After Ron left the flat in the truck, Hermione moved to curl up with Harry on the other end of the couch. They sat quietly. Harry was sitting against one arm rest with his leg up, and Hermione was sitting right in his lap with her back against him. They enjoyed a moment together before Harry broke the silence.

"That was… a lot."

Hermione rocked her head back to look at his face, a thoughtful look on hers. "It was. I can't say I was expecting him to be that—"

"Sincere?" Harry offered.

"Yeah." She replied. "I'm still not… there yet." She admitted.

Harry sighed. "I'm not either. Not all the way… But I want to get there."

"I know, love. And I think I understand." She exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry. I sort of snapped at you earlier."

"Don't worry about it." Harry reassured her. "I understand your side, I really do… But I don't want to just throw away a friendship if there's even a remote chance it can be fixed, you know?"

Hermione sighed. "It helped, how broken up he was… But I'm not going to lie to you. If it wasn't for you, I don't think I'd even try with him at this point."

Harry took a moment to consider that.

"You don't have to, just on my account, if you don't want to."

"I know." She replied. "You're not forcing me to do anything, Harry. And I am not guaranteeing anything. But I think tonight went about as well as could be expected, and better than I had thought it would."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yes. I do not want to be the reason things are weird between you two, or that you lose a friend you don't want to." She sighed. "I understand he's important to you."

"Not as important as you." He answered easily.

She pressed back into him and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"That was a brilliant answer." She chuckled. "But no, I'm not about to make you choose, even knowing you'd choose me."

"I would." He answered. "But thank you."

As the night deepened, dim lights and warm tea took the edge off the day, Hermione let her head rest lightly against Harry's shoulder. "It's been a heavy day," she murmured, her voice softer now, touched by the drowsiness of lingering warmth.

"Yeah," he agreed, giving her hand a small squeeze. "But not a bad one."

Neither of them moved right away, content to sit a little longer in the stillness before they finally rose, making their way to the bedroom and what would certainly be a restful night's sleep.

—X—X—X—

By the next afternoon, they had let themselves slow down. A quiet sort of peace had settled over the house, one they hadn't let themselves feel in far too long. Ginny brought them up to speed on the goings-on at Hogwarts over the last year.

The twins further discussed their plans for the joke shop, while Harry offered some ideas, as well as further funding, if they needed it to help get the doors back open.

That afternoon, when Harry took his second dose of potion for the day, he felt that familiar sensation course through him. This time, a sudden burning sensation that faded quickly accompanied it.

He yelped in surprise, drawing Hermione's attention, as well as concerned looks from Ginny and Ron.

"What is it?" Hermione asked as she made her way to him from the living room.

"I'm not sure…" he answered. When Hermione turned the corner, her heart dropped. His hand was clutching his side, and he looked to be in pain. "I think the bandage is done."

She walked closer to him, holding her breath the whole time, and he lifted his shirt, revealing his injury.

Where the magical bandage had been previously, there was a smaller, light pink circle with red edges. It looked like a burn, but it wasn't open anymore. It was sealed off.

The hole was healed.

Hermione knelt down and examined the spot on his side, a smile on her face as she gently brushed her thumb over the red mark.

"It looks… good." She said, still smiling.

Harry looked relieved.

"What is it, are you okay mate?" Ron called from the adjacent room.

"Yeah." Harry called back. "That uh, curse… the wound is healed. Bandage popped off and kind of hurt, but there's no more gaping bloody hole in my side."

"Brilliant!" Ginny and Ron called in unison.

Harry and Hermione rejoined their hosts, feeling a little lighter, having reached what felt like a milestone in Harry's recovery.

—X—X—X—

That evening, Harry insisted on cooking with Molly, assuring her he enjoyed doing it.

He wasn't used to cooking for a crowd, but with a bit of guidance from someone with years of experience doing just that, he could get it done. Spag Bol, garlic bread, and a salad rounded out the meal, and conversation included no small amount of praise for his cooking ability. Most importantly, he took a bit of personal pride in that he taught Molly a subtle change to the recipe that she swore she'd be using going forward.

After the meal, the whole family migrated to the yard and enjoyed a bonfire, each other's company, and a few hot beverages under the stars. After a while, Molly and Arthur turned in and left the rest of the group to their own devices.

