

"Harry, they, we, chose to fight, chose to risk death, not for you, but for the chance you offered. We fought knowing that even if we died, you would keep fighting, to stop Voldemort. You would carry on. And you did. It's over."

"I know, but..."

"You feel guilty. You think it was your fault."

"It was for and because of me. My mistakes. My responsibility. And the people who lived, who lost others... Molly, Arthur, George, Ron... How could they not blame me? It was my fault."

Hermione nodded to herself. When Harry had stopped interacting with the Weasleys, they had suspected he felt guilty, but none of them ever imagined the extent of the regret he clearly felt.

"Harry, nobody blames you but yourself. We're worried about you. I- we- don't want to see you this way. You're shutting yourself off from us. You need to come back."

"And if other people I care about die? Hermione, when I thought you were going to be killed, when Bellatrix was torturing you, I... I just... I wouldn't be able to take it. If you had died, I don't know how I would have carried on."

"I'm here. I'm okay." She tried to comfort him, but at the same time, she couldn't help but read into his last statement. Did he mean...? She decided to take the chance.

"But you almost weren't. What if-" He broke off as Hermione closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his. He stumbled backwards, too shocked to reciprocate. He had been friends with Hermione for the best part of a decade, he loved her like a sister (but only as a sister, a small part of his mind asked), but what about Ron...?

Before he had a chance to respond, there was a small crack, and as Harry and Hermione jumped backwards and raised their wands, a house elf appeared.

"Kreacher?" Harry asked. "Why have you come here?"

"Master," the wizened elf croaked, "Danger! The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black has been invaded! Master must come quickly!"

"Hermione, I-" he began, but she had already turned away from him.

"Go," she said, her voice flat and dull. "When you want to talk, I'll be at the Burrow." She immediately disapparated, but before she was gone, Harry thought he heard a muffled sob.

Feeling helpless and regretful, though not fully understanding why, Harry followed the house elf to his home.

It was another month before he saw Hermione again. After dealing with the "invaders" (two boggarts and the most confused tramp Harry had ever met, who felt a lot better after a nice cup of tea), an owl had arrived from the Ministry. Harry had been offered the post of an Auror, but he just didn't want to fight anymore. He regretfully turned down the post, though he was informed it would remain open if ever he wanted it. Then he had to get 12 Grimmauld Place back into a state of habitability. The work gave him a lot of time to think and sort out his emotions. He finally realized how he felt about Hermione, and resolved to tell her he loved her and ask her out immediately. So he paid his first visit to the Burrow since the end of the war, his heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

"Harry!" Molly exclaimed, then hugged him tightly. "So lovely to see you again! We've been worried sick about you. Don't ever stay away like this again. Honestly, cutting your friends off like that. Percy thought you'd been put under the imperius curse, or had been replaced with a polyjuice duplicate."

"Umph... Mrs. Weasley?" Harry managed to groan out, "Hugging... a little... tight..."

"Sorry, dear," she said, finally releasing him. "Anyway, Ginny's upstairs... Whatever happened between the two of you? You were such a nice couple." Apparently he looked less than enthusiastic at this statement, because she quickly said, "Not that there's anything wrong with the two of you having broken up, that's entirely your business, I was just making an observation. Sorry, dear."

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied, though he still felt upset at the memory. "Is Hermione here?"

"Ron and Hermione are in the dining room. Apparently they have something to tell us, but Ron said he wanted you to be here. Maybe now they'll tell us what's so important."

Harry was only half listening, still lost in thought, but a few words did manage to make their way into his consciousness: "Hermione" and "dining room." He walked in, and the buzz of conversation stopped as everyone looked at him.

"Hello, guys," he said. "How've you been?"

"Blimey, Harry," said George, "Haven't seen you out in ages. You look bloody awful, mate. When's the last time you had a shave?"

"Nice to see you too, George," he grinned. "I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, but I figured it would be a good idea to see you lot again. Apparently, some people," he shot a glare at Percy, who had the decency to look abashed (though Ginny's uncontrollable giggling ruined the effect a bit), "Some people who I will not be naming have been spreading rumors about me."

"Oh, give it a rest, Harry," Ron interjected. "I'm glad you're here, it means I can finally do this." Harry had eyes only for Hermione, who was blushing. She looked absolutely lovely, and he knew he had to tell her how he felt, was about to, when his eyes were drawn to her hand. Her hand, and specifically the ring Ron was placing on it. And as Harry watched, Ron announced, "Hermione and I have known each other for years, and we've been dating for a while. I've asked her to marry me, and she's accepted."

Then everything went black.

