Tension

Ecthelion

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 14/03/2006
Last Updated: 16/06/2006
Status: in_progress

Tension! Tension is everywhere in the Potter World including between our favorite trio. "Tension" is a canon based love story so it's only for the most patient of souls!

Chapters

1. 1

2. 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

1. 1

Tension

Author's Note: Realize that this is a CANON fiction, so not only will this cover the entire seventh year, but Harry and Hermione are not going to suddenly get all hot and bothered. There will be a time for that, but the Harmony Ship must recover from the horrible beating it took in the sixth book. The Chocolate must be wiped off the decks and the encroaching R/Hr's must be driven off first. Be patient, please. All will come in time. After all, the whole idea of Harry and Hermione Ship is the potential they hold for a deep and transcending love—remember that kind of love isn't developed over short period of time. So as I have said, they will get together despite what you may think in the beginning, but soon we'll see them together as they should have been!

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The tension was fairly palpable. So palpable, in fact, that Harry was positive his potato had peeled itself in response to the hostile environment. Peeled, in fact, just as his best buddy had actually.

He was fine, really, but the other two were starting to get to him. Ron, truly living up to his reputation, was being remarkably transparent in that he was nervous. Hermione, normally dependable in these situations, was oddly fidgety, insecure almost. Together, they were sitting at the table with a person who fit perfectly the definition of a matriarch—the abominable, obstinately stubborn, and stipulated Mrs. Weasley. She sat at the end of the table, separated from the trio, who were sitting directly opposite of her on the other end. At least three chairs sat between them, where the other Weasleys usually occupied.

The silence was deafening, only to be broken by the small and inarticulate pokes of silverware from Harry, Ron, and Hermione and the violent stabs by Mrs. Weasley. All was still except for stray pieces of food flying across the table when Mrs. Weasley got a bit too passionate in her stabs.

Conversation was scarce, non-existent actually. Ron, who had cracked under the pressure remarkably quick, had uttered something about be hungry and ready to eat when Mrs. Weasley had snapped back that he was always hungry and had told him to shut up immediately.

Obviously, motherly instincts had kicked in sending the Mrs. Weasley into a towering mood since they had come yesterday. She had sensed what was going on; even though Harry knew full well she didn't know exactly what was happening. Somehow she had picked up on their odd situations around her.

His courage kicked in and straightened up, immediately catching the eyes of Ron and Hermione.

“Mrs. Weasley, we have something to say.”

“Yes,” she replied as another cooked carrot took the wrath of her fork.

“Ron, Hermione, and I….” lying would not prove anything, “we are leaving.”

Mrs. Weasley violently jabbed her kitchen knife into the pork beef, where it stood quivering. Harry was quite sure it had gone through not only the plate but at least an inch of the table as well. They locked eyes, “No, I don't believe you are.”

“We have to Mrs. Weasley”

“As far as I can recall, Harry, the last two times you were with any group someone ended up dieing, I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to let that happen—again.”

Harry's countenance turned feral and immediately stiffened as Ron got the courage to speak up.

“Mother!”

Hermione was also now sitting straight up eyes flashing.

“Enough son! He won't kill you too! Absolutely not Potter, you are about to take my son from me on some fool's errand and get him killed,” she screamed, now standing up.

Harry refused to let her get to him, even though he was beginning to see red.

Ron however, was not backing down. “He's saved us, Mom, He's saved me, he's saved Ginny, and he's saved Dad!”

This mollified Mrs. Weasley, but she was still as incensed as ever. Harry chose this time to interlude.

“See past your short sightedness, Molly, and believe that what we are going out to do won't just save the life of your son, but the Wizarding world as well. I understand where you are coming from, the love from you to anyone would make any mother jealous. But you must practice some foresight. Let us go Molly.”

The room had gone deathly quiet.

Harry did not back down, “We could have just left, you know, but we felt obligated to tell you. You've been too good to us to deserve anything less. I know I haven't seen many families, but I can tell you that Ron could not have a better mother and Hermione and I are so lucky to have a second one.”

Mrs. Weasley knew she should be mad, incensed, anything, but there was just something about Harry. Something that made him so instantly likeable that it was intoxicating. Now that she thought about it, she was mad, yet she felt some unspoken barrier not letting her speak. A sudden thought appeared in her head that spoke of a likeness to Dumbledore, but it went away quickly.

“Molly, I'm not begging, and I do not honestly need your opinion for we are of age, and our choice is our own. But I can tell you that it would do wonders to your me, your son, and Hermione if we could go with your permission and well wishes.”

Again, Molly was in shock. This was not the shy, insecure little boy she had seen at the platform. Here was an adult. He had grown up now. Tears sprang unbidden as Harry suddenly took a new light. She could actually follow him now, and feel completely comfortable with it. She suddenly gained insight on why Ron was so stuck to Harry when she had tried countless times to have him distance himself. He could not help wanting to be with Harry and neither could she.

“Good luck Harry, Ron, and Hermione,” she sniffed. Harry immediately smiled—one of the few he had graced anyone with since the funeral—while Ron went to comfort his mom and Hermione wiped a few tears of her own.

Harry caught eyes with Mrs. Weasley and voiced an unspoken “thank you” and turned to help Hermione up to their rooms—Ron and his mother obviously needed some alone time.

And as he saw Hermione dejectedly go up the stairs ahead of him, it suddenly occurred to him that she hadn't said a thing throughout the entire sequence.

________________________________________________________________________

It took about ten seconds of Harry sitting in his room alone to pick up the piece of mind to find Hermione.

Coming to her door he knocked, “Can I come in?”

Silence, then “Come on in Harry.”

Hermione had already changed into her pajamas, and the lights were off. She was lying somewhat hunched up on the left side of her bed. Even in the dim light provided by the moon, he could pick up her sad face. If he hadn't been looking for her, he could have easily passed her as a sorrowfully thrown blanket.