The fire crackled softly in the cool night air, sending occasional sparks up toward the star-strewn sky. In the still night, the orchard behind them was dark and quiet, the smell of damp earth mingled with the warm scent of burning wood. The Weasleys' battered old chairs and cushions had been dragged into a loose circle, where the group sat wrapped in cloaks and sweaters, hands curled around mugs of tea.

Fred and George had conjured a few floating lanterns to hover lazily above them, casting a soft golden glow and shedding more light than the fire on its own. Molly had insisted on bringing out a tray of tea and biscuits for them, though the twins had slipped in a bottle of something stronger, "for warmth," as George had put it.

For the first time in a long while, things felt… quiet. Not the tense quiet of hiding, nor the heavy quiet of grief—just a stillness that came with being together. Maybe it was relief at finding a bit of 'normal', but most likely, it was a tentative sense of peace finally edging its way back into their lives.

Ginny stretched out her legs, gazing at the fire. "You ever think about what we would've been doing tonight if none of it had happened? If we'd had a normal year?"

A silence settled over them.

"If none of it happened? Probably still at Hogwarts," Ron said after a moment. "Might've been in the common room, stressing over exams, nicking food from the kitchens."

Hermione smiled faintly. "I would have been making you all study."

"Yeah, sounds about right," Ron muttered, though there was a fondness in his voice.

Harry stared into the flames, his voice quiet when he finally spoke. "I think about it sometimes. How different so many things would have been if none of this had ever happened."

No one spoke for a moment. They all understood.

"It's strange, though," he continued. "If none of it had happened, we wouldn't be who we are now. And as awful as it all was…" He hesitated, glancing around at them. "Nearly all of it anyway… I wouldn't trade you lot for anything."

A soft breeze passed through the orchard, and the fire popped, startling Crookshanks from his post on Hermione's lap.

Hermione reached for Harry's hand, squeezing it gently. "Me neither."

Fred, who had been quiet, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's odd, isn't it? Thinking about the future when we weren't sure we'd have one."

Arthur had mentioned earlier that he was proud of them—proud of all they had done, proud that they were still here, that they had endured. But enduring and living were two different things.

"Alright," Ginny said, breaking the silence. "Where do we see ourselves in five years?"

Hermione inhaled sharply, looking sideways at Harry. "That's… a big question."

Fred smirked. "We're not asking for a whole life plan, Hermione. Just, you know, what do you want?"

She considered for a moment, glancing up at the sky. "Eventually, I think I'd like to help rebuild. Maybe work in the Ministry, but only if I can change things. There's too much that needs fixing."

"I'm sure Shack would love to have you." Harry interjected.

Ron nodded. "Definitely."

"I don't know, though. There's a lot of obstacles between now and then." She added with a distant look in her eyes.

"One problem at a time has been working for us so far, love. I think we'll keep that up and things will sort themselves out." Harry added.

"You're right, it has." Hermione replied, holding his hand and letting their arms dangle like a bridge between their chairs.

"What about you, Ron?" Ginny asked.

Ron hesitated. "Dunno, really. Thought about being an Auror, but… I'm not sure I want to keep fighting."

Harry glanced at him. "I get that."

Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's like… we did what we had to, right? But I think I want something different now. Something that doesn't involve life-or-death situations every other day."

Fred nodded, uncharacteristically serious. "Not a bad plan, mate."

Harry added "I honestly think you could make a solid run at a keeper position in the pros if you really wanted to."

Ron grinned and looked like he was enjoying imagining that possibility.

"And you, Harry?" Ginny asked gently.

Harry was quiet for a moment, watching the flames dance. "I used to think being an Auror was the only thing that made sense for me. But lately, I don't know. It's like Ron said, I don't want my whole life to be about fighting."

He paused for a moment, staring into the dancing flames cracking and flickering between them.

"Now that the war is over, I think I just want a life." He gave Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze. "A proper life."

Her heart clenched, and she understood exactly what he meant.

There was a beat of silence before George, in an attempt to lighten the weight of the moment, said, "Well, if you fancy a career in retail, I hear Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is looking for new hires."

Harry smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

"What about you, Gin?" Hermione prompted.

Ginny pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "I think I'd like to keep flying. Maybe play for the Harpies one day."

"That'd be brilliant," Ron added.

Fred grinned. "Then we'll have a celebrity in the family."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

Another quiet settled over them, but it was a peaceful one. The fire popped, embers floating lazily into the night.

