It’s easy to get lost in London. The city is huge and made up of so many smaller communities that it’s simple to just disappear. If someone doesn’t want to be found, it’s nearly impossible to find them. Fortunately, Hermione doesn’t know the meaning of the word impossible and stubbornly refuses to admit defeat, especially when it’s regarding something so important to her. As she does her research and focuses all of her attention on one goal, she thinks about the party at the Burrow and the hug that should have made her more alert to what was really happening. Looking back, she wonders how she could have been so blind and chastises herself for not realizing what he had planned that night. That was the last time she saw Harry.

In the months since he left without saying good-bye, she has searched for him. The charms he uses to hide his magical signature are ones that she taught him during the hunt for the horcruxes, and that he is using her own teaching against her is really annoying. He hasn’t been in touch with anyone since he walked into the foggy night months ago, not even Ron, who thinks she should just let Harry go because he’s got some foolish belief that Harry will return when he’s ready.

Ron wasn’t the last person to see Harry, though, and he has no idea that the hug had felt like a final good-bye instead of a ‘be back soon’. Hermione didn’t even realize that until she’d gotten home that night and been unable to sleep because she kept thinking about Harry and how he’d been acting since Voldemort was killed. She’d gotten dressed and gone to Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night, just needing to see Harry to convince herself that everything was okay. Only, it hadn’t been. Grimmauld Place had been empty, Harry’s clothes had been gone, and there had been three notes: one to her, one to Ron, and one to Remus.

She still has hers. She carries it with her so she can read it for clues or to not feel so alone or for the strength to continue this search for someone who doesn’t want to be found. If she really thought Harry would be better off alone, she’d respect his wishes, no matter how difficult. She doesn’t believe that, though, so she keeps looking. He deserves happiness but she knows him well enough to know that he’s not run away for that reason.

He blames himself for everyone who died during the war, thinks he should have killed Voldemort sooner, feels guilty for not doing more even though he did everything possible, and hates being Harry Potter: Hero to everyone in that world. She knows he needed to get away from that, really, but he shouldn’t do it alone. He’ll just brood and dwell on a past that can’t be changed instead of realizing that he’s lucky to be alive and should actually live or those who are gone will have died in vain. So, day after day, she keeps looking.

Her search is focused on London. She knows he could be anywhere, could have Apparated to the continent or flown to somewhere far away, but her instincts tell her that he’s still in London. He loves the city, after all, and has a fondness for the Thames. Besides, everyone else assumes he’s left this part of England so it’s ideal to hide in plain sight, in a way. The Daily Prophet gets owls occasionally with ‘Harry Potter sightings’ all over the world, but no one is really looking for him. He’s the savior of the wizarding world, after all, and has earned the right for a long holiday in whatever exotic destination is rumored lately.

Looking for Harry in London is akin to looking for a needle in a haystack, as the saying goes. There are times when she gets so frustrated with her lack of success that she considers giving up and just trying to move on without him, but she can’t. It surprises her how impossible it is to live without Harry. He’s been her best friend since she was twelve, but her inability to let go is far more complicated. She doesn’t think about that as she looks, though, because it’s just too confusing.

She has a small handheld map of the Underground and spends her days taking the trains stop to stop to wander around looking for him. He has learned the charms to conceal him, but she knows a few minor spells that work well in close range that could potentially allow her to trace some sign of him. Ron is getting worried about her and her obsession, as he calls it, but he supports her as a best friend and ex-boyfriend, even going with her sometimes, if only to try some kind of intervention.

It’s not hopeless, despite what he softly tells her as he mentions how huge London is and how often Harry mentioned going to the continent to see all these places he’d heard of like Paris and Rome. He means well so she forgives him for worrying, but she’s too stubborn to give up until she knows she’s tried as much as she can and can finally admit to herself that Harry is gone.

Six months after the last night she saw Harry, Hermione misses her tube stop. She realizes, a moment too late, that she's stuck on the train as it leaves the main city center and heads to outlying areas. She consults her maps and notes that she hasn't been out this direction before, so she decides that she can make her error work in her favor. She’ll get off at the furthest station and walk around to see if she notices anything before catching a bus back to the city proper.

However, despite her resolution to start at the end of the line, her attention is caught by the name of the station as they pull into it. Not one to normally trust urges or feelings, Hermione is surprised when she listens to the voice in her head telling her to get off here. She exits the train right before the doors shut and finds herself standing on the platform at Putney Bridge.