Picking up a chair he pulled up right to where she was staring off the bed and immediately caught her brown eyes in his.

“What's wrong Hermione?”

More silence.

After struggling for words for a couple seconds, Hermione completely refused to answer and ended up turning her head down and silently began to cry. Harry felt helpless, but merely rubbed small circles on her back as she shook silently.

As much as he wanted to shake her, look her in the eye, and ask what was going on, he knew his friend needed her time and a certain distance. She had been rather off since they had gotten on the train ride—Silent, brooding, and insecure. It was scary, to see his best friend lower her defenses so willingly, so helplessly. It was as though she lost a part of herself and was lost—groping around helplessly.

It wasn't just Dumbledore's death, something was bothering her, something deep and something that was making her feel…

Could she be feeling guilty?

The thought rang true and he was immediately gripped by a sense of urgency. It was what his senses were telling him. However, his mind was not quite making the connection as to why. He had somewhat of an inkling of what might be bothering Hermione but he let it slide. It would come out in time. And if it didn't, well, he'd get it out of her.

But for now he would just be there for her. It was true that she hadn't been there as much for him this year at all, but things happened. He couldn't blame her for distancing herself as she did from him and wanting a normal life. Normalcy simply was not an integral part of his life. She may not have been the best friend she could have been this past year, but she had been, and it was his turn to try to repay her.

Something in his chest clenched and his breathe hitched as he looked down at his fallen friend. He didn't know what it was or what it meant, but he knew right then, more than any other moment that she was special to him in a way he could not describe.

________________________________________________________________________

When Hermione awoke, Harry had slumped against the bed post, still sitting and his hand loyally remaining on her back. She had never felt so warm before in her life. His devotion was so pure it almost made her cry again.

It was heavily upon her that she didn't deserve his friendship. She had made sure of that the past year through her actions and betrayal of trust. Yet here he was…loyal as ever. Her Harry, there for her, as he had always been from the very beginning. There was just something about him that was so easy to love.

She closed her eyes once more and slept.

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Harry awoke and saw that Hermione was sleeping peacefully, no longer in a hunched position but in a relaxed one. At least on of us is.

Harry sat up and stretched and leaned back on his chair. It was only then that he noticed Ginny's empty bed sitting across the room. She was spending the night at the twin's flat for some reason or another.

A deep green bedspread covered it and it was surrounded by some Quidditch posters but mostly by girly things—those accessories that always confused him so bad. He smiled; the room was strongly reminiscent of Ginny—sporty, but feminine in a way that none could dispute.

The sun was shining through and he could not help but think of their happy times down the lake….it was certainly sunny then…

But circumstances had intervened, as they always had in Harry's life. Nothing good seemed to last very long and he had been forced to take actions he did not regret. He missed Ginny, he did severely, but he did not regret his decision whatsoever.

Struck by a sudden moment of inspiration, Harry sat up and made his way to the other side of the room. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione had woken up and carefully watched him.

Harry grabbed a piece of paper and quill and wrote a little note. Setting it down, he made his way to Ginny's bed, made it and pulled back the covers.

Hermione was not the most girly type of girl one could meet, but she was touched deeply by what she knew Harry was doing.

Harry walked over to the paper, picked it up and slipped it on the pillow he had just primped up. Slowly and with care he pulled the covers back over the pillow and note. Harry then made his way back to Hermione (where upon Hermione promptly closed her eyes) and dutifully waited for her to wake.

Hermione, still touched, settled down once more thinking that she was so glad she had helped Ginny get Harry…they were so happy together. She only hoped that her own endeavors had been more successful.

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A/N: Hope you liked it! The next installment will provide Harry and Hermione a private talk, and even more, a living residence without Ron. Sounds like there is a lot of potential for them to develop—which there is—but remember…..ssssssllllloooooowwww =)

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2. 2

Author's Note: This is one of the more peaceful chapters that can be found in this fiction, enjoy…there aren't many like them left. Also, you'll find that Hermione is quite out of sorts in this chapter. The main cause of the eventual downfall of Ginny and Harry is also highly evident within this chapter.

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It was one of those days where one wakes up, and quite simply feels good. Nothing more to say or feel about it—it just felt good. Everyone's mood was pleasant, everything was fine. Birds sang, clouds passed by. “Harmonious” would be an apt word to describe the day—interruptions were nonexistent. Life was pulsating, permeating through everything, and in these dark times it seemed as though the world wanted to take advantage of it.

Hermione and Ginny were getting ready for the day. Sunlight lit up the room in spectral columns of liquid light, pouring through the windows. A slight refreshing breeze put the heat of the sun in perfect equilibrium with its briskness.

“Push your hair back Ginny.”

Ginny immediately acquiesced, catching the rebellious strands of hair and deftly smoothing them out.

“Thanks.”

They were dressed simply. Hermione had khaki shorts, a swimsuit top (which she wore all the time at home, swearing it was extremely comfortable), and a light yellow polo covering it. Ginny had on a white khaki skirt with a dark green tee. Nothing especially showy, but casual—a tone no doubt set by the wondrous day.

Both girls had finished tying their pony tails and stood together looking out of the window, sun on their bodies.

“There they are Hermione, our boys” Ginny said as she tucked a couple strands of hair behind her ear.

It was true. Harry and Ron were standing casually back to back shooting spells at beleaguered garden gnomes who seemed to have no purpose—running from shrubbery to shrubbery with no real intent whatsoever but to run amok. Ron was of course talking, no surprise there, and Harry was dutifully listening, resonding every once in a while to fill in the silences. Hermione could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Ginny, she too caught up in thoughts, turned to Hermione and caught her eye, “I want to thank you again, for helping me this past year. The time we had…the time we will have…I owe so much of it to you.”