Hermione looked up at the sky. "I used to love looking at the stars as a kid," she murmured. "Before I knew about magic. Before I even imagined any of this."

Harry followed her gaze, watching the vast stretch of sky. "Do you ever miss it? The time before? Not knowing?"

She thought for a moment before shaking her head. "No. Because even then, I think I was always searching for something bigger."

Ginny smiled. "I think you've found it."

Hermione glanced meaningfully at Harry for a long moment, then at the rest of them. "Yeah." She looked back at Harry, finding his eyes in the flickering firelight. "I did."

A comfortable silence settled again. The night stretched on, the fire burning low, and for the first time in a long while, they allowed themselves to just be.

The fire crackled again, sending a few sparks into the cool night. But in the quiet that followed, Hermione's thoughts drifted.

They drifted to her parents.

The war was over, and yet that one unfinished thing loomed over her. She had done what she had to—wiped their memories, sent them far away, protected them. But the longer she waited to find them, the more terrifying the idea became.

All she had to do was keep working to get her magic back, then they could go looking.

What if they didn't want to remember her? What if they never forgave her?

She hadn't talked about it much, Harry knew, of course, but he understood she wasn't ready to talk at length about it. He made it clear he was available, but didn't press the issue.

As if sensing the shift in her thoughts, he tugged her hand gently, guiding her back to the moment. When she turned to look at him, his gaze was steady, certain.

"We'll find them," he murmured, just for her.

Her throat tightened, but she nodded. "I know."

Because she wasn't alone in this—not anymore.

She had Harry, and he had her.

As trying as the past years had been, with everything she'd believed in being challenged and even subverted at one time or another, now she had something new to believe in.

Three days later, Harry and Hermione were settling into a routine. They would wake up, fix some breakfast, pick out a destination from the map Milly gave Hermione that was on their way to Hogwarts, and get on the road.

As they found their way to some more remote and rugged areas, Hermione taught Harry a little about driving, even letting him take the wheel when they were on remote roads with no traffic.

They'd been enjoying a bit of relaxation, and some unencumbered time alone together, but Saturday morning had them both worrying about what the day would bring.

The ride was quiet as they progressed around the western shores of Loch Lomond making their way north by northwest toward Hogwarts.

They didn't know what to expect of the memorial that evening, and Harry didn't know how he'd respond to whatever reaction there may be to his arrival.

He'd not yet made any public statements, but Shack had told the press he was recovering. It wasn't clear if anyone was expecting him and Hermione to make an appearance, but if they were anywhere near able, there wasn't a thing that would keep them from attending.

Sure, he might be nervous around crowds or uncomfortable being praised as some sort of hero or savior, but it was worth some discomfort to honor the fallen, and those whose lives changed forever as a result of the war.

All he knew, and all he needed to know, was that Hermione would be there with him. Her simple presence was all he needed anymore.

As that thought crossed his mind, his hand searched for hers, and found it. She was driving with her right hand on the wheel and her elbow on the rim of the window.

"You ready for tonight?" She asked.

"Ready as I'm going to be." He replied. "How about you?"

"I am." She said confidently. "There are a few people I'm looking forward to seeing."

"Me too." He agreed. "I'm just hoping our arrival doesn't cause too much of a spectacle."

"Well, I'm not sure there's much to be done about that." She admitted. "But I'll be there with you. I am sure most of the others will get it, maybe not right away, but I don't expect they'll pester you too much."

"You're right. It just makes me uncomfortable. I'm sure I'm more worried than I need to be though."

Hermione hummed in acknowledgment.

"Is it horrible of me that I'm sort of looking forward to this being over with?"

"No. I don't think so." She answered. "There's a difference in wanting it to be done and wanting it to not happen. If you're like me, you're looking forward to it in a way, but also looking forward to it being over."

"That does about sum it up." He smiled, resting his head back on the headrest.

"I wish I could actually drive some… Share the load with you, you know?"

"Maybe we can look into getting you a permit. I'm happy to keep teaching you if it's something you're interested in."

"I'd like that." Harry answered. "If Shack is there, perhaps he can point me in the right direction. I don't have any of my identification from the muggle world."

"Hmm…" Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, you've got a London address. I might be able to act as your referee and validate you, which you'll need in order to get one. But maybe the Ministry has some back channels I don't know about. Minister Shacklebolt is probably your best option."

