The next day, the Weasleys arrived. Hermione thought for sure Mrs. Weasley was going to finish her off where Voldemort and his Death Eathers could not with her bone-crushing hug. Harry watched somewhat anxiously as his adopted mother held onto Hermione for dear life. He knew she would never hurt her intentionally; he was just still anxious about her health. She had been very badly injured and, though she seemed fine, he was still quite anxious. He supposed he had always been a little overprotective towards her. And it's not because she's a girl or that she doesn't know how to defend herself, he told himself. It's because she just seems so small and fragile.

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding when Mrs. Weasley finally released Hermione. He hugged the woman in turn and found himself gravitating towards Hermione. He wasn't sure if this was due to the fact that they'd been spending so much time close one another lately or his worry for her health. Regardless, he swore to himself after the final battle that he'd never let her be hurt again; even though they were in the company of friends and family, he was intent to keep his promise to himself. Constant vigilance as Mad-Eye had so frequently barked at them.

All of the remaining Weasleys had come, Molly and Arthur, George, Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on making dinner for everyone and shooed them all from the kitchen. An hour later, they all found themselves sitting around the crowded table with a feast laid out in front of them. They were all talking jovially, but Harry and Hermione both noticed that everyone looked a little ragged. George seemed to have lost his witty spark and didn't talk so much; Bill and Fleur remained very close to one another throughout the night, and it looked as though both Molly and Arthur had lost a bit of weight. Harry was glad to see, though, that they hadn't lost their Weasley spirit.

Of course, he'd had to explain why he'd insisted on caring for Hermione instead of letting her go to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had seemed quite put out about it at first but readily accepted his reasoning and expressed her joy that they were both alive and well. A sad expression crossed her face as she said this, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, and nobody mentioned it. They spoke about what was to be done next, what would happen at Hogwarts and with Hermione's parents.

Some hours later, the group of redheads said their goodbyes, leaving behind three very tired teenagers. Ron had decided to stay until the next day; he'd wanted to stay longer, but his mother had insisted he return home the following day. The trio retired to the den where they where they fell unceremoniously onto the closest piece of furniture; it just so happened to work out that Harry and Hermione were lounged on the couch while Ron sprawled out on the loveseat to its right. The fire cracked lazily in the fireplace, seeming to reflect the atmosphere in the room. Ron yawned loudly, and Hermione sighed contentedly, resting her head on Harry's shoulder. Harry smiled to no one in particular. Many lives had been lost in the war, yes, but they had finally won. Voldemort was finally gone, and he and his two best mates had made it out alive. The future stretched out in front of them like the sea; yes, Harry finally had a real future, a chance to be happy.

"This place really does look nice, Harry," Ron finally said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

"Thanks," the raven-haired boy –man –replied, "It was mostly Kreacher, though. I came back once I was sure Her –well, once I was sure everything was all right and asked him to fix the place up; I think I'm going to make this my permanent place what with it already being mine."

"Well, who knew the little bugger could decorate?" Ron smirked.

"Just wait until you see the bedrooms; they're great, Gryffindor colors and everything," Hermione said sleepily, her eyes barely open.

Harry looked down at her and chuckled, "We'd better get you to bed." He gently lifted her off of him and stood, offering her his hand. In the absence of his supporting shoulder, she fell sideways onto the couch with a grunt. Both boys just chuckled.

"Come on, Hermione. You don't want to sleep down here. You just got through telling me how great the bedrooms are," Ron said, also standing and dusting off his jeans.

"Mmnh," she mumbled, snuggling deeper into the cushions of the couch. Harry just chuckled and scooped her up, startling both her and Ron. "Harry!" she shrieked, clearly now quite awake. "Harry, put me down! You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Honestly, Hermione, it's fine. You're light as a feather. Really!" he added at her disbelieving glare. With a huff of annoyance she relented and relaxed in his arms. Harry nodded and smiled triumphantly before making his way out of the den and to the stairs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head beneath his chin as he carried her up to her bedroom on the third floor. Ron trudged behind them, yawning every few steps.

Harry set her down just outside her bedroom door, keeping a hand on her waist until he was sure she was steady on his feet. She smiled appreciatively at him before kissing his cheek and saying 'good night' to both of them. They responded with 'good night's in turn, and Harry showed Ron to his room on the second floor before going to his own room to change.

There he lay, ashen and lifeless on the blood soaked ground. His red, snake-like eyes were glazed over, a grimace forever frozen on his distorted face.

Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing. Could it really be over after so long? He turned to see how everyone else was faring, to see if somehow Voldemort's Death Eaters had been destroyed with him. That was not the case, but he could see as he took in the scene before him that his side was faring better than Voldemort's. There were two fighters for every Death Eater now, it seemed. He saw whom he thought were Ginny and Mrs. Weasley fighting Bellatrix a little ways off. They seemed to be handling things fine on their own. Turning a bit further he saw Bill and Fleur going after Greyback; it appeared to be that they, too, had the situation under control.

When he turned just a few degrees more his eyes met the warm brown pools of his best friend. She was alive, and she was smiling at him like he was the best thing she'd ever seen. He began to return her smile, grateful that she only had a few scratches when he saw it. One of the nameless death eaters had managed to shoot off a purple spell before falling to the ground, and it was headed straight for her. Harry froze with fear; this could not be happening. He'd just killed the wizard who was the reason she was in danger in the first place; he'd finally made it safe for her and everyone to live normal lives. And for what? For her fall once it was over? No! he chastised himself, and his brain kicked back into action. He was too far to do physically block the spell. Not knowing what else to do, he hastily threw a protection charm her way that reached her just a moment after the purple jet of light impacted with her side. She immediately crumpled to the sodden earth, her body thumping more heavily that Harry thought possible for her light weight.

"No!" he screamed as his legs took him much too slowly towards her. He fell to his knees at her side, trembling so violently that he couldn't even check for a pulse. "No, no, Hermione, no…"

"Harry!"

He bolted upright, moving much too quickly and becoming disoriented. He lay back down and tried to focus on his surroundings. He was in a room, his room at Grimmauld. Someone had been calling his name: Hermione! He turned and saw her standing at the side of his bed, her brow furrowed. He breathed a sigh of relief; she was ok.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

"Nothing I just," he started, wiping the sweat from his forehead, "It's ok, I'm ok." He sat up and scooted over for her to sit down. She perched herself on the edge of the mattress, clearly not convinced.

"Are –are you still having nightmares?" She seemed a little afraid to broach the topic, but her worried, questioning eyes never left his.

"Just one," he replied, realizing it wasn't right to lie to her; she'd know if he was lying and just be more upset, anyways.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, pulling him into an awkward hug. But he didn't mind; he needed to feel her, to know that she was safe and alive. He inhaled deeply, breathing in that scent that was so determinedly Hermione: vanilla with just a hint of parchment and citrus. "He'd gone now," she said as she pulled away from their embrace. "He's gone, and he can't hurt you or anyone else anymore."

"I know," he said quietly, not looking up at her. How could he tell her that every since the night he defeated him he'd been reliving in his dreams how she'd fallen, how he thought he'd lost her when they finally had a chance to live, how that had broken his heart to pieces?

"Then why the dreams still?"

"They're not," he sighed, "they aren't about him." He still wasn't looking at her, and she did not like it one bit.

"Whatever are they about?" He fixed her with a pointed look, and she nearly gasped at the anguish, the pain she saw in his eyes. "Oh," she breathed, "They're about that night." It wasn't a question. She knew it was true from the look on his face. He just nodded solemnly, not trusting his voice. "I'm sorry, Harry. But look, I'm here and I'm just fine," she said, taking his hand to prove her point.

"I know, and thank the gods. It was just hard, watching you get hit. I'd just killed him and we were winning everywhere I looked. For the first time I thought we were all going to have the future we deserve and then I saw that Death Eater blast that spell off and I froze. You were too far for me to get to, so I shot off a protection charm but it didn't reach you in time, and I was too shaken to see if you had a pulse even; I was so sure you were dead," his voice cracked on the last word and Hermione could only just see the few tears that had spilled from his eyes and were leaving tracks down his cheeks. She wiped them away and leaned up to kiss his forehead. He sighed as more tears slipped down his cheeks at her gesture.

"You really should try to get some sleep, though. It's nearly three in the morning," she said, yawning lightly.

"You're right," he said, "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Don't be silly," she smiled, ruffling his already messy hair. "Good night." She stood and began walking towards the door but was stopped by Harry calling her name. She turned and looked at him expectantly.

"Would you… I mean, would you mind staying?" he stammered, looking quite sheepish. Hermione couldn't help thinking how cute he looked, how like the eleven year-old Harry she met on the train he looked. She'd missed that Harry during the long months they spent hiding out looking for the horcruxes. If she were being honest, she hadn't seen that Harry in years.

She looked at the bed, then back to Harry before replying, "Of course." She walked to the side of the bed he wasn't occupying and crawled under the covers. They lay side by side under the covers, their arms barely brushing. Hermione reached over and took his hand in her own before they both fell asleep.