“Nonsense Ginny, it was all in you, all you needed was a person to make you realize it.”

“You're fooling no one Hermione, but thank you anyways.”

Hermione smiled, “Of course Ginny…I couldn't be happier for you.”

The both went quiet, as they watched Ron suddenly burst out in laughter, his guffaws echoing across the countryside. Harry, who had obviously been in his own little world, had not noticed a garden gnome—of whom was completely out of control and senseless—catapult himself off a rather bouncy Trepanta leaf right into Harry's groinal area.

Hermione laughed as Harry immediately went into guy-emergency-recoil-position-number-one. Perhaps she had imagined it, but she thought she had heard Ginny say something along the lines of “…if it's alright…” but she could have been hearing things.

Once more the boys commenced their work and the girls were once again left in silence.

“Are—are you okay with Harry's decision?”

She saw Ginny's sparkling eyes fade a little and her posture stiffen and immediately regretted her question—but knew it was completely necessary.

“Honestly?”

Hermione nodded.

“No. But, I mean, I can't help it. That decision is so…so him. Typical of the way he is, really. He's just so perfect for me, Hermione…it's hard to be mad…Just look at him!”

And she did. Harry was now carefully scoping the area for any remaining gnomes. The breeze tousled his hair and his posture was tall and proud—not in any protruding way, but one that spoke of silent power and commanding maturity.

It did not occur to any of the girls that he had just taken a hard gnome cerebrum to the crotch just a couple minutes ago.

Ginny continued, “look at him…handsome, trusting, skilled, intelligent, and loving to a fault! He's got the world on his shoulders yet he is more human that any of us…so pure!”

At first, she disagreed. She could think of many faults and mistakes he had made. He was not perfect, that she knew. His temper, his introverted personality, lack of focus in the classroom…

Yet, all of a sudden, it struck her that he was indeed very handsome in his own quiet, Harryish sort of way. Her best friend never looked better as he did now, standing in the sunlight, the breeze slowly caressing his face, countenance scrunched in intense concentration at the task at hand. Her stomach clenched. He was such a good person too…despite all that had happened to him, he still turned out the way he did…as Ginny had said, “Perfect.”

Ginny grabbed her arm and their eyes locked together. On Ginny she saw a big genuine smile, her face alight in…was it awe? If it wasn't, it was definitely something very close to it. Hermione was suddenly struck by a large sense of dire foreboding.

“You know, I love him…a lot, Hermione…it hurts to let him go…but I can't help it. I just can't refuse him…he's so…hmm…” her face still stuck in a big smile.

The sincerity of the girl's actions kicked her motherly, big sister instincts in and all senses of apprehension fled away.

“Remember what I said before, Ginny?”

“What?”

“Control yourself.”

“I know, but I'm not even around him right now,” she said, still in a bit of a stupor.

As she walked out of the room in all her feminine glory, face alight with happiness, Hermione could not shake off the returning sense of foreboding that gripped her, spoke to her, and begged her to listen.

“Exactly, Ginny. So just be careful, one mistake is all it would take.”

“Enough Hermione, I will, okay? Let's go talk to them.”

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“Ron! To your left!”

Ron spun, shooting the red colored spell at the fleeing gnome. It glanced him on the arm, which immediately turned limp. The gnome stopped running, and altogether stopped remembering that the people he was running from were right in front of him.

Tentatively, he lifted his limp arm with the other…and let it drop, giggling madly as he did so. Again and again he would do this, laughing all the harder each time.

“Is it impersonating you Ron, or what?”

The boys turned around, seeing Hermione and Ginny walking towards them.

It was one of those moments when guys truly appreciate the ways girls looked—and could look without openly declaring they were checking them out—even though both parties new full well they were. There was something about summer that made girls so much more desirable…

It was this Harry was thinking about as the girls made their way towards them, ponytails bouncing gaily. Ginny, of course, looked wonderful and the monster of last year trembled in its hibernation. Her red hair fit perfectly with the deep green tee and the skirt and body-hugging shirt belied an excellent body. A fresh breeze traveled through his body and it seemed to pump his heart to new levels. He really did miss her…

It was only in an after thought that he noticed Hermione, too, was looking—

“Harry! A gnome flying towards you to your right…cover yourself!” yelled Ginny.

Ron, still trying to think of a response to Ginny's initial comment, turned around suddenly to look, but Harry didn't even budge.

“Hilarious, I must say, almost got me on that one you did.”

Ginny smiled while Harry grinned and shook his head.

Hermione, comforted by Ginny's behavior, stabbed a question at Ron. “How's your day been?”

“Mum woke us up at like 5:30, we think she did it because she caught us—okay, just me—stealing food she was keeping for today, yesterday. She said that we had to degnome this entire place! For the wedding of course…but it took us two bloody hours! We're almost done now, quite easy actually…Harry of course found it a little tough…”

“Shut it Ron.”

“It was funny Harry, admit it.”

“I admit it, now shush.”

They commenced to small talk, which mostly consisted of colloquial matters such as quidditch, the stupidity of gnomes, and cheesecake served two days ago. They were interrupted, however, by Mrs. Weasley.

“Ron, Ginny come help me with the decorations!”

They both groaned, and Ron dejectedly trudged over and Ginny, after giving Harry a quick kiss on the cheek, rather happily followed her brother.

This of course left a rather perplexed Harry and a silent Hermione.

They hadn't really talked much to each other since a couple days ago. Harry knew she needed her time, and he gave it. They both understood what was bothering her, and unspokenly agreed not to talk about it. They had, however, also not talked to each other one on one since that night and it created an odd situation.

Hermione was the first to speak.

“Let's take a walk.”

Harry silently agreed and walked over to sling his book bag over his shoulder. Hermione eyed him a bit warily.