"It's a plan then." Harry said, squeezing her hand and letting it go so he could rummage for a snack. He found a bag of crisps and popped it open.

"Should be in Hogsmeade in about twenty." Hermione announced.

—X—X-X—

Hermione drove carefully down the narrow streets of Hogsmeade, winding her way to the train station. Harry took a deep breath and wiped his eyes when the platform came into view. Worn stones and planks he'd taken for granted in the past, but now… Now it was firmly ingrained in his mind as the spot Hagrid would occupy every year at the start of the term.

Hagrid had always been constant—his first friend in the wizarding world, the one person, aside from Hermione, who had never once doubted him, never hesitated to stand by him. He had been there at the start of Harry's journey, and he should have been here now, at the end.

He wished, more than anything, that he could hear Hagrid's bellowing laugh one last time. That he could look up and see him, larger than life, grinning like he knew everything would be alright in the end.

But it wasn't — not everything.

The world was different now.

This would not be an easy evening.

Still a half-mile from the castle and the air was becoming thick in his lungs. Harry risked a glance at Hermione's face and saw her eyes were glassy.

It was around that time, Hermione found his hand, clenching it, staying silent, and allowing the memories to wash over both of them.

They took the path the thestral drawn carriages used to bring students to the castle.

As they progressed toward the gates, a hollow quiet descended over the car. Neither of them were sure what to expect, or what would await them when the castle came into view.

A few silent, heavy moments later, the astronomy tower came into view, followed by the rest of the castle.

The wheels ground to a halt just outside the courtyard and Harry tore his vision away from the one place he used to feel happy. Hermione looked back at him, understanding in her eyes as she nodded slowly before making her way out of the truck.

Opening the doors, the first thing they noticed was the air. The scent of fire and ash still hung in it, tainting the otherwise pristine spring air of the highlands with the shadow of the conflict that had cost them so much.

They made a quick stop into the flat to change into attire suited to a somber occasion such as this. Something about jeans and sweatshirts simply felt inadequate.

Hermione's thoughts went back to the article she'd seen in the Prophet the previous weekend, and before she let them leave the sanctuary of their room, she got Harry's attention.

"Hey." She said, her voice small and uncertain.

"What is it, love?" Harry's response came in an instant.

"It's just…" she sighed. "It's silly."

"I'm nearly positive it's not. What is going on?" Harry reassured her.

"I'm thinking of that article last week in the Prophet." She admitted.

Harry hummed in acknowledgement and took her hand.

"Harry?" She continued. "Please do not go far from me tonight." Her voice was weak and trembling, but she stood firm right in front of him. "I don't know if…" she trailed off.

"Don't you worry about that at all, Hermione." Harry said softly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He released her hand and hugged her, kissing her temple as he did.

"Okay." She whispered. "Let's go."

—X—X—X—

The sun approached the horizon as they walked from the truck toward the castle. The ancient walls of the castle still stood, mostly. Soot and ash lined the cracks and joints in the weathered cobblestones in the courtyard, and there were still some windows in need of repair, perhaps so much so that magic wouldn't be effective.

They were barely on time. Bordering on running late, but it was unlikely the proceedings would kick off at 6pm sharp.

Their feet slowed as they reached the center of the courtyard. Harry didn't realize he'd stopped until Hermione did, too. He didn't want to look. But he had to.

The stones were still discolored, a dark streak of brownish red against the pale grey of the stone floor. His blood. He had collapsed there, everything fading, the world turning black as Voldemort's curse tore through him, eating him away. He should have died here. He still doesn't quite understand why he didn't.

The only thought in his mind on that day had been getting to Hermione. Her hand was in his now, and he held it in a tight grasp, anchoring them to each other.

And just a few steps away, the spot where Hermione had fallen. Where that curse, the one he'd failed to block, had drained her, stealing her power, leaving her helpless while the battle raged on. He remembered the way she had screamed, the sheer agony in her voice before it cut off into the silence that gave him the final push he needed to complete his task. He remembered thinking he would never hear her beautiful voice again, never stare into her perfect brown eyes again, never hear her bubbly laugh again…

Hermione was lost in similar thoughts, though she hadn't been conscious when Harry had been dealt his injury. The photo in the article the previous week hadn't quite captured the scale of the devastation in the courtyard.