After she goes down the stairs, she exits the station and looks around. It’s definitely more of a working class area, which would probably make it easy to hide. She walks past the busses and starts forward. The Thames is lovely here, and there’s an odd feeling in her stomach as she crosses the bridge and heads towards the main area of town. There are people out doing their shopping and going to eat, and it seems to be a pretty populated area.

A group of tourists with thick American accents passes by her, and she moves against the building as they push by her. They’re rude and don’t even apologize for bumping her, which she finds almost worthy of a hex. She scowls at them and then glances into the window she’s leaning against. It’s a used bookstore, but that’s not what catches her attention. Her eyes widen and her heart races as she peers into the window at the young man shelving books.

He has shaggy black hair and is wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. She can only see his back but she doesn’t move because she just knows. When he turns around and pushes up his spectacles as he heads behind the counter to check out an older woman, she is finally able to breathe again.

She’s found Harry.

*****

The Burrow is crowded and loud, but Hermione can’t help but notice the people who are missing. It’s been a week since Voldemort was finally defeated and this is the first celebration that she’s attended. People are drinking and laughing but it feels as if they are trying to overcompensate because they, too, feel the awkwardness of celebrating when so many friends and acquaintances aren’t there to celebrate with them.

It will get easier with time, she knows, and a part of her fears the day when she can no longer easily remember those who were sacrificed during this war. As time passes, their faces won’t be so vivid, their names won’t be so fresh, and she’ll only recall them vaguely. It’s a part of life, to continue living and remember the past occasionally, but she already feels guilty. So she spends the evening quietly remembering everyone lost and forcing herself to think of the good times instead of their deaths.

It isn’t easy when the last fifteen months have been spent on the run, surrounded by fear and death, and there were many nights when she honestly didn’t expect to live to see this celebration. For that, she should celebrate and embrace the opportunity to have a future. There’s so much chaos, though, that she almost wishes she were back at a campsite in the middle of nowhere with her friends.

The Ministry has to be rebuilt, but there’s at least a strong set of officials in power now that has actually earned Hermione’s respect in the last few months. St. Mungos is overflowing with patients, a situation that will eventually lessen as people heal and recover. Gringotts remains strong, never falling even in the darkest days, and she is pleased that the goblins now stand for strength and hope to many people who always dismissed magical creatures as worthless. Some changes may be good, but it’s hard to be optimistic when her body still hurts and her future is unknown.

She’s almost twenty years-old but feels twice her age. Since they began the hunt for the horcruxes and the war escalated, she hasn’t given any thought to her future. Her focus has been the end of the war and making sure Harry lived. Harry’s survival had been more important than her own so she had always thought of his future after Voldemort was gone and he’d have a chance to finally have a real life. Now that the war is nearly over, as it won’t really be over until the last of Voldemort’s supporters are captured and reconstruction begins, she has no idea what to do. She hasn’t taken her NEWTs, didn’t attend her last year of school, has had such little contact with her family in recent years that she can’t fathom living with them, and almost feels lost now that the goal of defeating Voldemort has been accomplished.

Moody starts singing a song about a wizard and a goat that makes her wish she had been drinking something alcoholic just so she’d not be aware enough to understand the silly song. Her gaze skims the room, noticing the spots that people unconsciously leave for those no longer with them, and she feels her resolution to live a full life so their deaths would not be in vain waver. It’s still so fresh that such vows mean nothing. It’s just been a week and she’s still trying to process everything, really, so perhaps she’ll wait to make plans until she’s calm.

Ron is dozing by the fire, and she smiles softly when she notices that he’s about to spill his drink. She murmurs a charm and moves the glass safely to the table next to him. He needs his rest and really shouldn’t be at a party, but she won’t scold him because he also needs to be around his family and friends. Harry, on the other hand, has disappeared since they arrived, which doesn’t surprise her. Parties don't meet his needs, and he’s been pulling away since they were released from St. Mungos, which worries her.

She goes looking for him, needing to see him. She finds him outside looking at the sky. There’s a crescent moon in the sky and the stars are out. She joins him, shivering slightly from the cold air, and stares at the sky. “You’re missing the party.”

“I just needed some air,” Harry says softly. He glances at her and then back at the house. “I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

“Me either,” she admits quietly as she looks at him. “It’s cold out here.”

