This is kind of a sequel for "Blatantly Belated." Dunno if you'd be confused by this without reading that first or not, so it's completely your choice.

Hermione stared out into space. But, literally, the vast nothingness, swirling in around itself, with holes and loops and stars. Beautifully brilliant stars. They'd nearly been engulfed by several, but she could hold no bad feelings towards them. They were perfect when seen from a distance, and violent if given enough time, but if you got close enough to them, you started to see imperfection. She felt somehow similar to stars. Back on Earth, back in the Wizarding World, she was seen as perfect, smart, witty Hermione Granger. Savior of the Wizarding World, best friend of Harry Potter, supposed girlfriend of Ron Weasley, or George Weasley, or Charlie Weasley or Viktor Krum or whoever it was for that week. But she felt so much more than that, and vastly imperfect and dwarfed by this image of perfection she was meant to give out. Maybe that's why she ran away. Maybe that's why she was considering not going back.

He'd started as a way out. An escape. An adventure. God, it'd been so long since she had had an adventure, she'd been starting to get used to the normalcy of it all, and she absolutely hated normal, despite what people might've thought. Wake up, shower, make tea, go to work, take a lunch, go back to work, get off work, hang out with Weasleys, eat dinner, hang out with Weasleys, go home, do chores, do work/read a book, make tea, brush teeth, change into pajamas, read book, fall asleep. Start over every day.

But he became so much more than just an escape. He became her friend. Her crazy, barmy, mad friend. They both did, him and Donna. Sensible, witty, funny, smart, caring Donna. The three of them, on adventures, nearly every day, it was so exciting and it made her heart pound every time he gave her that look, that great big grin and the lit up eyes. That's probably how she started to fancy him. He'd given her one of those looks and somehow her heart pounded in a different way, and she hadn't noticed. But Donna and even he did. Donna had been kind and let her remain blissfully unaware and had padded out of the kitchen and back to her room to let her figure it out herself. But he, he'd plopped into the seat Donna had vacated and put his feet up on the table and nonchalantly said that he knew and that she knew and 'oh well,' and he'd even kissed her once and teased her about wearing one of his shirts and told her she could keep it.

That'd been a few nights ago, and he hadn't really pressured her or anything, or even brought it up, and Donna knew absolutely nothing about it. She'd wondered if it'd all been a dream and quickly decided that it wasn't, because he'd given her a cheeky kind of grin whenever she'd walked into the control room and asked where they were going that day.

Stars. Beautifully brilliant stars. She thought their imperfection was perfect. She saw her own imperfect as ugly and horrible to see, to even stand near. She hated her hair, eyes, lips, face, hips, scar – she hated that she was often too brainy for her own good, she hated that she had nightmares and battle reflexes, she hated that she'd even fallen for some crazy, barmy mad man and hadn't even known until he told her! She hated that she saw herself as imperfect. She continued to stare out into the space, into the stars, until the toe of a shoe brushed against her back, causing her to look up.

"Something on your mind?" he questioned softly.

She let out a sigh and looked back at the stars, "No. I'm fine."

He waved for her to scoot over and she did, leaving him to plop into the empty space on the edge of the doorway of the TARDIS and dangle his legs out into the open with hers. He arched an eyebrow at her and searched her face, look for the lie, "No, you're not. Tell me?" He asked this kindly, not like a harsh demand, but more of a question of if she would tell him.

Her mouth moved without her brain, "Stars." She blinked and in a moment caught up with the rest of herself, looking back out into the vast nothingness, "They're so…perfect. And imperfect."

"Go on," he urged, leaning on an elbow and looking up at her as she leaned against her side of the doorway and turned her body towards him, but continued to stare at the stars.

"Big ball of gas," she started, "Flammable, burning gas, and only millions of miles away to be seen and their life carries on that far, far enough that people never know they're dead until ages and ages have past. They leave such a big mark, they go out with bangs and with a fight. But God, they're beautiful. So very, very beautiful. They're seen as perfect when they're imperfect. People like me see them as beautiful, even when I'm nearly engulfed by one. Or two." She cast a glance over at him and the corner of his mouth twitched. "I don't think anybody sees me like that."

His eyebrows came down a bit, "And why do you think that?"

"They see my so-called 'fame,' they see my blood status, they see my past, they see my gender, they see my features," she scoffed and turned back to the stars with a deep frown, pulling her knees up to her chest, "I don't see how anybody could."

"Now, see, that's where you're wrong," the Doctor sat up and she did too, sitting hip-to-hip with him. "You have scary paparazzi following you wherever you go in the Wizarding World. You have two Muggle parents. You have been through wars and torture. You are female, and I think you're so very beautiful." She blushed but frowned. He held up a finger, and gave a certain look, silently asking her to be quiet and just wait a moment. "Hermione, I don't see your imperfections as that. I think they brilliantly make up you. Look, I've got imperfections too, and so does Donna and so does everyone else, it's just a fact of life. But you look down at Earth." He pointed to a tiny dot and she blinked, as she hadn't known that little speck was Earth. "You look down there, and so many people love each other despite imperfections. Despite pasts, despite blood statuses, despite race, despite gender, despite what so many people call imperfections, they see them as perfections. They see them like your stars. I see you like that." He reached forward and placed his hands on her face, forcing her to stare back at him instead of looking away at the stars and apparently planets. "I love your hair. I love your laugh. I love how terribly annoyingly right you are when we fight. I love how you and Donna always have to talk sense into me some days. I love how strong and fearless and reliable you are. I love how human you are sometimes."

She blushed darker and tried to frown defiantly at him, "You don't love me."

"No, not yet, because I don't know enough," he said, still with her face in his hands, "But I will still see your so-called 'imperfections' as perfect. Hermione, you are beautifully brilliant."

She stared up at him, holding onto his wrist as she thought. He knew that look. It was a calculating look, she was thinking and she was thinking very hard and very fast. She glanced once at the stars before looking back at him and startling him as she leaned forward and kissed him, making him smile and hop right into it. When she pulled back, she was smiling as she tossed her legs over his.

"I'm not perfect," she said when he pulled her into his lap with a giant grin.

"No, of course not, Darling," he said in a rather sarcastic tone before kissing her temple. She hid her smile in his coat when he pulled away, hearing his hearts beat. They were good and strong, and she marveled at how they sounded. She felt his fingers run through her hair, and she wondered for a moment they could be seen by a strong telescope from Earth.

"I have absolutely no idea how this will work out," she admitted after a moment.

"Well, I hope it's very well," he said, although he had a smile on his face that she couldn't see. He, of course, knew it would end extremely well. Of course, this would be after some time had passed. Time, time, time, it seemed that it came down to that often. Oh well. He had his beautifully brilliant girl sitting in his lap listening to his hearts. Ooh, that sounded nice. His girl. His Hermione. He doubted she would like sounding like something that could be possessed. Rather temperamental, sometimes, his girl was. Ahh well, he liked it.

I liked that one. I think I might do more one-shots of them. Some of these may vary from each other and also be entirely unrelated. But I should really work on Part of His World. Not my fault if I get ideas and they don't match up with that chapter.