Harry stared at his final draft and read through each line carefully. He lazily scratched his chin, and observed his awful handwriting through exhaustion burned eyes. While it had taken him ages to fall asleep, it hadn't taken much to wake him up. And as the hours passed, he'd begun to draft his request for a leave of absence from teaching.

Hermione groaned beside him, her frizzy hair hung over the armrest. She mumbled something then sank into sleep again, the thin sheet that covered her slipped to her elbow. Harry adjusted the sheet over her and returned to his letter.

In the letter, he'd notified McGonagall of his current position, of how he didn't want to endanger the students any more than he may have already. It was abominably short notice, but he promised he would only be away for a couple of days perhaps more. He knew she would understand, begrudgingly, but she'd understand nonetheless.

Again, he glanced at the sleeping woman by his side. She groaned again and seemed to stir under his gaze. He watched her breathe deeply and exhale. Her lips parted slightly with a thin line of drool poking from the corner of her lip. There was no way he could drag her into whatever mess he had created. The part of him that wanted nothing more than to flee seemed to have been overwhelmed by whatever rooted him in place. He sighed and blinked away the pain in the back of his head.

He stretched and settled the letter on the table. His long sleeves rolled down to cover his fingertips. He recognised the deep auburn shirt and pants which belonged to Ron and sighed again. Hermione must've heard him as she bolted into sitting position with a gasp.

With eyes partially shut and hair that stuck on end, she checked her surroundings. Her usually perfectly ironed shirt was ruffled and a few buttons undone. Harry watched her with mild amusement as the sheet bunched itself on her lap.

"Morning," he softly greeted her. She blinked slowly and wiped her lip. When she turned to him, the bags under her eyes seemed to rival his own. She observed him for a time as though registering who he was, and then rubbed her eyes with a waning smile

"How are you feeling?" she asked. Her voice seemed to trail off. She leaned back into the couch, drew her knees up, and folded them in the space between them. Her heels press into the side of his thigh.

Harry pondered her question. In his mind, he lied to her with a sweet smile on his face.

In stead, he turned away from her and said, "I want to go somewhere."

She waited, he could feel her eyes on him and then she sighed, "You're not going on your own."

He looked over his shoulder, her head hung over the couch. Her eyes were closed and when she sensed his gaze on her, she opened one eye to look at him. Her lips curved into a thin lipped smile.

In his mind, he told her he wanted to be alone. He told her that he wanted to be some place quiet, away from the world. To be left to his thoughts. He told her that she was safer away from him and that he didn't want to allow for the possibility that she might get hurt again.

But when his lips moved, words formed without permission.

"I wasn't planning to,"

…

Hermione looked around as he approached the wooden shelves, he checked for any food in the cupboards and created a mental list of what remained from his last visit.

"Where is this place?"

'This place' was an abandoned charmed tent on the beach of Sango Sands. The place was a beautiful, quiet, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore had an incredibly relaxing effect. He had found the place after Kites' trial. It had been a sanctuary for him, and for all intents and purposes, while it was very muggle-like, its only exceptional trait was the chimney attached at the top.

"Do you remember when I took a leave of absence from the ministry?" He didn't wait for her to reply, and continued to rummage, "I sort of wandered around the country for a time, before I found this place. And after I resigned, I came here."

Harry pulled a canister of coffee powder and sniffed it. He pulled it away from his nose and shook the container. The dried powder had hardened. He tossed it into the empty trash can.

He could feel her eyes on him as she paced, "What did you do here?"

Harry's hand stilled, and his eyes stayed on the shelf for longer than he wanted to.

"I existed,"

He continued to rummage whatever stocks he'd left behind. The time he'd spent away from everyone had been some of the darkest moments of his life. Frankly, he hated the idea of reliving them in his mind but a part of him needed to. He felt her gaze on his back and pretended not to feel the weight of his own words.

"How long were you here?"

He looked over his shoulder, she had her back to him and her finger trailed along the dusty shelves. "Too long,"

She rubbed her fingers together with a grimace and wiped the dust onto her pants. She approached one of the cupboards and opened it. A wave of empty glass bottles rolled out and onto the ground. Hermione startled out of the way as a few shattered on impact. She blinked perplexedly and Harry rolled his lips.

