Chapter Text
Harry Potter stared at the canvas ceiling of the tent where he had slept the night before. His “room” was sparsely decorated. There was his cot, a small three-legged stool next it, a backpack, a pile of dirty clothes, and a medium-sized cedar chest which stood in the far corner. There were no creature comforts that could remind him of Grimmauld Place or even the Burrow for that matter. Harry rubbed his bare chest as near his collar bone. He had tripped the other night and a black bruise had quickly formed.
It had been a year and a half since Ron had abandoned Harry and Hermione. Since that time, they had virtually no meaningful contact with the wizarding world. Ron’s departure had broken something that Harry had never been able to actually articulate. It had not broken his will, per se, but it had shattered Harry’s confidence that the course he had led Hermione on was the right one.
Their adventures had given them enough information to get a sense that things were not going well for those resisting Voldemort and his forces. The Ministry appeared to be firmly ensconced with Voldemort and the few who remained to fight against his agenda were either scattered or imprisoned. As Harry lay there, he recalled the copy of The Daily Prophet that he and Hermione had come across nearly three months ago.
Blood-traitor Executed! had been the headline. Beneath it was a picture of Arthur Weasley, bloodied and battered, hanging from a rafter in the Ministry of Magic’s grand hall. Harry had vomited when he read the story. Hermione immediately broke down crying and hyper-ventilated. They both had wept for weeks afterward and even now the thought of Arthur’s execution made Harry weepy. Arthur had apparently been caught helping those without the proper paperwork to establish pure-blood wizarding heritage escape the Ministry’s inquisitions.
The Prophet story contained no details regarding Molly or the other members of the Weasley family. It merely stated that “the Ministry’s investigation into sympathizers known to have associated with Arthur Weasley remained ongoing.” Harry pushed the memory out of his mind.
“Good morning, Harry,” Hermione called from across the tent.
Harry rolled to his side and could see the vague, blurry form of Hermione Granger, her long hair wild and unkempt, standing near a kettle of boiling water. A beam of sunlight streamed through a small flap that Hermione had opened in the tent’s roof. The sunbeam reflected brightly off her wild curls and she looked as if she bore a halo of light around her head. Harry had never seen a woman appear so remarkably beautiful as he found Hermione at that exact moment in time.
Grey wisps of steam rose from the kettle’s brim and a small whistle emanated from the kettle’s lip. Harry fumbled for his glasses and as he slipped them onto his face she came into focus. Hermione wore horn-rimmed glasses and was otherwise only wearing an extra-large, yellow t-shirt that hung to her mid-thigh. She stood barefoot and held a book in her left hand that she was intently studying. Her right hand held her wand lazily aloft.
Harry thought Hermione was strikingly beautiful in that moment.
A month, Harry thought. A month since Cornwall.
The two of them had apparated into Cornwall in search of food. A pack of six Snatchers had spotted them while Harry had been scrounging for scraps of food in a garbage bin behind a Thai restaurant. The Snatchers chased them through the alleyways, casting curses toward them. Harry and Hermione had split up in an effort to evade their pursuers. They joined up just as the Snatchers appeared to have had them cornered. Hermione had grabbed Harry’s arm and apparated them away in the nick of time.
Hermione had taken them both to the ancient Ashenbank Wood in Kent. It was an old forest, protected by the British government. Its thick undergrowth and oak trees provided them with good coverage and they were able to establish their camp far from the winding trails and car paths that brought visitors to the woods.
The wood was a popular spot for tourists, and Harry could hear them wandering around near their campsite. The Muggles could never penetrate the protective wards, and when they drew too close, they would suddenly become distracted by something far off in the other direction.
Their experience in Cornwall had made both of them hesitant to leave the confines of the magical bubble Hermione had created. They subsisted on rationed food, but their supplies had started to run out. Water was not the problem since they both had mastered the Aguamenti charm. Harry knew that they would need to move locations soon.