“I can study in my off time, can't I?” he said with a bit of humor in his voice.

“Oh! Of course you can Harry, I didn't mean you couldn't, but…”

“I know, I know…” smiled Harry.

The headed off towards the woods, where a clearing they knew would appear once they rounded the corner. It was a beautiful spot, overlooking a trickling creek, and was a favorite of the both of them. Ron always stated the field to the East of the house was his favorite, as that was where the Quidditch games were played. Harry always verbally agreed with him, not wishing to cause adversity, but secretly liked this place much better. It offered solitude, privacy, and a place to sift one's thoughts.

“What were you studying anyways?”

“I actually was looking at some of my third year books and trying to cast the spells wandlessly…”

He continued, answering Hermione's unvoiced question, “Before Snape ran and apparated away, he told me in a sputtering rage and disdain that I needed to work on wandless spells and occluding my mind…It wasn't just another insult, he was right. I'm tired of being completely man-handled by him every time we face him, so I took it to heart.”

“That's very good to hear Harry.”

They reached the grassy knoll overlooking the crick.

“How's it coming alo—“

Hermione immediately felt her hands snap to her sides and her body stiffen involuntarily. She fell stiffly and closed her eyes, thoroughly expecting to hit hard on the ground.

But she didn't.

When she opened her eyes back up, she was indeed looking at the sky, but with Harry's face, bearing a Cheshire grin, looking right at her. He had caught her midway through her fall. If she could have yelled or even smiled and laughed at the time, she would have. The awkwardness between them had dissipated.

“They're going quite well, funny you should ask.”

She felt herself regain use of her limbs and fall momentarily in Harry's arms. Oddly enough, she felt no panic in being momentarily helpless, and actually felt oddly comforted in Harry's arms.

She quickly pushed the encroaching feelings she knew were coming up within her.

“Harry! I can not believe you did that. Well done by the way, but honestly! You could have, I don't know, transfigured a blade of grass, perhaps?! I would have gotten the point just as well. I don't know what gave you the piece of mind to do that…”

“I don't know either but if you keep on babbling, I'll put on that piece of mind again.”

Slightly put off by being called a babbler and more or less taken by amusement, Hermione simply smiled and sat down beside Harry, who had already lain down.

“But really, Harry—well done.”

“Thanks Hermione, that means a lot.”

And so they sat there, peaceful in midst of the sun, water, and grass. Blissful.

It was one of the things Harry loved about being with Hermione, something that he had missed in this past year—Silence. It took a certain depth of a relationship to be comfortable to sit in silence together. It was comforting, to know that neither of you felt the obligation to chatter—taking consolation in the fact that you both had reached an unspoken agreement and harmonious union. Silence is when the things you don't day to one another are thought. For any shaky or shallow relationship, silence could be highly uncomfortable. Right now, however, with Hermione, he felt as though he could be here forever.

Both were smiling, both did not know why.

“Beautiful day.”

“Indeed.”

Harry sat up after a while, slipping off his pack and threw it to the ground a couple feet in front of him. They both watched it fall and land. A book fell out and opened. Tiny, almost illegible script could be seen on the margins…

Hermione's chest tightened and Harry's posture straightened. All of the sudden it seemed as though the birds had flown away, the sun had fallen, and all the warmth had disappeared.

Hermione slowly, but irrevocably looked up to meet the antagonizing, questioning pair of blazing green eyes.

“Why, Hermione. Why.”

________________________________________________________________________

“I know you are wanting a straight up answer, Harry, but I don't think I have one…if I had to give one I suppose I could just say…that I lost myself. I wasn't myself last year; I know it and I deeply regret it…”

Harry simply stared and listened. He had never seen her at such a loss for words.

Hermione took another deep breathe and continued, “I suppose it all got to me, I suppose. Oh! It sounds so shallow and silly now that I'm saying it but it's really what I thought! First off, I'll let it on right now, I had a crush on Ron.”

“That I did know…but going out on a date with McLaggen? Hermione…”

It hurt him to say this, to acknowledge the fact that his ever obstinate rock solid Hermione had lowered herself to such petty means of payback.

“It was only a date!”

“Hermione.”

Hermione sighed in knowing defeat, “I don't know what got into me, at that point I just lost my head…I became infatuated with being with Ron…I think all those comments I got through the years about being abnormally prude and non-social because of my study habits finally hit me...and hurt. I felt as though Ron was my one way ticket to ridding them all off me…I dunno Harry…”

Harry sat back, relaxing in the sun he was beginning to become aware of again. Multitudes of emotions rolled about in his head. Betrayal was one of them. She had betrayed herself in ways that were scarcely comprehensible to him. She had lied to herself, and because of it she was in this inner turmoil. A sudden wave of sorrow and pity swept him.

“I'm sorry Hermione, I'm sorry it had to happen to you.”

“What?!” she cried, clearly astonished, “If anyone is sorry, it's me, I completely left you alone last year! I didn't believe you, I didn't commend you, I….I wasn't even a good friend to you, or maybe not even a friend at all!”

Harry was unperturbed, “Nonsense, I completely understand that you'd want to step away from me to live in normalcy for a while and that—“

Harry quite suddenly found Hermione right in his face, her features contorted in high emotion, “No! Harry!…just, no! I would never want to step away from you because of that, I was just that way because…I…I don't even know anymore!”

By this time tears were very evident on her face, streaming down in torrents of sadness, guilt, and sorrow. Harry scooted over and carefully took her in his arms.

“Hermione, I still don't think any less of you, everyone has their off times.”

Head buried in his chest, still crying, Hermione stumbled out “I'm so sorry Harry…I'll never leave you again.”

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A/N: I know I didn't reveal how Harry and Hermione (or even where) would be in living quarters away from Ron, but it fit better in the next chapter. Please let me know what you thought!

