Hermione sat on the edge of Harry's bed, watching him sleep for a few peaceful moments as the dawning sunlight streamed in, slatting across the boy's still-pale skin. She studied him, as she'd often done in the tent when she'd been awake as he rested, and wondered what it must have been like to have gone through what he did. She knew a fragment of it, of course, because she had been there - had been in the real thick of it more than almost anyone else - but she couldn't imagine growing up as he did. Stuck in a home full of hate, parents dead before they could be known, thrust into a responsibility he'd never asked for and that no child should ever have to bear.

He'd been angsty quite often, of course; downright irritable and unpleasant on many occasions, and yet…

She would never know what it had really been like. The scar still emblazoned in his forehead was proof of that. He had been scarred in quite a different way than anyone else had, but he seemed to be handling the postscript of the war that had revolved around him quite well. She admired it - and wished she could manage to do the same.

Harry's eyes squinted open and he jumped lightly at seeing the shape sitting on his bed, then focused on the female form. "Hermione?" He muttered, brushing his fingers over the nightstand to the right of his bed and eventually coming upon his round black-framed glasses.

"How could you tell, Mr. Magoo?" Hermione laughed, but Harry only tilted his head back at her.

"I…don't know what you mean, but I would've known if you were Ginny. You…sit different than she does."

Hermione shook her head disbelievingly. "Now I've heard everything."

Harry sat up and gazed at her questioningly. "So…y'ok?"

"I wanted to be the first to say…happy birthday, Harry." She placed a wrapped present on the bed and smiled, and he raked his fingers through hopelessly messy dark hair.

"Eighteen, huh?"

"On the nosey."

"There were times…" he trailed off, flicking the bow Hermione had affixed to the present. "There were times, y'know, I didn't think I'd make it."

She didn't have to question what he meant by this.

He meant he had wondered if he might be dead before he got there.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced the image of Hagrid carrying his limp body out of her head. For a moment it refused to leave but, like an old television, eventually she made it flicker and fade - if only for Harry's sake. She leaned forward and hugged him fiercely, and he hugged her back, with a deep sense of desperation. He was always hugging and holding people lately…it was like he was clinging onto the life he was miraculously allowed to have again. She felt strong fingers on her shoulder blades, and he whispered, "Thank you, Hermione."

"It's just a book," she tried to shrug, but her eyes were already teary. "You know it's just a book."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Harry pulled back and sighed, then smiled. "We the first up?"

"I suspect Molly has already gone down to prepare a morning feast in honor of you." Harry grinned at this.

"Well, what are we waiting for, then?"

—

The rest of the day was great fun. There was to be a big party in the evening, and until then, there was an ersatz Quidditch match in the orchard - Ron, Harry, Fred, George, Angelina, and Ginny had worked out a game of 3-on-3, which was incredibly thrilling to watch. Fred and George on different teams! Ron and Harry pitted against each other! But, the pairing of Harry and Ginny, along with Fred, proved the other team no match for their partnership, and they won two out of three of the games handily. Lee, of course, announced every twist and turn with his magically-amplified voice, and Lupin had magicked-together some wooden beams to serve as stands for the rest of the group to watch and cheer from. It was late July and yet not too hot; the sun was bright but not hazy. It was truly beautiful.

And then George got a nosebleed.

It was a complete accident, of course - Harry had ricocheted into him when he thought he spotted the Snitch, and George had been just a little too close to one of the hoops - but as the blood poured from his nose, Hermione felt her breath hitch. George was waving it off and even joking ("Can a Seeker even act as a Beater?" George protested mock-seriously) but the sight of the spurting red liquid made Hermione's eyes cloud over.

She was back in the battle. Across the room George had received a slash across the face, cutting his cheek so deeply that it wouldn't stop bleeding. A Killing Curse was hurled at him, but Fred had yanked him out of the way just in time. Green sparks exploded against one wall of the castle and scarred the heavy stone beneath. George tossed a grin to his sibling - "Cutting it close, that!" - and ran forward, back into the thick of it, blood still streaming from his lacerated cheek. She looked over and saw several bodies that had been shoved against the other wall by Death Eaters…she couldn't recognize them, but a couple appeared to be students. One was definitely an older woman, but she couldn't tell anything else. The woman's entire front was horrifically mangled, and all Hermione could see was blood where there should have been a face.

Hermione stood, staring at that faceless face for what could have been an eternity but in truth was only minutes - before Ron returned to her side and grabbed her arm. "What're you staring at?" He screamed. "Run!"