The two of them had become accustomed to being on the run from Voldemort’s forces. Cornwall had been the closest that they had come to being captured. Prior to being spotted in that alley, the most they had faced had been being spotted by a wizard who, despite not recognizing either Harry or Hermione, still sounded the alarm, calling the Death Eaters. They were able to apparate away before any Death Eater had arrived.
Desperation had become commonplace for the both of them. Desperation, hunger, and frayed nerves underpinned every decision they had made ever since Ron had abandoned them both in what Hermione described as “a fit of pique”. Harry viewed Ron’s decision to leave more sympathetically. He understood his friend’s frustration. He shared many of the frustrations that Ron had so bitterly articulated just before he left. Harry had wanted to go after him and ask him to stay and be patient with the quest, but Harry’s pride had stopped him from making any effort to follow through on that inclination.
And so, it had been just Hermione and Harry ever since that time.
“Hey, Hermione,” Harry mumbled as he struggled to sit up in bed. “What are you reading?”
“Dedric Valoran’s Advances in Wards and Counter-curses for the 20th Century,” she said wistfully, “It’s quite interesting. Many of the spells we learned in school are derivations of the older incantations.”
“Fascinating,” Harry said disingenuously. He rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. “How’d you sleep?”
Hermione looked at him over the top of the book with a raised eyebrow. She frowned.
“About the same, really,” she replied. “Shallow and on edge.”
She went back to reading her book.
“I get that,” Harry acknowledged. He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew that it was wild from sleep.
“Coffee?” Hermione asked as she flicked her wrist and the kettle rose off the burner and poured a thick, black liquid into two large, red porcelain mugs. She muttered some words that Harry couldn’t quite make out, and with a swish and flick, the tent filled with the pleasant aroma of a rich coffee blend.
“You’re amazing, you know,” Harry said as he swung his legs over the edge of his cot. The floor was cool and slightly damp. He reached over and grabbed a t-shirt and tried to pull it on. He struggled with getting his left arm through the sleeve.
“Thanks,” she replied. “Let me help you.” She set the book and her wand down before walking over to him and grabbing the shirt. He gave her a smile as she stretched it slightly and helped him move his arm so he could slide it through the sleeve. Her hands brushed his chest as she did so, sending a chill down Harry’s spine.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, before walking back to where the mugs waited. She picked up one of the red mugs and brought it to him. Harry inhaled deeply and enjoyed the smell of the freshly brewed coffee. He took it from her gratefully and lifted it to his lips, sipping the drink. It was not too hot nor was it too cold. It was perfect. As if she had made it that way on purpose.
“How long have you been up?” he asked. Hermione had returned to the burner to retrieve a mug for herself.
“A little while. Before the sun.” She shrugged before taking a sip from her mug.
“You know that you can tell me if it is getting worse,” Harry said in a comforting tone. Insomnia had started plaguing her just before the incident in Cornwall and it had worsened over the past month. Harry knew that once Hermione woke up that her mind would start working and that there was no turning her off. And Harry sensed he could guess the thoughts occupying her mind.
Ronald Weasley. Their friend and confidant. Their friend who had abandoned them and who had never returned, despite their mutual fervent hope that he would somehow find his way back.
Hermione had been especially quiet in the first few weeks after Ron’s departure. Slowly, she started making snide remarks about his cowardice and betrayal. Eventually, the snide comments turned to angry remarks and ultimately, hatred dripped from her lips when she spoke of Ron. Hermione had always been careful in how she chose her words, but when she spoke about Ron, her caution dissipated almost immediately and turned into rank vulgarities.
For over a year whenever they spoke of Ron, she would talk about him with extreme vitriol. Harry tried to persuade her to see things differently at first, but quickly stopped that effort for fear of invoking her wrath. However, the past six months had seen a marked change in how Hermione talked not just about Ron but the Weasley family in general. No longer was there hate inflected with each word, but a deep, profound sorrow. Harry had stopped mentioning Ron, Ginny, or any of the Weasley clan because every time he did, Hermione would start crying.
“I know that, Harry. I know I can talk with you. I really do,” she smiled at him. “Besides, there’s no one else to share my thoughts with if we’re being honest.”
