Warning: This story may contain in-depth descriptions of grief and PTSD. When I started this story I had no intention of going this detailed into the emotional impact, but as I started writing this I couldn't help but feel I wouldn't be doing justice to the toll trauma takes on children if I glossed over all the awful stuff that happens in canon. If there's anything I think might be extra triggering then I will try to put up a separate warning.

Chapter 14

Steve grinned at Hermione as she insisted on paying for the bill. He was glad she had contacted him about meeting up for lunch today. He hadn't seen her in a few weeks, but they had been exchanging texts throughout that time, not every day, but enough that he knew she had been working herself to death.

"Have you seen the Botanical Gardens yet?" he asked as he extended his hand to help her up from her seat. She placed a dainty hand in his and he pulled her up to stand next to him.

"Thanks," she said, smiling up at him, happy to be in his company.

He looked down at her and realized just how much tinier she was than him she still was. She was average height for a woman, but she was still trying to gain back weight from her time on the run and her slimness made her look waifish and dainty. He cleared his throat. "No problem, Hermione."

"And no, I haven't been to the Gardens yet," she replied as she smoothed down and righted her clothing.

"Well, it's a nice day. Would you like a tour, or do you have something else planned this afternoon?" he asked.

"I don't have any other plans. I've been given the weekend off so, that would be lovely. Are you very knowledgeable about the Gardens?" she asked curiously.

She hadn't gotten much time to sightsee before now since she had thrown herself into work. It would be nice to do something she liked with someone else who would enjoy it. So much of her friendship with Harry and Ron had been about the need to solve some mystery rather than enjoying the same interests. Too many times had she dragged her friends to the library, or they had dragged her to Quidditch games when they didn't enjoy the same activities.

He nodded and began walking in the direction of the Gardens, "I've been going since I was a boy to draw the landscapes and nature."

She appraised his tall stature next to her and appreciated the fact that he had tailored his long strides to match her shorter ones. "I didn't know you could draw."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Mostly I draw people, but every once in a while, I will come out to one of the gardens in the city for a peaceful afternoon and something different to draw."

"I'd love to see your work sometime," Hermione said with a smile that softened her warm features.

He chuckled. "Maybe. What about you? Do you have any hidden talents?"

Magic, she thought, but she knew he wasn't asking that. She hummed thoughtfully. "I haven't gotten to do it much the last few years and I only really got to practice in the summer when I was in school, but my parents signed me up for piano lessons when I was younger and I enjoy playing when I have time," she said wistfully.

Steve reached down and grabbed her hand to tug her through the crowds. "Follow me," he said using his larger body mass to part the crowded sidewalk and take a sharp right turn down another busy road.

"It should be around here somewhere," he muttered to himself.

"I thought we were going to the Gardens. Just where are you even taking me?" she asked bemused. His hands were pleasantly warm and large against her cooler and slimmer hands. She could feel that his hands were rougher on his palms and fingers from some light callouses. He wasn't squeezing too hard with the strength she knew he must possess in them. She consciously relaxed some of her muscles that had initially tensed when he'd caught her hand and let him guide her through the ever-present crowd. Something about his hands felt safer to her than anything had in a long time.

"You'll see and we'll get to the Gardens afterward." He continued scanning up and down the street and squinting against the sun as he walked, before finally spotting what he had been looking for over the heads of all the other people.

"This way Hermione," he said as he made a B-line to a shop a few hundred feet ahead. He had been beginning to worry that the shop had closed while he was frozen, and he was glad that he'd found it still in business.

Hermione glanced through the glass windows at the shop where there were saxophones, trumpets, and flutes on display. "Did you bring me to a music shop?" she asked incredulously.

"Yup," he said, tugging her through the doorway. A bell chimed sweetly overhead and the air was pleasantly cool inside. Though the store had been modernized somewhat it was still nearly the same as he remembered it from before his super-soldier days.

"What are we doing here, Steve?" she asked, tugging her hand back lightly. Steve didn't let go of her hand though, instead, he squeezed it and tugged her forward in front of him, slipping his hands to the small of her back. She inhaled sharply at the feel of his large warm hands pressing into her.

"You said you haven't gotten to play in a while," he whispered through her hair as he guided her over to a full-sized piano with gleaming keys.

