A/N: SO...once again I planned to write a one shot but I couldn't stop writing and this is where it ended up! It's just so long I had to split it into two chapters for it to be a little easier to read. Anyway, oh lovely readers, I hope you enjoy it!

Hermione learned of Draco Malfoy's transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement through the department head and her boss, Phineus Figgins, and had a complete breakdown. She smiled stiffly at Figgins as he wondered aloud the type of contributions the younger Malfoy would make to their department, panic climbing up her throat and gnawing at her stomach all the while. Politely, she excused herself from the conversation and walked away quickly before turning the corner and breaking into a run for her office, the clicking of her black pumps against the gleaming stone floor sounding like thunder.

The heavy wooden door of her office had barely managed to slam shut behind her when she felt the familiar and unwelcome blackness creeping into the edges of her vision, the numbness slowly winding up her legs, the crushing weight collapsing onto her chest. She tried to fight off the impending hell, tried so desperately to escape the panic enveloping her, but she was gone into the darkness.

Hours must have passed before her panic attack subsided, leaving her a weakened, trembling mess on the rough carpet of the small office. Dark brown curls had tumbled free from her tight bun and laid across the floor in a wild mess, and her knees burned from the violent impact they made with the carpet when her legs had lost the inability to bear her weight. A dull, throbbing soreness wracked her petite body as she wheezed slightly for breath.

Only a name. Only a simple name had brought her to her knees and reduced her to this quivering, pathetic mess, deepening old wounds and opening old scars. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. How the name burned like acid on her tongue.

Because the last time she had seen Draco Malfoy was the day the war had descended upon her in all its violent, rancorous glory, sparing only the battered spirit of a once robust girl and clipping the wings of a fearless bird.

"Mornin' Hermione."

Lethargically, the brunette lifted her head from the pile of manila folders scattered about her desk to the source of the Irish accented voice.

"Seamus," she said with a smile, pushing her chair back to stand and hug her old friend.

Though her smile felt tight and forced and her hug lacked the type of enthusiasm usually present when one saw a childhood friend, it felt good to have familiar arms around her in a sturdy embrace. She sighed into his chest and blinked away the burn in her eyes as a heaviness rose into her chest. When they finally released one another, her smile was back in place.

"So," she began, stepping backwards to sit on the edge of her desk as Seamus leaned against the door to her office. "To what do I owe this lovely visit?"

Seamus' tanned face split into a boyish grin. "Just thought it a good day to check up on a friend. It's been ages since I've seen you, Hermione. How've you been?"

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. She knew he was lying. "The sports department is clear on the other side of the Ministry, Seamus. And, from what I've heard, the department's been awfully busy lately."

"Nothing gets past you, Hermione," he said with a sheepish cough and smile. But his expression abruptly turned serious. "In all honesty though…uhh Ron sent me to here to…come check up on you, make sure everything's going okay."

He waited for her to say something, but Hermione only stared, unsure of how to respond. How like Ron to avoid having a conversation with her, even if he was concerned. 'I just don't want to talk about that shit. It's over. What else is there to discuss', he had once told her, "that shit" being the war and anything relating to it.

After a moment of somewhat awkward silence, Seamus stepped further into the room, lowering his voice as he spoke. "You're not looking well, Hermione. You look tired and sick, like all your happiness has just gone, like…well, like you haven't had a good night's rest since the war ended."

As he spoke, Hermione nervously smoothed down the creases in her black pencil skirt, eyes focused intently on the absolute blackness of her office attire, heart pounding violently in her chest.

"I know it's hard with Gin being off in America and Harry doing…whatever he's doing, but if there's something you need to talk about, I would love to be there for you. Parvati as well. Ron, well, he's got a different way of dealing with it than everyone else, but it might do you some good to just…talk about it. I'm not quite sure I'll be able to understand all that you went through, but I can try."

