A/N: Hi!
Tome Raider's still the best beta in the world. And my LJ F-List is the reason this is on Portkey.
Standard disclaimers apply
PART ONE - Angels and Demons
Chapter One: Seeking Paradise
The sound of crackling fire echoed in the cave like the clap of thunder, breaking the unbearable silence.
Hermione jumped, barely able to stifle a whimper of surprise, and in spite of the fire felt very little warmth. She didn't know if it was the cold that chilled her or if it was the gaping hollow at the pit of her stomach still roiling within, threatening to raise her gorge and send it spilling to her sleeping bag.
She looked apprehensively towards the cave entrance. The darkness outside was intimidating, and she wished for a brief moment that she could conjure a door with locks.
Many locks.
That would do no good, of course, but it was the same principle as a blanket pulled to one's neck, so that Dracula wouldn't be able to bite one's neck and suck one's blood, as if the Count would let a thin sheet of bed linens get in between him and his dinner after going through all the trouble of breaking and entering the room.
"They're gone, Hermione."
She jerked in surprise again and immediately chastised herself for being so jumpy. She turned at the sound of his voice. Its tone was tired, even exasperated, but there was no fear, and that at least was reassuring.
Harry had, of late, been a constant pillar of…
Something.
He was always so sure and determined, so focused and unfailing, so relentless and fierce, so brave and almost ruthless. She didn't know whether to admire him or slap him. She felt equal parts inspired and frustrated. She was capable and confident, yet there were times she felt there was no pleasing him.
"They're not going to follow us," he continued.
Something in what he said drew from the cold reaches of her body and unearthed a smoldering pit of coals. A flash of anger momentarily filled her. "They never do, yes? But one day they will, and what are we going to do then, Harry? We always come off these confrontations drained and exhausted. We can only cast so many Patronuses at a time, so what are we going to do when we're spent and they come after us? I don't exactly fancy a snog session with a Dementor!"
He was silent for a moment, seemingly unaffected by her anger. He glanced briefly at Ron's pallid, sleeping form by the fire, watching Ron breathe for what seemed like a long time, long enough for her anger to recede and the cold to settle back in. She struggled with her emotions. She wanted to stay angry. She wanted to be stirred and furious. It was better than the freezing void.
"They won't come after us," Harry said quietly. "I won't ever let them. I'll always be here to protect-"
"Oh, well, since the Great Harry Potter will always protect us!" Her tone was shrill and sharp, and she became acutely aware of this fact in an instant.
Her hand clamped down on her mouth with a pert slap, shocked at her own words. A soft gasp escaped her before she slinked away from him, shoulders collapsing upon itself, and she began to cry. She hadn't cried like this since Dumbledore's funeral. She hadn't cried, period. Not when other deaths befell members of the Order. Not when she broke her arm and Harry had to set it. Not when Ron Splinched her foot when he Side-Alonged her against her will (Splinching hurt worse than the broken arm).
And the secrets… so many secrets…
It was during these funerals, bone fusings, damning secrets, and Splinch-repair that she learned the endurance. She'd grown quite tough over the last year searching for Horcruxes and fighting Death Eaters. She'd numbed herself to all sorts of pain, and the fact that Harry and Ron seemed to have done the same only made it seem like the right thing to do. The difference between her and them was that she could never completely keep a cool exterior, because she did feel things, and when she thought it appropriate, she showed it. Only, her boys were always very reluctant to make any kind of reciprocal response. Sometimes, she hated it. Most times she just let it be. She thought she was getting used to it-until two weeks ago.
Over the fortnight, she had begun to feel the dark and dank world pressing down on her from all sides. They were finding the Horcruxes and destroying them, but at what cost? They were on a mission that they had to accomplish, and it was a state of mind they seemed to have taken with frightening resolve, even while she dared to believe that things could still turn out alright.
This evening, before they found this cave, they'd followed a lead and came face to face with half a dozen Dementors. It was in their unfeeling, phantasmal gazes that Hermione saw all the pain, loneliness, and fear she'd suppressed these past few months. By feeding on what vestiges of happiness she thought pulled her through this dismal panorama she called her life, she felt that even she had been numbing too many things for her own good, and it awakened in her everything she hadn't allowed herself to feel.
Now she truly did feel separate from Ron and Harry, and she was lonely for it.
The tears washed what remained of her barriers away. She asked herself what had become of them, and when they'd decided to put their friendship on indefinite suspension.
She missed the laughter and goofing around. She missed Ron and Harry, even if the former was lying just a few feet away and the latter sat right across the fire from her.
They never talked anymore. Everything was just about Horcruxes, the Order, Death Eaters, and Voldemort. It made the secret-keeping both difficult and easy. That was depressing. Everything was so bleak. She and Ron didn't even fight anymore, and she never thought she'd ever miss that.
Strong arms enfolded her, and she relinquished herself, the rawness of her emotions bleeding into Harry's shirt as she clung to it in near desperation.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean it…"
He hushed her and his breath was warm against the skin of her ear. It spread through her, and she recognized that gentle, comforting tone that Harry used to use. She closed her eyes, nestling into his embrace. His hold on her tightened and she relaxed, leaning against him.