The memories of his pitiful drunken nights flooded back. At one point, he recalled guzzling three bottles of cheap whiskey, and collapsed on the beach. When he awoke, it was to the screech of seagulls pecking at him. When he really thought about, he may have thrown up on one.

He narrowed his eyes on her.

"Don't do that,"

"What?" she raised her brows defensively.

"You're judging me, I can feel it."

"I haven't said a word,"

"You don't have to," he replied and leaned against the counter with crossed arms, "I can feel it."

They stared at the other, and Harry dared her to counter. She tilted her head in a patronising fashion, and despite herself her lips quivered into a smirk and she shook head. She waved her wand and the bottles repaired themselves. He exhaled with a light smile and scratched the back of his neck. His hand trailed down the length of his jaw and scratched the base of his chin.

"There's not much to eat," he sighed, "There a really good restaurant around here, decent fish and chips. I'll go pick something up,"

"Sure," she answered lazily, and returned her attention to the shelves. He watched her for a moment, as her fingers trailed over another shelf with a curious expression.

When he returned, the sky was lined with red and purple as the sun began to set over the horizon. In one hand he had a bag of groceries, and in the other, a bag of fast-food. And when he entered the tent, Hermione was seated at the kitchen table, with a book in hand. She paged through it with eager curiosity, completely oblivious to his presence.

Harry settled the bags on the counter and began to empty the items into the cupboards. "Find anything interesting?"

"Hm," she answered affirmatively and turned another page, she tossed the strands obstructing her view behind her ear. She turned a page back and forth with a interested expression. "This is amazing, really,"

"What is?" Harry brought down two empty cups, and set the kettle to boil and returned to shelving the cupboards.

"The books here- the research, while quite dated, is really interesting. I wonder who lived here…" She waved a hand around the tent.

"Hm," he pulled the kettle to him before it could whistle too loudly. "Coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee," she replied, and before he could ask, she answered him, "Black, one sugar,"

"Got it," He sifted the content in the cup and poured hot water over it and handed it to her. Without looking at him she muttered her thanks, blew on it, took a sip and turned another page. He couldn't help the smirk that grew on his face. If anyone could find an opportunity to study, it was Hermione. He served the food and handed her a plate, and collapsed into the seat across from her, he hungrily dove into his meal.

Save for the sound of utensils, they settled into silence. An awkward silence.

Twice she looked up from her plate as she chewed. She looked to him with bated breath. There was a tentative look in her eye that Harry caught. She cleared her throat.

"How are you feeling?" She dared to ask again and suddenly he was quite full. He poked his food with his fork and sighed. He'd asked himself the same question more times during the past twenty-four hours, than he had in his life.

"I don't know. But I think I'm fine,"

He met her gaze and she watched him carefully, took a deep breath and set her fork on the plate. She rolled her lips and folded her arms over the table. She leaned forward as Harry reached for his cup, and pulled a sip of coffee.

"Harry, you're a fairly pent-up man, and frankly, I don't suppose you're too in touch with yourself or your own feelings."

Harry promptly sputtered into the empty space beside him. He coughed and breathed deeply. His ears burned and his cheeks were set aflame.

When he looked at Hermione, her brows were furrowed in concern, and he tried his level best to restrain the laughter developing in his chest but it overwhelmed him.

He burst into laughter, all the while gasping for air. He knew he'd put on an embarrassing display as he wiped the coffee stains from his lip with the back of his hand.

"Pent-up?" He coughed into his fist and tasted coffee at the back of his throat. "Hermione, I had no idea we were that close,"

She watched him curiously, and then when realisation dawned on her, her jaw unhinged and her cheeks flushed. She snatched her book and threatened to hit him with it. "Harry! You filthy, filthy man!" She flustered with laughter.

He chuckled heartily as her cheeks burned deeply and she settled the book on her lap. Harry slapped his chest as he burst into another fitful of laughter. The lanterns burst alight and the light danced on her cheeks.

She smiled and picked her fork. She poked her plate aimlessly, and then burst into laughter. Her fork fell from her fingers, and the plate clinked as her hand reached her lips to hide her smile. "You're awful,"

Harry waited a moment, he had to let his breathing return to normal lest he choke again. His chest filled with mirth, and he took another sip of his coffee, and waited to catch her eyes. When she finally dared to look at him, she narrowed her eyes on him, as a cheeky grin formed on his lips. He settled his cup on the table again and leaned back into his seat. His arms folded on his chest.