The burn in her eyes was back, brought on by the earnestness in Seamus' brown eyes and her own crushing realization of the extent of her absolute unhappiness. Though it had been four years since the war came to a shattering halt, the emotions that came after it were quite confusing. Directly following the war, there had been no time for anything other than grief and nowhere to go to escape it. She had struggled to stay afloat for nearly a year- they all had- and there really wasn't a defining point where the piercing agony had faded into a subtle but ever present ache. Then, there had just been a numbness, a sort of drifting existence that made her feel as if her life was a movie that she could only watch and not participate in, an emptiness that seemed to permeate a deeper part of her she hadn't even known existed.

Apparently, she hadn't been the only one to feel this way because Harry had suddenly decided that he needed to escape and packed up his belongings in a mere two hours to move to the Spanish countryside. Hermione had, of course, cried when he told her of his decision, and he consoled her by telling her that it wasn't permanent, only temporary, and he needed it because he couldn't sit around with all the nasty remnants of the war and wait for those demons to move on from him; he had to move on from them. With a promise to write and visit regularly-which he did- he was gone. His departure brought an abrupt end to his and Ginny's relationship, and, in a fit of heartache, she moved to America to study and just "be in a place that doesn't hurt so much." Ron had sort of just disappeared into himself and whiskey, determined to find an out that wasn't so difficult, and Hermione only saw him when the bottle was empty.

For two years now, she existed without her three most important people, without the love that had protected her for years, and she felt exposed and raw, like a wound that had lost its scab. Her past numbness would be an almost welcome alternative to the suffocating blackness of unhappiness.

Seamus seemed to notice that Hermione was struggling to stay composed and immediately began talking again. "Have lunch with Parv and I in the cafeteria today."

Hermione shook her head. "Seamus, I'm fine really and I have so much work to do-"

"When was the last time you had lunch somewhere other than your office?" Seamus asked seriously, and Hermione's mouth opened and then shut immediately because she couldn't remember.

After a little more resistance on her part, she finally acquiesced to Seamus' demand, leading him to grin triumphantly as they walked toward the lift together. Seamus greeted friends and coworkers cheerily, the corners of his eyes crinkling in merriment, and Hermione wondered jealously how anyone who survived the war could be so untainted by it.

The lift doors finally pinged open, and Hermione settled stiffly in one of the back corners as people began to file in behind her and Seamus. It was crowded and uncomfortable, but the brunette did her best to relax. Maybe this lunch wouldn't be so bad. Parvati was always pleasant to be around and- a flash of pale blonde caught her eye. Slowly, her head turned to her left, where she was met with eyes of searing slate gray staring dead on into her own, the same eyes she'd been trying to avoid for nearly a week. A violent chill raced down her spine, and her stomach tightened and lurched, but she couldn't look away from Draco Malfoy's stern face. Her heart felt like it was striking her chest a mile a minute, her body trembling as the handsome face before her brought back all the darkness she'd been trying to hide from. Her breath was stuck in her throat.

The elevator pinged to another stop, and, as the chattering witches and wizards filed out, Seamus looked down at her. "Merlin, Hermione. Are you okay?" he asked with a concerned voice, shifting to face her fully. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Hermione's wide eyes were still focused on Draco over Seamus' shoulder, following him as he inched his way to the exit. He was still staring at her though, an elegant blonde brow arched in question and his eyes swimming with confusion despite the fact that his face was stoic. He hesitated before exiting the lift, throwing one last glance over his shoulder, before disappearing with the crowd.

"Hermione?" Seamus questioned again.

"I'm sorry, Seamus. I'll meet you in the cafeteria," she said hurriedly, tearfully, before rushing off the lift to a bathroom, making it just in time to sink to her knees and heave into the toilet.

"Shit, shit, shit," Hermione mumbled to herself as she rushed down one of the many ministry hallways, struggling with the large stack of folders and papers in her arms.