She must have drifted off, because when next she opened her eyes, the fire had receded from its roaring flame to flickering embers. She shifted and found that she was still in Harry's arms, that even asleep, he kept his hold on her, though lightly, because he was breathing evenly in his own dreams, his back against the cold cave wall.
Gingerly, she glanced at Ron, still pale, still asleep. That last Dementor attack had drained him worse than any of them, but he would recover in a few hours, and of the three of them, he was warmest in his sleeping bag.
She watched Harry in his troubled dreams, the gray light of the moon seeping through the cave entrance and overwhelming their dying fire. She touched his face and he leaned his cheek against her palm then nuzzled the center of it with his nose. His lips, only slightly chapped and pale from the cold, brushed the heel of her hand and warmth shot down her spine.
Her gaze waited for those lips to part, her hand obeying the rogue voice inside her that sought to run her thumb against the soft skin of his lip. He shifted sleepily, his hand stroking the small of her back like an idle caress before he settled back down again, completely unaware of the dying fire at the center of the cave and the fire igniting within the center of her.
Her face grew hot with embarrassment, chastising herself for the barrage of unplatonic thoughts that were suddenly whirling through her mind.
Scarlet woman!
She groaned, rubbing at her eyes.
I don't even know why I listen to anything Ron says.
It was all very ridiculous, that she could even think of fancying anyone at a time like this, especially if it was Harry.
Such notions seemed silly and useless. There were bigger things to worry about.
And yet, it wasn't really a repulsive thought. She'd given it a bit of thought before-had thought of Harry in the most unplantonic ways…
A soft laugh escaped her. Scarlet woman… it made her laugh a bit louder just before her laughter dwindled into a sigh. She motioned to leave Harry's warmth to substitute it with her sleeping bag.
She shifted, but she felt the grip on her arm tighten. She turned, startled. She was even more astonished when she saw him smiling, even while he blinked drowsily as he stared at her.
"What's so funny?" he asked softly.
She was too mortified of the truth to tell him.
"Nothing," she breathed, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. "Just thinking. Go back to sleep." She shifted again, preparing to stand, but his grip tightened again. "What?"
"Nothing seems to be funny anymore, yeah?"
She eyed him carefully and she realized that he missed those days as much as she did. He needed something to laugh about.
Swallowing her embarrassment, she told him some of the truth. "I was just remembering how Ron called me a Scarlet Woman. I thought it was the funniest thing."
His eyebrow arched, just before he began to grin. "You, me, and your Bulgarian Bonbon."
That made her giggle. She had almost forgotten about that nickname. She didn't know which nickname was funnier, hers or Viktor's. "So that would make me the Swotty Scarlet Woman." She tried to think of another name, but the only thing that went with Know-It-All was Nymphomaniac. That wasn't very funny.
He laughed at this even as his gaze on her began to feel more intense.
She was aware of the idle caress of his finger against the pulse of her wrist, but she could also see that he was thinking.
"He asked me about you," he said, much to her surprise.
'Viktor?"
Harry nodded. "He wanted to know if you and I were together."
Something lodged in her throat. "What did you tell him?"
"That we were just friends."
Her disappointment was vastly astonishing. "Yes, well we were-are." The blood-rush to her face was palpable and she hastened to explain herself. "What I meant to say-it was just a mistake in syntax-"
"I know what you meant." He was frowning, but he hadn't stopped caressing her wrist.
She blushed even more, thinking that she had betrayed herself and the privacy of her thoughts by that little slip-up. There were many things she could keep from Harry these days, but when she let her guard down, she often wondered if Harry didn't know more than he let on.
Sometimes she wished he would suspect-just so he would ask the right questions and she wouldn't have to lie to him anymore, but he never did ask, and perhaps he didn't even suspect. She was always very careful. It was for everyone's good, after all.
Damn you, Snape…
"I haven't been much of a friend this past year, have I?" he said.
The realization that he hadn't figured out her unplatonic feelings was jarring. She felt relief, yet she was also pained by the truth of his words. "I won't point fingers. We had-have things to do."
He didn't seem comforted by this in the least.
"I know it isn't easy," she said, making her tone as soothing as possible.
He gave a mild scoff.
Of course she couldn't know completely. She didn't have the scar on her forehead. She didn't have a prophecy hanging off her back. She didn't have an entire world of wizards depending on her. But she didn't let these facts deter her from what she had to say. "There are a precious few who actually care for you for your own sake, Harry, but we're here, and we're not going anywhere. Sometimes I wonder why I do this and I actually think that I'm doing this for no one but you, you know? I just-I just want you to be alright. Is that selfish?"
He seemed surprised, then his expression softened, and the appreciation she saw in his eyes was almost overwhelming.
She smiled and shifted her hand so that their fingers would be interlaced.
He brought her hand up, pressing it over his heart. "No. I don't think it is. I'm very-I'm very lucky to have someone like you, Hermione. Thank you. That means a lot to me. You-You have no idea…"
"Don't ever think you have no one," she said. She reached out and brushed some of his wild hair from off his forehead, laughing softly as it refused to cooperate.