“There’s always Phineas,” Harry said, cocking his head toward the hook where Hermione’s bag, bewitched with the extension charm, hung near the tent’s entrance.
“Ha,” she said, laughing airily. “That’s a good one.”
“I’m just saying,” Harry said. “You know, Hermione, I think about Ron too.”
He hesitated when he saw a dark look flash across her face.
“Sorry . . .”
“For what? You’re not the one who left us here. You’re not the one who abandoned us,” she said derisively as she teared up.
“I can’t blame him, you know,” Harry said.
“I don’t blame him either, but still, I just thought . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Harry gave a sigh, perhaps too loudly. He did not believe her when she said that she did not blame Ron. This was a topic of discussion that had been far too frequent during their time on the run. It seemed like every time they tried to communicate, it always returned to Ron’s departure and it always ended the same way.
She walked over to Harry’s cot and sat down next to him. She raised a hand to her brow and began rubbing her forehead.
“I need a bath or shower. I’ve put off shaving my legs and armpits for too long.”
Harry raised an eyebrow and glanced at her legs. She slapped his arm.
“Knock it off,” she said playfully.
“They look fine to me,” he said. “But we both need some rest. The wards have held, but I feel unsettled. Cornwall was scary.”
“It was,” she said, agreeing with him.
“We’ve been safe but they’re always out there . . . his agents. They’re lingering and I feel,” he raised his hand toward his neck, “like we’ve been lucky to just be a single step ahead so far.”
Harry took a long draught of the coffee.
“We should break camp and get out of here.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” she whispered, raising her mug to her lips and drinking from it. “But it may be too risky to even try it. We don’t know what is happening out there in the world beyond the protective charms. We could be surrounded by Snatchers, or Death Eaters even, and not even know it.”
Harry thought she was probably right. Hermione seemed to always be right, but Harry believed that the time had come to move again and find a source of food and water.
“I am going to walk the perimeter and then we can plan our next move. We need fresh supplies and water, Hermione. We need to go regardless of the risks.” He pulled on his mud-caked trainers and tied the laces quickly.
“Okay,” she said with a weak smile. “I am going to shower.”
Harry’s stomach turned over. He loved Hermione’s smile but it was that particular smile that he loathed. It was a smile born of fear, trepidation, and resignation. She had promised Harry to follow his lead and she had done so ever since they fled Bill’s wedding celebration. It had been Ron’s departure that had broken her.
Harry stepped outside the tent and took a deep breath. The forest air was thick and humid; rather than refreshing him the air made him cough slightly as his glasses fogged up. He listened to the mourning doves and the sound of crickets chirping as he removed his glasses to wipe them clean. Harry sighed loudly before setting off.
A deep sense of failure swept over Harry as he stepped around boulders, over fallen trees, and ducking branches. Hermione and Harry were no closer to finding Voldemort’s horcruxes than they had been when Ron had abandoned them. They had the locket but they had no clue where to look next and the locket had been kept in the bottom of the cedar chest Harry had stolen during one of their brief stopovers in Scotland. They could not destroy it and merely being around it made Harry feel ill. He and Hermione had agreed to simply not speak about it unless they happened upon something new or innovative as they contemplated how to destroy it.
Eighteen months, Harry thought to himself. Eighteen.
Harry recalled the first time he had raised the issue of whether Hermione should leave him behind. He rubbed his cheek, the memory of the vicious slap she had given him resurfacing.
I made a promise, Harry Potter. We Grangers keep our promises, she had said, half-yelling and half-whispering. We either find the horcruxes together or we die in the attempt. No matter how long it takes or how far I have to go with you, I am with you.
And so, the two of them had remained together, growing closer and more familiar. They knew each other well, but they had lived in separate dormitories during their time at Hogwarts. They now lived in the same tent. They learned each other’s habits and preferences. Harry learned how to not annoy her as much as he had at first. He learned how to comfort her and to support her when she needed it. They had become a good team, but it always felt that the team was short a player.
There are no leads, Harry thought to himself as he sat down on a mossy log. There is nothing to go after. We’re just existing here. We can exist anywhere. Existence is not enough—there has to be more to justify what we’re going through.