She was late for yet another meeting, an occurrence that had become quite normal in the past three weeks. Ever since the lift incident, her entire world felt like it had been knocked out of orbit. Despite her best attempts at circumventing any contact with Malfoy, his presence at meetings and random sightings in the halls were completely unavoidable. She did her best to school her reactions to his presence into cool indifference in front of others, but there were effects she couldn't control. Her nights were restless, ghosts whispering in her ears and nightmares dancing behind her eyelids, and at work she felt hopelessly frazzled and unorganized. Though the option to owl Harry or Ginny was always open, she hated to put her problems onto paper because she had promised them she'd be okay if they left, unwilling to hold them back or admit to anyone but herself that she could still have problems even when the war was over. Mostly, she hated herself for letting Malfoy affect her so negatively when her ghosts had nothing to do with him.

Picking up her pace a slight bit, Hermione sighed uncomfortably at the heat. Though they were nearing May and the weather was actually quite nice, the ministry had experienced several glitches in their building wide cooling charms, leaving the halls to feel quite stuffy and unpleasant.

So distracted was she by her discomfort, that she turned a corner too sharply and immediately slammed into another body. With a surprised 'oomph', Hermione stumbled backwards, managing to remain standing, but her armful of documents fluttered to the ground. Dismayed, she stared down at the scattered mess for a few moments before lifting her eyes to the person before her to spew a rapid apology. The words evaporated in her throat, and her body ran cold. As her knees began to quiver, she immediately dropped to the floor and began to shakily gather her papers.

'Deep breaths, deep breaths,' she told herself, attempting to put into effect the self-calming routine that she had developed just two-and-a-half weeks ago. 'Focus. What ingredients do you need to brew Amortentia? Breathe. Breathe. One Ashwinder egg, seven-"

"My apologies, Granger," Draco said in a voice that was much deeper and firmer than it had been during their Hogwarts years. "Wasn't watching my step."

He knelt down and began helping her push the documents into neat stacks. Her movements faltered at his proximity, his direct acknowledgement of her. Gray eyes were watching her intently, the way they had been watching her for weeks, curiously awaiting her reaction. She felt unbelievably naked underneath his powerful stare, but something else in those silvery depths mystified her, an emotion she couldn't quite place. She should say something, a thank you maybe, or even attempt to smile politely, but her body seemed unwilling to react. The Slytherin's gaze moved from her face to her trembling hands, and his expression twisted into something resembling disappointment.

He stood abruptly with the folders in hand, and she struggled to her feet after him. His face was hard and cold, and it made her heart beat so hard it nearly hurt.

"You watch your step next time and I'll watch mine," he said sharply, plopping his larger stack onto her smaller one before stiffly continuing on his way, hands buried deep in the pockets of his black pants.

Hermione watched him disappear with a pain thrumming in her chest, wondering why she suddenly felt so ashamed and guilty.

"What a splendid presentation, Ms. Granger," Marigold Puternick gushed as she exited the meeting room of the Wizengamot, her ample bust struggling to be buttoned back into her robes.

Hermione smiled politely, as she had done for the dozens of others who had congratulated her, her face beginning to ache at the forced movement of her muscles. The pitch for her new proposal, equal representation of all magical blood types within the Wizengamot, had gone over flawlessly, resulting in praise from her boss and the majority of the Wizengamot members. Her heart, however, had belied the passion in her words, too tired and bruised and hurting to swell with the ardor that the younger version of herself would have felt. The artificial face she had to put forward only made her weary.

"Ms. Granger," a voice sneered from behind her. She stopped packing away her things and turned, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck rise with irritation.

"Lowell," she greeted blandly, her voice seeming too loud in the now empty room. The balding, rotund man before her only sneered more harshly, causing his thin lips to split his aging face into an ugly, twisted expression.