He didn't laugh with her, but he seemed transfixed, his gaze never wavering from her face.
He leaned over and she prepared for an embrace, glad that she had comforted him somehow. She was astonished when she found his lips pressed upon hers, his arms wrapping around her to pull her close.
She stiffened in shock, wondering what in the world was happening, but the reality of the situation began to settle upon her. She realized how much warmer she felt, and just how soft his lips were. His body, lean and firm, felt powerful in spite of its scrawny appearance, and that thrilled her to the core, making her wonder what other things were hidden beneath his loose clothes.
Her shock waned, giving way to sheer desire. She relaxed, limbs and body molding against him as she closed her eyes and kissed back. Their tongues danced to a soothing cadence against each other, the pressing of their lips gentle but insistent.
Hermione felt all her senses begin to spiral out of control: It was too hot. She wanted to take off her jacket, then her shirt. She wanted to touch his skin, but his clothes were getting in the way. She wanted to get as close to him as possible, but she didn't know how.
Every nerve in her body wanted something, and his kiss was fueling it. His hands were stoking it. His body wanted it.
Nothing could possibly feel more consuming than this.
Finally, they had to stop for breath, and it was that moment, burned into her brain, that they met eyes and realized what they had done.
Her yearning for his touch suddenly imploded with her confusion. Mouth hanging open in shock, she stared at him, and his expression mirrored hers. She knew, without a shred of doubt, that they were both suddenly confused about what had just happened.
Her thoughts were still jumbled when something in his eyes dawned, like certainty, and she knew he was going to lean in for another kiss. She was just deciding that this was something she wanted to happen again when Ron stirred in his cot.
It wasn't so much that she was afraid of what Ron would say if he caught them. There was a bit of that fear, but she felt an inherent obligation to see to him, now that he was waking from his sleep of exhaustion.
She turned to look at Ron; so did Harry. They were both of them concerned for him, even if moments before nothing mattered but the two of them.
Ron mumbled something and then he seemed to call to her, which was quite surprising.
Stifling her astonishment, she went to Ron, telling him she was there, and that everything was going to be alright.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Awkward, Hermione thought as she sat primly eating her packed sandwich with Ron and Harry.
Every time she looked at Harry and he looked back, everything she remembered of their kiss would flare to life all over her body. Her cheeks would grow hot, and she'd glance uneasily at Ron, sure that he would figure out what had happened and-
What? She didn't know what, but it was making her feel extremely uneasy. But the idea that she would tell Ron what happened felt even worse. What would she say? How would she say it? Ron, Harry and I snogged? Please don't be…what? Angry? It sounded ridiculous. Why would he be angry? It made absolutely no sense.
Besides that, she hadn't even gotten the chance to speak to Harry about it. She wasn't so sure if he wanted to. They couldn't seem to find a moment to speak privately, not even at night. She usually waited for Ron to fall asleep, but she'd drift off, or else Harry would drift off first. Each time she went searching for firewood, she hoped Harry would show up behind her, telling her they had to talk, but he never showed, and when she went back to camp, she'd find him speaking to Ron about nonsensical things, like Quidditch, or the weather, or something completely boring to her.
Naturally, her insecurities mounted. Did he realize that he'd just rather ignore what had happened? Did he, under the light of the sun, think that the moonlight had played tricks on him that night and that now he didn't find her… kissable? Did he realize that he'd only kissed her because he missed Ginny?
Then there was Ron's strangely changed attitude towards her. He kept asking her if she was alright, or if she needed an extra blanket when it was time to sleep, or if the fire was lit enough for her, or if she wanted some of his mince pie. It was very confusing to her, and at first all she could do was wonder about it, asking herself when he was going to strike with a big fat argument. Even before their cold spell, he hadn't treated her with any extraordinary tenderness, much less consideration. When Ron had held her during Dumbledore's funeral, it was pretty much because she gave him no choice.
She was wondering if maybe that last Dementor attack had affected him, too, and that because the Dementors had come so close, perhaps he…
Resolved to be nice to me from now on?
Perhaps the three of them weren't the same for it…
She had been mulling his solicitous behavior all week, and finally, giving up on trying to figure it out, she had acted on instinct and told him, scathingly, when he asked after her again, that if he didn't stop asking her if she was alright, she was going to jump off a cliff and really give him something to ask about. He then responded with a snappish, "Fine! I'm sorry for caring! You obviously don't need looking after!" And so she asked him what that was supposed to mean, and it all deteriorated from there.
So they were fighting again, and except for that first time, all the rest of the fights had been started by Ron, but as mad as it made her, she sometimes thought that fighting was better than the uncomfortable silences that preceded it.
Her mother used to say that uncomfortable silences meant than an angel was passing through.
Hermione didn't think these awkward pauses particularly heavenly.
She stifled a sigh and reached over the fire to stir the pot of chocolate, checking its consistency. "I think it's been overcooked."
"You can make Polyjuice potion but you can't make hot chocolate?" Ron asked.
She scowled. She was in no mood for this. The tension she'd been suffering all week with Harry, Ron's odd behavior, and the constant bickering, was really trying her patience. "Not the way mummy makes 'em, ickle-Ronniekins," she replied with a vicious smile.