We should leave the country. We should go somewhere in mainland Europe and look for answers from a distance.
He stood up and continued his inspection of the camp before returning to the tent. He lifted the outer flap and stepped inside, removing his muddy trainers. The scent of coffee lingered but another scent, that of a warm fire slowly wafted through.
Another of Hermione’s spells, Harry thought as he walked toward his room in the tent. He looked over toward Hermione’s room, where she had drawn the flaps down for her shower, leaving only a slight gap between them. It wasn’t a true shower, but Hermione had rigged an area of her room where she could place her wand after casting the water-summoning charm. The wand functioned as a shower. It wasn’t perfect but it got the job done.
Hermione must have just finished her shower because Harry could see her walk into view wearing a large towel with a red floral pattern on it. She wore another towel on her head, having wrapped her hair inside. Harry smiled to himself as he watched her.
Her back was to him. He watched as she undid the towel around her head and ran her fingers through her hair, vainly attempting to untangle some of the tresses. He found her wildly attractive in that moment and he found himself holding his breath out of fear of interrupting the moment. Slowly, she let the towel around her body drop to the floor, exposing her naked body.
Harry inhaled sharply. He stared, transfixed at her natural beauty. After the initial shock of amazement had past, he noticed that her body reflected the stark reality she had been living over the past year and half with Harry. She had not been eating. Harry could tell that she was malnourished. Her ribs appeared pronounced and her skin was paler than usual. Even still, Hermione Granger appeared every bit the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She’s suffering because of me. His stomach turned over itself in loathing. She’s here because of me. She wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for me.
Harry continued to watch her she moved about her room. Harry thought he should turn away but he could not bring himself to do it. he stared at her for a second or two longer than he knew he should have. She seemed to have sensed him staring at her because she turned her head to the left and looked at him before moving out of view.
Stupid. That was so fucking stupid, Harry thought to himself. She loves Ron. She loves him and not me. And Ginny . . .was so long ago. I doubt I will ever see her again.
He knew that Hermione had feelings for Ron. Harry had similar feelings for Ginny, but Harry had buried those emotions deep within himself. He could not allow himself to feel anything for her; he did not know if he would ever see her again. The news of Arthur’s demise had only caused his skepticism over the prospect of seeing her again to take command. He had tried to remain focused on Voldemort and on search for the horcruxes, but the past eighteen months had made that goal seem more impossible than ever before.
Perhaps Ron was right, he thought.
“Harry!” Hermione called. She did not sound angry, for which Harry was especially grateful.
“Yes, Hermione,” Harry answered as he changed underwear and his pants.
“I think you are right–we need to find a place far away from here for a little while,” she called to him from across the dining area.
“You do?” he said as he tried in vain to pull on a hooded sweatshirt. He walked out to the eating area that separated his room from hers.
“Yes, I do,” she said, emerging from her room. She had changed into blue jeans, a red and grey t-shirt and her hair, still wet, had been pulled back into a ponytail. Her horn-rimmed glasses slid down her nose. She smiled at him knowingly as she pushed them up.
“Gum?” she offered, as she popped a piece into her mouth. Harry shook his head as he struggled with the sweatshirt.
“Could you?” he asked indicating that he needed her help again. She nodded and helped him pull the sweatshirt over his head and get his arm through the sleeve.
“Once more—I thank you for getting me dressed,” he said. “And I’m sorry about earlier.”
She gave him a confused look.
“Oh, that? It’s okay. Actually, as I think about it, I am surprised that it hasn’t happened earlier. We live together, you know. It was bound to happen.” She smirked slightly. “Anyway, we should get your shoulder looked at, you know.
“You’re probably right. Maybe Madam Pomfrey came whip something up.”
“I am being serious.”
“I know you are. I’ll be okay.”
She eyed him with an unbelieving look but dropped the topic.
“Well, as I was saying, we,” she said pointing first at Harry and then at herself, “are at wits end. We’re both exhausted. We’re both afraid.”
Harry started to protest the last bit but Hermione talked over him.
