A/N: This one's a little short. I was going to write more but when I stopped, I realized it was a perfect place to end the chapter.

The Past is Past

The air outside is icy cold, probably one of the coldest nights of the year, but Harry is sweating bullets. He paces, because he cannot stand still and let his mind wander. He needs his head on his shoulders for this. He glances up at Hermione who is worrying her lip as Ron rubs her shoulders in more of an effort to keep his hands busy than to keep her relaxed. Just the three of them, as usual. The three of them against the world, as it should be.

"Harry!" Hermione finally shouts, causing both boys to jump. "Sorry, but please stop pacing, you're making me dizzy." Harry nods shortly and sits down. It is not long before he begins to fidget and his stomach flops and he is sure he is going to pass out.

It is ten minutes to midnight, why has it not come yet? Harry screams in his head. It should have happened weeks ago, Harry should be dead. There is nothing left, the Horcruxes are destroyed, Nagini included. Now there is one left, and it has to be destroyed. Harry has to die. And he wishes it would just happen already. He wishes that it would happen so better and stronger wizards could take down Voldemort.

Harry runs an aggravated hand through his hair as he stands up and rushes to the window. The night is pitch black, as if all the stars in the galaxy had fallen to the ground. As if the world had ended. Harry looks, trying to find any sign of a Death Eater on the horizon. But it remains dark and eerily silent. And he hears this voice in his head, a voice that he should not be hearing right now.

"Do not be so eager to die, little one," the voice says, and Harry knows it is his subconscious but it still soothes him. "Foolish as you may be, you know that you must wait. Gryffindor courage be damned." He relaxes very slightly. Because the words are not all his imagination; some of them are memories.

"Do not be so eager to die, little one." Little one. It is a nickname that was rarely ever used. It is usually, "idiot" or "foolish boy" but on the rare occasions where some compassion was demanded, he used "little one." Harry did not understand it at first. But he supposes he does now. It was a small reminder that Harry is a young man, one person, small; that he should not feel as if the world was solely resting on his shoulders; that there were people out there that were bigger and stronger and willing to protect him should he need it; that he did not have to fight alone. Harry likes the nickname, he truly does. He likes the unusual sentimentality behind it. But it is the man who gave it to him that he is more concerned with.

"He'll be fine, Harry," Hermione soothes. Harry shoots her a sidelong glance. She does not understand half of what is bothering Harry, but he is appreciative all the same.

Then, there is a loud screech, piercing the silence of the night. It is a scream of agony and Harry's insides turn icy. Part of him is filled with cold dread, but the other part of him melts in relief. This is it. It is starting.

Harry opened his eyes, because he was not really sleeping. He was caught up in his memories again. He sighed heftily. It still felt so real sometimes, as it were still happening, as if he was still fighting a war. He shook his head, he knew that it was not true. The war was over, it had been for a long time. But, every once and awhile, he would drift. It was so easy sometimes; to slip back into his memories. He would be yanked back to training and running and screaming and killing and one tempered voice that would-

But he was not supposed to think about that anymore. He pushed himself off the futon. It was too early to do anything, really. He almost woke Hermione, but decided against it. Just because he was unable to catch some decent hours of sleep did not mean he had to deprive her of some. He, instead, spent the hours listening to music, humming along and doing menial household chores that did not get done the night before. He did not allow himself to think anymore, putting all his focus on scrubbing the dishes and wiping the counter tops. Every once and awhile, he would glance at the clock, watching as the time ticked by. Once Hermione was up, once the day was started, there would be more things to do and less time to think. But every minute seemed to pass with agonizing slowness. He threw himself into the, rather, simple tasks of cleaning the kitchen. After many painful minutes, he looked at the time, conceding it was a decent hour to start breakfast. This part was easier, cooking was his passion, he could truly lose himself in it.

Soon after he started cooking the bacon, Hermione slumped into the kitchen, grabbing hungrily at the plate of waffles Harry handed her.

"Morning love." She yawned sleepily.

"Morning," he responded, smiling at her sleep-rumpled form. He did not care how bent he was, he still thought that his best friend was adorable in the mornings.

She rubbed her face tiredly, then took a moment to examine her friend. The bloodshot quality of his eyes as well as the purple bags that seemed to be forming around them answered the question she asked next.

"Did you sleep at all last night, Harry?"

He did not answer right away, engrossed in his task of flipping bacon strips. But at her persistent glare, he relented and answered her.

"A bit," he mumbled, shrugging. He had managed a few minutes of unconsciousness in the earliest hours of the morning.

"Harry, you really should go to a Mind Healer about your insomnia, you can't keep on like this."

Watch me, was Harry's unspoken reply. But Hermione seemed to read his mind, because she clenched her jaw, the tension in the air rose and he could tell she was preparing for a loud argument. But, not wanting to fight with her at such an early hour, he simply shrugged one shoulder and changed the subject.

"You promised to open today." Harry reminded her. "I told Jesse that we could spend the first half of the day together and since you bailed yesterday morning..." He trailed off, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"Way to guilt trip, Harry," she snorted. Harry gave her a playful glare, but untensed inside. She was dropping the subject once again, and he was grateful for that.

"Christ, Harry, you make the best waffles," she moaned happily, taking another bite of her already half-eaten breakfast. She was trying to ease the tension in the room, but she gave him a look that clearly said, "I'm dropping this for now because I love you, but don't think you're getting out of this conversation."

Part of him wanted to hash it out right then and there, to have a fantastic fight that would result in him spending more than a few nights on the couch. But the wiser part of his mind told him to drop it, for now, just like Hermione had. They would come back to it, they always did.

"Thank you," he chirped, instead, letting the tenseness in his shoulders evaporate completely.

"I'm serious, Harry," she said, her own shoulders relaxing. "I swear if you weren't bent like a rainbow and I wasn't madly in love with Remus, I'd marry you in a heartbeat." He laughed, serving up his own waffles before sitting across from her at the island counter.

"If you're trying to use flattery to get out of actually being on time to work today, it's not going to work," Harry joked. She snickered, but did not respond as she took another large bite of waffle.

"So, you're going to see Jesse?" Hermione asked casually as they made their way down to the bakery after breakfast. Harry tensed at the question, afraid of breaching the subject he had so carefully avoided the night before.

"Yeah," he answered tightly. "We've just started dating. I want to spend some time with him, you know?"

Hermione nodded at his answer, obviously warned by the tone of his voice to not bring up the previous night's conversation.

"When am I going to meet him?"

Harry relaxed, the tenseness passing. The subject was dropped again, for the moment anyway.

"When we're a bit more serious," he replied, helping Hermione set up for the breakfast rush.

The conversation was ended as ovens were turned on and pastries were baked. By the time customers began to arrive, they were open and ready. Harry was able to help with the first wave of customers, but had to leave by the second. He gave Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek, thanked her a thousand times over, and rushed out the door.

When he arrived at the apparition point, he took a deep breath. It was only his third date with Jesse and he was still a bit nervous around the other man. Things had been going well so far, but Harry had a lot of emotional baggage and the third date was typically the date where sensitive subjects were brought up. He did not know if he was ready. But he liked Jesse, and definitely wanted to give him a shot. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply. He gathered up every last bit of Gryffindor courage he had and apparated away.

A/N: Chapter Title song: Mistletoe by Jukebox the Ghost /watch?v=CxNvqgxpO74