A/N: Many, many thanks again to Tome Raider. You all know I love her, but I can't say it enough times. She just makes everything better.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Four: Sword and Sorcerer
Harry was not there when she woke up to the bright morning rays of the sun and she touched the empty space beside her, wondering if the lingering warmth there was real or in her imagination. She also asked herself whether she should feel any kind of anger, at all.
She remembered what he had done, when he thought she was asleep, and it had affected her so deeply that she couldn't quite feel like he had abandoned her in the morning after.
He did, though-technically. So she had to wonder if she should be angry because it was the principle of the thing.
She sighed and rolled over, her back to the bed's canopy.
I've heard of this phenomenon. How sex complicates things.
Add that to the brooding hero and everything's double the angst.
She pushed herself out of bed to get ready for the day. She showered, examining what her previous night's activities had wrought on her body. Aside from the slight soreness, she didn't see anything different.
When she was done showering, she found herself paying a bit more attention to what she was going to wear and what her hair was going to look like.
That's it. My brain's turned into cotton.
Hermione Granger had never, since the Yule Ball (and that was a great exception, having felt that international relations were at stake), tried to pretty up for anybody. She considered dropping everything; wand, lip-gloss, and her good shirt, just to make an effort not to make an effort, because it was the principle of the thing.
She groaned. It was too early for all these principles. She just wanted to have her morning tea, breakfast, and Harry.
That sounded a bit skewed to her, too, but she'd already decided that Harry wasn't doing much for her brainpowers this morning.
She did dress with relative care, and she did dry her hair. The lip-gloss was administered, but that was it. Grabbing a book from her rucksack, she trudged out of her room and almost ran into Harry on her way down the winding stairs.
Her book spilled from her hands and fell with a splat on the stone steps. Some sticky-notes fell out and Hermione gave a shriek of dismay.
Diving for her notes was the perfect excuse to be distracted and not deal with the tension between her and Harry.
She dropped to her knees, gathering the scattered notes.
Harry began to help her gather the notes that had fluttered farther down the stairs. "Sorry."
"It's fine. Harry, if you'll be so kind, there's one over there-thanks."
She sat on one of the steps and tried to reorganize the mess right there.
Harry hadn't sat, but he was on a lower step, and she tried not to be too conscious of the fact that he was standing there, just watching her.
After several seconds of her flipping through the pages of her book, he finally spoke.
"I was going to fetch you for breakfast. It's ready."
She looked up briefly, avoiding his gaze. She nodded. It was the only response she could think of.
It felt a bit awkward, but the notes kept her occupied, which was a relief.
Thank goodness I'm a swot.
When he sat on the lower step, she lost her concentration as her heart beat faster. She began sticking her notes in the wrong places. She would fix it later. Right now she was too flustered to care.
"I didn't want to wake you this morning," he said.
Oh, Merlin, what does he expect me to say to that? "That's fine, Harry."
It wasn't. It seemed like a wholly inadequate, bordering on horrible, thing to say.
She saw his brows knot and realized she wasn't equipped to deal with this kind of drama. She stuffed what remained of the sticky notes to the back of the book and closed it as she got to her feet. "I'm famished. We should go." She tried to walk past him, but he held her by the arm.
"I didn't want to leave you alone," he said uneasily. "But Priestess Morgana sent for me. She wanted to talk."
Her surprise at this piece of information over-shadowed the other issues. "About what?"
He reddened. "Different things. Personal matters, like family and friends. I really don't know why it was so important that she'd send for me, but I-I didn't mind talking to her. She reminds me a lot of Dumbledore…"
The confusion clouding her emotions receded and she felt a deep sense of compassion for him.
"And she asked about mum, too," Harry continued. "She didn't know mum, and really, I don't know much about her, either, but it was nice to talk to someone about it. I've never talked about my mother. People always seemed to talk to me about her."
She was able to muster a smile and finally, she took his hand, holding it firmly. "Come on, then. You can tell me all about it at breakfast."
He smiled faintly in return, the relief in his eyes at her acceptance palpable.
They headed down the steps to the breakfast hall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry spoke lightly about his conversation with Priestess Morgana, and Hermione listened intently to every word.