“You should go back,” he says. “I think I’m going to leave.”

“Oh, Harry, don’t,” she says. “You can’t leave me to face Moody’s attempts at singing without you.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he tells her quietly. “I just can’t…I need time.”

“It’s okay.” She reaches up and brushes his hair away from his face. “You need to rest anyway. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you were tired.”

“I’m so tired,” he whispers before he catches her hand and squeezes it. He hugs her then and kisses her cheek, holding her so tight she can barely breathe. “Take care. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She hugs him back before she lets him go. There is loud laughter coming from the Burrow and she glances towards the house, wishing she could smile and laugh so easily. She just can’t yet. When she turns back to Harry, he’s already walking away. He looks back once, raising his hand and putting it over his heart, before he disappears into the foggy night. The next thing she knows, he’s gone.

**********

After she finds Harry, Hermione is overwhelmed by emotions. She is happy, angry, anxious, scared, relieved, and so many other things that she knows she needs time to process everything. She backs away from the Book Nook, which appears to be his place of employment, and goes back the way she came. When she crosses Putney Bridge, she stops and stares at the Thames. She can’t believe she’s found him. For months, she hoped but honestly doubted she ever would. If anything, it gave her a purpose, a reason to get up every day, and kept her from having to face life.

The tube ride back to Grimmauld seems to take forever but she’s not in a state to Apparate. Besides, she tries not to during her search just because it’s easier to use Muggle transport when she doesn't know where to look. She sits and watches the passengers, noticing things she never has before. Children with parents, husbands with wives, friends gossiping about friends, a sad woman sitting in the corner with a tear-stained face. She blinks and frowns when she realizes that she’s the woman reflected in the glass; she'd been unaware that she was crying. Harry is alive, which should make her happy, but she’s not. She’s angry that he left her and sad that he has made a new life for himself without her and Ron.

By the time she gets home, to the house Harry left her, her head is pounding and she can do nothing more than undress and crawl beneath the covers. She sleeps twelve hours and wakes up feeling confused and uncertain. While her toast browns, she drinks orange juice and starts a list. Now that she’s found Harry, she needs to decide if she should be content and move on or if she should speak to him. Her life hasn’t felt complete since he left and she misses him terribly, but is it selfish to think only of her own needs and not respect his decisions?

The piece of parchment is soon filled with her neat, precise handwriting. She weighs her options and still doesn’t know the right choice even after comparing her lists. There are so many factors involved that there isn’t one definite answer. Hermione hates vague and inconsistent solutions. She considers asking Ron’s opinion but doesn’t because he’d be likely to go confront Harry regardless. It needs to be Harry’s choice to contact Ron, which makes her realize that it should also be Harry’s choice to contact her. She’s a hypocrite and selfish and is now being punished for her obsession. To know where he is and be uncertain about whether to contact him hurts more than simply not knowing his location.

She doesn’t leave Grimmauld at all that day. Instead, she makes lists and paces and tries to think about her life and what she should do with her future. She is no closer to knowing what to do by the time she goes to bed. Her sleep is restless, and she wakes the next morning knowing that she has to go back to Putney. The tube ride is long and there is a delay on the track but she arrives at Putney Bridge station in mid-morning. The bookstore isn’t open yet so she goes to a small coffee place nearby and picks at a croissant as she waits.

An older woman opens the store. She seems friendly and chatters to customers as she rings purchases and stocks books. Hermione lingers across the street, not necessarily hiding but not noticeable should Harry happen to glance her way. She stands for hours, hearing Ron’s voice in her head as he calls her scary and tells her to just leave it and go home. She can’t, though, because it’s Harry and nothing feels right without him.

When a man and then a woman come in to work to relieve the older woman, she groans in frustration. She has spent hours waiting but it doesn’t seem that Harry is working today. She continues to wait, just in case, taking a break from her watch to have a light lunch at a salad place down the street. Finally, shortly before the store closes, she crosses the street and goes inside. The bookstore is warm and welcoming, full of used books and the fantastic smell of ink and paper that makes her miss the library. She wanders the aisles and chooses some Muggle mystery novel before she goes to the counter.

“Hello,” she says with a casual smile at the man who begins to ring her purchase. “I was here the other day and spoke to a young man who recommended a series of books to me but I’ve lost the note with the author’s name. Is there any chance that you’ve found it?”