"That was quite a presentation," he continued in that nasally voice that made her want to cringe. "But I was expecting a bit more from a…war heroine such as yourself." His eyes dragged over her with a look of disdain in the inky black depths, and Hermione felt her cheeks flush in anger. "What an unfortunate waste of your time to attempt to fix something that is not broken. Though, as a person from non-magical blood, I wouldn't expect you to understand the complicated workings of the wizarding community."

Hermione fought the urge to scoff at his stupid, derisive expression and gave him a sour smile. "Well I do have to disagree with you, Lowell," she responded calmly, though her face was incredibly stiff with outrage. "I found there to be quite a big problem with the Wizengamot, and I will thoroughly enjoy seeing some of the ignorant bigots lose their seats during the next voting session to more capable and educated half-bloods and even muggleborns."

Lowell spluttered at the word bigot and turned an angry shade of red at the idea of losing his Wizengamot seat. "You are threatening my seat?" he seethed, and Hermione rolled her eyes, turning away from him to gather her bag. His hand shot out and harshly gripped her forearm right on her scar, whipping her back around to face him. Hermione's eyebrows shot up in outraged shock. "Hear me, you little mudblood," he spat, tiny specks of spittle landing across her cheek and causing her to grimace. "The war may be over, but some things will always remain the same. You're filth, dirty, and no amount of laws and reformations will change that. I-"

"Lowell." Draco's voice, steely with fury, split the air suddenly and caused Hermione to snap her head in his direction, surprised. She had forgotten that he'd actually had a meeting just one room over during her presentation. He didn't look at her but kept his hard expression aimed at Lowell as he came to stand beside her. Her heart began its erratic tempo, and her throat clenched slightly for air. "It would be in your best interest to unhand Ms. Granger and be on your way. Now."

Hermione looked up at the blonde's profile in surprise, the harshness in his eyes and his scowling mouth clearly indicating his distaste. Ever since their last encounter, Malfoy had made it a point to ignore her, and, when that was impossible, his demeanor toward her was incredibly frigid. Instead of pleasing her, it only made her feel guilty and sick, and she wondered why her body, mind, and heart couldn't reach a consensus about Draco Malfoy.

Lowell sneered at Draco's words but released Hermione's arm, and she absent mindedly rubbed the aching skin. "Malfoy, you disgrace yourself even further," he commented condescendingly before stalking away from the pair, smoothing down his expensive, yet still hideous, blue robes.

The door slammed shut, and the silence that settled in the room was tense and uncomfortable. Hermione tried to still her slight trembling and push back the wooziness beginning to invade her head with several deep breaths. She was getting better at it, slowly, and her newfound guilt seemed to motivate her.

"Thank you," she said softly, only slightly breathless, and stared into his face apprehensively.

There was no reaction, only an arched eyebrow and cold eyes. "You're welcome," he responded brusquely, already beginning to turn away from her. "Though I can't imagine why I did it, considering the sight of me alone seems to physically disgust you." The biting edge in his tone cut her, and she winced, feeling that ugly ball of guilt sink into her stomach.

As he was walking away, she called out to him, surprised by her own need to explain. "Malfoy!" He turned but his expression didn't change. She was shaking. "It's…it's…" Frustrated tears danced along her lash line, and she took one slow, deep breath. "It's not you. That night…during the war. It's what.."

"What I remind you of," Draco filled in for her simply, and she bit her lip as tears threatened to fall. The unfairness of the situation burned, and she wished she wasn't so fucking damaged.

"I'm sorry," she whispered tearfully, and she didn't even have it in her to be embarrassed by her emotional display. "I'm trying to be better at this."

She thought his face didn't look as hard and cold, but he only lingered for a few moments after her confession before nodding at her and leaving the room.

For several long moments, she remained in the absolute silence, breathing heavily as the tears finally slipped down her cheeks and the pain settled in her chest. She was trying. She was trying so hard every day, and she hoped it was enough.