There were many times she wanted to touch him with intimate familiarity, to brush back some of that hair that had fallen over his forehead, or to pick the little crumb of bread that had fallen on his track jacket, or even just to give him an idle caress. How he held her and touched her, early morning, when he thought she was asleep, was a stark, cherished memory. She wanted to give back now when she couldn't this morning, but he had always seemed so uneasy about public displays of affection, so she held off. When they were alone, he'd be more at ease.
He was just telling her how he found out that Avalon had a stable of Thestrals when Brigit walked by with a plate heaping with food.
She stopped by them and smirked. "Slept well?"
Hermione felt herself blush. Harry was completely red in the face.
Brigit left.
Hermione watched Brigit saunter off and wondered if it was even in the realm of human to be so irked by a pregnant woman.
"I slept relatively well, thanks," Harry muttered. "No bad dreams…"
She noted how he had used the word "relatively," as in, "When he was asleep, it was good." She didn't let on that she completely understood what he meant, though, and decided that the blush that had crept anew on her face was so intense that it merited an oblique explanation.
"I feel well-rested, myself," she said, straight-faced.
He only gave the slightest hint of catching on to her meaning.
They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, and when they were done, she urged Harry to show her where the Thestrals were. It wouldn't hurt to get a bit of outdoor exercise before she began to read again. She would bring her book with her in the off chance that they found a nice little spot they could sit and lounge.
She was surprised when her suggestion prompted Harry to grab her hand and drag her eagerly-presumably-to the stables.
They crossed the courtyard of women and children who gave him cheery greetings of the morning. He waved right back, as if it was something he did on a regular basis, and Hermione was awed by how Harry had made so many friends in such a short time.
They rounded a corner of the tower, isolated from everyone. Hermione assumed the stables would be around the bend. She walked on, almost passing him, but then he turned and caught her in his arms, kissing her.
It left her breathless, and when he pulled away, he said, "Good morning."
Indeed, he got that right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione couldn't see the Thestrals. For all the things that have made the past year horrible, she hadn't had to watch someone die. Harry saw them plain as day and of course, so could the stable hands who encouraged them not to be afraid of the creatures.
"These ones are very sweet tempered," said Epona, an elder and rather robust woman. "Come on, then. Would you like to touch?"
The woman had, of course, taken the Celtic Goddess name for horses. The other stable hand was named Manannan and Rhiannon. All those names horse-aspects of the Goddess.
Hermione cast Epona an embarrassed look. "I-I couldn't see them. Harry can, though." She couldn't help it. She had wanted the attention driven from her. She shot him an apologetic smile.
He didn't seem to mind. He stepped forward and it appeared to Hermione that he was touching air. His hands moved over what appeared to be something quite solid, and he was smiling one of his small smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes, but was true nonetheless.
"It's a pity these beauties can only be seen under the saddest of circumstances," Epona said. "But I suppose it takes death to open your eyes to many things."
Hermione shuddered.
"Can I ride them?" asked Harry, much to Hermione's disapproval.
Her eyes widened and she was about to protest, but she was cut off by Epona who very eagerly said that wasn't going to be a problem.
Hermione was on the verge of full-nag. She could feel the words poised on her lips. "Harry Potter, it's bad enough that you put yourself in constant danger of splattering your brains riding a broom, and it's even worse riding Hippogriffs and Thestrals-and that's because we had to! But for leisure!"
Her nagging was forestalled when he shot her an expectant look.
She refused to seem predictable. She pursed her lips and stepped back, letting him do as he pleased.
"And where are you going, standing way over there?" Harry asked. He spoke quietly, but she could see the twinkle in his eyes. "Come here."
Anxiety twisted her insides. "What? What for?"
"Don't you want to ride?"
"Not particularly," she squeaked.
He smiled. "But you've ridden one before."
She fidgeted. "That was different. We had no choice, and I had many, many things to worry about…"
"I'm driving. We'll be fine, and you'll like it."
Hermione looked to Epona. For support, maybe, but Epona just crossed her arms over her chest looking much too amused for Hermione's liking.