She feels bad for lying but deals with the slight guilt as the man checks the counter. “I’m sorry. I don’t see anything here,” he tells her apologetically. “If you remember anything about them, I could try to help.”

“I wish I did,” she says. “The clerk seemed to think I’d enjoy them. Maybe I’ll just stop by another time and ask him if he remembers the name.”

“Was it Evans?” the man asks.

Evans. She shrugs and manages to hide her recognition of the name. “I honestly didn’t look at his name badge. He was wearing glasses and needs a haircut, if that helps.”

The man laughs. “Yes, that’s Evans. Mary, when is James working next?” he asks the woman who is pricing a stack of books nearby.

“He’s on tomorrow. Days,” Mary says. “I think. You can check the schedule.”

“Oh, it’s not that important,” Hermione says smoothly. James Evans. He wasn’t Harry anymore even in name. “I’ll check back some time. Thank you.”

She leaves the bookstore and walks across the bridge on her way to the tube station. The stress of the day wears on her and she feels so very tired by the time she sits on the train. When she gets home, she curls up in her bed with her new book and wishes she could just let Harry go. She can’t, though, and knows she’ll be back in Putney tomorrow.

**********

The next day, she resists the impulse to go back, choosing instead to owl Ron. They meet for lunch at his flat. Over take-away curry, they talk about his work with Fred and George on Diagon, where they’re helping to rebuild the many businesses destroyed in the war. He’s running the Quidditch Supply shop now, working for the twins who are surprisingly practical enough to use their money to invest in various businesses. They may be annoying with their immature pranks, but they’re great at business and know how to make money. They now own several businesses on Diagon and pester her every time their paths cross to let them finance a new bookstore for her to run.

Today, she surprises Ron and herself by telling him to let them know she’s ready to meet with them about that idea. Ron seems so happy that she’s not obsessing over her search for Harry that she can’t take the words back after she says them. She doesn’t tell him about her trips to Putney, not mentioning Harry at all so she’s not forced to lie to Ron. He tells her about a horrible date he had with a witch who was only interested in dating Ron Weasley, friend of Harry Potter, and admits that he hates the fame attached to his name. They’re silent for a moment as they both think about Harry and remember him telling Ron he’d happily trade the fame for peace and quiet. Even when he’s not with them, Harry is always there in some way. She brings up Ron's store again and he excitedly tells her of plans for a grand opening any day now.

That night, her mind is full of plans as she lies awake thinking about having her very own shop. She mentally plans inventory and arranges shelves until she can see it all very clearly. There can be a section on magical creatures with every book she can find to help people understand, appreciate, and accept instead of fear. There will be Muggle books mixed amongst the wizarding texts, a subtle way to show how important it is to mix the two cultures in this post-Voldemort world. She’ll also have a section of wizarding history, a tribute to the past and present of this wonderful world that they’re all so very lucky to be part of, difficulties and all. For the first time in years, she thinks of the future and smiles.

The next few days pass quickly. She goes to Putney several times, managing to find Harry at work twice. She waits and watches his store, but doesn’t make a move to speak to him. It’s ridiculous to come here just to catch a glimpse of him yet she can’t stop herself from boarding the train to Putney Bridge. Seeing him helps calm her, even if it does hurt to not be able to speak to him, to hug him, or to just be around him. She follows him after work one day, thankful that he walks instead of catching a bus. He goes to a brick building with tidy landscaping and several floors of flats. She sees him go to the tiny lift in the lobby but can’t tell which floor is his. She doesn’t follow him home the second time because she feels that she’s possibly become the creepy obsessive that Ron has accused her of in the past, and it’s not a good feeling to have.

During this time, she meets with Fred and George and is pleased with how serious they are about money and investing. They discuss plans for a bookstore and she endures their teasing because she’s relieved to have something to focus on and call her own. Working for them won’t be difficult, she realizes, and she resolves not to let them down for taking a chance on her, especially considering her behavior since the war ended and Harry left.