Undoing the loose bun at the back of her head, Hermione sighed, running her fingers through the long strands of waves as they fell down her back. On her desk sat a stack of folders belonging to another round of Death Eaters and war criminals to be given the Kiss in a week's time, June 9. It was an easy job, review the files and the paperwork and make sure everything was in order, but she didn't want to see their faces or hear about their crimes. It only made her feel like the war had never really ended.

With a deep sigh and a roll of her shoulders, she began. The first three were men she didn't even recognize, but their crimes were all horrendous. Rape, torture, murder, mass murder, kidnapping. That sick feeling settled in her stomach as she read, the bile resting distastefully at the base of her throat. Tossing the third folder aside, she flipped open the fourth, and the world around her collapsed instantly. Staring up at her, snarling and smiling maliciously in his picture, was Fenrir Greyback. Immediately, she bolted up out of her chair, staring down at the picture in horror. The last face she wanted to see, the last twisted smile she wanted to face. Her legs suddenly folded beneath her, and she tried to grab onto her desk but only swiped her arm across it and knocked the entire stack of folders to the floor. Her chest was collapsing in on itself, the full weight of the war suddenly sitting on top of her, and god she couldn't breathe. Faintly, she thought she heard an opening and closing door and some rapid footsteps, but the tunnel vision hit her violently and suddenly so she couldn't be sure it was even real. The numbness hit her legs first and then her arms, and she was so fucking scared, choking on no oxygen and too many memories.

That night replayed in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make it go away. Bellatrix cackling as she tortured her- crucio, crucio, crucio- the pain so profound that she had screamed her throat raw and forgotten in her heart what life had even felt like. The cursed knife searing her skin, branding her forever. The Malfoy family leaving the room, Draco's wide eyes glancing over his shoulder one last time. Greyback's body pressing her into the floor so hard that she felt like her small wrists were breaking under the weight of his large body. His fangs gnashing in front of her face, foul words leaking from his chapped lips as he grinned that feral grin, laughed that evil laugh. Her anguished tears, her horrified screams and wails as he tore her soul to pieces, ripped apart the last bit of life within her with brutish force.

She needed to breathe. The war was over. That was over. She needed to breathe.

Her body suddenly felt cooler, and her muscles began to relax of their own accord. It was several long moments before she was even vaguely aware of her surroundings. She was leaning back against the side of her desk, seated limply on the floor, and kneeling in front of her was Malfoy, his face focused and serious. Her breathing very slowly became regulated, and she was suddenly aware of the wetness on her cheeks and the way her hair was slightly matted to the back of her neck.

"Malfoy," she gasped, as tears continue to slowly leak from her eyes. "I'm sorry. You're not supposed to-"

"Granger," he interrupted calmly, "Shut up and don't be embarrassed. Just keep breathing."

Too exhausted to argue, she did as he said. Eyes closed, body relaxed, she took in one deep breath at a time, ignoring the way her chest ached and her body trembled. Once she opened her eyes again, she saw Draco forgo kneeling to sit completely on the floor, and she couldn't help but think that he looked odd sitting on the floor in his expensive black pants and shoes.

"Can I ask what brought this on?"

Hermione wordlessly gestured to the mess on her floor, pointedly looking away from it, and knew that Draco understood exactly what she meant when he inhaled sharply.

"I'll take over these files," he stated and, with a wave of his wand, put the scattered papers back into their folders in a neat stack. The brunette nodded, biting her lip as she tearfully looked away from him. There was a long moment of silence. "Does Potter know about this?"

Hermione looked alarmed and sat up straighter as she pushed her chestnut locks from her face. "No! Please don't tell him."

Draco snorted. "Potter and I are hardly friends, Granger. Though I do wonder why you would want to hide something like this from him."

"Well, I…" Hermione began uncertainly, fidgeting with her hands. "It's not something I want to share with people, Malfoy." Draco nodded and didn't pursue the topic, and she was grateful. "Thank you. For the calming charm. It helped."

He turned his gaze back to hers, and she couldn't help but think that his eyes were beautiful, decorated with wisps of silver and blue and absolutely piercing. "I always seem to find you when you need help, Granger," he said, an unusual edge to his voice.