From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's eyes rolling.
Ron's ears reddened. "Keep my mum out of this."
She frowned. "Then get off my back. You've been at me all week."
"Well, you started it!"
She gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, for goodness sake. What are you-six?"
That seemed to stop him short and he finally looked chastised.
She shot him a glare just before she held her hand out for his cup. He slapped it into her palm without looking her in the eyes and she filled his cup with the chocolate. She handed his cup back to him.
Still fuming at what he said about her cooking, she grabbed the bag of marshmallows from her pack and flung it at him rather forcefully. The pack hit Ron square in the face and he sputtered in surprise.
Harry choked on a laugh and Ron frowned, hitting Harry's shoulder.
"What are you laughing at?" Ron demanded.
It looked as if Harry was actually going to answer but something seemed to have caught his eye behind her, and she turned, curious.
It was an owl, flying erratically through the air. Even from that distance, Hermione already knew it was Pig and she was instantly worried. Nobody sent them owls unless it was bad news, and knowing that this one came straight from the Burrow…
Pig crash-landed several feet from Hermione and she anxiously sought the tiny owl. She found it staggering behind some brush and she scooped him into her arms. He held a letter and a small package. Taking both from the owl, she hastily handed them over to Ron.
They waited as Ron read the message and Hermione watched him pale.
"Bill's house was attacked," Ron said dazedly as he tore off the wrapper from the accompanying package.
Hermione stared at him, horrified.
Fleur and the baby!
Her eyes stung at the mere thought of little Julien hurt from the attack. "Julien--?"
"He's fine. Fleur's hurt, but she'll be okay. Bill's in serious condition," Ron said mechanically, pulling a broken watch from inside the box.
Hermione knew without asking that it was a Portkey. She felt a pang, torn between wanting to go with Ron to see his brother and knowing there was a grave need to keep their mission in operation. "Oh, Ron… I'm so sorr-"
"I'll go by myself," Ron continued, crouching over his rucksack and putting things in it. "You and Harry have to keep going."
Her brow pinched with worry. "Are you sure, Ron? We can go for a bit then-"
"Do it for Bill," Ron said abruptly.
Hermione didn't say anything else after that. They helped Ron pack, and Hermione found herself inanely thinking that she hadn't even thought about knitting Julien anything for the coming winter, like she had thought months before when she first laid eyes on the beautiful little baby.
Harry hadn't said anything at all.
Hermione thought with some disdain that he probably felt guilty about the whole thing.
Blaming himself, likely.
Ron was ready to leave very quickly, and when he was all packed and prepared, he and Harry shook hands, nodding at one another as Harry gave Ron an encouraging pat on the shoulder. It was the first flash of their true friendship that Hermione had seen in months.
Ron turned to her and it looked like he didn't know what to do. He held out his hand and she rolled her eyes, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Take care, Ron," she said. "Bill will get better. I know it."
She felt Ron's embrace tighten, like he didn't want to let go, his face buried against her shoulder. She wasn't sure if he was crying. He could have been, but when he pulled away, he gave her the same odd look he'd been giving her all week, just before he began to pick a fight with her. She half expected he'd start bickering with her again, but he didn't, and he backed away towards the clearing while his gaze never left her face.
She cocked him a questioning frown.
He shook his head and held the broken watch. "I'll see you in a bit."
She raised a hand to wave but he'd activated the Portkey and he was gone.
A little confused, she turned to Harry. Perhaps he had answers. But Harry's gaze was nowhere near where Ron had departed. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and he was looking at his trainers while one foot was digging grooves into the dirt.
They had both gone mad.
She sighed and turned back to their camp. It was on the way back she realized that she and Harry were finally alone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It did not turn out as she expected.
When she got back to camp and nervously began to put things to rights, she had thought Harry would finally begin to speak to her about what happened. She waited patiently for his return, keeping herself busy putting things away and removing all traces of camp from her end.
After a bit, when he still hadn't returned, she pulled out a book and began to read, making notes as she found what appeared to be useful references that she could look up when next they got themselves to a library.
When Harry still hadn't returned after she'd filled two pages of notes, she became worried, and setting her things down, she hastened to begin looking for him. It was at that time he reappeared through the bushes looking none the worse from wear.
He caught her gaze briefly before he hastily looked away, shuffling to his things. "Ready to find Avalon?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "Sounds prophetic, when you say it like that."
"I'm quite over-tired of prophecies, thanks."
She fidgeted uneasily, wishing she hadn't said what she said.
He showed no other sign of wanting to talk.
Taking a deep breath, she went to help him. After a brief debate on whether she should bring up the subject of their kiss, she decided she wasn't going to. Harry had many things on his mind, and she felt he didn't have to deal with his needy best friend who happened to be dying a thousand deaths every time he looked at her and said nothing.
Of course, he didn't bring it up. He brought up the Horcruxes, and her research, and her notes. He even brought up Quidditch, and she wondered blithely if she would survive the day without pulling all her hair off in frustration.
They reached a rocky hill, and while she'd gotten used to hiking all kinds of terrain, the inclines were always difficult for her.