"I'm fine right here, thanks," was all she could say.
He smirked and grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her closer.
She was torn between turning and running, and just letting him. On the one hand, she didn't want to seem like a complete coward, yet on another hand, she really was quite uneasy at the thought. She'd seen Thestrals in pictures. They were not "beauties" no matter what Epona or Hagrid said. They were skeletal and frightening and of course, they had wings. Wings were never good. Wings meant she would be brought up high into the air-higher than any broom on a pickup game of Quidditch could take her, and she just knew she'd be forced to swallow zero-gravity while Harry whooped and laughed. Worst than that, these things didn't come with air-sickness bags. She had barely been able to keep her gorge from rising with Buckbeak in third year and riding those Thestrals in fifth year, and the truth was, the fact that both times had been necessary to get from point A to point B helped a lot in motivating her to do it with courage, but looking at Harry now, his eyes alight, she was half certain it would be from point A to point loop-de-loop and twist to point B. Thestrals were far more agile than hippogriffs. She'd throw up for sure, and humiliate herself.
What if I throw up on Harry? Oh, how mortifying!
"No," she said in a firm, crisp tone. "I won't do it. I'll get sick, and I'll embarrass myself, and-"
He wasn't intimidated by her tone in the least. "You won't get sick. Just relax and it will be fun. Come on. It will do you good, eh?"
"But-"
"If you want, you can ride side-saddle in front of me."
Her face reddened with indignation and her back stiffened. "I most certainly will not. Do I look like a dainty little princess to you? How can you even suggest-"
He grinned and she realized he had been teasing. She really was an uptight little snot, uninhibited nocturnal activities notwithstanding.
"Come on, then." He pulled her to him, and she so-very-reluctantly let him lead her to a Thestral.
Epona helped him put on the saddle, and when Epona asked, "D'you know how to buckle these things on?" Hermione took the opportunity to be helpful.
"I do," she replied none too enthusiastically. "I took riding lessons in the summer when I was thirteen."
"Well, then you'd be quite the equestrian, won't you?" Epona said.
"Horses don't have wings," Hermione muttered, taking the buckles and directing Harry how to fasten them all, from bridle to stirrup.
Harry flashed a grin every once in a while, and Hermione spent most of her time figuring out if it annoyed her more than it turned her on.
Humph. So smug.
When the saddle seemed secure around their invisible beast, Hermione had to admit that she felt a bit better about riding it. With the saddle hanging on to something, it seemed more real and wasn't likely to dissipate when they were up in the air.
Harry got on first, and holding his hand out to Hermione, she hopped on with ease. She recalled her riding lessons and it helped a bit.
So sucking in her disdain of damsels in distress, she had no choice but to cling to Harry for dear life.
It was all fine when Harry kicked the Thestral into a gallop on the ground. Hermione wasn't afraid of riding horses, but when the Thestral kicked itself into the air, she felt her stomach drop, and she swore she was going to hurl when the ground got farther and farther away from her feet with a rising corkscrew motion.
"This was a mistake!" she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut.
He laughed, and it was the kind of laugh she hadn't heard from him in a long time. It was filled with mirth and joy. It would have been lovely if she didn't feel like throwing up.
"You aren't closing your eyes, are you?" he yelled over his shoulder.
"What do you think?" she growled. Heights had a tendency to put her in ill-temper.
"You're missing everything! The view is fantastic. Come on, Hermione, just one peek."
She wanted to refuse. She wanted to rail and scream. This wasn't romantic or enjoyable. It was cold and dangerous.
But for him, she opened her eyes. The expanse swooped and twisted below her. It would have been pretty. Gorgeous, even. The view was spectacular and the gardens were a splash of lovely colors. She could admit that, but the swooping.
Vertigo hit her hard.
She shut her eyes, but she could hear Harry's laughter. She supposed a little white lie wouldn't hurt. "It's pretty!" she shrieked. It didn't come out as well as she hoped, but the wind was so loud and Harry seemed so happy that he didn't seem to notice just how un-happy she was.
Mercifully, their flight didn't last much longer. Soon enough, Harry was landing the Thestral back on the open field and Hermione felt solid earth beneath the Thestral's hooves.