She blinked down at the piano hazily. It was true that she had said that. It took her a moment to realize that he had been trying to be thoughtful by making a detour here. She glanced around noting that a few people were browsing the sheet music selection and a few workers in the store. "But there are people here shopping," she protested.

She could feel his warm breath on the shell of her ear as he goaded her, "So? Don't tell me you're scared of what some strangers think, Hermione."

Goose bumps rose on the back of her neck while the rest of her body seemed to flood with electrifying heat, and she wondered if he knew just what the firmness of his hands on her back and the warmth of his breath were doing to her. Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips. He wasn't even touching her skin; she didn't know whether to curse him or thank him for that.

She squared her shoulders and pulled herself away from his hands and the effect they had on her. She knew he was trying to dare her and damn her Gryffindor tendencies, but she was knowingly going to give into them if only to save face.

"Of course not, but if I play for you then you have to show me some of your drawings," she bargained, still more breathily than she would have liked, as a last-ditch effort to get out of it.

"It's a deal," he said flashing her a wide smile that should have been illegal based on the way it imperiled her health.

She sat down abruptly and busied herself with adjusting the bench to fit her height better. She nodded definitively to herself and then turned her attention to the actual piano. She tapped at a few random keys before placing her foot on the peddles and her hands on the keys in a playable position. She took a deep breath and then began playing one of Chopin's delicate Nocturnes. She closed her eyes and dedicated herself to playing the soft piece as she let her fingers grace over the notes that she had memorized years ago.

As the mournful harmony swept through her, knots that had tangled and strangled her soul for years loosened their hold and a few tears slipped down her face at the release. It had been a long time since she felt like she could breathe so freely. Flinging herself into music and books in the summers after Hogwarts had always helped her unwind the stress and anxiety from whatever calamity had befallen the school or Harry that year.

When she finished on a slow, mournful note she let her fingers linger on the keys for an extra precious few seconds, savoring the experience. She opened her eyes and flushed up in embarrassment at Steve who was staring down at her intently.

Steve wasn't sure that he had ever heard that song played before. It had been beautiful, but melancholy and the girl playing had tugged deeply on his heartstrings. Hermione looked so peaceful as she played even as a few tears had trickled down her cheeks. She had seemed to glow as her fingers expertly caressed the keys. He watched her spellbound throughout her whole performance determined to remember exactly how she looked in the moment so that he could capture her likeness in a drawing later.

"That was beautiful Hermione," he told her sincerely.

She smiled shyly up at him through dark, damp lashes. "Good enough to see some of your work in exchange?"

"Next time we meet up I'll show you some of mine," he agreed, still hesitant to take his eyes from her.

Suddenly, Hermione wrenched her hands back from the piano and pressed them tightly into her stomach. She let out a pained hiss as she tucked her chin to her chest.

He crouched down closer to her sitting height. "Hermione?" he asked confused. When she didn't answer right away, he sat down on the bench next to her. It was a tight fit, but he managed it by facing her and straddling the seat.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he tried again, whispering softly to her so he wouldn't draw too much attention to them.

"My hands," she moaned lowly, biting down on her bottom lip to suppress a whimper that tried to escape.

He grasped her arms and gently slid his hands down to her still far too skinny wrists to see her hands. The fingers were curved stiffly and he could feel them trembling in his grasp. Steve frowned and turned one of her hands palm up in his own. With firm, even strokes he began to rub out the spasming muscles and tendons in Hermione's hands and fingers. Hermione sagged into him, her forehead resting near his collar bone, as he worked out the unnatural curl of her fingers. When one hand's muscles weren't locked up anymore Steve placed that hand in her lap and began working on the other one until it too, was mobile and not twitching.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips and Hermione bent and unbent her fingers slowly to test their range of movement. She wet her lips and tasted iron before speaking, "How did you know to do that?"

Steve tilted her chin up as he pulled a white folded handkerchief from his pants pocket. He gently wiped the blood on her lip away and then dabbed a corner of the handkerchief on her lip to stop the rest of the bleeding. A shiver ran down her spine at the feel of the soft cotton on her mouth and his gentle ministrations. He pursed his mouth at the tears gathered in her doe eyes and trailing down her soft skin. He brushed them away with a tender swipe of his thumb.

"Before my mother passed away, she frequently took double shifts at the garment factory and she would come home with her hands like this a couple of times a week. I've never seen them as bad as yours though. What has SHIELD got you doing that your hands are cramping so badly, doll?" he asked looking at her with concerned eyes.