Harry got ahead of her and held out his hand for her to hold.
She took it, telling herself not to be so self-conscious about having physical contact with him. She'd held his hand more times than she could ever remember, so this shouldn't be any different.
But of course it was. In the last week since their kiss, they hadn't touched. She hadn't thought about it then. She hadn't had the opportunity to wonder whether he had avoided her on purpose. She'd been so busy obsessing about other things, and besides that, Ron had supplied every helping hand she needed, which just made it seem even stranger.
Now she had her hand in Harry's, and she had a ridiculous urge not to let him go.
He loosened his hold and she clung to it desperately, the hysterical words, "I'm not going to let you get away this time!" poised at her lips.
"I won't let you fall," he said softly, reaching for her arm instead and pulling her closer to him.
She was flustered by it. Of course, she hadn't been afraid of falling. She just wanted to hold his hand. Now he held her close as they climbed and all his focus was on keeping their balance.
She tried to bring up the subject of the kiss twice, but whenever she began with a very benign, "Um, Harry?" He'd respond with such a distracted, "Yeah?" that she didn't bother to go on.
Besides, each time she thought about it, it seemed silly to bring it up.
Darkness began to fall and the coldness in the air was unmoving.
Hermione looked up at the murky Irish sky. It was going to rain. "We need to find cover and set up the tent."
He followed her gaze and nodded. "You're right. Come on, then. Into the woodland."
He led the way, and weaving through the trees as quickly as they could, they soon found a fairly secure spot. He put up the wards while she began to set up the tent. He finished before she did and he helped her with her task. They had the tent up just before the first drops began to fall and shrieking slightly, Hermione hastened into the magical tent, Harry diving right after her as the rain overhead pelted the tent's canvass material.
It was, by no means, as big as the Weasley tent during the Quidditch World cup, but it was at least high enough for Harry, five feet and eleven inches, to stand in and spacious enough to put two sleeping bags side by side comfortably, three when Ron was there. They set up a cramped changing station towards the back. They couldn't have a regular fire, but Hermione's bluebell flames dancing in a handy clay pot generated considerable heat to fill their compact tent, and while the ground was uneven beneath them, there was at least a sewn sheet of canvas between them and the woodland floor.
She at least felt secure that there would be no flood crawling into their hidey-hole.
Harry pulled out two cans of hearty soup, his eyebrow quirking at her questioningly.
It made him look roguish and her heart thumped a bit faster. She nodded as she let the knowledge of her and Harry being in an enclosed space sink in.
They didn't usually have canned Muggle meals because Ron kicked up an awful fuss about how it tasted like regular food that had something die in it. Harry and Hermione, used to it, didn't think it was that bad. With Ron absent, they couldn't be bothered to cook something up. The cans of soup would do just fine.
They heated their soup with a bit of handy magic and ate it straight from the can. Hermione curled and uncurled her toes as she itched to bring up the subject while they ate.
She didn't. He didn't. The only sound was the pelting of the rain.
She had to stifle a sigh several times through the course of their meal.
After dinner, they got ready for bed and as she stood behind the changing station, she swore several oaths the entire time she was cleaning up, brushing her teeth, and changing into her clothes for the next day's hike.
Then it was Harry's turn in the changing station, and she muttered awful things about him under her breath as she slipped into her sleeping bag and pulled the covers up to her neck. She was exhausted. Sleep should come easy.
Behind closed eyes, she listened to him come out of the changing station and slip into his bag. She was terribly aware that his bag had been placed right beside hers. He could have taken the other end of the tent, and the thought that he chose to sleep beside her excited her briefly, then again, she recalled how she had told them it was best to sleep as close together as possible since body heat would do well to keep them warm. She couldn't believe she was able to say that with a straight face.
And then there was nothing but the sound of rain and a bit of thunder.
Several minutes later, she wasn't feeling as sleepy as she thought she'd be.
This time, she let loose her exasperated sigh as she turned over in bed to find a better position.
She was astonished to meet Harry's gaze. He didn't have his glasses on, which was expected since he always removed them when he went to bed, but still. The nakedness of his eyes was always astonishing. He had such striking eyes. Beautiful, even, but she thought maybe she liked the glasses. It was such a part of him that it was always difficult to picture him without them.
So how long had he been staring at her like that? She hadn't heard him shift since he got in. Had he been watching her all this time?
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked. Or said. She wasn't sure.
"Too many things on my mind," she replied.
He was silent for a bit. "Bill's going to be alright."
She was loath to admit that she hadn't thought of Bill once since Ron left them. "I hope so."
"Do you miss him already?"
She thought that a supremely odd question. "Ron?"
"Yeah."
She frowned. "Well, I don't know, Harry… maybe. Er, do you miss Ron?"
He frowned right back. "Um, I don't know. Am I supposed to miss him? It's only been a day…"
"So you can assume I miss him but I can't assume that you do?"
"It's not-but you're…"
Her frown became fiercer. "I'm what?"
He hesitated, his gaze on her wary. "You two have been fighting again."
Her lips pursed. "Yes. I know that all too well. What's your point?"