Approaching the grand entrance hall, a realization struck Harry like a bolt of lightning.

This place wasn't his home anymore. He could feel it in his bones, in the tightness of his chest. Maybe Hogwarts hadn't changed—perhaps he did. Maybe there would be no going back.

And just maybe, that wasn't a bad thing.

Beside him, Hermione shuddered, and he felt her arm around his back, pinning him securely to her side. It was like she's afraid he might slip away again, like she was making sure they were still there, still standing. She was looking at the same spot, feeling the gravity and significance of it just as much as he is.

Her heart sped up and she felt the edges of panic creeping into her periphery, just as Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'm right here. We're alright." He assured her, his voice quiet but steady. "Let's get inside and away from this place, yeah?"

She nodded and followed him toward the enormous doors of that castle's main entrance.

Floating candles like the ones from the great hall lined the path from the main door to the hall, lighting and pointing the way for guests who might have been present for the battle but not intimately familiar with the castle.

—X—X—X—

Entering the gathering, the first thing they noticed was that the large tables were absent from the great hall. Instead, tidy rows of chairs were set up in two ranks facing the head table.

Around the sides of the large room there were pictures of the fallen evenly spaced, with candles and flowers matching their house colors around each image.

The tableau before them stopped them in their tracks. The image of that many individual memorials in one place forced the air from Harry's lungs, until he felt Hermione's grip tighten on his hand.

Her presence was as steady next to him as it ever had been, and he could tell she was feeling much the same way he was, herself being supported by his simple existence.

There was a quiet murmur of conversation in the hall.

As they walked in from the rear, they noticed when Minerva caught sight of them. Her attention drawing back to the pair turned a few heads their way and seconds later, pure silence descended on the hall as the room realized who'd just arrived.

Their footsteps echoed for a few paces before the murmur sprang back to life with more fervor than it had earlier. The pressure of a couple hundred eyes on them made Harry wish he had his dad's cloak with him.

Thankfully, Minerva primly cleared her throat, settling the crowd back into respectful contemplation.

They were about to take a seat in one of the unoccupied back rows when she gestured to a few open seats in the very front.

"Please, take your seats." She said gently.

Not wanting to argue in front of a crowd, they followed her instruction, though they really had no desire to gather any more attention than was entirely necessary.

They took their seats in the front row, the first two to the right side of the aisle, and noticed it was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt sitting in the third.

After they each shook his hand and sat down, Minerva tapped her wand on the podium and began speaking.

"Thank you all for making the journey to attend this the first of what I have no doubt will be many memorials in the coming weeks."

"We are gathered here today not as professors or students, not as Aurors or Healers, nor as sons and daughters of a battle-torn generation, but as those who stood together for the last years and again on that fateful night two weeks ago. As those who fought, those who lost, and those who, against all odds, remain standing."

"Hogwarts has known war before. In the millennium since its founding, its halls have witnessed battles, its walls have stood firm in the face of darkness. But it is not stone and mortar that defines this school—it is the people within it. And it was you, every single one of you, who proved that this place is more than a castle. It is a home. A sanctuary. A beacon of hope. The ideals of bigotry, prejudice, and supremacy are a scourge upon these grounds and upon our very culture, and you have all done well to stand against them."

She took a deep breath and bowed her head. From the first row, it wasn't hard to see the weight of emotion on her face.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she continued. "We have lost too many. Friends. Family. Those who should be here among us, laughing, learning, living, and loving. Some were taken far too young. Colin Creevey, Anthony Goldstein, Zacharias Smith, none of whom hesitated, even in the face of death. Our beloved groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, who gave his last breath in defense of all we stand for and the very students he had always loved as his own. And so many more."

"Others still, are forever and irrevocably changed by the battle, such as Lavender Brown and Padma Patil, who now walk a different path than they had ever imagined."

"We honor them not just with words, but by living. By rebuilding what has been broken for far too long. By carrying their memory forward in how we treat one another. And most of all, by ensuring that their sacrifice was not in vain."

There were not any dry eyes in the room by that point. Minerva paused again and her eyes traced over the crowd, looking at each person there individually. Her gaze lingered for a moment longer on Harry and Hermione in the front row, clinging to each other for support and strength as the finality and gravity of the losses truly set into them one more time.

"To those of you who fought, who bled, who nearly lost yourselves in the battle, please know this: You are not, and will never be alone. Hogwarts will always be your home. And for as long as I am Headmistress, you shall always have a place here."

