The war had ended, but the silence it left behind felt louder than the battles ever were.

You’d both been drifting—Harry with his long stares out windows, you with books you couldn’t quite concentrate on. Ron had left a week ago, off to visit Charlie in Romania. You hadn’t said much about it. Neither had Harry.

Tonight, the common room was empty. Just the two of you, sitting in the glow of the fire. He was leaning against the armrest of the couch, legs stretched out. You were curled up at the other end, knees drawn to your chest, your eyes fixed on the dancing flames—but not really seeing them.

—“I keep thinking about what happens next,” Harry said, voice quiet. “What we’re supposed to do now that it’s all… over.”

You nodded slowly.

—“I know. It’s strange, not having something to fight.”

Another pause. Comfortable. Familiar.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

—“Hermione,” he said, a little unsure, a little breathless, “did you ever think maybe… maybe we missed something?”

Your heart skipped.

—“Missed what?”

He sat up straighter, nervous, as if the words were already too much.

—“Us.”

It hung in the air, raw and real. No drama, no grand gestures—just honesty, finally spoken after years of shared looks, quiet understanding, and all the things left unsaid between saving the world.

You weren’t sure what to say. Not yet. But you knew this moment mattered.

And Harry… he was just waiting.

Watching you, like your answer had the power to shape whatever came next.