Disclaimer: Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and all the rest of the characters belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: This story was begun in response to a challenge for Hermione's 19th birthday on the HPHarmony subreddit back in 2017. While it began as an attempt at fluff, the difficulty of creating a romance at this particular moment in the canon characters' lives made for a much more complicated tale, and I'm finally trying to get back to it. In the end, this is still a straight-ahead romance with Harry and Hermione, mostly centered in Hermione's POV. And there will be a significant helping of fluff. There is a bit of hurt/comfort here too, as both characters deal with the aftermath of the war. And just a bit of angst as they work through things together, but no artificial roadblocks to romance.

Canonical events are assumed through the end of the series, but without the DH Epilogue. In a few places, I've attempted to blend together elements from both book canon and movie canon (which of course are not entirely consistent with each other).

Chapter 1

Saturday, September 5, 1998

Hermione watched as her reflection let out a sigh.

"Why do you do that?"

Harry's voice startled her, and she nearly dropped the makeup stick in her hand. "It's just a bit of concealer," she said. "You know I'm hardly one to obsess over such things, but sometimes I smooth over a couple blemishes, especially if I'm going out."

"It's just me and Ron," he said. "And you don't need it. You're covering up your freckles."

She half-rolled her eyes at his reflection. "Since when are you an expert on my face?" As her gaze shifted, she began to examine herself more closely. "Most days they're barely even noticeable." Her eyes drifted back to his image; he now seemed to be staring rather intently at her. "What? Are you counting them to be sure it's me and not some impostor?"

"Maybe..."

Hermione spun about to look at him directly. "You're serious, Harry, aren't you?"

"You just have that prominent one here." He pointed beside her nose. "And one on your cheek there. And that cute pair above your lip..." She felt her cheeks grow slightly warm as Harry's eyes dropped down toward the floor. "I'm sorry, I must sound a bit mad. I just… well, I missed seeing you."

She scrunched her eyebrows down and stared at him, bemused. "We just saw each other a few days ago when I left for Hogwarts." She turned back to the mirror. "And while there's part of me that's flattered, I really had no idea you'd even notice such things."

Harry put his hands in his pockets and turned to walk out the door of the Head Girl's bathroom. "Nevermind," he said from the hall. "I just meant that you don't need all that stuff to look beautiful."

The final word echoed in her mind. Beautiful? When did Harry start casually calling her beautiful? Actually, when had he ever said anything like that? When did he map out her face with so much detail? She hastily applied a thin coat of clear lip gloss and followed him out to the main area of the Head Girl suite, where he had settled on the sofa, staring off. "Harry?"

"Just forget I said it. Or, no..." He turned and met her eyes. "Don't forget I said it. I just don't want you to think there's anything wrong with you, just because of that immature git."

She sat down beside him and put her hand on his. "It wasn't Ron's fault. We both realized it wouldn't work."

His gaze fell to his lap. "I'm just saying—you're perfect the way you are."

"Don't exaggerate. I don't need a friend to pity me with compliments. I know I'm not ugly, but I'm not—"

The tenor of his voice raised by a notch, as he looked up at her again, this time with an air of determination. "Please, stop. I'm not being nice, Hermione." She stared back into his eyes in bewilderment. "You don't realize it, do you? Most people are just intimidated by you, and the few blokes who are too stupid not to be are just the sort who'd fall for a mask of bloody makeup. Maybe someday I'll figure out a way to convince you..."

His voice had drifted off as his eyes fell again, and Hermione waited for a moment for him to continue. But with nothing more forthcoming, she finally asked, "Convince me of what, Harry?"

He hesitated for several seconds—obviously in a sort of strained agitation—before looking straight at her and blurting out, "Of how wonderful and brilliant and… well, absolutely stunning my best friend will be to any man who truly appreciates her."

For a moment, her breath caught, and she was truly speechless. The tiny voice inside her head told her that he couldn't have said that, couldn't really mean it. But Harry wouldn't be joking about something like this; he would never be so cruel. And she caught that resolute and sincere look in his green eyes before they dropped again as he cleared his throat. She finally leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, before saying quietly, "That's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Well, anyway..." Harry said as he pulled his hand away from hers, appearing decidedly uncomfortable, before standing up. "We should get going if we're going to meet up with him at Hogsmeade."

She ignored his tacit protest against physical contact and took his arm as they walked in silence from Gryffindor tower, listening to the distant echoing of the chimes from the clock tower announcing the hour as they navigated the deserted halls. All the other students were at dinner, the place Hermione would typically have been supervising. When they reached the main entrance of Hogwarts, she spoke up again. "I still feel like I'm abusing this privilege."