Harry fidgeted, his gaze roaming everywhere but at her. "Nothing, just… d'you fancy him?"
Her eyes widened in surprise and outrage. She was feeling splotches of warmth on her face. She was both indignant and embarrassed. "I'm going to sleep. This is nonsense. I didn't even talk to Lavender and Parvati of such things when we roomed together all those years. You are being such an idiot, Harry!"
It was the culmination of her frustration. All day, she had wished he would initiate conversation with her regarding their private moment a week ago, and now he speaks to her of this rubbish. She was generally a patient person, but she couldn't stand nonsense. It was just the kind of thing she got into fights with Ron for.
Irritated, she motioned to turn around in her sleeping bag and show Harry her back.
He sighed, his hand poking out of his sleeping bag to hold her by the shoulder. "Sorry, sorry… it was stupid. I didn't-"
She shot him a glare and tried to shove his hand off.
"Hermione…" he whined soothingly. "Don't be like that. I said I was sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound so casual. I just-seriously… I need to know."
She stared at him, blinking in surprise. "Why?"
Red spread across his cheeks and atop his nose. He looked like he'd rather clean Blast-Ended Skrewt pens than answer her question. "I just do… so do you?"
"What kind of person would I be if I fought with someone I fancied? I'm not six years old, Harry."
Something settled on his expression. It looked like relief, but she was too annoyed to process it.
She clenched her teeth. "This is ridiculous. I need sleep so leave me alone." She turned over, pulling the covers to her neck and shutting her eyes, grumbling unsavory words under her breath.
She felt fingers gently combing through her hair and supremely peeved, she rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder. "What-"
His lips cut her words off.
She sheepishly realized that it took about two seconds for her to forget that she was annoyed with him and start responding to his kiss.
His tongue ran along her lower lip and she opened her mouth to accept it. She had craved for his kiss every day of the week, even as she obsessed about whether or not he wanted it just as much, but remembering was never quite as soft or stimulating as the real thing.
She turned, slipping her arms over his shoulders to pull him closer.
He made a sound, like a happy sigh, and his sleeping bag must have unraveled at the zippers, because he was draped over her, and the weight of his body on hers was pleasant.
His hair was soft and thick between her fingers. His shoulders were firm and felt broader than they looked. All of it was sending wonderful pulses through her, but when he sucked on her tongue, her heartbeat increased in tempo and she moaned in response. She had never made such a sound before, and she felt herself blush, especially when Harry pulled away and looked at her with panicked eyes.
"Sorry!" he cried.
What in heavens name is he apologizing for? she wondered. She didn't bother to respond to it. She just pulled him close so they could keep doing what they were doing. She sucked on his tongue, and he moaned, and that seemed to settle his fears with respect to that.
She noticed that his breathing had gotten rather heavy and that got her both excited and apprehensive. As inexperienced as she was in the matter of sex, she knew what heavy breathing meant.
Her anxiety increased momentarily when Harry's lips began to travel along her jaw then her anxiety diminished when his tongue began to make lazy circles on her neck.
She never realized how heinously good it felt to be kissed that way. His tongue and lips were warm and velvety, and all she could do was close her eyes and savor it with a soft sound of pleasure. She must have slipped off her sleeping blanket, because Harry suddenly had access to the edge of her shirt and jumper.
She felt the rough pads of his fingers caressing her skin just above the waist of her jeans. Heat flared when his fingers brushed over the skin beneath her bellybutton and she bucked slightly, making a soft surprised sound.
His lips were nursing hers again, but his hand had traveled to the back of her thigh, slowly hitching it around his own hips. Sighing into his kiss and lost to the sensations, she didn't realize she was pressing her hips against his until he thrust gently back and she felt how hard he was.
Her anxiety spiked, scattering the pleasure she had gotten lulled into. She pulled away in a bit of a panic. "W-Wait…"
Her protest momentarily died under the renewed intensity of his kiss, but she struggled to keep her focus.
"S-stop," she whispered, even while she stared back into his dazed, droopy gaze.
He blinked. His breathing was still deep, but his gaze was slowly regaining sobriety. "What is it?" His voice was soft, but she noted pure confusion, as if he was asking if he'd done something wrong.
She wanted to tell him that he seemed to be doing everything right, which was exactly the problem. She wasn't ready. She'd never done this before. She-quite frankly, didn't know what to do.
"I'm a virgin, see," she blurted out. She was mortified the instant she said it, and judging by the look on his face, so was he.
His eyes widened, and she felt him begin to struggle to remove himself from her.
Suddenly driven by pride and sheer stubbornness, she refused to be the cause of his embarrassment, and she refused to delve on the fact that she was humiliated by her admittance. She held him to her, lips pursed.
"I wasn't-" he stammered helplessly before pursing his own lips and turning even redder. Whatever his protest was, he wasn't going to pursue it. "I'm sorry."
She frowned. "No apologies. I wasn't asking for one. Just-Just go slow." She blushed. She couldn't help it.
He appeared to gulp. He was blinking, too. She had made him very uncomfortable.