Garment factory? Hermione didn't think there had been garment factories in New York for ages. Fashion designers yes, but no mass production of garments. Perhaps she had her history off? She blinked away her confusion at his explanation and at the term of endearment he'd used. She glanced around at the other patrons in the shop. Noting that none of them were paying attention to her and Steve, she shook her head, "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. It wasn't SHIELD. It's from before. I have some damage from something that happened from then."

Suddenly becoming aware of the fact that he still had his fingers pressed against her soft cheek, Steve dropped his hand. He stood up and helped Hermione from the bench with careful hands at her elbow and waist. "Thank you. My mother passed a long time ago though. Come on, let's get out of here and we can talk more once we get to the park."

Mindful of the fact that her hands were probably still tender, he guided her out the door and then the short few blocks to the park without grasping them. He didn't speak the whole way there, letting them both rest and gather their thoughts. They paid for their tickets to the Gardens and started down a mostly deserted path. They passed a few benches before finding one that was slightly off the path in an area without many other people. The bench was shaded by a large maple tree whose canopy cooled the area underneath it significantly.

"Tell me what happened," he implored after a long moment of silence where it didn't seem like Hermione would start talking.

She wet her lips and leaned forward as she rested her elbows on her thighs. "My friends and I were caught by the enemy at one point while we were on the run. We had something in our possession that our captor thought was stored safely in her possession and she was very adamant about finding out how we had gotten it from her. Since our captor deemed me the least valuable hostage, they started on me first and did extensive, possibly permanent, damage before we escaped."

"You were tortured?" he breathed out horrified. Privately things began to add up in his mind. The way she startled easily, the way she watched people so intently, how she seemed to shy away from being touched, why she had moved across the ocean immediately after her mission, the shell shock she seemed to be suffering from and a dozen other tiny things he'd observed, but not fully put together.

She resisted the urge to scratch at her glamoured scar as she broke eye contact with the man sitting next to her and nodded in confirmation. She rubbed her arms as if she was cold to soothe herself.

"Did you get proper care afterward at least?" he asked. He scanned her from head to toe as if he could spot the damage if he just looked hard enough. He wanted to wrap her wool or at least shield her from anything else bad, but based on his interactions and conversations with her, Steve didn't think she would allow him to coddle her even if he tried.

"Probably not? I was still fighting after that. But there wouldn't have been a lot the Doctors could do for what was done to me," she murmured not wanting to speak the ugly truth out loud. Hermione continued to stare out at the landscape not meeting Steve's sympathetic gaze. She knew she was being vague, but she couldn't just tell them she'd been tortured with an unforgivable curse and carved into with dark magic, especially since she had her scars covered up.

"No wonder you were so angry when I met you in the park that first time. I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said simply as he sat solemnly and solidly next to her.

"What happened would have happened to at least one of my friends and if it had to happen to one of us, then I'd prefer it was me," she said with a shrug of her, still too lean, shoulders.

Steve's heart ached for the young woman next to him. She was so smart and brave, and he hated that she was still hurting from her ordeal. He understood how she felt about her friends though because he had felt that way about Bucky. He reached for her hands again and rubbed them comfortingly. "At least it's over now."

"Yeah," she said quietly as she stared blankly at the gardens and wished that she could tell her mind and body that it was over; wished that she could stop watching everyone's slightest movement for a threat, that a stranger brushing against her in a crowd didn't physically repulse her, that sudden noises didn't make her heart race.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes before Steve tugged Hermione up by her hand breaking her gloomy contemplation, "Come on, let me show you the rest of the gardens since we already paid and it's such a nice day."

She grinned up at him, though the sorrow still in her eyes, made it less bright than the grins and smiles he had gotten from her earlier in the day. He was determined to chase the sadness reflected in her amber gaze away by the time he dropped her back at her apartment; starting with a tour of the gardens and then maybe he would tell her about some of the silly antics Bucky and he had pulled on each other here to brighten her mood too.

When Hermione opened her apartment door, she was still giggling from some of the stories Steve had told her about what he and his friend had gotten up to in his youth. She was glad she walked up alone because tapping on her lone window in the living room was a large tawny owl with a letter attached to its leg. She opened the window and quieted the disgruntled owl, before removing the rolled-up parchment. She dug around in her pocket for an owl treat and pulled her fingers back as the owl nipped aggressively at them.