“If we leave England maybe we can relax and regroup. Sharpen the sword, so to speak. And at least for me, I might not be scared the whole time. We can come up with a plan and then return to act on it.”
Harry nodded slowly and mulled her words over. “Where do you propose we go?”
“I remember visiting Moravia with my parents when I was a little girl. We went out into the countryside. I don’t remember it too well, but we could go there. Do you have any ideas?”
“Me?” Harry said in false shock. “The Dursleys never took me anywhere, or when they did it was very restricted. The past year and a half are about as adventurous as my life has ever been.”
“Or we could go back north toward Hogwarts. Hide right under their noses, perhaps,” she lamely suggested.
Harry shook his head firmly. “You know that would basically be our death warrants if we did it. Snape is Head Master there and I imagine he has dementors and who knows what else patrolling the grounds. Hogwarts is the last place I want to go.”
Hermione approached Harry and put her hands on his shoulders. “I know.” She gave him an almost careless look. “I just feel like we missed so much not going back and it was where everything started. For both of us.”
“Things started for me when I was a baby, remember?” He reached up and took hold of her hands. They were surprisingly soft and smooth.
“I know,” she answered, averting her gaze toward the ground. An awkward pause filled the air between them before she pulled her hands free from Harry’s grasp.
“Hermione,” Harry whispered. He reached out and gently took hold of her chin, turning her head back toward him so he could look into her eyes. “You’re my best friend. I could never ask for anyone stronger, more courageous, or brilliant to be with me. You’ve always had my back—ever since we became friends during our first year. I need to be at my best—for you. You need to be at your best. I could never forgive myself if I failed you or was careless. If you think we need to go, then we should go.”
“Really?” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
“Really,” he assured her.
She smiled at him and sniffed back her tears.
“We need information before we do anything,” she said through her sniffles. “We need to be sure that the Death Eaters haven’t taken over all of Europe and we’re traveling into another nightmare in a foreign land.”
“Well, we can’t go to Diagon Alley or anywhere that wizards frequent,” Harry said with resignation.
“But we need information . . .”
“I know that,” Harry said too sharply. “Let me think. But whatever we do, we can’t be seen. We have the cloak still to deal with that. Whatever we do, it’s only for gathering information.”
Hermione nodded intently.
“We are apparating blind regardless, right?” he asked.
“Correct. We could step outside the protective barriers and just see what lies in store for us,” she proposed.
Harry shook his head. “No. If there are Death Eaters out there waiting for us to leave the wards I don’t want to walk into their open arms. Apparating from within the barrier at least gives us the initiative in any initial encounter we might face.”
He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.
“We are sure they are watching anyone with connections to us,” he said with his eyes still closed.
“I think that is a safe and logical assumption, wouldn’t you agree?” she replied.
“I do,” Harry said, opening his eyes. “We can’t go see Molly, though I wish I could if only to tell her how sorry I am about Arthur. We can’t go to any of our friends’ places. Searching out Lupin or Tonks is too dangerous. Our enemies know every avenue we might turn to.”
Then an idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. It was a daring risk, he thought, but no riskier than any of their other options.
“We go to someone who we have never met but who owes us both BIG TIME.”
“Who might that be,” Hermione asked eagerly, excited by Harry’s enthusiasm.
“We find Nicolas Flamel.”
“But Harry,” she said slowly, “Flamel died several years ago. If I recall correctly, he passed within an hour of his wife, a month or so after the Sorcerer’s Stone was destroyed.”
The thrill Harry had felt immediately turned to despair. The feeling settled in the pit of his stomach and he exhaled in disappointment.
“I guess I forgot about that,” was all he managed to say.
“It’s okay, Harry. It was a good idea.”
Harry gave her look like he didn’t believe her. She laughed quietly.
“Really,” she insisted. “It was.”
“I don’t know many other wizards who might be helpful or owe me a favor. I’m Muggle-born, same as you.” Harry kicked the floor out of frustration. “We might as well call up Ron’s aunt Tessa for all the good it would do us.”