Way to ruin a moment, Granger, she thought with great disdain. She didn't want it ruined. She wanted to keep kissing him, but she didn't know how to tell him that she didn't want it all to happen so fast. It felt good, and it was pleasurable. She wanted it to matter, or at least make it seem like it mattered, so that whatever happened, she could look back and say her first time was special.
Special is good, yes? Special with Harry is even better.
She had a feeling that Harry hadn't gone all the way with Ginny, because really, it was only logical. He hadn't had the time-not that the shower-room telling in the Gryffindor dorms implied that it took a lot of time, but still, Harry didn't seem to possess that "experienced" swagger, nor did he seem to have the savvy, to have gotten to that point in his short relationship with Ginny.
That thought that they were both inexperienced made her less embarrassed about speaking out about their current situation.
She smiled shyly, touching his face lightly with the pads of her fingers. "I've never gotten kissed like that by anybody before," she whispered, almost apologetically.
There was a hint of surprise in his gaze. "Never?"
She sniffed. "Who did you think I made out with? Viktor? McLaggen?"
He looked away, shamefaced.
She gently led his gaze back to her. "I'm not quite sure how it goes from there. I've heard about it. And I've even read about it. But I've never…"
He still looked uncomfortable, and he seemed to be at a loss at what to do next.
Well, she thought pragmatically, I always say that experience is the best teacher.
With inexperienced uncertainty, she slipped her arms back over his shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. She noted his brief surprise before he began to respond.
The tension in his shoulders waned, and when his weight began to feel pleasant again, she gently pulled away.
Whatever discomfort he felt earlier seemed to have dissipated, and as he stared down at her, his lips red and swollen from their kiss, she could see the slightest hint of a smile.
They kissed several times after that, each time more intense than the last, but when she felt his hand cup her breast, and the gentle squeeze he gave it sent desire shooting down her body, she got nervous again.
He might have felt it. He could have, because he pulled away, though he did so gently, and he didn't look the least bit uncomfortable about it.
"It's late," he said, the intensity of his gaze unspeakably exciting.
She felt his fingers brushing lightly to push back some hair from her face. The tenderness of the gesture and how much it affected her shook her. She didn't realize she could develop such strong feelings for someone after sharing so few intimate moments.
"It is," she whispered back, for lack of anything better to say.
He leaned over, burying his nose in the crook of her neck and shoulder. She could feel his breath on her skin, and the warmth of his lips, though he wasn't kissing her. He was just settled there, and she found that she liked this closeness almost as much as snogging. "We should sleep."
His breath tickled, and she squirmed, laughing softly as she shied away. "Yes, we should."
He looked up, and there was a smile on his lips. He shifted back to his sleeping bag, but he gathered her against him in a half-spoon of sorts.
Her bluebell flames couldn't ever make her feel this toasty, she thought, smiling as she snuggled back against him, keeping the cold away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning dawned and Hermione crawled out of Harry's arms, got ready for the day, and checked the weather outside. The rains had long stopped, but everything was still soaked and dripping. The ground was soft and muddy. The soil clung to the bottom of her boots like thick icing as she walked about, assessing the newly bathed terrain.
There was a very thin fog. Nothing to be concerned about, and she could still see a fair distance, even through the trees. She pulled out her map and compass, comparing the compass with the ley lines she marked on the map. After a few more minutes, she decided to head back to the tent.
She Scourgified the mess away from her boots before she stepped over the tent's threshold.
Harry was just then coming out of the changing station and putting his glasses back on. He blinked up at her with mild surprise. For a moment, she was afraid he would go about the day again as if nothing had happened the night before, but then he flashed this smile-it was very small, and somewhat wearied, but it was there, and in some strange fashion, she used it to convince herself that he was thinking it.
She didn't need to push, for the moment. She could delude herself into thinking that he remembered it, and she thought maybe she could use that to get her through the day without obsessing about it.
"I think Avalon's not a long way away," she said, beginning to put her things away. They never sat for breakfast. Breakfast could be consumed as they walked. "We'll find the mists in a few hours and the priestesses will let us through."
"Why does it have to move around, anyway?" Harry finally said. "Why doesn't it stay in one place?"
She chuckled. "Because Avalon is far more mystical than anything we know, and it would seem mundane to have it stay in one place. It must move. And I think the priestesses prefer it that way. Less tourists."
He cocked a smile at this. "And when we find Avalon…"
"You can destroy the last Horcrux." She looked a bit apprehensively at the extra pack they were dragging around with them. Inside it was Slytherin's locket. None of their usual methods to destroy Horcruxes affected Slytherin's locket in any way. It could have been because it was the last. It could have been because it was made to be stronger. But just because a thing seemed indestructible, it didn't mean that it wasn't. Magic could make things impenetrable, but there was always magic to counter it. The abbey of Avalon kept in their vaults a sword that made kings; a weapon that brought peace; a blade that destroyed evil when wielded by a righteous hand. The sword had many names, but it was best known as Excalibur. The last king that wielded it held paradise, known as Camelot, for twenty years before discontent, treachery, and betrayal defeated him.
"Doesn't the sword choose its wielder?" Harry asked, his skepticism still evident.
Hermione shrugged. "Yes, but I'm quite confident you'll be given the honor."