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3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I won't even make an excuse for how long I haven't updated…other than the fact that I successfully made a hovercraft (one person!). Whoo!

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Odd, really.

His apprehension of taking his friends with him on his quest gone, Mrs. Weasley approached and mollified, and Ginny troubled but accepting—somehow Harry felt as though his quest was already done, yet it hadn't even begun.

”Quests truly begin with your heart,” a knightly portrait had once said in the Headmaster's room, and Harry quite believed it.

They were packing right now, or at least he was. Ron and Hermione had already finished, having taken full advantage of their wand-wielding capabilities. Harry figured that even if he had had the legalities to do so, he wouldn't have. Eying a rain jacket, he concentrated hard, and it soon flew into place in his bag. The tasks were getting so monotonous to him he didn't even say spells in his head any more. Now he simply focused on a command, or a wish of what he wanted done. It was harder, as the magical act created an odd sense of resistance, but it offered a promise of less brain, and more will power—something Harry would go for any day.

A light drizzle coated the land. It was satisfying to a point that comforted Harry very much. The drizzle was not large enough to create any sound, but was one of those showers that simply made everything feel alive, even though it was grey and wet outside. It was one of the few showers that felt good when you walked in it—wakened the senses and promoted clearer thinking. Harry himself had participated on walks through this very type of rain, and had come out very calm and satisfied indeed. A perfect time to brood.

Harry sat down on the bed corner, facing the window.

Today, he and Hermione would be going to Privet Drive. Mrs. Weasley had asked to Ron, in a private talk, to stay a couple more days until Harry's Birthday, where he would rejoin them at the Dursley's. Mrs. Weasley had apparently wanted a few more days with her son, and considering the situation, it was a more than valid reasoning. Besides, Harry would much rather have Hermione at the Dursleys than Ron, no offense to him, but he simply does not have the social tact that Hermione has.

Harry suddenly realized that his packing was done. The only thing left to do was to close the top of the bag. Funny thing, at that. Harry could easily close it by simply waving his hand, but by sheer boredom, had found that he could complete these menial tasks by simply making any motion he wanted, as long as the intent was there. He could bow, curtsy, flick his ankle, snap his fingers and hell—even flip the thing off and it would still produce the desired effect.

Harry walked by the bag, dramatically pointing at it and successfully closing it while he headed downstairs.

________________________________________________________________________

Harry and Hermione stood looking at each other, outside the door of Harry's home.

Harry couldn't help but ask, “You ready?”

“Yup.”

“Really?”

Hermione simply looked at him, questioning.

“Are you still adamant on the enslavement of House Elves or any human creature?”

“Of course! I know I was a bit off last year, but how could I not help bu—“

“Yes, yes, I know Hermione, but realize that we're stepping into my other world, and here enslavement reigns with a realm of acceptance just as large as the Wizarding World has, okay? So please, we're only here a few days, and I know it's going to kill you, but don't try and make any efforts to dismantle it okay?”

“Of course Harry, for you.”

And with that, Harry opened the door (which Hermione noted had been locked only seconds ago) and walked up the step into the house. He turned around.

“Besides, I want to be the liberator, not anyone else.”

________________________________________________________________________

The Dursley's were not home, so they went straight in. The house, of course, was no different than what it was sixteen years ago. A few pictures here and there produced a changed scenery, but other than that—nothing.

Harry could see Hermione quickly calculate her environment. It must be weird for her, to be in such a place. But then again, Harry had no idea what her home environment was like either.

Hermione stopped in front of the fireplace mantle, where most of the pictures resided.

“Are you in any pictures?”

The look Harry gave her was incredulous to the point of distain.

Hermione merely muttered a soft downcast sigh of understanding.

“Actually, there is one.”

Harry strode to Hermione's side, locked eyes with her, and then pointed casually a few pictures to the right.

The Dursley's were standing next to who Hermione supposed was Aunt Marge. They were posing outside in the backyard of the house. She didn't see Harry anywhere.

“Up there, look at the window in the upper left.”

The window was miniscule, as the Dursley's were standing quite far away. Hermione squinted a little harder, all she could see was a little dot in the picture where a cinder or something must have burnt it on acc—“

“See me? Sirius and I had more in common than I think we even knew.”

By the time Hermione had already recovered, Harry was three quarters of the way up the stairs.

“Coming?”

She hurried to the stairs, which were by the door, but was stopped in utter awe of a tiny little door to what seemed was a mini coat closet. Hermione snapped her eyes to Harry's, who gave the affirmative nod of “yes, that's it” and walked the rest of the way up to the room.

* * *

Hermione slowly walked to Harry's room, only pausing on a rather creaky bottom step and made her way into Harry's room. Her mind buzzed with ruminations.

Harry had been remarkably introverted these past couple of days, and she expected it had to do with the Dursley's and the upcoming quest. He couldn't blame him, but it was such a difference from the jovial Harry of only a couple days ago. He had always been silent, but after a glimpse of Harry simply being a teenage boy, the image was hard to let go.

But the teenage Harry was not Harry. Another time, another place, another person. The real Harry was the one upstairs right now—Cognitive, proud, and loyal to a fault. He was changing, for sure, but some characteristics stay with people all their lives—and with Harry, those characteristics were developing into something powerful.

Everyone had noticed the changes Harry had undergone this past summer. He truly was beginning to become immensely formidable. He always had been a staunch enemy, with feline agility and a strong will. But now his assets were being fortified with a sound and intelligent mind—a mind that had been previously too bogged down with massive preoccupations and childlike ignorance. Harry was beginning to understand the world better. This development was undeniably invaluable for his survival and ultimate triumph, but it was sad too—like a child seeing an evil act for the first time.

Oh Harry…

He was neither a man nor a child. How can you be a child if you never had a childhood worth speaking of? Are you then a man? Yet, if you didn't have a childhood, is it possible to be a man?