Harry had expected Hermione to laugh at the suggestion but she didn’t respond. Harry looked up at her and saw a glimmer shining in her eyes. It was an electric look, one that was tinged with manic energy.
“Hermione?”
She gave him a wide smile, nodded several times in quick succession and then rush toward Harry, wrapping him with both arms in a tight embrace.
“Brilliant!” she exclaimed, squeezing him tightly. “I think that will work.”
Harry felt his body flush with warmth. The memory of Hermione’s naked body flashed through his mind. He could feel the shape of her breasts pressed hard against his chest and he felt suddenly aroused. His mind went blank for several moments as he completely forgot what they had been discussing.
He placed his hands on her thin waist and pulled her in closer, exhaling close to her neck. He could see her skin react to his breath, the tiny hairs on her neck standing up as she gasped quietly. She pulled away slightly but stopped mere inches from Harry’s face. They paused and each took a breath before she leaned in and kissed his lips.
Surprise and elation immediately filled Harry as he slowly, but firmly, kissed her back. He felt her tongue slide along his lips and gently caress them. He returned the favor and the two of them allowed their inhibitions to flee as they kissed and held each other for several minutes before Hermione pulled away, panting for breath.
“We. . . we shouldn’t . . .”
“Why shouldn’t we?”
“We have other things to do . . . other priorities.”
“I know, but . . .” Harry began. He wanted her back in his arms and wanted to feel her lips on his once more.
“No buts, Harry,” she said holding up a hand in protest. Harry could see that it was quivering as she did so.
She raised both of her hands toward her face.
“There’s also our feelings for . . . Ron and Ginny,” she said to no one in particular.
“Yeah,” Harry muttered in a low tone. He felt defeated. “I know, it’s confusing, but that felt good—didn’t it?”
She nodded.
“It felt right. It’s okay for us to feel that way, Hermione. You felt it too, right?”
She nodded again. Harry took a step toward her.
“Harry,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please stop. Don’t take another step toward me. Please.” She held out a hand as if to halt his progress. “Please Harry.”
Harry swallowed and nodded his head. “Oh-okay. Sure. Not going to move again.”
“Because if you take another step toward me,” her voice had become a whisper, “I don’t think I’d be strong enough to stop what I desperately want to happen.” Her whole body shivered noticeably. Her words thrilled Harry.
“I–I want it too, Hermione. We can have it. All we have to do is choose it. I want to be there for you—no matter what you need.”
She looked at Harry, inhaled shakily and looked back down at the ground.
“But–but what if we–what if we,” she wrung her hands as she failed to finish her thought. Harry had never seen her so flustered.
“What if we what, Hermione? What if we find comfort? A feeling of safety? If we find those things in each other, then we find them together.”
“Ahh!” she looked up at the tent’s ceiling as she screamed in frustration. She took a deep breath and slowly raised her head and looked at Harry.
“Hermione,” Harry told her, his chest swelling with emotion. “I said it before but you are my best friend. I am closer to you than anyone else. You’re the only person who will ever fully understand me.”
“I know,” she whispered so quietly that Harry could barely hear it.
“And I–I—I love you, Hermione,” Harry’s voice broke slightly as he said those words aloud. They stunned him. He never imagined that he would ever say those words out loud to her, especially given their respective histories with both Ron and Ginny.
Hermione quickly raised her hands to cover her mouth and nose in surprise. Tears spilled down her cheeks that had blushed a deep rose color in response to Harry’s declaration.
“I love you too,” she managed to squeak out after a moment. “I’ve felt it for a while now. I’ve fought it every day. But I do, Harry. I do.”
She rushed toward Harry and embraced him again, her mouth finding his with a fervency and passion that had only been hinted at when they kissed before.
Harry found his blood rising as their tongues wrestled each other’s. She tasted slightly of cinnamon, the flavor of the gum she had popped into her mouth minutes before. The flavor sent him spiraling for a moment as he enjoyed the sensation. He quickly felt himself go hard as he slid his hand under Hermione’s shirt to pull her close. He felt the warmth and smoothness of her skin on his palms. He wanted nothing more than to be with her. He slid his hands around her back to her chest and had started sliding them slowly upwards towards her breasts when she abruptly pulled away from him.
