She’d had enough, Hermione decided. Enough of shutting herself out of her own happiness or locking out one person who might help restore it. Slowly, she allowed herself to recognize the engraving of his name on every stone that guarded her heart. Deep breath in, out, and she saw his face beaming down at her in every recent happy memory. Standing there in her bedroom, she permitted the vision of him lying in her bed, tapping gently on the mattress and beckoning her to join him. Changing out of her favorite dress, his favorite dress, she imagined him peeling it lightly off her body with a kiss to every inch as it was exposed. With tears in her eyes, she sought the image of his strong hands and long fingers brushing her cheeks with the promise of a kiss to come. The surge of sorrow was too much for her to continue to bear, and she began to realize that she was the only one holding back now. If she wasn’t mistaken, and if he’d meant it in the bar, he was trying to chip away at her walls once again. The only one keeping her back from the reconciliation she wanted most, keeping them both tucked away from any joy, was Hermione herself. And suddenly, with this realization, her resolve crumbled; it was no longer fair to her, or to him. She missed him. She still loved him. And perhaps he still felt the same.