"Okay. I get it. I kept you waiting for far too long. I don't need to send back a response tonight, so you can go now," she said gesturing at the still open window.

The owl hooted from his perch on her chair before promptly taking off out the window. Hermione closed the window behind the badly tempered owl and looked down nervously at the letter in her hand. She bit her lip as she untied the twine that was keeping the parchment rolled up. She set aside what felt like a newspaper clipping that was rolled up inside the letter. She glanced at the signature at the bottom of the letter first and saw that it was from Harry. She sat down in her chair and began to read what he'd written.

Hermione,

Sorry that it's taken so long for me to write back. I was glad to hear you were safe. I was worried when you didn't show back up after a few days, but I know that you are capable of protecting and hiding yourself better than anyone else I know. Things have been crazy here. Everyone is a strange mix of joyful that Voldemort is gone and despondent about those that were lost. I've hardly had a moment alone and Ron has been determined to find out where you were, so it took me some time to find a quiet place to write this. I think concentrating on figuring out where you went is keeping him from dwelling on his loss.

Don't apologize for leaving after everything was over. I'm grateful you stayed as long as you did. You've always stood by me even when no one else would, so I figure if anyone deserves a break, it's you. Take all the time you need in America and you can count on a visit from me in the future. I hate the press and how everyone stares, so a few days or weeks without that would be amazing. Be sure to visit when you have vacation time from your job too. Ron and I are going into the Auror Corps. Training doesn't start back up until the fall, so we won't be able to start until then.

You might not have gotten the notice, but the Ministry sent out a letter telling everyone that they are waving seventh year and NEWT requirements for our year. If you want to take the NEWTS just to have them, then you should contact Kingsley or McGonagall. I think they are setting something up for those that didn't get to take the exams but want to. They might be able to set something up for you too.

I'll contact you on the DA coins if I need you, but I've been considering getting a cell phone just in case anyway. I'll send my number along next letter. I don't like that you're so far away without a non-magical way to reach me in an emergency. I wish that I still had Sirius' two-way mirrors so we could communicate more easily. Keep in touch and tell me about your muggle job next time! I've got to go before someone figures out what I'm up to.

With you until the very end,

Harry Potter

P.S. I attached a newspaper clipping about your "disappearance" that I thought you would find funny.

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Harry had written back, and he wasn't angry she had left. Honestly, that was the only person's opinion from the Wizarding World that she still cared about. She would miss Neville, Luna, and Ginny, but Harry was the only one she would care if he was upset with her.

She grabbed the newspaper article she had set aside and smoothed it out so she could read the headline. She barked out a laugh at the ridiculous headline: Fickle Heroine Leaves Harry Potter Heartbroken!

The rest of the article was speculation about her whereabouts and what exactly the relationship was between her and Harry, all while insinuating that she was a heartless woman who had skipped town when her "man" had needed her support the most. It was just the sort of nasty drivel she would expect from Rita Skeeter. She would have to have Harry keep an eye on the articles to make sure Rita didn't get too comfortable and forget exactly who she was writing about. If she had to, she would make a special trip back to remind Rita in person just who she was dealing with.

She tapped her finger absentmindedly on the final paragraph of Harry's letter. Now that she had time, she might be able to recreate those two-way mirrors. It was probably just a modified Proiectus Charm that allowed for sound as well as visual. She would run some arithmancy equations and pick up a set of mirrors on Monday after work if she had time. If she could get them to work then she would send one to Harry when she sent another letter out. That would be a much more convenient way to communicate and if he was true to his word and purchased a cell phone that would give them a way to communicate in almost any situation, which would make her more comfortable being half a world away from her best friend.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pants' pocket. She pulled it out and smiled at the screen. It was from Steve making sure she had gotten up to her apartment safely. Yes, I made it into my apartment safely. Thank you. I had fun today. Goodnight! She replied back.

After a minute or two she got his reply. Good. I had fun too and sleep tight.

She smiled at her phone before putting it away and deciding to turn in early for the evening. She yawned, all the fresh air she had gotten today had tired her out. Tomorrow she would run the arithmancy equations for the two-way mirrors and spend a lazy day planning out the spells she needed.

A/N Well it's been a while. This has been written for a while, but I've been busy writing another story and just hadn't edited this yet.

Let me know how you like it.