Harry was nervous. Hermione initiating a conversation was a rare occurrence these days. Her explicitly requesting his presence at Nott Manor in the middle of a Sunday afternoon was... well, it was a first. His best friend was very much changed from the girl he had known and fought a war with. She was harsher, in some ways and softer in others. Different, to be quite honest about it. Assassin Hermione was a hard thing to grasp. She had been rather fierce, at times, during their school days and, he supposed, that what she had endured under Bellatrix's wand that day at Malfoy Manor had changed her. He could recall quite well the deadened look she'd had for weeks after that night at the Manor. He had assumed that it was the stress of the war, the things they were forced to do and endure, the terrible losses they'd suffered, that had caused some inner turmoil for her. Merlin knew he had been dealing with his own. For a long time, he had blamed himself for her disappearance. Had thought it had been his responsibility to see her problems and fix them any way he could, regardless of what he himself had been going through. It had taken years of therapy and Susan's gentle encouragement, that had finally led him to accepting that he couldn't have prevented something he had no knowledge of, and he wasn't responsible for her feelings or her reaction to them.