II.

Harry woke to the sound of someone calling his name and shaking his shoulder lightly. He blinked his eyes open to see a mass of bushy brown hair framing the smiling face of his best friend. He stretched and sat up, realizing that he'd fallen asleep fully dressed and still wearing his shoes and glasses. He saw that Hermione was now wearing a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt.

"What are you doing up?" he asked, looking very cute when he was confused, Hermione thought.

"Well, it is ten in the morning. I woke up about an hour ago and when I found my clothes in the dresser, I figured I'd take a shower," she answered, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Shouldn't you be in bed? Did you take your potions already?" he asked, remembering her weakened state.

"Harry, I've been in bed for the past week. I was ready to get up, and I promise I haven't been up long. And no, I haven't taken the potions yet. I was going to wait and take them with breakfast. Speaking of which, hungry?"

"You bet. Just let me go take a shower, and I'll meet you down in the Library. Tell Kreacher to fix whatever you want, and I'll have the same," he said, and they both stood. Hermione smiled and nodded before turning to leave. Once she was out of his room, he walked to the closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, a shirt, and fresh underwear. Twenty minutes later he was padding down the stairs to the first floor, his bare feet making little noise on the wooden floor.

He walked into the library to find Hermione sitting in one of the oversized chairs in front of the fire, a heavy tome in her lap. He walked towards the fire and plopped down on the couch.

"What're you reading?" he asked, craning his neck to get a glimpse of the writing.

"Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré les Pieds. It's from the play Malecrit. I've wanted to read it for a while but have always been so busy with schoolwork and prefect duties and helping this crazy guy I know defeat the darkest wizard who ever lived and all. I just never had time to read for pleasure. It's strange, isn't it? Being free to do whatever we want without the threat of death hanging over us anymore. We're free, Harry," she said, sounding very much in awe of the things she spoke.

"I know; it's crazy. I never really took time to think about my future and now, I don't really know what to do," he said, looking deep into the flickering flames.

"Well, you've got all the time in the world to think about it now." She moved from the chair she was in to sit next to Harry on the couch, covering his hand with hers. "You'll figure it out, I know you will."

"Thanks," he said lamely, feeling a little awkward and unsure about what else to say. "So, what are we having for breakfast?"

"Boys, always thinking with your stomachs," she laughed, poking him lightly in the side. "But I told Kreacher to make some eggs, bacon, and biscuits that we can wash down with some good old orange juice."

"That sounds wonderful; I'm starving." Just as Harry finished his sentence, Kreacher appeared with a very large tray in his hands. On this tray were two plates, each overflowing with food. There were two cups of orange juice and a letter, as well.

"Master Potter received a letter from Mr. Weasley this morning," Kreacher said, setting the tray between them on the couch.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry said, nodding to the elf before he disappeared. Harry picked up the letter and read it aloud to Hermione:

Harry,

It's really nice to be home. Things aren't the same without Fred, but we're managing. I'm glad Grimmauld isn't so creepy as it was before. That place was awful.

Mom is still a little upset that you wouldn't let her take care of Hermione, but she'll get over it. She was really excited when I told her that you invited us to visit. I think we'll be coming in a few days, once everything gets settled here. I'll write to let you know for sure, though. Anyways, give Hermione my best and tell her to relax for once in her life. I'll owl soon.

Ron

"Poor Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said knowing that Harry would understand what she meant without saying it. "It wasn't your fault, you know," she added when Harry's head fell. She hated how he always blamed himself for the death of others. It was never his fault; it was Voldemort's fault, and she wished he would understand that.

"I know… at least, I'm starting to understand. It's just hard. It's just that my whole life the people I love have died. That kind of sends a certain message, you know?" He smiled ever so slightly as he said this, but Hermione could hear the sadness in his voice. She smiled sadly in return as she said, "You've had a really hard time, but it's over now. We don't have to worry about it anymore. Because of what you did, nobody died in vain, Harry."

She reached over their food and took his hand in hers again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He smiled a real smile at her before looking down at their food.

"We'd better eat before it gets cold," he said, squeezing her hand once before letting it go.

"You'll never remember you're a wizard, will you? There's a heating charm on it; it won't get cold." She laughed and picked up her plate, glad to have a home-cooked meal again. It had been too long.

