Harry was roused from a rather nice sleep by a series of sharp, fast knocks on his door. Opening his eyes blearily, he scrambled around for his wand and glasses and cast a quick lumos.Out of the window he could see the sky was still dark, the moon high and bright in the sky, a few stars dotted in the dark navy. Harry dropped his head back to the pillow, hoping that whoever was at the door would just leave him the hell alone, but the mysterious person knocked again, louder and almost frantically, so with a groan, Harry pushed his head up from his pillow and unsteadily got to his feet. Pulling on his dressing gown, he made his way slowly to the door, yawning every few steps, and finally saw who was there.

Hermione, wrapped in a green parka and a tapestry-patterned scarf, was standing on his doorstep, shivering and looking at him with a beseeching look in her eyes.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. "I – what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione began weakly, "But I couldn't think of anyone else to go to – well I could but you're not biased – well, I suppose you are – but not in the same way – I thought you'd be best – I wanted to see you."

Harry tried to process the words, Hermione having spoken them in very quick rapid-fire speech. "Come in, come in," he told her, waving her across into his apartment. Quickly shutting the door (since it was extraordinarily cold for December) he ushered her into the dining room and sat her down. "Breathe," he advised, then turned around to make some tea. He wondered why she had come to him in what appeared to be a moment of distress; while she had never said he had the emotional capacities of a teaspoon, she still had always held a certain amount of exasperation at his emotional capabilities. He supposed a cup of tea would be a good start, and after all Hermione had helped him when he was upset so many times – when Ron had left them in the forest those years ago, when everyone thought he'd put his name in the goblet, when he had first seen his parents graves – he supposed it was only fair that he only do his best to help her.

He snorted. Fair. Draco was right, he was a Gryffindor to the core.

He brought the steaming cups of tea over to the table, and pushed one over to the still-shivering Hermione, hoping it would serve the dual purpose of warming her up and serving as a comforting gesture. He sat with her, eyes on her as she leant over her tea, gripping the mug with both hands, trusting that she would be better at leading a conversation than he ever would. Plus, he still hadn't woken up. He took a gulp of the tea and relished in the caffeine that coursed through his system.

"I didn't know where to go, Harry," Hermione whispered meekly, and so he took her hand and held it in between his, feeling the iciness of her fingers and the blunt nails she'd recently taken to biting.

"Well, you're always welcome here, Hermione," he replied, feeling more than a little confused. "You guys come round often enough to call it your home."

Hermione smiled weakly; Harry's flat was in main wizarding London, just off from Diagon Alley, so people tended to pop in whenever they went there, which tended to be often. Hermione, especially, was often in for conferences and the like, and so she dropped in for at least a few minutes most days. Harry liked the constant flow of people – it was comforting; almost like his own version of the Burrow, which was always overflowing with people.

"Do you want to tell me what's happened?" Harry asked, stroking her hand slowly with his thumb. She sighed, and finally lifted her gaze up to meet his, her face streaky with tears.

"Ron and I had another fight yesterday," she confided.

Harry felt uncomfortable. Although he could see why she came to him – she couldn't very well talk to Ginny or Ron or Mrs Weasley about it, that was for sure – but Harry always found it easier to stay on Ron's good side. He was his best friend, in a way that Hermione somehow wasn't – they had the same sense of humour, same hopes and dreams, same interests.

"I don't want you to pick sides," she assured him, likely seeing the bunny-caught-in-the-headlights look his face had adopted, "but I had to talk to you. I can't bear it, Harry. We fight so much."

"You always have done," Harry realised. "Even when we were in school. You fought over Krum, over Lavender, over him leaving when we were hunting horcruxes..."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I used to think it was almost – romantic, in a way. Because the fights could be made so it looked like we were just jealous. I suppose I kind of thought that when we got together, the fights would stop. But lately, I've been having misgivings... You know, I've been thinking back to the past, when we were at school, and there are so many times we've fought, and been really angry, and he's made me miserable... And I'm just supposed to forget all of that, you know? But you can't just forget the past."

"I know," murmured Harry. "I know."

There was a short silence for a while as both of them digested what they'd just discussed, broken by soft pats of paws on the floor. Rory, Harry's English Sheepdog, had woken up from his sleep and trotted over into the dining room, wagging his tail at Hermione. Hermione managed to give a little giggle and slid down onto the floor to stroke him. Harry quickly followed, sitting clumsily down onto the carpet behind Hermione and scratching behind Rory's ears.

"Mind you," Harry said, "You did set those birds on him."

Hermione chuckled bravely and leant her head against the wall. "I know I did things wrong too. But I've been reflecting and I'm just thinking – the version of love they show in romantic movies – it's just not true, is it? They always have some huge fight and then get back together when they're both sorry and they argue and they're dependent on each other and a lot of the time they're miserable. And when I compare it to people who seem truly happy together – Ron's parents – my parents – Neville and Luna – it's not hard. It's not a struggle like it is for me and Ron. Love should be about having each other's backs, not ripping into each other every couple of days."

Harry was lost for words. He put and arm around her, hoping to communicate something in the touch that he couldn't communicate with his words.

"All this time I thought love had to be dramatic," Hermione continued, "but I think I might be wrong."

"Hermione Granger, wrong?" Harry asked in mock amazement. She grinned and elbowed him in the side. "Don't get used to it. I'm still right ninety five percent of the time."

"That's very specific," Harry noted. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, like she had done those years ago back in the graveyard in Godric's hollow, and Harry was struck with amazement that Hermione Granger, who got ten 'O's and an 'E', who helped him defeat Voldemort, who stood up to torture in Malfoy Manor and still managed a pleasant conversation with Draco, was flummoxed by something as simple and easy as love.