Here, in the room before her was a person who was the byproduct of hate, abuse, and murder, and was the epitome of purity.

Hermione had to stop a moment before she walked into the bedroom to hold back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

________________________________________________________________________

To say the Dursleys were surprised would be a severe understatement. Petunia and Vernon entered, Petunia with groceries at hand—or at least for a while. Upon seeing Harry and Hermione sitting at the dining table drinking milk, Petunia immediately dropped the groceries while Vernon pulled a face so comical it bordered on just plain gross.

Hermione expected Harry to take advantage of their stupor to get in what he had to say, for she had noticed he had a knack for taking advantage of those types of situations to interject his say in things. But he didn't.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” Vernon's face was livid with rage and astonishment.

“I'll be staying here the next couple of days until my birthday—in three days.”

Hermione seriously felt, like Harry, that they hadn't the slightest idea when his birthday was.

Vernon, who seemed unable to gain a footing in the start of the conversation replied unconvincingly, “What makes you think you can do that?!”

Unlike every year before, Harry suddenly had the upper conviction of the confrontation. He could basically feel the grudging respect of Vernon, and Harry merely passed it off as one of those perks of growing up that hit some people.

“It's my orders, and plus, I want to.”

“Who is she anyways? I don't think I recognize her…”

“This is Hermione, she and my other friend, Ron, who will be coming on my birthday, will be staying with me until we leave, forever.”

Hermione momentarily thought of going to shake their hands, but Vernon's were currently preoccupied with clenching themselves, and Petunia was busy using hers to pick up some meandering oranges. So, she just smiled, and turned her attention to Harry, completely ignoring their bewildered expressions.

Vernon shuffled to the umbrella stand and whipped out an umbrella, gripping it so hard his beefy fingers glowed with rage.

“Well, boy, one racket, one misplaced comment or majical thingy, you're head will be on this umbrella point!” And with exaggerated emphasis, he gestured his umbrella in what he thought was a menacing way.

A year ago, perhaps, it would have been, but now…

“No need to worry about us attracting unnecessary attention, I am well conditioned in doing so, and Hermione has parents who cannot do magic as well, so she's well versed too.”

Vernon peered at Hermione with a new light, but still it did nothing to quell his maddened state.

“Sixteen years you've been with us, and it's been bloody hell! If you stay one more day, I swear I will kick you out of this house!”

Hermione could have sworn Harry's eyes sparkled.

Apparently refusing to answer, Harry casually waved his hand, and an orange, who was currently taking refuge in the ginormous shadow of Vernon Dursley, flew into the unsuspecting hand of Petunia—of whom gasped in shock.

And with that Harry made eye contact with Hermione, a hint of amusement in his eye, and beckoned her to leave with him upstairs.

Hermione subtly nodded towards the table, where their half full glasses of milk still stood on the table.

Harry mouthed backed to her, “Leave them.”

Both smiling, they left together and headed upstairs.

And Vernon and Petunia didn't do a thing about it, or anything.

Times had changed at Privet Drive.

________________________________________________________________________

If someone had told Hermione that she would be having the time of their life studying with Harry, she would have laughed.

But for three hours and going, they had been reading books, and simply telling each other what they found interesting, and whatever comments they wished to make on them.

Harry was laying on the floor on a bunch of blankets, and Hermione, though not by choice, had Harry's bed. Harry's room was small, but with the right atmosphere, it was quite cozy.

“Hermione listen to this!” Harry said.

Hermione popped her head over the edge of the bed to find Harry's emerald eyes looking back at her from the floor. She smiled.

“What is it?”

“This is a side note on a chapter from the book Uses of the Mind, which states that it is possible to `talk' to someone without actually saying something.”

Hermione was instantly drawn in, “Like Leglimency, but verbal?”

“Exactly.”

They both withdrew to their reading positions, both brooding on the new found knowledge.

Hermione herself was immersed a book devoted to defensive spells. It was really interesting, but like most books strictly devoted to spells, it was hard to find the fine line of which spells to memorize. The trick was to memorize and find spells that could deflect a wide variety of spells, so as to avoid having to remember a separate defensive spell for each spell cast at you.

Magic was not a topic in which was uniform enough for most people to get a good idea of generalities such as simple glossaries or encyclopedias. Most of the deciphering was up to the reader, for the author often didn't have enough comprehensive knowledge of magic as a whole to do so. Books of magic were usually just pinholes of knowledge and insight of the mysteries of magic. Only a few people, such as Dumbledore, could grasp, at least a little bit, the enormity of magic.

It was interesting how a whole race was entirely dependent on something they don't even fully understand.

“Actually,” Harry interrupted her thoughts, “even though we are dependent on it, apparently at one point in time in our far past, we did understand magic.”

Hermione immediately shot straight up in her bed, “You read my mind! Leglimency!”

Harry simply smiled and continued, “But, like all things that are expounded and capitalized on, in time the understanding and insight into magic was slowly lost. Now, we are left to seeking answers that we've known before, but simply forgotten.”

Hermione was still in shock.

Harry continued to lecture, “There are rumors, of course, stating that the knowledge is held beneath this tree or in this mirror or whatnot. But the most prevalent of all of the rumors and theories is that—“

Hermione interrupted him, “—Merlin himself wrote on scrolls the basis of magic itself, and it is said that whoever possessed them would wield magic in ways unimaginable today.”

They both smiled, and said in unison, “Hogwarts, A History?”

A comfortable silence ensued as a new bond formed.

“Oh, and I've been practicing Leglimency all summer.” Harry tossed the book that had helped him to Hermione, who caught it deftly.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

“Say Hermione…”

“Yes.”

Harry climbed up and sat on the bed next to Hermione, who was laying down.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Both of them cast their eyes everywhere but each other. Harry spoke first.