Harry shook his head. "You're Head Girl, and without you we wouldn't have won the war. As far as I'm concerned, McGonagall should let you go out whenever you want." He paused for a moment before adding, "And if she doesn't, then I guess… I'll have a word with her."

Her face grew tight as she halted their walk. "No, you will not, Harry Potter," she said, giving him her sternest look. "I'm a student here again, and rules exist for a reason. I need to set an example. I will not have you throwing your Boy Who Lived And Lived Again reputation around like that."

A moment after she finished, Harry's expression broke into a grin, and he began chuckling. "I was kidding, but it's hilarious to see your face when you get angry. Don't ever change." He turned to her with those mirthful eyes, and she couldn't help breaking her scowl to smile in return.

"It's great to see you three together again!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed as she delivered their drinks. "It seems only yesterday that there were three young kids here drinking butterbeer. And Hermione is Head Girl now, I hear. Come, tell me—I've never met another woman named Hermione. You know, I've always wondered where that comes from."

Hermione started to open her mouth, but Ron chimed in, "Her parents are fans of Shakespeare, so she's named after one of his characters. A Midsummer Night's Dream, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald. Hermione is from The Winter's Tale." Looking back to Madam Rosmerta, she continued, "Though she and I have basically nothing in common, other than having lived pretty messed up lives in very different ways. I've sometimes wondered if there's a connection to her tragic story, but I think my parents just liked the sound of the name."

"I've always liked it too," Harry said as he set down his drink. "The sound of your name, that is."

Hermione again felt her cheeks redden slightly. "Harry, what's gotten into you tonight? I'm not fishing for compliments."

"I didn't mean..." He paused and swallowed. "Well, I still remember how you told us your name when we first met. You just walked in on the train and announced it to the two of us. I immediately knew you were different, so the unique name suited you."

"Yeah, she's different all right..." Ron muttered. Hermione shot a glare at him.

Madam Rosmerta laughed. "Well, Hermione, I'd say to always be grateful for compliments, whatever their source. But I need to get back to the bar..."

A silence fell among the trio for a few moments. Hermione glanced around the room, spying a young couple sitting close at a nearby table and obviously becoming better acquainted. It just served to make her feel depressed again about how she had completely failed to get along in her first attempt at a somewhat serious relationship. As much as she told Harry—and even herself—that the breakup had been mutual, she knew deep down that she was the catalyst. Beyond the initial spark and thrill for a brief time after the war was finally over, she and Ron seemed to return to their continual sparring. Hermione knew it was partly because her feelings just never developed more, but she couldn't ever admit that and hurt Ron directly. Instead, he gradually just came to resent her reluctance enough that he ended it. Still, she wasn't quite ready to forgive some of the hurtful things he had said.

Ron finally spoke up, drawing Hermione out of her thoughts. "It's strange to be back here near Hogwarts. To think—a year ago, we were supposed to be starting school, but instead we were hiding away at Grimmauld Place. Of course, that was all before we embarked on that camping trip from hell." He took a large swig of mead.

Hermione was still scowling at him. "Ron, I know there was a lot of stress for all of us there, but the conditions were hardly that bad, except for our trouble with provisions. I went camping several summers with my parents in the Forest of Dean as a girl, and we'd survive for a week without any magic whatsoever. We had to pitch our tent, light fires, cook, clean—I'd like to see either of the two of you put up with that in the wilderness for even a day."

Ron shook his head slowly, obviously contemplating what their trip would have been like. "Blimey, Hermione, you don't need to convince me. No way I'd want to do that again, even with magic."

But Harry was staring off, looking a bit wistful. "It's hard for me to think about it without all the tension of the war, but there were a few moments when it was actually peaceful there... so quiet."

Hermione turned to him as she silently reminisced, recalling the occasional tranquility of sitting beside him alone in the wilderness some days and nights. "For me too, Harry."

"Well, if you two liked it so bloody much, why didn't you just stay there together?" Ron added roughly, before quickly gulping down more of his drink. When he lowered his mug, he was met with the open-mouthed expressions on his friends' faces. He immediately dropped his gaze and stared down at his hands. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean that."

Hermione stifled her urge to retort that he did, in fact, mean that. Her mind flashed back to part of their argument when he had finally announced their breakup. Go back to Harry, he had yelled. You'd rather have died with him than stay and live with me.

But Ron was talking again in the present. "You two have always been great friends to me, and I'll never forgive myself for leaving you there. I... I just thought that after the war was over, we'd all work stuff out together. But I had to screw it up again."

Despite Hermione's lingering hurt, she knew he wasn't entirely to blame. She reached out to take Ron's hand, but he pulled it down to his lap. Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath. "It wasn't you, Ron," she said quietly. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

"I think I need another drink," said Ron as he left Harry and Hermione seated side-by-side at their table.