With the weight of her words and task heavy in her features, she took one more deep breath before continuing.

"Let us remember them now. Not as names on a list, not as ghosts of the past, but as the brothers, sisters, friends, mentors, and heroes they were."

With that, she slowly and reverently raised her wand, pointing it to the enchanted ceiling above the gathered crowd.

After a moment's pause, the room followed suit, silently holding their wands aloft in solidarity, in honor, and in remembrance of the ones who would never find their way back home.

The hall remained silent for a long moment, the glow of raised wands flickering like distant stars. A few quiet sniffles broke the hush, but no one moved to fill the silence just yet.

Lowering her wand at last, she straightened, her voice softer, but no less firm. "At this time, our honored guest, Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, has requested a few moments to make a statement."

McGonagall stepped back from the podium, and Kingsley rose, his movements slow and deliberate. He shook her hand and bowed in passing, then turned to face the gathered mourners. A few in the crowd clapped politely, but he lifted a hand, a subtle motion to quiet them before they could make too much of him.

"I appreciate the gesture, but I am not here to steal any of the more than deserved attention away from the faces that line this room today." He said with a somber yet charismatic smile.

His deep voice resonated through the hall. "Headmistress McGonagall, I'll admit, is a tough act to follow. Her words were poignant, and they ring true. I must say I look forward to seeing what this institution will do under her esteemed leadership in the years to come."

There was a general murmur of consensus at that, and Harry noticed Minerva take on some color at the compliment.

"We gather here tonight, as fellow countrymen, in the shadow of great loss, but also in the light of resilience. Two weeks ago, we stood together on these hallowed grounds against a darkness that sought to divide, to destroy, to diminish who we are. And yet, here we stand. We have endured."

His eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Neville, then on Harry and Hermione, before his gaze made a clear circuit of the room, taking note of the portraits lining the walls.

"There are too many faces missing among us. Names that should never have been carved into stone but should have lived on in laughter, in love, in the everyday moments that make life worth living. We grieve them, not just today, but always. And yet, in our grief, we must also find purpose."

"For years, our world has been poisoned by fear, by prejudice, by the incredible lie that some were worth more than others. It is a lie that cost us dearly. And so, let this be the moment we swear, together, that we will not let their sacrifice be in vain. Let this be the moment where we begin again."

"Rebuilding will not be easy. It will take time. There will be scars. Some seen, others felt only in the quiet moments when the weight of memory settles in. But we are not alone. We are here. And together, we will not only heal, but build a world that is stronger, kinder, and just. We will strive to replace judgment with understanding, prejudice with compassion, and fear with love and respect."

"Hogwarts has always been a place of learning. Let us take from it this night one more profound lesson: that courage is not only found in battle, but in the days that come after. In choosing to move forward, in choosing to stand up for one another, in choosing to live on in the face of all that would stand against us."

"So tonight, as we remember those we lost, let us also hold on to what they fought for. A world where the innocent do not have to live in fear. A world where we do not merely endure, but thrive."

Kingsley's gaze swept over the room, his deep voice steady and warm.

"Let us honor them—not just with words, but with the lives we build from this day."

He paused, allowing his words to settle. Then, his expression softened as he turned slightly toward the front row.

"There are many among us tonight who have given more than we can ever understand. Who have carried burdens no one should have to bear. None more so than one Harry James Potter."

A ripple of hushed murmurs spread through the crowd as eyes turned toward Harry. He tensed, his grip tightening around Hermione's hand, and his breath quickening.

"Harry, I know I speak for all of us when I say that we do not gather here tonight to ask more of you. You have already given enough." Kingsley's voice was calm, careful. "But if you do wish to say anything—if there is anything you would like to share—we would be honored to listen."

The room was utterly still. The weight of expectation pressed down, but Kingsley gave him a way out.

"And if not—know that you do not owe us words. You do not owe us anything." Kingsley's voice softened even further. "What matters is that you are here, that we are here, together. That we remember, and that we move forward—not as individuals, but as one."

Harry exhaled slowly. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, her fingers squeezing his hand gently. He turned, met her gaze, and found quiet encouragement there.

"It's up to you, love," she whispered. "Either way, I'm right here with you."

Harry nodded and braced himself, standing up slowly and turning to face the crowd for a moment before he walked toward the podium.