He didn't laugh, but he didn't much look like he believed her, either. Still, she knew he didn't think her idea very bad. He was, after all, there with her, looking as eagerly as she was.
"So where do we go from here?" he asked.
She was quite sure that he meant that in the literal sense, rather than the romantic one. Still, it was nice to daydream. "We head further up the mountains. We can make it just before nightfall if we don't waste time."
"What could we possibly waste time on?"
Hermione reddened at the answers that popped into her mind, and from the look on his face, it looked like he had answered his own question.
He looked frantically about him before he dropped to his knees and, hastily, began to fold his things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They traveled diligently up the rocky mountain paths, talking every once in a while of mundane things, like Professor Binns, who had just recently, they heard, retired. And then they spoke of classmates, those who finished Hogwarts and those who chose to leave school early and join the cause against Voldemort. They spoke of Percy, and then the twins.
The moment they finished with the subject of Molly, Hermione was fretting over the thought of Ginny, and just how much she meant to Harry.
Even with the events of the previous night, Hermione couldn't get it out of her head that things would have been different if Ginny were with them. It was different enough having Ron. Perhaps if Ginny were around, Harry would never have thought to kiss her in the first place.
It was very frustrating, Hermione thought. When she had her books, and her quills, or when she was in class, she felt invincible. Absolutely powerful and in control. In the face of knowledge, she felt supremely untouchable, and nothing anybody could say would ever bring her down. But the very moment she laid eyes on the likes of Ginny and Cho, she forgot that she was Hogwarts' brightest student and could only think that if she was only half as pretty; only half as athletic; perhaps half as interesting…
She found herself glancing at her hands. They were soft enough, and delicate enough, but then she remembered Ginny's hands, how they were strong and sure, yet delicate still in spite of all the Quidditch.
Hermione thought of her arms, and how limp they were, so bereft of proper muscle and tone. They were just a tiny bit plump from inactivity, so unlike the shapely limbs of Harry's ex-girlfriends.
I'm not the least bit his type.
Her obsessing made her slightly depressed.
"You alright?" Harry asked after a while.
It would be most embarrassing to tell him. "Yes. Just thinking."
"About what?"
She couldn't bear to speak her insecurities out loud. "Silly things. I was-erm, remembering Ginny, and how she said she had this potion she applied to her shampoo so that weather like this wouldn't crinkle her hair. I supposed I could use some of that now. This fog is making my hair poofier than ever."
He said nothing, and the moment she turned away from him, she wanted to hang herself, wondering how she ever got up the nerve to say such things.
"Your hair looks fine," he muttered. She barely heard it, and she wasn't even sure if she was imagining things. "It looks nice that way."
Red faced and a bit humiliated by the fact that she had seemed like she was fishing for compliments-worse, that Harry had decided to throw her a line-she hastened her stride. "I wonder how she's doing. Ginny, I mean."
Harry shrugged. "Ron's with her, and they're close, so Ron'll make sure she'll be alright."
"Hmm. You still think about Ginny?"
He didn't quite jump to answer. "Once or twice," he finally said.
Hermione struggled to stamp back her jealousy. Why was she doing this to herself? If she found this conversation so unbearable, why did she have an uncontrollable urge to talk about it? "Did you think about her last night?"
He stopped in his tracks, and Hermione whirled to face him, her facial expression neutral.
She was astonished to find his gaze stony. Almost angry. And then he was walking again, and he wasn't looking at her.
It was only when he passed her that she realized how horrible her question had been.
She motioned to speak, but she was too embarrassed by what she had done, yet she couldn't help thinking that she had needed to get that out of her system, and she knew no other way except to come out and say it.
They walked on, and this time, the silence was so heavy that Hermione was afraid that she would buckle under the pressure.
Minutes turned to hours, and still Harry hadn't spoken beyond asking her which way and how much farther. When half the day was gone, they reached the foot of yet another rise, but the mist was thick and there was a presence in the air around them.
She took out her map and noted the intersecting ley lines on their approximate location. There was a red circle around that part of the map, and she knew that somewhere nearby would be Avalon.
Hermione looked up at the thick fog ahead, at first uncertainly, and then surely. She walked on, taking Harry by the hand.
"Is that-"
She nodded. "Avalon should be around here. Don't let go of my hand, Harry. Legend says that only a woman can lead a man to Avalon. I don't know if it's true, but I'm not going to risk losing you in this fog. We can't be separated."
He didn't respond, but his grip on her hand tightened, and soon, if not for that contact, she wouldn't have known that Harry was there at all.
She walked cautiously, careful that she wouldn't fall off the mountain. She didn't know where she was going at this point, but she had to go on faith, and what felt right. Things were getting very hazy.
They'd been walking for what felt like an hour when Hermione saw it. A glow. Like candlelight.
It pierced through the thick soup of clouds, and Hermione was lured to it.
Holding Harry's hand firmly, she pulled him with her, frantically making for that light.
They approached it, and slowly, as they got closer, the mists began to part.
When Hermione's vision cleared, she found herself transplanted, reality diminishing in the face of a mystical paradise.
TBC