“Wait!” She panted heavily as she tried to catch her breath. “Not . . . not yet. We have things to do.”
“I agree,” Harry said confidently. “We definitely have things to do.”
Hermione shot him a slightly annoyed glare.
“Not that. Not this,” she snapped, “not right now. We should go. We should find Tessa. We should leave, Harry.”
“I don’t want to go. I want you now,” he protested. “The future isn’t promised. What if we never get the chance?”
And what if you rethink the situation and never want to be with me again. What if we die the moment we apparate somewhere?
What if?
“I know. I know,” she said, “but we should go now before we do something we might regret later. Please.”
“We have loads of time, Hermione. We should wait until night before we go anyway,” Harry responded urgently.
“We can’t just show up on Ron’s aunt’s doorstep in the middle of the night, Harry. If we’re going to visit her, we should go during the daytime.”
Harry knew she was right.
“All right, Hermione,” Harry said gently, the urgency fading. “Whatever you want. Whatever you think is best. I trust your intuition.”
“Thank you, Harry.” She took a step closer to him and took his hand. “And it’s not as if I don’t want it—don’t want you—either. I just need some time.”
“I know. It’s fine, Hermione. I get it. I do,” he said as kindly as possible, turning toward his room. “But I am glad that whatever this was happened finally. I had hoped, but I was never sure and I didn’t know what with, well you know.”
“I do know. I feel the same, but we need to concentrate on the task. There will be time later,” she assured him.
Hermione made short work of packing up the items in the tent. She swished and flicked her way through most of the rooms, sending cutlery, plates and supplies through the air to various storage tins and baskets. The magic tent was truly a marvel, and in no less than twenty minutes the entire thing was cleaned and ready to be broken down.
Harry exited the tent and had to raise his right hand to shield his eyes from the sun. There was little cloud cover, which was unusual for England generally but also the past three days had been socked in with grey clouds overcasting the sky. He shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his pack’s straps to make it more comfortable.
Hermione followed close behind him. She wore a dark blue sweatshirt with rainbow stripes across the chest. Her jeans and sneakers were well worn and in need of a washing. She turned toward the tent and cast the spell causing it to lift off the ground and fold neatly into a bundle that would have seemed surprisingly small to anyone unfamiliar with the tent’s attributes. She guided the small package to Harry’s open backpack where it rested atop Harry’s personal belongings.
“One month in this place,” Harry remarked. He felt somewhat saddened that they were leaving it and not because his desire to be with Hermione had been frustrated. It had been a nice location and one that he would never forget. Harry doubted that she would ever forget it as well.
“I imagine that if we stayed here no one would have found us for years,” Hermione commented. “It was truly a beautiful spot of earth.”
“I just wish there had been a better source of fresh water and food,” Harry grumbled.
“Nothing is perfect.”
“Except you.”
“Harry . . .”
“I mean it. You’re brilliant. Without you, Hermione, I’d have been long dead.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. Ron and I constantly said as much to each other.”
The mention of Ron’s name had the unintended effect of causing Hermione to start crying.
“No, I mean . . .” He made to move closer to her to comfort her. She held up a hand in protest.
“It’s fine,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I miss him though, Harry. I truly miss him.”
“I know. Well, come on. We should be going.”
She nodded and wordlessly slipped her right arm through Harry’s left and pulled him close. Harry smiled imperceptibly to himself as he felt her warmth. Her physical touch filled him with comfort.
“Wimbledon, right?”
“That’s right,” she answered. “Ron mentioned once that she lived in a flat across from the lawn tennis club.”
“All right then. Ready?”
“Mmmmhmmm,” she answered.
A pit formed in his stomach as Harry started to apparate. The sensation had always been sickening to him but this time the pit in his stomach felt different than the sensation of a hook catching him around the gut and pulling him through space and time. He knew the feeling all too well. It was a feeling of fear. Abject and total fear as the two of them hurtled into the unknown.