"Yeah, you do," she said with a half-hearted smile. "Why did you come to my office?"

Draco's face looked amused. "To confront you actually." At Hermione's questioning look, he continued. "I was going to confront you about your…aversion to me and demand that we do something about it."

He stood, dusted the nonexistent dust off his pants, and then offered his hand out to her. She looked at him, his hand, then him again before finally placing her smaller hand into his larger one. It wasn't cold like she assumed it would be. His skin was rather warm, and his grip was strong and sturdy. He hauled her to her feet, and she groaned at the weariness in her limbs.

"I did realize something interesting though," he continued, pushing his hands into his pockets while Hermione looked down at her crumpled white blouse hopelessly.

"And what's that?" she asked, feeling uncomfortable that she felt comfortable speaking with him.

"This is the first time you've been in my presence without looking as if you were ready to faint at the sight of me," he responded with a good natured smirk. "I'd say that's progress."

Hermione paused, realizing he looked much more handsome when his face wasn't twisted into a sneer. "Yes, progress," she agreed with a soft smile, a real smile, and she knew things were changing.

"You complete fucking ass!"

Hermione paused in shock at the angry screeching coming from within Draco's office. Several other witches and wizards poked their heads out of their offices, intrigued by the commotion. The petite brunette stopped outside the door, unwilling to open it when there was an obviously angry witch inside.

"Now Lorelei-" she could hear Draco begin but the raging woman cut him off.

"Shut the hell up, man whore!" Hermione let her hand fly to her mouth to stifle an amused giggle. "You treat me like I'm just another one of your slags. Do you know who I am!"

There were more inaudible shouts and something that sounded like a yelp from Draco, and then the door was being flung open. A tall, slender woman with fiery red hair and dark, sultry eyes stepped into the hallway, a scowl etched across her face. Though Hermione was still amused by situation, her stomach dropped uncomfortably at the sight of the Witch Weekly model, the effortless beauty she oozed making Hermione even more aware of the pale pallor of her own skin and the subtle bags beneath her eyes.

Lorelei noticed the shorter brunette lingering by the door and trained her heavily made up eyes on her. "Save yourself, Honey," she said angrily. "His dick isn't even worth the trouble."

Hermione blushed and the woman sauntered away. Cautiously, she slipped into Draco's office and shut the door behind her. He glanced up as she entered and returned to cleaning his coffee drenched shirt with a scowl, mumbling to himself about 'crazy fucking women' and 'coffee was fucking hot.'

Amused, Hermione sunk into a plush chair that sat along the wall. It was actually a chair he'd bought specifically for her because she often spent part of her work day doing work from his office. She had blushed when he told her about it, and he had amusedly said it was just a chair. After her episode in June, he made it a point to speak with her at least once a day. At first, she'd been wary and unsure, but didn't object to it because something drew her to him as much as it used to repel her. He was intelligent and opinionated, and he had used that to his advantage to draw her into intellectual debates. Sometimes she felt less like a ghost and more like the old Hermione, and she suspected that that was the reason he liked to rile her up in the first place. Daily debates turned into actual conversations, and, by the time July had come, they had become a strange type of friends. He was still a little standoffish at times, and his tongue would always be sharp and sarcastic, and he would never call her by her first name despite the fact that she no longer called him Malfoy. But he brought her a coffee every morning and didn't let her skip lunch even if she claimed she wasn't hungry, and he even screened her case files when she was away from her office while she pretended not to notice. They were friends, and Hermione was glad.

"Bad break up?" Hermione asked teasingly as Draco finished casting spells on his most likely ruined gray button up.

"We were hardly dating, Granger," he said with a snort, and her heart did an involuntary, happy little skip. He sat back down and looked at her, eyes narrowing as they roamed over her weary stature. "Merlin, you're still so thin."