He quirked a brow and rolled his tongue over his lips, "In touch with myself?"

"Harry!"

…

He'd tried to sleep and rest eluded him. It could've been a bad dream or pure restlessness, whatever it was didn't matter to him. He'd stayed by the fireplace for a while, and then he found himself outside the tent, watching the ocean. The was something sombre about the way the wind felt against his skin, the air was salty and whipped against his hair. He slowly closed his eyes and imagined the way the waves crashed against the sand. When he opened his eyes, the waves receded into the sea, slowly- gracefully. His fist clenched and unclenched, grabbing and releasing sand.

Close to the water, he saw a memory of himself. In his mind, he stood drunk, and incomprehensible under the moonlight. His facial hair had grown out of control and so too had his emotions. He'd emptied the bottle of liquor into his mouth with as much tactful grace as a drunk could muster. Whatever remnants of the drink did not reach his mouth, ran sloppily down his face and shirt.

He stuck his tongue out to catch whatever droplets came from the bottle and when nothing came, he let the bottle fall to the ground with a thunk. He stumbled and stared emptily into the sea. Water swelled under his feet and returned to the sea, and his body swayed with the current.

Harry watched his shoulders sink with resignation.

He watched himself take one step forward, he had made a decision. He took another step and committed to the decision. The third step encouraged him to cross that ledge, to toss himself over that cliff. To set himself free…

Until the forth step.

The fourth step cast a shadow of doubt.

The fourth step reminded him to breathe.

Harry watched himself cautiously stumble away from the sea, he trembled and he fell to the ground multiple times. He breathed heavily, struggling for air under the weight of his misery.

When he looked up and their eyes met, Harry flinched at the look in his own eyes. It was pitiful, morbid, but worst of all, it was sad. There was a deep, and dark void behind his eyes, he hadn't known possible.

He heard crunching in the sands and blinked slowly. Harry breathed and the vision was gone.

A body dropped beside him. He felt a gentle nudge at his side and met Hermione's gaze, he offered a splintered smile. She was cloaked in a sheet, her hands bunched in front of her to cover herself.

"Cold?" She asked and extended one end the cloak. While the gesture was greatly appreciated, he'd been outside for a while that he long since stopped feeling the cold. He shook his head. Hermione nodded, scooted closer and threw the sheet over his shoulder anyway.

"Thanks," he said softly and sighed. The sheet was warm and smelt sweet, with a faint hint of parchment. He breathed in the scent and found himself mildly comforted by it. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head but said nothing, so he let it die.

"This place is beautiful…" She said instead, and her eyes focussed on the sea. He watched her, and she seemed to wince while something flashed in her eyes. She bunched the sheet under her chin and under the moonlight, the waves crashed in her eyes. "In a lonely kind of way..."

"It is," Harry sighed and looked around the stretch of emptiness around them. In a way, the place seemed like a reflection of what he felt like on the inside. Something sad flickered in her eyes. His hand reached across the sand and grazed her fingertips, their hands hovered inches apart. He hesitated, and then gave in, and pressed his palm over her hand. She was warm under his icy hand. "Until you have a friend."

Her gaze fell on their hands and then him. Her eyes glistened and she smiled a gentle smile.

"Talk to me," he implored and gently squeezed her hand. She turned away from him and looked towards the vast stretch of sea. She seemed to curl into herself and bunched the sheet around herself.

"I still get nightmares sometimes," she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Of Bellatrix."

He winced as he recalled the sound of her shrill screams. They echoed horrendously in his mind. It had been a terrifying thing to listen to, how much more so to endure it. Under his palm, her hand gripped the sand beneath it.

"Hermione…" he whispered with soft eyes. She wiped her nose on the sheet and smiled bitterly.

"You know, I can hear her laughing that wicked laugh. I can feel the pain vividly when I dream, like I'm with her again," she choked. When she looked at him, her eyes were brimming with tears. "And sometimes, when I'm awake, I can still feel the pain."

He removed his hand from hers and reached over her shoulder and brought her close to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head against her own with his jaw clenched.