The next thing Harry knew, he was standing alone in a forest, his hands aching. He vaguely remembered making his excuses to the Weasleys, pleading an upset stomach, which wasn't exactly a lie- he did feel sick. Just as he had finally realized he loved Hermione, she got engaged to his best friend. He wanted them to be happy, of course he did, but shouldn't his happiness matter too? He started to become angry once again, but a sharp twinge from his hands drove all feelings of rage from his mind. Looking down at them, he realized his knuckles were scraped and bloody, and- were fingers supposed to bend that way? Almost certainly not. What could he have done to mangle his hands so badly? Then he looked at his surroundings properly for the first time.

He was standing in the forest of Dean, in the spot he and Hermione had come after Ron left, but it looked different than the last time he had seen it. He had previously been struck by its stark beauty, the way there were no signs of any humans having come here in years. But while it had been a while since he'd seen it, he was pretty sure it hadn't been on fire before. Some of the trees were now just blackened stumps, and a few of the ones that were still standing had areas that looked a bit... dented. He gazed at the desolated sections of landscape, then back to his hands (one of which was holding his wand), and realized exactly how enraged he had felt.

After healing his hands and extinguishing the remaining flames Harry was about to apparate back to the Weasley's, but he realized he couldn't face Ron yet, and especially not deal with seeing Hermione. He decided to stay where he was. He wasn't going to be expected back anywhere for a week or two, nobody would notice if he was missing for a while, and the forest was peaceful. It was one of the last places he could remember being alone with Hermione, and he noticed he still had her beaded bag with the tent and supplies in it. He'd go camping for a while, just to clear his head. It wouldn't be for long.

A month later, he was still there. By now his days had become routine: wake up, check the wards protecting the tent, start a fire, and cook breakfast. Then chop wood for a few hours. He didn't know any spells that could do that, but in the depths of the bag he found a hatchet. He enjoyed the physical labor; it was a pretty good workout, but more importantly it stopped him thinking for a while, something he desperately craved. Then he would eat lunch and walk through the forest. At first, Harry would remember past events as he walked, but as time went on he found he thought less about himself and his "former" life, and more about his surroundings. He grew to know and love the positions of the trees, rocks, and pools of rainwater. After returning home (for he had begun thinking of the tent as "home"), he would eat and go to bed. He found the life peaceful, enjoyed simply existing rather than fighting, and enjoyed the solitude, away from those he couldn't bear to deal with right now. But it wasn't to last for much longer.

One day upon returning to his tent after his walk, he saw a familiar, bushy-haired figure standing by the campfire. When Hermione turned and saw him, he noticed her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying.

"Harry?" she asked. "Is that you? How long have you been here?"

"It's me, Hermione. I've been out here a while. I don't know exactly how long; I haven't been keeping track of the days. Some time after that night at the Burrow. But the real question is, what are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you. For heaven's sake, Harry, we thought you had died. We were so worried about you. You walked out, and Kreacher said you hadn't been back to Grimmauld place. We've been looking for you for weeks, everywhere you've been recently. Minerva and the other teachers scoured Hogwarts looking for you; even Peeves helped search! I finally remembered this place, and realized that you might be here. What on earth have you been doing?"

"Just... living, I guess. Taking it day by day."

"Yes, but why here of all places?"

Harry gazed at her in shock. One of his most treasured memories, the time they danced together, the time he started to realize his feelings (the time without Ron, he thought), and she didn't remember?

"I have some more or less happy memories from here. The time we-"

"The time we danced together, yes. I remember. Honestly, Harry. The most out of the way place, and you had to come here? I'm just so relieved you're okay."

Knowing the chance would never come again, Harry asked, "Hermione, would you like to... Could we... dance again?"

Hermione looked at him sadly. "Harry, I- I don't think that would be a good idea. Please don't ask me."

He was shocked at the change in her attitude. The formerly bright and cheerful woman he had realized he loved not two months before seemed so worn out and tired. He had to know, so mustering up his courage, Harry asked her, "Hermione, are you... happy?"

"I've been worried sick, you idiot!" she exclaimed with anger, and Harry was glad to see some of the fire return to her eyes. "Don't you ever go off alone like this again! You're coming back to the Burrow with me right now, or at least as soon as you've packed. No! No arguments, just be glad that I found you before Molly did. She's furious. And you're to stay there for at least two weeks."

Packing took a surprisingly short amount of time, and within an hour Harry and Hermione were standing in a perfectly clean area with only a log pile showing that someone had lived here. As he took Hermione's hand and they disapparated, he realized that she hadn't really answered his question.

Author's Note: Part 2 should be along soon, please review so I know what to improve, and a special thanks to my beta reader, The Prince's Mage.

-Church1alpha