They ate in companionable silence, piling their dirty dishes back on the tray before leaning back on the couch. Harry rubbed his stomach appreciatively.

"That was great."

"Mm, I agree," Hermione said, moving the tray onto the floor so she could rest her head on Harry's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders like he had the night before and couldn't help thinking how easily he could get used to sitting with her in such a way.

"I've been thinking about my parents," she said after a few minutes, breaking the friendly silence. This sentence made Harry's heart stop; he hadn't thought about her parents. They were still somewhere in Australia, completely unaware of the war and the fact that they even had a daughter. Of course she would have to go find them and restore their memories; of course the happiness he'd felt the past day with her had to come to an end.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, desperately attempting to keep the fear and sadness from his voice. She sat up to look at him, a strange expression on her face.

"I –I'm not sure. I know I have to find them but…" she replied, looking down at her hands insecurely.

"But?" Harry asked, bending his head to catch her eyes.

"I'm not really sure what to do. I feel like I should go on my own, find them myself. But I'm afraid," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. She knew they had to talk about it, but how disheartened she was that the happiness that had settled over them just moments before was now gone.

"Hermione," Harry said, pulling her to him, "you don't have to be afraid. Everything's going to be ok. I'm sure they're fine and no one is going to hurt you. With Voldemort gone and most of his Death Eaters in Azkeban, you'll be safe." He rubbed her back soothingly, wishing to ease her stress.

"I'm not worried about that," she sniffled, pulling back and looking at him through watery lashes. "I just… I know I need to do this on my own, but I'm afraid I won't be able to."

"What do you mean?" He was confused, now.

"Well, it's always been me and you and Ron or me and you, at least. It's never been just me. I'm no good at this kind of thing; I'm just the brains of the operation. What if –what if I can't find them?" She looked truly on the verge of tears, and Harry's heart sank at the sight. He didn't want her to be upset. They'd seen so many terrible things and been in so many distressing situations over the past few years; he just wanted her to be happy finally.

"Oh, Hermione. Of course you will. You're not just the brains of the operation. You're just as good at adventures as me or Ron, even better: you've got the brains and the courage. You're going to find them just fine, I'm sure. And you know I'll go with you, if you don't want to go alone. You never have to be alone," he said, wiping away the lone tear that had slipped from her eye and down her cheek.

"You're too kind, Harry. I'm sure I'll figure something out. Besides, it's not like you'd let me leave before I finished my potions anyway," she said, laughing a little.

"Of course not. I won't let you out of my sight until you're completely and totally better. I've already almost lost you more times than I'm comfortable with. So, your parents will just have to wait a few more days while I nurse you back to health," he said, an all too familiar smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, if that's how it must be then I shan't complain. A little break from everything here actually sounds quite nice," she replied, snuggling into the couch and sighing contentedly. They sat in the library for a while, Harry answering Hermione's endless questions about what had happened the week she was unconscious. By two in the afternoon, Hermione was satisfied that she was up to date and just in time, too, as her stomach growled loudly in the middle of what Harry was saying.

"Well, how ladylike of you," he laughed, looking curiously at her.

"Oh shut up, Harry. Aren't you the one who's supposed to be looking after me?" she asked innocently, eyes wide with innocence.

"Don't give me that; you were the one endlessly asking questions that you insisted I answer," he replied, mussing her hair a bit.

"Well hmph," came her reply, and she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head the other way.

"Now, now. Don't be that way; you just tell me what you want and you'll have it before you know it," he said, uncrossing her arms to take her hands in his. When she still didn't look at him, though he could see that she was fighting to keep a smile from gracing her features, he lifted his hand to her chin and gently coaxed her to look at him.

"Well, if you insist," she smiled outright, "I'll have another bowl of that delicious vegetable stew. Please."

Harry nodded and called Kreacher, too comfortable in his current position to get up and go to the kitchen. The house elf appeared instantly, bowing to his master and his guest.

"What can Kreacher do for Master Potter?"

"You can bring us two bowls of vegetable stew, Kreacher. Please," he added upon seeing the glare Hermione shot his way. The elf bowed again and disappeared once more.

"Harry," Hermione began, and Harry could tell he was about to get a classic Hermione lecture; she was feeling quite herself again indeed. "You do pay him, don't you?"