“I'm sorry this year was tough for you, it was tough for all of us.”

“I know Harry, I know…times are changing Harry, and we must make do as much as we can.”

Once more silence established its presence.

“It's going to be so hard.”

The simple statement from Harry silenced Hermione, who couldn't seem to shake off the blunt reality of the statement for a moment. But when she did, “We'll make it though, and if we don't, I'm pretty sure there isn't a better cause to fight for.”

“And if there isn't a better cause to fight for, we can always fight for each other, of that I'm sure is the best cause, if anything…Thanks for being here for me. You don't know what it means to me to have you here, and Ron's support as well. I've never really been, well, `liked' in this house, and to have you here—and Ron in two days—is simply amazing to me. Right now, Voldemort is nothing to me.”

And it suddenly seemed to two teenagers that each other was the most beautiful person they had ever met.

The dim but warm light from Harry's bedside light cast a glowing reverence to each other's faces, and they stared each other unabashedly. Their eyes met, and an amazing feeling of understanding and love shot straight from their hearts, through their eyes, to each other. Chocolate met emerald. Harry was wearing an old tattered shirt and a washed out pair of shorts and Hermione was wearing blue pajamas with her bed covers pulled up to her chin—yet somehow, in some inexplicable way, they could not have appeared any more perfect to the other. They hadn't just regained the friendship they had lost the past year, they had gained something more.

They didn't know that that something would take them the very ends of the earth and back.

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4. Chapter 4

Tension

Well, here they were.

The Dursleys were directly across from Harry, and despite being in their own home, were looking extremely uncomfortable. Funny how that happens.

Dudley was once again trying to practice the art of blending in, but that art had long been denied to him. In general, when the only thing larger than yourself in any scenario are larger trees, hiding becomes complex and difficult.

Though, Harry mused, perhaps he was blending in. The folds of skin, by no means obscured by clothing, matched beautifully with the rolls of the plush couch Dudley was splayed on. Dudley's parents, just to the right of him, were slightly elevated, due to Dudley himself.

Vernon was trying to desperately establish some sort of masculine authority, but it seemed that chattering teeth were addictive, for Vernon seemed to have caught them from Dudley; either way, it was all Vernon could manage to do other than aimlessly shift his beady eyes.

In all honesty, when looking at Dudley and Vernon, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of Aunt Marge's dogs—large, spoiled, and having an affinity to cower. Harry could imagine they looked exactly like dogs that had been caught eating out of a garbage bin.

Yet if those two were bulldogs, Harry had no idea what animal Petunia would be. A flea-ridden antsy giraffe? He didn't know, nor did he want to do any other animals the injustice by delving deeper in the matter and reaching the discrediting conclusion.

Regardless, Petunia's skinny form sat huddled, eyes wide and horsy teeth protruding in a very prominent way. Together, she and the fat bulldogs, put together the Dursley family—frightened and witless—waiting to see what Harry would say.

But Harry wasn't going to speak, at least not yet.

Harry was quite enjoying his view point and was exercising its benefits when Hermione's eye caught his.

Hermione was sitting out of the main arena, but had a great spot for observing. Harry was seated in the spot of power, the chair directly across from the Dursley's, but she had a quaint little spot of observation on a kitchen table chair, several feet from Harry, and facing the two antagonists.

Hermione had taken the first couple minutes of this extremely uncomfortable silence, but it was just getting out of hand for her. She caught Harry's eye letting her know her sentiments.

Harry gave her a slight sideways nod and eye contact of understanding. Hermione immediately returned her attention to the Dursleys.

“I'm leaving tonight, and I'm not coming.”

As if he expected the Dursley's silence, Harry continued, “I'm not sure why, but I feel obliged to tell you the situation…the person that killed James and Lily, your sister Petunia, is now after me, and he may go after you. I'm sure you'll receive some protection from us, but you won't be safe.”

Vernon's beady eyes, if possible, got beadier. “So you're telling me…because…because of you…OUR lives are at stake?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“There's nothing else.”

“There has to be something else.”

“That's the reality, there really is nothing else.”

Vernon merely started to steam the sweat that had collected on his face.

Harry suddenly seemed perplexed, “Actually, there is something else.”

“Damn right there is…what is it!!”

Harry stood up. Vernon straightened, “Where you going, boy?!”

Harry ignored him and reached behind him. Hermione noticed that he was deceptively tense, ready for any action, the need be. It saddened her that he was forced to act in this fashion around his own family—his aunt and uncle, one of whom was the sister of his mother, and still they had forced him to act so. Hermione could not help but feel sick.

A stony demeanor had placed itself on Harry's face as he reached behind a chair to grab a box. Hermione was quite sure he had conjured, summoned, or released a spell, for she had not seen it prior.

He sat up from his chair, his hands grasping the contents of the box. When he was right in front of the beleaguered Dursleys, who were now pushing as far away from the box that the couch was in danger of tipping backward, he opened up the box and revealed three watches.

They were ordinary, it was sure, but Hermione saw that they were each customized in general ways to fit each of the three individuals before him. Her interest grew, not just because she had no idea how he had made or acquired these objects, let alone what they were for.

“If any of you are in trouble, press the `light' button three times. It'll bring you to safety. Other than that, they're full functioning watches. Take it or leave it. Realize that these are the only things that can save you from death or worse.”

And with that he handed the box coolly to Vernon, who barely held it up with his trembling fingers, afraid it would burst into flame or something else terribly magic.

Harry simply made eye contact with Hermione and headed upstairs.

________________________________________________________________________

She had suggested that they leave earlier than midnight, for the sake of not being predictable. Although it meant that Harry could not legally do magic, it made sense, and Harry firmly latched onto it.

Hermione had tried apparating the first day she had been here, but had found out that you had to be magically recognized within the anti-apparation wards in order to perform it.