Mind you, it wasn't like he had that much experience in that department, he thought dryly. Ginny had once remarked she didn't think Harry was capable of feeling emotion, but that wasn't true; it was just that his stupid brain didn't seem to translate things into words very well. Right now, his heart ached, physically ached, but he didn't know how that connected with anything else in his life right now.

"Why did you and Ginny break up?" Hermione asked, peering up to look at Harry.

Harry considered this. Hermione had heard the full version of events before, so since she was asking again, she probably wanted to know more about his feelings and stuff. He internally shuddered, but gave explaining it a go.

"It was like," he scrunched up his nose in concentration, "I always thought of dating being like a home in human form. Someone you see and you feel at home and it's as easy and natural as breathing. But with Ginny... It always felt like I was trying too hard... and that I still wasn't the perfect guy she wanted me to be."

Hermione mulled over this for a moment. "It's weird, we've spent so long fighting the war, I didn't give any thought to what would happen afterwards. I thought it would all be easy."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "At least You-Know-Who kept us on our toes."

"Yeah, sometimes I find myself with a few minutes to spare, and I wonder what I'm meant to do now I can't plot to save the Wizarding World," Hermione joked. Harry chuckled. "No, now you're saving the Creature Worlds instead."

"Well, someone has to do it," Hermione teased, "Since you have retired from your hero status."

Harry, maturely, stuck his tongue at her, making her laugh. They both leant back against the wall. "Crikey," Harry said. "I've missed this."

"You see me all the time," Hermione pointed out. "You should probably give me a copy of the keys."

"Yes, but..." Harry trailed off. Life now had changed so much now he was out of Hogwarts, and he realised how much he had liked basically living with his best friends. He had Rory now, to keep him company, because when he'd first moved in he'd felt a loneliness like he used to feel at the Dursleys' grab hold of him, so overpowering it was almost like he was choking on it. Rory was lovely to have around – it was good to have a heartbeat next to yours – but Hermione was much more comforting.

Hermione squeezed his hand and he knew that he didn't have to explain, which he was grateful for. It was nice to not have to communicate verbally. His life was full of people trying to interview him, trying to ask what he wanted, how he felt – but he didn't know. Or, he did, somewhere in his soul, but when he opened his mouth the words just didn't flow.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Harry asked kindly.

Hermione looked down at her lap. "Well – I don't want to go back home – I don't want to argue again – I just want to think – but if I don't go home..."

Harry looked at her curiously.

"Ron thinks I'm cheating on him," Hermione explained. Then she paused, shook her head, and reconsidered. "Well, I don't think he thinks so much as is paranoid about it. So if I stay here... With our history..."

"Our history of being platonic friends...?" Harry finished uncertainty.

"No, that stuff with the locket," Hermione said quietly. "He talks to me about it. About how he saw us kissing. About how the locket said "all that you dread is also possible...""

"That was Voldemort's soul talking," Harry spoke in a low voice. "How could he believe that?"

Hermione shook her head wearily. "I don't know. It's not like I've given him any reason to suspect anything. I wouldn't do something like that. I like to think I'm quite grown up."

Harry thought for a few moments. "Stay here," he decided. "We can camp out in the living room. It's time for sleeping, not for arguments. Besides, if he trusts you, he won't mind. You're one of my best friends. I care about you."

Hermione looked uncertain, so Harry left her with Rory while he went to find some bedding. He grabbed the bedding off his bed, sniffed it, and deemed it sanitary enough for use while guests were close by. He rummaged in the linen cupboard for some blankets and pillows, and then dragged the lot into the living room. "I wasn't sure if I could carry multiple things with my wand in the air at once," he explained sheepishly to a laughing Hermione. "But I only have one duvet. Can you conjure one?"

Hermione looked at it uncertainly. "Duvets are difficult things," she said slowly. "I don't know if I can get the texture right. Might be easier just to enlarge it."

"Might as well enlarge the lot," Harry remarked, looking around the living room, "Unless you can conjure a mattress."

"There's a mattress upstairs, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "We can enlarge that too." She stood thoughtfully for a minute. "You know, Hogwarts doesn't teach us a lot useful stuff."

"Did Hermione Granger just disapprove of the school system?" Harry asked in mock surprise, earning himself another elbow to the ribs. "Don't tease someone so vulnerable," she whined.

"Okay, okay," Harry conceded. "I know my place. I'll go up and get the mattress, shall I?"

"Yes, make yourself useful," Hermione said primly, turning around and waving her wand at the mattress.

Within a few minutes, the room looked like an explosion at a linen factory; the now huge mattress was piled up with duvets and pillows. The caffeine rush he'd got from the tea had dissipated, and now his eyes felt heavy and his limbs were very aware that it was the early hours of the morning and he should not be hauling blankets downstairs. He was surprised Hermione was up this late; Hermione usually popped around Harry's house at eight, clutching a coffee and looking perfectly organised, while Harry was plodding around in his pajamas. She really must be shaken up to miss out on sleep on a Wednesday like this.

He gestured to Hermione to make herself at home before getting some water from the kitchen and switching out the lights. He launched himself into a random section of duvet, pillow, and blanket, took his glasses off, and sighed in contentment.

"Harry," Hermione began.

Harry rolled onto his side and could vaguely see a blob-shaped Hermione a few feet away from him.

"Is this weird?"

Harry considered this for a moment.

"Only if you let it be," he decided. He yawned and snuggled into the mattress. "Night night, Hermione."

He heard a muffled goodnight from Hermione before he drifted into sleep.