Harry had to suppress both a laugh and a sigh at her firmly set expression. "No, I don't. But," he added quickly, preventing her from starting one of her rants, "I have offered. He wouldn't accept any kind of payment and seemed a little put off when I offered him freedom, really. He likes living here and doing things for me, Hermione. I don't ask anything strenuous of him, I promise." He stopped and took a breath, having gotten everything out in only one. He had been looking away from Hermione and finally chanced a glance at her. She was smiling at him: trying to suppress a laugh, even.

"What?"

"It's just… you looked so scared, like I was going to bite your head off or something," she said, her face going serious again.

"Well, I know you take your spew –I mean S.P.E.W really seriously, but he just won't accept anything."

"It's all right, Harry," she said, her voice ringing with laughter. "I'm not upset. A lot of house elves are so set in their ways and, let's be honest, Kreacher is just too old to not be set in his ways."

They both laughed at this, and soon Kreacher was back with a tray of soup and pumpkin juice. They talked relatively little while they ate, mostly just enjoying the comfy quiet of the other's company. When they were finished eating, Harry made sure Hermione took her potion. After so much relaxation, delicious food, and of course the potions made by Madame Pomfrey, Hermione was feeling much better. She was barely sore at all anymore, and felt like stretching out a bit.

"Harry, let's go for a walk," she said the moment he entered the library, startling him as he returned from a bathroom break.

"A walk? Where?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I don't know, anywhere… just around town. I just want to move around a bit, stretch my legs out some," she said, standing and walking over to him.

"All right, I guess. But we're going under the invisibility cloak."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but upon seeing his serious expression, said instead, "Oh, all right, Harry. If you insist."

He smiled gratefully and turned and walked out of the room again to fetch his cloak. Hermione watched him leave and tried to quiet her thoughts. These thoughts were not new by any means; no, she'd thought about such things for quite a while now. Over the past year, though, she'd had to put them to the back of her mind for a much more worthy cause: the horcrux hunt. But now that she and everyone else in the world was safe, she had time to think about it again, about him. It was cruel, really, to allow herself to think about it so much, to allow herself to hope. Hermione knew Harry didn't like her as more than a friend, a sister perhaps. She knew the only reason he broke it off with Ginny was to protect her. She knew she would never be pretty or sporty or perfect enough for Harry. And for the most part, she was ok with it. For the most part, she knew she wanted the absolute best for Harry; and with her frizzy hair, dislike of brooms, and know-it-all attitude, she obviously wasn't the best for him.

That did not stop her, though, from wanting him. It didn't stop her from aching deep down because she knew she could never have him. It had been a dull ache for so long, repressed by more impending, more important matters. Now, however, being completely alone with him and so close to him, the ache made itself known. Something would have to be done.

Harry returned with the cloak, threw it over the both of them, and they make their way out the door and down the street. Harry cast a silencing charm under the cloak and they talked as they walked to a little strip of stores about half a mile away. They passed several clothing boutiques, at which neither of them looked twice. Hermione did, however, make him stop at a jewelry store with a lovely selection of pearls in the window. She was not usually one to stop and fawn over diamonds or jewelry in general, but she'd always loved pearls. Harry watched her as she looked at the jewelry, her tiny hand pressed to the glass. He'd never really realized before just how small her hands were.

He smiled in spite of himself… thinking those kinds of things about Hermione was no good. He'd secretly liked her for ages, but he knew he was not someone she should be with. Before now, he'd always had a price on his head; he was too dangerous for her. And now, he would always be going to meetings and having to deal with the remains of Voldemort's followers. Being the Boy-Who-Lived was a lifetime job, he knew. And that was no life for her. She deserved to be with someone much smarter, much more caring who would have all the time in the world for her.

But he took her hand from the glass anyways, holding it in his as he led her away from the store. She jumped when he'd touched her, but smiled when he kept his hold on her hand as they walked away. They got ice cream from a little parlor on the block, and Harry couldn't help thinking that it was decidedly his worst idea to date as he watched her lick the melting dessert as it dripped down its waffle cone container. Hermione snuck a peak at him while he was very intently eating his own ice cream and smiled to herself. It was so sweet of him to insist on buying her ice cream; but that was just Harry, she knew. He had more money than most, she knew, but he never flaunted it and had no problem sharing it. They walked slowly back to Grimmauld.