Hermione sighed again, exhaling more deeply. "He just started a fresh drink a minute ago." She glanced back to the bar to see Ron leaning over it, with a rather goofy grin targeted at Madam Rosmerta. "What is he thinking? She's old enough to be his mother."

"Maybe that's what he needs: a mother to cook and clean and pick up his dirty laundry, just like Molly," Harry said dryly.

Hermione gave Harry a gentle shove on the shoulder. "Please don't be mean. I know you're angry with him because you think he hurt me, but I probably hurt him more." In fact, she had to admit, she had once uttered almost the exact words Harry had just said to Ron in a fit of anger, though she had immediately regretted it. "I just want us all to be friends again." She paused, looking back at Ron and then to Harry again. "It's going to take some time. I'm still glad I have you, though." She put her hand on top of his and squeezed it gently. The corners of his mouth turned up in a closed-mouth smile as he disengaged their hands to put his arm around her shoulder.

They drank for a few minutes in silence, observing the other patrons at the Three Broomsticks. Hermione noticed the occasional glances in their direction that had always accompanied Harry when they were in public. No doubt there would be some gossip, as there always was, about how the two of them were now seated so close together. Hermione had grown used to ignoring it over the years; no one else really understood the connection she had with Harry.

But privately she felt a bit of a thrill that Harry had taken the initiative to reach out to her like this, in public no less. What the bar patrons couldn't possibly know is how difficult it was for him simply to show any affection. Though there had been many clues over the years, even Hermione hadn't realized the extent of Harry's past until recent weeks.

Their friendship had shifted a bit after her final argument with Ron nearly a month before. Ron had left her sobbing when he suddenly disapparated from Grimmauld Place, where the three of them had been staying for most of the summer. Harry had tentatively entered her room a few minutes after hearing the shouting stop, and she couldn't help but throw herself into his arms as she cried. All their lives had been so disrupted in the past year, and she felt like she had nowhere else to turn. But Harry had been there for her, immediately insisting that she continue to stay at Grimmauld Place with him.

Although Harry was already involved in Auror training, he subsequently made it a point to come home early and check on her, occasionally convincing Kreacher to let him prepare a nice dinner for the two of them. Hermione had busied herself with organizing and cataloging the old Black library, but Harry unintentionally gave her a new project when he mentioned one evening that he missed seeing the few Muggle films and television programs he'd occasionally catch glimpses of while growing up. Electricity was always a problem in magical houses, but after a week of research on proper containment spells to isolate Muggle technology, she surprised Harry one evening with a television and VCR set up in one of the rarely used rooms in Grimmauld Place.

They had spent many evenings in the last couple weeks before Hermione's return to Hogwarts watching films together, a strangely comforting visit to their joint Muggle roots after years of being caught up in the tumultuous events of the Wizarding world. It also felt like a kind of private sanctuary for the two of them, as Kreacher refused to enter the room once he understood the kind of technology Hermione had introduced to "defile and pollute" Grimmauld Place. The house-elf's tantrum had only amused Harry to the extent that he threatened to turn the room into a complete home cinema with a projector and electric popcorn machine if Kreacher wouldn't drop the matter. Kreacher relented, and literally left them to their own devices.

One night when Hermione made the mistake of choosing one of her favorite films, Dead Poets Society, she found Harry closing his eyes and appearing distressed at a paddling scene. She paused the film and asked if he wanted to talk. Aside from one offhand joke about "ducking" from Uncle Vernon that Harry had cracked a couple years before with Hermione, he had never talked about what happened with the Dursleys with anyone. She and Ron had both had suspicions, but they never asked, sensing that it wasn't something Harry wanted to discuss.

But Harry opened up that night to her, staring stonily ahead as he recounted years of verbal and physical abuse. He spoke quietly and seemingly without emotion for nearly thirty minutes, describing the events almost as if he were some objective third-party observer to the nightmare he had grown up in. Hermione didn't know what to say and merely sat there holding his hand as he went on; she had no idea it had been this bad. So many things about Harry's volatile personality and frequent reticence suddenly made sense to her. He had apparently been rather isolated from physical contact and affection for years. She suppressed her initial impulse to apparate to the Dursleys immediately and hex them with some horrific spell—instead, when he seemed finished, she merely curled up into Harry's side on the sofa and pulled his arm around her shoulders. They sat there in silence for a long time before retiring to bed; they never did finish the film (which Hermione felt would be unwise).

Hermione had always felt a need to give Harry physical affection, but now she truly understood how difficult it all was for him. Had she been the first person to actually hug him since his parents died? He hadn't spoken again about the Dursleys since that night, and she didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. But she did reach out to him physically more often, even finding herself unintentionally sitting closer to him while they had their remaining evenings together. She instinctively wanted him to feel loved. The fact that he reciprocated tonight by putting his arm around her made her feel like they had broken through and crossed some emotional chasm together. They had been through so much: no matter what, they both still had each other.