Two weeks after she first finds Harry, Hermione still hasn’t made an attempt to speak to him. There are lists all over the study with reasons why she should and reasons why she shouldn’t. She is happy to be working on the bookstore, but Harry won’t leave her mind. It’s hard to be content and move on with her life when Harry’s not a part of it. She had thought it was just that he was missing that had left her so restless and focused on finding him. Now she knows he’s okay, that he has a job and a flat, new friends and a new name, that he’s living his life the way he has always wanted, but she’s still restless. Even the plans she’s making, and actually getting out and seeing a few friends, don’t ease the urge that sends her to Putney every couple of days.

Each time, she tells herself that she’ll actually go speak to him. If he tells her to go away, if he says he doesn’t want her in his life, then she’ll go. She respects his choice, after all, even if she wants him back in her life. If he had told her good-bye and not just left a note before disappearing, she doesn’t think it would have been so difficult to let him go.

She is back in Putney again on Thursday and the older woman is working. Harry sometimes works along with the woman but today it is Mary who comes in at noon for the mid-shift. She’s disappointed that Harry is off work because she thinks that today might have been the day she actually spoke to him. She ignores the voice in her head that reminds her that she has thought this the other two times he’s not been working. Instead, she likes to think that maybe this would have been the right time.

In the end, the decision on whether to speak to him or not is taken out of her hands. She walks away from the bookstore and heads towards the tube station. By the time she reaches the bridge, she knows there’s someone behind her. She stops midway and looks at the Thames as she gathers her courage before she turns and faces Harry.

He stares at her as if he’s not entirely sure she’s really there. “You found me,” he says simply.

His hair is longer and he has new glasses that have a wire rim that somehow brings out the green in his eyes. She wonders how often he breaks them since he often snapped the thick frames he always wore in the past. “Yes, I did,” she says.

“I saw you outside the store two weeks ago,” he tells her softly. “I know you’ve been watching me. Why haven’t you said anything?”

Hermione blushes at the realization he knew she’d been there and felt very foolish for following him home last week. “I didn’t think you’d want me to,” she admits.

“That didn’t stop you from looking for me when I didn’t want to be found,” he says with a hint of familiar anger that has rarely been directed at her in the past. In the space of moments, he changes from almost happy to see her to cold and distant. “Have you told anyone?”

“I’m sorry for caring and wanting to make sure you were okay. I haven’t told anyone and won’t,” she says as she looks away from this strange man who is Harry but not. He’s James Evans now and feels like a stranger even if she can see her Harry in there some. She is cold suddenly, close to tears, and it feels as if the last six and a half months have been a waste because this isn’t at all how she imagined their reunion. “I should go. I won’t come back. Be happy, Har---James.”

She tries to smile but it doesn’t work so she turns and hurries away, finally doing what she should have done months ago. She lets him go.

**********

It’s a crisp morning in early spring when the Dark Mark is cast above Seamus Finnigan’s house. The news reaches them three days later when they’re camping near Hastings. Harry doesn’t say a word as Ron reads the owl from his mum, having to stop several times to make it through the story of the latest casualty of war. This one, even more than others, hits them all close to home. Hermione sits quietly beside Harry thinking about a sandy haired boy with a mischievous grin and infectious laugh who helped cheer her up numerous times during the last few years. The tears don’t fall until Ron stammers out that it was Parvati Patil who provided Seamus’ location to her father who is one of Voldemort’s newest recruits.

When Ron stops reading, Harry gets up and leaves their campsite. Her gaze follows him until he disappears into the thick trees surrounding them. She feels Ron staring at her and glances at him as she wipes her damp cheeks. “He blames himself,” she says softly.

“He always does,” Ron agrees quietly. They’ve been on this quest for nearly nine months and it seems to have aged them all. There’s now a maturity in Ron that she finds comforting and safe even as she misses the easy smile and laughter that are no longer so common. Ron shakes his head as he looks at the parchment in his hand. “I can’t believe Parvati…”

“War changes people,” she says resignedly. She no longer possesses the hopeful optimism that has always helped ground her. They’ve seen too much, done too much, and that innocent view of the world has been gone for awhile now. She still has faith because, without it, there would be no point in fighting or trying to live. However, she knows the world isn’t black and white, has seen the gray, and little surprises her anymore regarding people’s motives.

“We’re going to win,” Ron says firmly as he sits on the blanket beside her. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes. “I hope he didn’t suffer.”