They were left with a narrow time frame with which to escape. Roughly 9:00pm to 11:00pm. It was there they thought it was safe to leave. Another idea they had was to leave the next morning, or even day. If there were watchers, they were going to know Harry, who was impulsive, so would probably assume he would either leave as soon as possible or right on the dot.

Banking their thoughts on this conclusion, they chose to leave roughly around 2:30am, in the morning, subject to change. They would observe in hiding to see if they were being watched, always ready to make a quick escape on broomstick if need be. It would be the wards created by love that would fall, not the other superfluous ones such as apparation.

It was 1:30am right now and they had no idea if there were watchers or when they had gotten there or anything. As a pretense a few hours ago they had arranged it so it looked as though they had already left. The window was flung open, and wind was pouring through the room. There were no lights on and the room was stripped clean. From the outside it looked deserted.

From the inside as well it looked deserted except for two teenagers lying low in the room. Hermione had shrunk their possessions and they all fit snugly within their overcoats.

Hermione was lying down just below the window, tense, hands on Harry's broomstick. They had practiced a quick getaway several times consisting of her handing the broomstick to Harry and both of them jumping on quickly. It hadn't worked too well at first, athletics was not that foreign to Hermione but she was a little out of practice. It had taken a few attempts of jumping too short, jumping over the broom, jumping into the broom, jumping onto Harry, until it had finally worked out. Hermione certainly hoped it was worth it, because at this point all that had progressed was that she now relearned what she had learned first year and had the knew-found knowledge that Harry had gotten much broader in the shoulders. She remembered how skinny they were when they had ridden on Buckbeak, but now, when he circled his arms her to start riding, he completely enveloped her—lending the silent strength and reassurance that Harry was famous for giving.

Lavender and Parvati had talked about it and had sprinkled the words “He's so dreamy” and “brave” in it as well.

But this wasn't what she was supposed to be thinking about. They were teenagers anyhow; these thoughts naturally come to mind when in these situations. Hermione pushed her ruminations far behind her and focused.

Harry was standing, but pressed against the wall. Dim light poured through room from the moon, and a cool wind briskly whirled about the room. Harry was keenly peering into the night, his seeker eyes trying desperately to get a sense of his surroundings.

He looked feral and seemed to move with calculated feline fluidity. His body was crouched, deceptively calm, yet undeniably tense and ready. His face focused, and the wind tousled his hair in a wild fashion, the moon casting its magic upon his face, making it seem…ethereal? Hermione didn't know, but felt her chest clench.

Suddenly Harry's eyes briefly widened and he drew back quickly from his viewpoint. Hermione looked at him with concern; he looked back in warning and nodded toward the outside. Harry went as if to look one more time, and then disregarded the idea and signaled

Fifty plus.

Hermione could not hold back the face of shock register on her face and immediately she despaired. Their first ploy hadn't worked. But then again, when was it ever that easy?

Her brain however, did not freeze, and by the looks of it, neither did Harry's. Both of them knew they were each considering their escape plans, but a look on Harry's face told her what was going on. Hermione figured being his friend for six years had a little to do with the intuition that was now hitting her over the head with ten baseball bats.

She voicelessly asked her question with her eyes,

You want them to see us so they won't go and search the Dursley's.

Harry's steely eyes, hard set with determination told her the inevitable answer.

Mind calculating, she gave her reply in the form of a spell she softly murmured.

“Eadum”

Harry's wand suddenly replicated itself and the copy floated just to the right of the real one. Hermione scrunched her face and the wand began a jerky replication of what would be a hand moving it.

Harry was impressed but whispered back, “But a whole body performing various actions?”

“It's all we've got.” Why she had even suggested this far fetched idea was beyond her. Impossibilities had a way of seeming plausible around Harry, she supposed.

“Thank you.”

Hermione merely smiled slightly in reply and they both began the tedious, meticulous, and extraordinary task of crafting the plan with in their head in order to produce their replicating masterpiece.

________________________________________________________________________

It wasn't until 3:00am that they were prepared—or at least they thought they were prepared as they could be.

Harry stood back a bit from the window, out of sight except from anyone who might be looking straight in at Harry's eye level. Oddly enough, it was Harry who carried the most aptitude for this task, for the menial details the spell required were only known to those who had special insight and intuition on them. In this case, it was Harry who had the most “knowledge” on the topics at hand.

“Eadum”

Suddenly, Harry and Hermione were riding on a broomstick together 50 feet away. The way they had crafted it was the image of them would be uncovered as if an invisibility cloak had accidentally fallen off.

There was an immediate effect on the atmosphere. Roughly fifteen stunners were sent in the direction of their image, but the image spiraled down into the neighbor's yard and behind the fence. Harry was sweating by now with concentration, and paused and rested. He could see dark shapes streak towards the direction of the apparition.

About five seconds later he cast the spell once again and projected himself and Hermione sky hopping over the suburban fences away from the surrounded house.

Rushing sounds could be heard and a general commotion ensued. Small commands were barked. The death eaters were on the move to catch the fleeing apparation. It had worked!

Harry and Hermione had long been in action. While Harry had been crafting their masterpiece, Hermione had been casting disillusion spells on the both of them and they proceeded to rush downstairs to mount and fly off.

Wind flew past their faces as they rode into the moon and toward the Weasley household. It was brisk outside but a perfect summer night. Cool yet comforting, a perfect way to shed the fear and angst of the events prior. It was soon hard to imagine that seconds earlier trained killers were boxing them in.

Hermione began to acquire a sense of just how good at Quidditch Harry really was—she had never seen nor been on anything so smooth and fluent. His body was wrapped around hers and she could feel the coordinated movements of his body—so in tune with the broomstick itself it almost took her breath away.

How she could feel so safe when she was in such danger was a mystery to her.

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