He struggled not to clench his fist on her arm. He wanted to take away her pain. To delete the memory of Bellatrix from her mind. To remove the scar and the memory that had carved itself in her mind. He wanted it desperately. She breathed deeply and sighed. She rested against him and listened to the wind.

Perhaps he had been so focussed on watching the changes in Ron, that he hadn't noticed that Hermione had changed as well. Of the three of them, she'd always presented herself as the least damaged after the war. She was the one who had lost the least, and adjusted better than them, irritatingly so. He'd loved her for being able to do that, and resented it too. She'd represented a return to normality that he could not believe, probably because he knew in his heart that it was not true. But she'd believed it, and so he tried to too. When in reality, she too had turned inward, and hid behind her veneer of the brilliant mind.

Harry glanced down at her, through her mane as she leaned against him, and he knew, she really had changed. How much? He couldn't tell, but he knew for certain that the woman beside him was not the same as the girl from his past he had immortalised her as.

They stayed that way, silent and listened to the world around them. There was no awkwardness, just the two of them under the moon and stars. When her breathing became shallow, he wondered if she had fallen asleep, and then he wondered whether to wake her or carry her back to the tent. Either way, it didn't matter because she spoke again.

"Talk to me," her voice carried with the wind.

And so he did.

He filled in the gaps that Ron had deliberately left and she listened without interruption. Her head pressed to his shoulder. Again, he wondered if she had fallen asleep, but the soft sighs, and the way her brows furrowed when his voice broke told him otherwise.

"I wanted to kill him, Hermione. I was going to kill him," He whispered. "How different does that make me from Voldemort?"

She inhaled sharply.

"How can I teach them how to control themselves when I myself-"

At the time he'd convinced himself it was justice. And that justice just so happened to be a slippery slope that bordered between righteous and vengeful. And in the end, he couldn't stop himself from sliding down a deep and dark path he never thought possible. And if Ron hadn't intervened, he'd be a murderer.

"I shouldn't be a teacher, an auror, anything…"

Hermione sighed and pulled away from him. With her warmth lost, he shuddered against the cold breeze that marked the emptiness. She drew her knees to her chest as the wind tickled her hair. Strands of her hair whipped against her as she watched the sea. It was suddenly quieter than it had ever been before.

"Do you remember back when we started Dumbledores Army?" she spoke softly, her hand reached across the sand and into her pocket for her wand. A slight smile played across her lips, "We didn't have textbooks or notes, it was just you. I admit, I felt far more insecure than I had ever been. I'd always felt confident with books, safe even. And I think you noticed that."

She sighed wistfully, and twisted her wand in her hand, "You were trying to teach us to conjure a patronus. And no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't do it. It was humiliating. I wasn't the only one, sure, but still."

Her eyes dazed as a small smile spread on her lips.

"But you held my hand. You told me it comes from in here," she touched her temple , "And here," and then her heart.

She waved her wand in the air and a shimmery white otter jumped from the tip. It danced around them, and found that place where he had envisioned himself and dove into the sea.

"Harry, you're a remarkable teacher, and an amazing auror," she said and turned to him with a tearful smile. "Flaws and all, you're a better man than you think you are,"

He thought he saw something else in her eyes and turned away from her gaze to watch the sea and chuckled. Her words were a comfort to him and he would carry them with him for a long time. Without warning, she leaned her body against his again. He shifted under her weight and held himself against her.

"Though…" she cooed through pursed lips.

"Though?" he quirked a brow and glanced down at her.

She chuckled against him and he felt his skin prickle at the sound. She linked her arm around his, and looked up at him with a playful grin. "Sometimes, I think you're more zombie than human,"

He hushed her with a smirk, "No one was supposed to know,"

…

From his spot in front of the fireplace, Harry found himself at peace. He felt as though the raging storm inside him had finally ebbed, but the clouds had yet to break. He could hear the heavy winds outside the tent as the flaps slapped the ceiling. He warmed his hands against the embers and crossed his legs on the ground.

He picked his quill and brought the empty pages to his lap.

When he looked to his side and the curtain shifted with a breeze, inside the single bedroom, Hermione's silhouette tossed in her sleep.

He exhaled and pressed his pen to the pages.

…

Thank you to everyone for their feedback and encouragement!