The next morning, Hermione awoke before Harry. They had shifted drastically during the night; she now lay with her head nestled in the crook of his next, her hand rested on his chest, gently moving up and down with his slow breathing. A blush crept up her neck upon realizing how intimate of a position they were in. The longer she lay there, though, the more she realized exactly how comfortable she was. Her head fit perfectly in the space of between his shoulder and neck and it seemed as though her body had been made to be next to his. She sighed sadly when she realized the path her thoughts had taken. She shouldn't be thinking such things! He's your best friend who fancies your other best friend's sister! she chastised herself.

She sighed sadly but could not bring herself to move; she was entirely too comfortable. Soon, though she couldn't be sure exactly how long it had been since she'd woken up, she began to feel Harry stir. She thought about moving and avoiding the potentially awkward situation their position would create, but decided instead to see how Harry would react.

It took him several minutes to fully gain consciousness but finally he opened his eyes. He scrubbed his face the hand that wasn't smashed between him and Hermione. Then, very suddenly, he seemed to realize that, in fact, one of his arms was smashed between and Hermione. He froze, turned his head very quickly in his direction and, upon seeing her smiling up at him from her place at his shoulder, said, "Hi."

Hermione's smile broadened as she returned his 'hi' with one of her own. He was doing it again, being insufferably cute.

"How, erm, how did you sleep?" he asked, not quite knowing what else to say.

"The important question," she replied, pushing herself up to look at him fully and immediately missing his warmth, "is how did you sleep?"

"Why is my sleep more important that yours?" he asked, pulling himself into an upright position next to her. "Fine, I slept quite well, actually," he said upon seeing the pointed glare she had fixed him with.

"Good, I'm glad. It's about time you start getting some decent sleep," she replied, satisfied.

"But you never answered my question," he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "How did you sleep?" he added upon seeing her confused expression.

"Well also; you're very comfortable." The words were out before she could stop them. Her hand flew to her mouth and a blush found its way from her neck to her hairline.

Harry smiled the largest smile Hermione had ever seen grace his features at her comment and said, "Thanks!"

Thinking he took entirely too much pleasure from her discomfort, she got out of the bed, flushed even brighter upon realizing she was only wearing her sleep shorts and a tank top, sans bra, and walked to the door. After peeking out to make sure Ron was not around, she told Harry she'd see him at breakfast and walked back to her own room, mentally berating herself the entire way. Why had she said he was comfortable? Not only comfortable but very comfortable? What was she thinking? That's not something only friends who've just spent the night together say. Then again, she thought, just friends don't spend the night together that often, either.

Sighing, she decided a warm shower would be a good way to relax before she had to see him again. Then she realized Ron would be at breakfast, too. Surely he couldn't know that she'd stayed with him, could he? Harry wouldn't have told him, would he? Of course not, don't be stupid. Harry was a perfect gentleman who would never compromise her integrity, she knew. But then she began to think about Ron. What had they been attempting to accomplish with their poorly timed relationship? Did they think it could last long term? Did he only want her because it was one more thing he could take from Harry? Did she only want him because she was too afraid of ruining things with Harry? For the longest time, all she'd ever wanted was to be a normal teenage witch. Well, looks like I'm finally normal, boy drama and all, she thought. With one last furtive sigh, she stepped into the hot shower.

Harry remained in his bed for several minutes after Hermione had left, thinking about everything that had taken place. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd plucked up the courage the night before to ask her to stay; it probably had something to do with the fact that it was dark and he wasn't wearing his glasses, so he couldn't see her expression, or the fact that, at that moment, what he needed more than anything was to feel her and know she was alive and safe. Whatever the reason, he was glad he'd asked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so well without the aid of a potion. No bad dreams plagued him while she was there. In fact, he'd dreamt about that night in the tent after Ron had left where they'd shared a dance. It was so out of character for him, but he just hadn't been able to take her hurting any longer. He'd just wanted to do something, anything to cheer her up.

And it had worked, until the song ended and they pulled back to look at one another. His eyes pleaded with her, please, please just be happy again. Forget about Ron; it's just us now, but we can do this. He knew she'd seen what he was thinking, and he'd seen something that he couldn't place flash through her eyes before they turned sad, almost stony again. In his dream, however, they'd never stopped dancing. She never went back to being so heartbroken again.

He sighed and got out of bed, headed for the bathroom and a quick shower. I have the chance to make her happy again, now, he thought. We're both alive, and she's here with me. She's happy with me, I just know it. Ginny's face flashed through his mind for a split second, and he knew he would have to talk with her more later. They'd had a brief conversation after the battle, but they hadn't discussed their relationship or anything of the sort. He knew where they stood, and he was pretty sure she did, too. It was just a matter of speaking with her about it. Heaving one more heavy sigh, he stepped into the hot water and let his thoughts drift to what his future might look like for the first time.