Hermione leans against him and doesn’t answer. She hates lying to Harry and Ron so she can’t say that Seamus probably died quickly and without any pain. Chances are that he was tortured, not only because he dared to oppose Voldemort and had a mixed bloodline, but because he was Harry’s friend. That’s the worst part these days. Each death seems to be more personal, as if Voldemort is trying his best to get Harry through those he can reach. It’s a cliché plan, so basic that it’s almost laughable, but she can’t laugh because it’s working.

Harry withdraws more with each new owl. She almost wishes that Molly didn’t feel a need to keep them informed of what was happening on the homefront while they’re on this quest because it hurts Harry. He feels each death, whether it’s friend or stranger, and blames himself for not being able to stop them. He takes so much responsibility onto his shoulders that it makes her feel helpless. There’s so little she can do to pull him back, to keep him grounded, to not let Voldemort cause him to fall apart. She does what she can, though, and it’s enough, for now. She fears the day when it may no longer be.

Ron kisses her cheek and whispers, “You should go to him.”

She nods and hugs him before she stands up. He opens the book with all their notes and starts to work on their next move, face set in a determined way as he focuses on their strategy and plans. Their attempt at a romantic relationship may not have gone well, but she loves him and finds it possible to hope when Ron is tenaciously plotting. He looks up at her and smiles, just a slight crooked smile that actually reaches his eyes and makes her smile in return.

It doesn’t take her long to find Harry. He’s waiting in a small clearing, leaning against a tree with one hand brushing through his hair. He’s rubbing the bridge of his nose with his other hand, pushing his glasses up to reach his eyes. She knows he’s trying not to cry. His body is tense and he seems unaware of everything around him as he loses himself in his thoughts. Yet he knows when she enters the clearing even though she isn’t making noise.

He drops his hands and looks up at her, looking so lost, tired, and defeated that she gathers all of her strength and hope because he needs that nearly as much as he needs her. She goes to him and embraces him, kissing his cheek as she squeezes him tight. “It’s going to be all right,” she says soothingly as she rubs his back while he cries. “I promise.”

**********

The platform at Putney Bridge is above ground. It’s open air with a small enclosed section of benches to protect from the elements should it be necessary. The room smells of urine and old socks, which means it’s rarely occupied when Hermione is there. She doesn’t care about the smell, even if it makes her wrinkle her nose when she enters, because she just wants to sit down and be alone. It’s a slow time of day, thankfully, so there are only one or two people waiting around for the train to take them into the city center of London.

She refuses to cry. She’s wasted enough tears on Harry Potter over the last few months. Her resolve lasts until she sits down and brings her legs up so she can rest her forehead against her knees. She is angry with herself for crying but the anger can’t replace the hurt and disappointment. She has thought of numerous scenarios for running into Harry again, some from before she found him and others after. It never occurred to her that he’d be so different. Now, she feels stupid for never considering that possibility in her many hours of analysis. It was foolish to think he’d be so happy to see her, as she was to find him again, that he’d just hug her and the last months would fade away.

Ron has been right about so many things. Why didn’t she listen? She thought she knew best, that she knows Harry better than anyone, that they are best friends and nothing can change that, but she has obviously been wrong. She hates being wrong, especially about something this important. Since she was twelve years old, she has never considered a life without Harry. It took her longer to think the same of Ron but now knows she needs Ron around, if only to kick her in the pants when she needs it. Harry is different than Ron, though she doesn’t really know how or why. He just is and always has been, in a way.

“You weren’t supposed to leave.”

The words are soft and accusing, managing to pull her from her thoughts automatically. She looks up and sees Harry standing in the doorway of the waiting area. She wipes her face, hating herself for being so bloody emotional and such a cry baby. Before she can say anything, Harry steps closer.

“You were supposed to yell at me and hit me,” he says quietly as he pushes up his glasses in a familiar gesture that makes her sigh. “And then you were supposed to force me to talk to you because that’s what you do. You’re not supposed to leave.”

“Right, because that’s what you do,” she points out.

He flinches but doesn’t look away from her. “You always come after me,” he continues as if she didn’t speak. “When I left, I knew that you’d find me. I didn’t even know if I wanted to be found until I saw you through the window at the shop a couple of weeks ago. I knew then that I didn’t want to be found yet, that I wasn’t ready to go back, but I also realized just how much I miss you. And Ron.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being the one who always comes after you,” she says. “I’ve spent six months looking for you, Harry. Everyone thought it was hopeless, a waste of time. Even Ron said I should let it go but I couldn’t. Now, I don’t know. I think they might have been right. You’ve changed. I guess I just thought it would be different.”