The comment didn't offend her. "You said that yesterday. Of course, when you have a different model walking out of your office every week, I seemed to pale in comparison." She said it jokingly, but there was a painful discomfort sitting on her chest. The fragility of her wrists, the bones of her spine that were readily visible when she bent over, her washed out, weary appearance all seemed decidedly more prominent, and it hurt to know that she really was only half the person she used to be. She felt like a broken china doll, empty and hollow on the inside with a shattered porcelain exterior.

Draco laughed, a deep, masculine sound that made a shiver run down her spine. It wasn't often that he offered a genuine laugh, but, when he did, it was easy for her to understand why so many women were drawn to him. Of course, his "bad boy" reputation seemed to help.

"Granger, they only look the way they do because of potions, spells, and makeup," he said, leaning back into his seat, relaxed. "It would be an injustice to compare yourself to them because they're not real and you are."

His gaze locked with hers, blooming with an emotion so profound that she was tempted to look away and hide herself from him. More than his intensity scared her, it mystified and thrilled her, seemed to ignite an inspiration within her to open herself to him. It was breathtaking.

And she felt like a piece of her broken heart murmured back to life again.

"Harry!" Hermione called gleefully as she finally spotted her friend sitting serenely in the warm sun outside the café they decided to meet at. It was a private spot in the back deck, beautiful potted plants and bright flowers blocking the other patrons' view of them.

At his name, his head snapped up, and a delighted grin lit up his face. He barely had time to stand from the small wooden table before she was flinging herself into his arms. She hugged him fiercely, his familiar warmth filling her, and he returned the embrace just as enthusiastically, laughing at the odd stares they were attracting. It happened like this every time he came to visit. Even if she was having a particularly hard time that day, seeing Harry always brought out the same reaction from her. They didn't let go immediately, and Hermione rested her head against his strong chest, feeling his heart beat against her ear as his cheek rested on top of her head and hand smoothed down her long hair. The absolute relief at his presence and the long, bleak months without his smile caused a rush of emotion inside her, and Harry hugged her tighter.

"Merlin, Hermione, I've really missed you," Harry said as they released each other and sat down.

"God, I've missed you too, Harry," she replied with a gentle smile. "How's Spain? You're so tan!"

"Brilliant," he beamed, running his hand through his still shaggy black hair. "It's still as stunning as ever. I've also been doing some consulting work with the Spanish Ministry, and it really feels great to get back into things."

Hermione listened whole-heartedly to his excited spiel, her heart bursting for Harry and his well-deserved peace. He chattered on animatedly about the wizards he had been working with, the date he'd gone on last week, Teddy's two month stay with him. He sounded happy, and he looked so healthy, his skin touched with a golden tan, his body lean and strong, and his entire demeanor relaxed. But the more he spoke, the greater the void in her chest felt, and she felt tired again, so tired. Harry had done it. He had really picked up the pieces and put them all back together, and she was so confused. Harry's entire life had been hell and uphill battles, and hers had been perfect up until a certain point. So why couldn't she move on too? Was she really so shattered that she was beyond repair? Was she doing something wrong?

"That's great, Harry," she said, her smile touched with a little sadness as she sipped her tea. "I really can't believe you're back into work already. And actually liking it."

Harry's green eyes squinted with a happy smile. "Yeah it's been even better than I expected. Of course, a part of me is ready to come back home. I miss you and the Weasleys and Teddy. I think the longer I spend away from everyone, the harder it seems to get." He sighed. "But the selfish part of me needs just a little more time."

Hermione smiled supportively. "Harry, I think you've earned it."

The waitress suddenly appeared with their food, and Hermione smiled at the fact that Harry could remember her favorite pasta dish without issue. They ate slowly and chatted amicably, relishing the warmth of the sun and the relaxed atmosphere of the patio deck.