His discomfort wasn't veiled in the least as he stood in front of the many faces gathered before him. His knuckles were white on the edges of the ancient wooden stand. Surveying the faces in the crowd, he began to lose focus, until his vision tracked back to Hermione, sitting there in the front row, watching him with a sad smile upon her face.

He swallowed, still gripping the edges of the podium as if steadying himself against a tide he couldn't quite hold back.

"I don't really know what to say." He started, shaking his head and huffing out a sharp breath.

His voice was quiet at first, uncertain, but the silence in the hall stretched, waiting patiently, listening.

"I don't think there are any words that can make this easier. As powerful as we all know words can be, sometimes they're simply not enough. Nothing myself or anyone else here might say can bring back those we've lost, much less make sense of the ones who had to suffer so much to see this war end."

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pounding in his chest.

"I know that a lot of you want to thank me, but the truth is, I don't feel like any sort of hero. I don't deserve your thanks. Sure, I survived, but so did all of you. And some of us… Too many of us, only survived because-"

His voice broke, and he wiped his eyes as the image of Hagrid falling in battle assaulted his mind once more.

"Too many of us only survived because someone else didn't." He sniffled and focused again on Hermione.

"That's not victory. Nor is it something to celebrate."

There was a sorrowful murmur of agreement throughout the room.

"But what we can do, the only thing we can do really, is live. Live in a way that honors them."

His eyes traced the crowd, and he found Remus a few rows behind where he and Hermione had been seated together. He gave his friend a half nod and continued.

"We must make the world something they would be proud of." His vision blurred slightly behind unshed tears. "Because they should all be here."

"Colin should be here. Anthony, Zacharias, and Hagrid." His breath hitched at the name. "Dora Tonks should be here... And if we forget them, if we squander what they gave us, then we fail them all over again."

Turning his attention from Remus, who was visibly shaking after Harry's words and the mention of Tonks, Harry looked around at the friends and acquaintances giving him their undivided attention. For the first time, he saw not only mourning and sadness in the sea of faces, but strength and resolve as well.

"We fought for each other, side by side. And that doesn't stop now that the battle is over. It can't."

His attention gravitated once again to Hermione, sitting next to Shack in the front row, with tears streaming down her cheeks. He looked her squarely in the eyes and smiled softly, with a nearly imperceptible nod.

"If there's one thing I know, it's that none of us should have to do this alone."

He found the Weasley family sitting together on the side opposite from where he and Hermione had been sent. Molly and Arthur were joined tightly at the hands and both had water in their eyes. Fred and George looked somber and on the edge of tears themselves, and Ginny was seated between Ron and Charlie. She had her arm around Ron who looked to be particularly moved by Harry's words.

Further back, he saw many members of Dumbledore's Army clustered together. Neville and Luna were seated together. A soft smile tugged at her lips, while Neville looked determined and resolute.

For a moment, the hall remained utterly still. Then—one wand lifted.

The small pinprick of light wavered before catching. Another wand rose. Then another. Soon, a hundred wands shone like stars against the enchanted ceiling, flickering, unwavering.

Somewhere, a voice—raw, unsteady—murmured, "For the fallen."

Another voice took it up. Then another. Soon, the hall was echoing with it, a low murmur that gained strength, not in volume, but in certainty.

As the sounds of the tribute died down, Harry became acutely aware of the weight of hundreds of eyes on him. They weren't expectant, rather; they were grateful and understanding. Regardless, it was too much for him. His skin prickled. The pounding of his heart in his chest amplified again and his ears started ringing, his hands were clammy on the podium.

He had to get out of there.

He shot a frantic glance at Hermione and she was already moving, immediately recognizing his unraveling nerves. She reached for him, understanding without words what he needed.

Hermione reached him just as his breathing grew shallow, just as the walls felt like they were pressing in too close. She didn't ask, she just took his hand and pulled him gently away.

They slipped out past understanding faces into the cool night, but even the fresh air didn't clear his head. The wands raised in tribute were still burned into his mind, flashing behind his eyes like ghosts.

"Harry?"

He shook his head quickly. "I just… I need a second."

Hermione hesitated, then nodded, staying close but silent. Her warm hand was a reassuring presence at the small of his back. He appreciated that, because what could he even say? That no matter how many speeches he gave, how many memorials he attended, he would always feel like he shouldn't have survived? He didn't want to say that… Not to her.