“You’ve never given up on me,” he says quietly. “I have changed, Hermione, but so have you. You never would have let me get away with being so curt in the past. I’d have been hexed before I had a chance to say another word. When you just walked away, it felt so wrong, like I’d somehow fucked up everything.”

“Language,” she scolds without thinking. She tries to figure out what to say when a woman with two children enters the waiting area. This isn’t the right place for this discussion, especially when she doesn’t know what to say. The knowledge that Harry came after her gives her hope, though, and she wonders if there’s more Harry there than James after all. He’s talking more than he ever has in the past, which surprises her but she knows he only talks about serious things when he has something important to say so she listens.

“Will you come home with me?” he asks as he leans forward so the woman can’t overhear them. He holds out his hand and bites his bottom lip in a nervous gesture that lets her know he’s not sure of her answer. “We can talk and I’ll make tea.”

“Okay,” she says before she takes his hand and stands up. He squeezes it lightly and doesn’t let go as they leave the waiting area and go down stairs. She looks around as they leave the tube station. “Why here?”

He looks at her and shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I took the tube and somehow ended up here that night. I got a room, took a walk, found a help wanted sign at the bookstore, and just stayed.”

“I was surprised to find you working at a bookstore,” she says softly, trying for casual conversation as she gets her emotions under control.

“It reminded me of you,” he says with a quick glance at her before he looks away and points. “We can catch the bus there. It’s the fastest way to my flat. I rarely use magic anymore because I didn’t want to be found. When I do, I remember all the charms we learned to keep it hidden.”

“That day you walked home? You knew I was following you, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I thought you might confront me there since you hadn’t yet at the bookstore. Only, you didn’t and then you weren’t back for a couple of days.”

“God, it’s a good thing that I decided not to be an auror since I’m obviously pants at subterfuge,” she mutters, rather embarrassed that she wasn’t nearly as inconspicuous as she’d believed.

“I can always sense you and Ron, especially after all those months…” He trails off and frowns as he thinks of the war. She squeezes his hand but doesn’t say anything. Soon, they’re on a bus and he points out various things along the way. He seems more relaxed when he talks about favorite restaurants and pubs. When he looks at her and smiles crookedly, he’s Harry but a grown up version that she no longer knows nearly as well as she knows herself. She shyly returns his smile and decides that she’d like to get to know him.

**********

“It’s not better than Quidditch.”

“I didn’t say better. Just different.”

“I don’t see what’s so excited about watching those blokes run about in tiny trousers trying to kick a ball.”

“I need to take you to a live game. Then you’ll see how exciting it can be. The telly just doesn’t capture it.”

Hermione looks over at Harry and Ron, smiling as they continue their good natured argument of football versus Quidditch. The last six weeks have gone so quickly. After she went to Harry’s flat, they had a long talk about the war and life and various other things. Their next few meetings after were strained and a bit awkward, at first, but then things became more relaxed. He let her bring Ron to Putney a month ago. Ron eased the strain instantly, and it almost felt like no time had passed at all since they were last together. They’ve all changed but quickly adapted, even if Ron does love to tease Harry about Muggle things.

Tonight, they’re watching sports on the telly and she’s organizing Harry’s bookshelves. She honestly thinks he buys some books just because he likes the covers because there’s no way anyone would bother to read such tripe. He claims that Audrey, the older woman who owns the bookstore where he works, insists that he take the romance novels that Hermione found but she doubts that. Every time she visits him, she has the urge to fix his books so tonight seems like a great chance since she can’t stand Muggle sports anymore than she can wizarding ones.

When the room gets too quiet, she looks up and catches Ron and Harry whispering furiously amongst themselves. Harry glances at her and smiles before he whispers something else to Ron. Boys and their secrets, she thinks crossly as she shelves a book with a bit more force than necessary. She’s glad that Harry let her tell Ron because she knows Ron missed him, too, even if he didn’t think looking for him was the right thing to do. However, she has to admit to being just a little jealous at how easily the boys picked up their friendship when she and Harry still have tense moments when it’s just the two of them.