She gasped in air, but the sound was drowned out by Molly fretting over her son and the teams arguing whether getting your face accidentally smashed into a pole counted as interference. The only person still sitting on the stands with her was Lupin, one row to the front - but at the sound of her small gasp, he twisted around in his seat to look at her. Lupin raised a brow, and underneath the half-dozen conversations going on at the moment, he managed to ask: "Are you all right?" Hermione had no words for him, and just stared back, eyes wide. He clearly didn't quite understand what was happening, but he did realize that she was panicking. "Breathe, Hermione, okay?" he implored, gazing at her steadily while the others gabbed and laughed on the field in front of them. She struggled to do as he said, but she kept choking on each breath. He didn't give up, though. "In through the nose…out through the mouth. Slowly, slowly."

"How do you…" she shuddered, "...know this?"

Lupin smiled at her, sadly. "It helps when it feels like…" He searched for the words. "Like what's inside will come out. Do you understand?" She did. The wolf. Hermione nodded, struggling to breathe slowly through her nose, out through her mouth. He breathed with her, lifting a hand in front of his chest as he breathed deeply through his nose, and lowering it gently as he exhaled through his lips. Watching Lupin do so as calmly as he was helped to soothe her nerves, and she began to regain her normal tempo. He noticed and smiled, still breathing slowly to demonstrate for her. "Very good. You've got it."

"I don't know what…" She had never felt anything quite like this before…her fear was always in the moment, like with the troll in first year or during the Battle itself. And it wasn't like she had ever thought of trolls since then with dread; it was just something that had happened. Just like the Battle. It was over now. Why was she still so frightened? "What...I..."

He nodded again. "It's all right. It's all right." Her eyes began to tear and she suddenly felt so foolish; to be so panicked while everyone was having a lovely day, all because of a little nosebleed. It was ridiculous - she was ridiculous. Hermione swallowed, and the acid in her throat made her grimace. She couldn't imagine living like this from now on. She didn't want to be a victim of fear.

Hermione stood up from the stands and walked down past the makeshift Quidditch pitch into the orchard itself. She saw Lupin tilt his head at her and follow her with his gaze away from the stands, but she didn't care. She just needed to be away from everything.

She stood contemplating a small apple still ripening on one of the trees. Her fingers brushed over it and she felt its waxy skin, warmed by the sun. Hermione turned the apple in her fingers and found that, unseen on the exterior, there was a large hole gnawed away at the other side and the fruit had already begun to rot outward. She jerked her hand back quickly, feeling the bile rise in her throat again. That was the truth of it, right? Nothing is able to ripen anymore without rotting away to the core first.

Footsteps came behind her, and she heard the snapping of twigs as someone pushed away low-hanging branches to reach her. "I'm fine, Lupin, I-" She spun around, but it wasn't the older man standing behind her in the orchard.

It was Ron.

"Lupin?" he responded, confused. Hermione shook her head.

"Sorry. What is it?"

"I saw you walk off. You looked upset…" It was an uncharacteristic bit of perception from Ron, who wasn't exactly often in tune with female emotions.

"It's just…been a lot," she explained, feebly. He nodded, rubbing his thumb idly over his broom handle. Ron had ventured into the Chamber of Secrets alone during the Battle and retrieved the Basilisk fangs while Hermione had run to move the House Elves to safety; she had been sick with worry during that time apart that something would happen to him, and she'd never be able to see him again, never be able to talk to him. But what was it that she had wanted to tell him then? It seemed so far away now…there was only the relief that he had made it through, that so many of them had, and that was enough for most of the time.

The rest, she felt desperately alone.

When they destroyed Helga Hufflepuff's cup together, it had seemed to seal something between them, but that something felt like true friendship. She knew with every fiber of her being that Ron would always be in her life, as would Harry - it was as simple as that. But she didn't think there would be anything else between her and Ron, not really, despite knowing that Ron thought there would. Hermione had long ago realized that, while they were great friends and verbal sparring partners, neither of them had really had enough experience apart to understand what feelings they might actually have for each other. The end of the war had only really crystallized this for her. She loved him, so deeply and so tenderly, but it wasn't him she thought of for comfort when she was afraid.

The problem was, she didn't know who to think of. That's why it all felt like such an abyss.

"You know it's all right now, yeah? Nothing's going to happen. It's all going to be okay." Ron grinned at her, and she felt a bit of the sunshine of the day in his smile. It wasn't quite enough, but it was enough to get through the rest of day.

"Thank you," was all she managed. He waved a hand at her and slung an arm over her shoulders, escorting her back out of the orchard and to all of her waiting friends.

After all, it was time to celebrate, wasn't it?

A/N: Thanks for reading! Any feedback appreciated :) Chapter title comes from "Vienna", by Billy Joel.