The sun had set while they were inside, and the stars above them were endless, stretching far beyond the castle grounds. But all he could think about was the bloodstained stones in the courtyard, the faces missing from the crowd inside, the ones in portraits lining the hall.

He wondered if this feeling, the guilt, the weight of it all, would ever fade. Or if it would follow him, like a shadow, wherever he went.

Harry leaned against the outside of the castle and pressed his palms against his temples, his breathing uneven. Hermione stepped in close, nearly embracing him, her hands moving to either side of his neck as she gently pushed at his jaw.

"Harry. Look at me."

He tilted his head upward, reluctantly. Her eyes met his and were filled with quiet conviction.

"That wasn't easy, I know. But you did the right thing. And you did it beautifully."

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. "I just… I don't feel like…"

"Like you deserved to be the one up there?" She said it before he could, her voice soft but steady. "You did. Because you understand the cost of all this better than anyone. And because they needed to hear it from you."

He exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. She kissed his forehead, her hands still gently holding his neck, her voice quieter now.

"You spoke for them. For the ones who should have been here. And you honored them, Harry. That's what mattered."

"Remind me to smack Shack next time we see him."

Hermione chuckled. "You really were brilliant up there."

His eyes fell shut and he wrapped his mind around her.

"I'm so lucky I have you." He whispered in her ear.

"That you do." She replied. "And I'm lucky too."

—X—X—X—

A short time later, they made their way inside and found the crowd had dispersed, with people either leaving or making their way to familiar areas of the castle.

His nerves were calming, and a moment alone with Hermione was going a long way to keep that trend going.

Making their way further into the depths of the castle, a lighter thought crossed Hermione's mind.

"I've been wanting to do this for a while, you know?" Hermione said into an empty corridor along the route to the Gryffindor common room.

"What's that?" Harry asked. He was still coming down from the stress of speaking at the memorial and was nearly feeling like himself again.

She smiled and swung their joined hands between them. "This." She said. "Walking these halls… Holding your hand."

He picked her hand up and kissed the back of it. They were nearing the portrait hole when Harry pulled her off into a small alcove off the main corridor.

The faint sounds of their friends laughing and catching up in the common room softly echoed past them, and for one more moment, it was just the two of them.

Hermione turned a curious gaze to him, but he didn't immediately speak. The torches on either side of their small sanctuary sent warm flickering light across her face, as she smiled.

She was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world, and the feeling was mutual.

"We did it." He said softly, gathering her other hand.

She tilted her head. "Did what?"

"Made it through tonight. Didn't trip, didn't run… Though for a minute there when Shack started my way I thought about it… But yeah, we made it through tonight."

Her face softened, and she squeezed his hands. "Of course we did, sweetie." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Together."

Some unknown tension in Harry's chest, or perhaps in his very bones, eased at that. He glanced down at her, taking in the familiar warmth in her eyes, the way the flickering torchlight cast gold in her hair. He reached up, tucking a curl behind her ear, then let his fingers trail lightly down her cheek, then her neck, until his hand rested on his shoulder and his thumb brushed featherlight over her collarbone.

Hermione sighed… One of those quiet, contented sounds that he'd come to love—and leaned into his touch. "You're thinking too much," she murmured.

"Am I?" he asked, though she wasn't wrong.

She hummed in confirmation, then tilted her chin up, brushing her lips against his in a way that made his breath catch.

It was an easy sort of kiss. Unhurried and familiar. The kind that told him she was right there with him, in this moment, in all of it.

Harry exhaled against her lips, his hands settling at her waist as he kissed her back. She melted against him, a sigh escaping her lips as her fingers tangled playfully in his hair, a silent celebration of their connection. He had spent so long fighting and barely surviving. Kisses like this reminded him he was still here. That they were still here.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione smiled, her forehead resting lightly against his. "Better?"

"Much," he admitted, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth just because he could.

The sound of a throat clearing, and then a voice interrupted them, sounding far too amused. "Well, if you two are quite finished, there are some people looking forward to seeing you."

Harry groaned and turned to find Ginny standing by the portrait hole, arms crossed, smirking.

Hermione, utterly unbothered, simply laced her fingers with his again and tugged him toward the entrance. "Come on, Mister Potter," she said, smiling to herself. "We've got all the time in the world."

15