Since Harry has given her carte blanche with his bookshelves, she decides to sort by genre and then title. She normally would sort by author but Harry’s reply when she asks what he’s currently reading is almost always the title followed by ‘I don’t remember who wrote it’. As she looks at his collection, she makes a mental note to buy him a few better titles when it’s time to do the ordering for her bookstore next week. It’s nearly ready to have the product moved in and she can’t believe how quickly it’s all been done. She enjoys working with Fred on the project, as he’s the one who handles most of the business end of their ventures, and is excited to go crazy with the catalogues and order whatever she wants.

“What’s that pile there?”

“Harry!” Hermione jumps when she hears his voice right by her ear. She’s been so focused on her task that she didn’t even hear him walk up behind her. “Don’t do that!”

“What? Ask a question?” His tone is amused, which makes her frown as she jerks her elbow back to make contact with his belly.

“Sneak up on me,” she says as she glares at him for good measure so he’ll know she’s serious. He’s far too close to get the full effect, however, and she nervously takes a step closer to the bookcase, just so he can receive a proper glare, of course. She glances at the sofa and sees that the telly is off and Ron is gone.

“Ron had to leave,” Harry says as he reaches over to fiddle with the books on the shelf in front of her. “Something about a date with a bird who didn’t care if he was John Smith, which really didn’t make a lot of sense to me but you might understand it. You were busy so he didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh,” she says. She still finds it somewhat disconcerting how much Harry says these days. He’s never been silent, really, but she would have used the word quiet to describe him because he just wasn’t one for in depth, wordy conversations. It seems that James talks a lot more and that’s something she’s had to try to get used to. “Good for him.”

“What’s this pile?” he asks again as he leans closer to point.

“Romance novels,” she says dryly, arching a brow as she looks at him. “It appears that Audrey must believe you collect them, huh?”

“She never listens,” he says with a dramatic sigh before he winks at her. Hermione doesn’t expect such playful antics, even if he is a lot more relaxed and, well, flirtatious now. She blinks at him and refuses to look at his lips, which are chapped and curved into a smile. She certainly doesn’t think that his bottom lip, which is fuller than the top, is bitable. He moves his other arm around her to point at a different shelf. “What’s this one?”

She turns to look and feels him press closer. She tries to focus and says, “It’s a book on London. I’ve, uh, sorted it into a travel section.”

“Travel?” he repeats, his breath warm against her neck. “I don’t have a lot of travel books. Maybe I should get more. Have you ever been to Rome or Athens?”

“No,” she answers in a breathless tone that has nothing at all to do with the fact that his lips just brushed against her neck. She feels warm as that confusing tension between them returns. She focuses her attention on the shelves and does her best to ignore the fact that her best friend makes her feel this way. It’s too complicated to think about. “I’ve always wanted to see Italy, though.”

“Hermione, turn around,” he says. “Now that I’ve finally decided to do something about this, I’m not going to have this conversation with the back of your head.”

There’s no reason to ask what he means when he says ‘about this’. It’s been there for weeks, silent and obvious, and she thinks it might have been there even longer. She slowly turns around and looks up at him, meeting his intense gaze. “Harry, we shouldn’t…”

The rest of her attempt at being rational and logical is caught by his lips. He kisses her gently, giving her a chance to stop it or push him away if it’s not what she wants. Instead, she parts her lips and reaches up to tangle her fingers in his hair. Their noses bump and he bites her lip but soon they’ve got it figured out and the kiss deepens. Her toes don’t curl, she doesn’t lose the ability to breathe, and she’s not floating above the ground, but it’s everything she didn’t even realize she’s been waiting for. He instinctively knows how to touch her, how to please her, or maybe he just knows her that well after nearly a decade of friendship.

When he pulls back, his lips are wet and his face is flushed. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and then brushes his knuckles along her jaw before tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. “Will you let me take you to dinner, Hermione?” he asks before clarifying, “A date, not just as friends. I think we can be more than just friends and want the chance to see if I’m right.”

She resists the urge to get parchment and make a list of Pros and Cons to dating her best friend. From the moment he asks, though, there’s only one answer. She’s never felt more right about anything in her life when she says, “Yes, Harry.”

The shadows that still haunt his eyes seem to fade away when he smiles upon hearing her answer. He lowers his head and rubs his nose against hers before their lips meet once again. She realizes, then, that she was wrong months ago when she first arrived in Putney. It isn’t until now, in this moment with thoughts of a possible future together, that she has finally found Harry Potter, and she’s never letting him go again.

End