Abruptly, Harry rose up from the bench they were sitting on, pulling Hermione's thoughts back to the present. "Let's get out of here," he said, gesturing toward the door. "The two of you aren't going to fix this in one night. I'll walk you back."

They said goodbye to some acquaintances, and Hermione gave Ron a very awkward and forced half-hug, before she and Harry found themselves strolling in the light of the nearly full moon.

"You really don't need to walk me back, Harry. It's a bright night, and I know the way." But she saw him subtly hunch over and slow his pace slightly. Wrapping an arm around his waist, she pulled him closer. "Hey... I missed you too." Aside from those few days when she went with Ron to find her parents in Australia after the final battle—where she insisted Harry stay under observation in St. Mungo's to recover after… well, basically coming back from the dead—until the past week they hadn't been apart for more than a day in a very long time. "You know, you could still come back to Hogwarts," she continued. "I'm sure McGonagall would allow a late start for you."

"I can't." He swallowed, as the rhythm of their footsteps became the only sound on their lonely path to Hogwarts. She already knew what was on his mind, but he continued anyway, speaking so quietly she wondered if he even meant to voice his thoughts aloud. "I failed them. So many people, so many friends, students... some of them were just kids. If we had figured things out earlier, maybe we could have..." His voice trailed off.

She stopped walking and turned to look directly at him, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes, which displayed the depth of his anguish. "Harry, you need to stop this. You can't blame yourself for—"

He held up his hand. "Yeah, I know what you're going to say. I've heard it all before. Still, I can't spend time in school with those memories haunting me every day when I can be training to ensure it never happens again."

A moment passed as she contemplated how much to push him. "Are they back again?" she finally queried.

He stared up at the moon, avoiding her look of concern. "Twice this week," he mumbled. "It's nothing."

Harry had always had occasional nightmares, but they were rather frequent after the final battle. Early in the summer, Ron and Hermione had ended up running to him several times in the middle of the night when Harry had woken up shrieking and drenched in sweat. When Ron went back to the Burrow after their breakup, Hermione moved into the bedroom next to Harry at Grimmauld Place to be closer to him during the night, and somehow knowing she was next door seemed to soothe him. At least, that's what Hermione told herself. She had feared this would happen again when she left him alone.

"These aren't caused by Voldemort anymore," she said. "I told you about Healer Adams. She's well-respected, and… discreet. You could—"

"That's all I need," Harry grumbled. "Headlines about how The Boy Who Lived has cracked up."

"We all need help sometimes," she replied, trying to ignore the fact that her statement could likely apply as much to herself as to Harry. "We kept all of this to ourselves for so many years. But no one can get by alone, even some stubborn bull-headed impulsive war hero who thinks he can just go off by himself." She said it in a light-hearted tone, hoping to get a rise out of him, or at least a chuckle. Instead, he merely took a breath and started forward again.

They walked again in silence for a few minutes. All of a sudden, his face brightened a bit. "But listen, your birthday's coming up in just a couple weeks. What would you like? A surprise party?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think you just ruined the surprise, Harry."

He flashed a broad smile at her, the kind that would have any of the younger Hogwarts girls in a puddle at his feet. She laughed, continuing, "Oh, I should have known you weren't serious. You, of all people, would know I'd have hated that. Showing up unprepared, not knowing what to expect—my idea of a nightmare."

"Still, we could plan a party for you…"

She put her arm back around his waist. "You're sweet, Harry. But you know I was never very comfortable at big parties in the first place, and I really don't think I could deal with one right now. It will still be awkward with Ron and the Weasleys, and just about everyone else I was close to either left Hogwarts or..." Silence fell once more. Neither of them needed to complete the final thought in that sentence.

Harry pondered for a few moments, before announcing, "So, I'll come get you, and we'll spend the day together, somewhere away from bad memories." Her mouth began to open in protest, but he held up his hand. "No. Either you ask McGonagall, or this time I will do it for you. She will give you the weekend off of your Head Girl duties for your birthday. After all we've both been through, I'm sure she'll even encourage it. And I'll sort out a surprise that we'll both enjoy. Okay?"

He looked warmly at her, as his arm joined hers to pull them into a closer embrace as they walked. She felt her heart beat a little faster, gladdened by the shift in his mood. "Okay," she replied. "Just nothing too crazy. Something simple."

His smile turned into a playful smirk. "Oh, I already have an idea," he said, "and it's positively Spartan in its simplicity." His bright eyes were reflecting the moonlight a bit as she glanced over at him, feeling uncertain. "No, I'm not telling you. No hints either. At least, not yet…"