"You really do look better, Hermione," Harry said suddenly, and she looked up to find him staring at her intently, elbows resting on top of the table so he could lean forward a bit. She stopped eating, sensing that the conversation was about to take a more serious turn. "You're getting some of your color back, even put on a bit of weight."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, unsure of what to say, so Harry continued. "Does this have anything to do with your new friendship with Malfoy?"

She was slightly surprised to hear Draco's name pop up so suddenly. "Draco…" she began unsurely. Talking about him made her nervous, and she took a deep breath. "Draco's really helped. He's so different now, and I don't know what it is really, but some things are just easier when he's around." She eyed his unmoved countenance suspiciously. "Why aren't you surprised by any of this?"

Harry shifted and coughed into his fist, his blue t-shirt shifting over her well defined chest. "Well, Malfoy owled me about a month ago and-okay hold on," he said when Hermione's face morphed into a scandalized expression. Her mouth opened and closed rapidly in horror, but words escaped her. "He told me about your initial issues with him, about your panic episodes, about everything." Harry gripped her hands on top of the table, and she had the urge to rip them away from him, but the rational part of her knew that none of this was actually Harry's fault. "Hermione, I wish you would have told me."

His voice was pained, and her chocolate eyes were wide with tears. All of her vulnerabilities were bared for Harry to see, Harry who was happy and strong and living, and she felt weak and humiliated. Hermione Granger wasn't supposed to be this girl. She ducked her head down to hide her face.

"Please don't be embarrassed," Harry pleaded, squeezing her hands. His face wasn't pitying but understanding and open. "After everything you've been through you're allowed to not be perfect. I know you feel trapped. I know it hurts every day. But I need you to talk to me, Hermione. The only reason I didn't come straight back to you after I got the letter was because Malfoy promised me he would be there and threatened me into not making it a sudden intervention."

He wiped the tears from her cheeks with gentle swipes of his thumbs. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I didn't think it was right for me to feel this way when the war's been over for years."

The young wizard's smile at her was sad but affectionate. "There is no deadline for recovery from something like this, Hermione," he said gently, cupping her cheek in his rough hand. "We don't get to forget it, and we don't get to pretend it never happened. We just move on together. All of us."

"Us?" she asked shakily, the tears gradually lessening.

Harry nodded seriously. "I visited Ron earlier today. I threw out every bit of his alcohol and threatened him into coming today. It's time we stopped trying to be too strong and just did this together."

Ron. She was so angry with him for practically making it a point to avoid her, but she missed him so much.

"Have you ever thought of just taking a break, Hermione?" Harry asked gently as she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "Just getting away from it all for a while?"

"Harry, I can't," she gasped. "I mean my job, all the reformations I've been working on."

Pushing the curtain of her dark waves behind her shoulder with a gentle sweep, Harry smiled at her affectionately. "Hermione, how do you expect to fix the world if you haven't even fixed yourself yet?"

She paused, the question reverberating in her brain. Looking down at her jeans, she frowned. Maybe she had been doing things in the wrong order this entire time. There wasn't much more time to think on the subject because Ron's figure suddenly rounded a large plan. His hands were in his pockets, shoulders slouched slightly with his vibrant auburn bangs falling into his cerulean eyes, and his face seemed to be unsure and questioning. Hermione was torn between wanting to punch him and hug him, but the sad sight of deep purple bags beneath his eyes and the pale pallor of his skin immediately squashed any resentment she felt.

"Harry, 'Mione," Ron greeted gruffly, pulling up a chair beside Hermione and plopping down into it.

She was unsure how to react to Ron and silently eyed him as he sat. The awkwardness between them dissipated when Ron reached out and grasped her hand, sending her a sad smile, and a ball of emotion rose in her throat. Leaning her head against his wide shoulder, she stared at Harry to find his face bright with hope. She couldn't deny that she felt it too, expanding in her chest and tingling in her bones. The three of them would finally face each other and lay all of their cards on the table, no hiding and no pretending.

For the first time in years, Hermione found a quiet sort of strength in her vulnerability.