When they got back to the stables, Hermione didn't wait another minute. She scrambled off its back and promptly discovered how wobbly her legs were when she gracelessly fell to the floor.
"Hermione!"
She decided she didn't really care how it looked. She was on her hands and knees taking great gulps of air to settle her gorge. She felt instantly better, and it was only when her vision stopped spinning did she realize that Harry was there, holding her by the shoulders.
He looked worried, and he looked very apologetic. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione."
No, she was sorry, because she couldn't seem to share in something he loved doing so much. He loved to fly high and soar, turning and swooping and rising…
Ugh… makes me ill just thinking about it.
Whether it was on a broom, a Hippogriff, or a Thestral, he liked the speed. It filled him with unbridled joy. She wished she could enjoy that, too. Unfortunately, she'd sooner barf her breakfast.
Breathe, Granger. Breathe. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand…
"It's fine," she managed to say through her deep breathing exercises. "Not your fault that I'm aeronautically challenged. If you-if you wish to fly… like that a bit more, I have no problem staying here. I'll just read while I wait down here. The ground is good and solid for reading. No vertigo. Convenient."
He sighed, giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have forced you. I thought that once you saw how nice it was, you'd like it."
"There are some of the Goddess' creatures that aren't made for flight, but She loves us all the same," Epona said, crouching beside her and holding out a polished apple and a paring knife. "Alright there, now? Eat this bit by bit. It will make you feel better."
Hermione took the apple appreciatively and cut into it, sitting herself down on the hay-strewn floor. "Th-thank you. Harry, you go on ahead. I'll be fine here."
He sat down with her. "It's alright. I'm done flying for the day."
"Then I'll leave you two to your business," said Epona, getting to her feet. "I have to see to the other Thestrals." She took with her the Thestral they'd ridden, pulling the beast by the reigns. The saddle floated in the air, bobbing to the Thestral's gait.
Hermione was finding the apple comforting in its sweetness. She cut a piece and offered some to Harry. He shook his head.
"I wish I was better at this thing," she muttered, casting him a shamefaced look. "It's something you like to do." She couldn't help but think of Cho and Ginny, how either of them would've loved going up in the air like that with Harry to cling to. Better yet, they'd take their own Thestral and turn circles in the air with him.
Some sort of Seeker thing, no doubt. The lot of them think they're indestructible. Viktor, Harry, Ginny, Cho…
He shook his head, reaching to idly play with a few locks of her hair. "You don't have to be better at `this thing.' If you were, you'd be good at everything, and it wouldn't do for you to be perfect, now, would it?"
She shot him a look, thinking that he ought to be ashamed of himself for flattering her like so.
He smiled guilelessly.
When she was feeling much better, he invited her to walk the grounds. She thought on it a moment, knowing that if she agreed to Harry, she might not get any reading in, but she took one look at him and realized that she'd rather spend time with him than with her books. That had to count for something very special.
She gave her assent. She was going to enjoy the rest of the day with him. She was bound to catch some reading sometime soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The grass around the lake was green and lush. The woodland enclosing most of the lake was thick with wildlife.
Hermione sat staring at the calm waters, leaning back on the heels of her hands. Harry stood a few feet away, tossing flat rocks and trying to make them skip. He'd succeeded a few times but he wasn't consistent.
A book sat on the grass beside Hermione, unopened.
"To tell you the truth, you actually did get me wondering about the Weasleys," Harry said, tossing another rock. It skipped well and far, and that seemed enough for him, because he sat beside her after that. "I really hope Bill's doing okay."
She nodded absentmindedly. "It would be so very sad if Julien grew up without a father."
Harry fell quiet and Hermione realized how thoughtless she had been.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "That was insensitive of me."
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't hurt me as much as everyone thinks. And you always look out for me, anyway, so you get a free pass to say stuff like that." He gave a tiny smile.
She remembered a time when she hadn't looked out for him, and she felt that perhaps she played a small part in Dumbledore's death at the end of their sixth year. She often felt that she had failed Harry that year, so intent she was on forgetting the horrors of war; so terrified she was of how real things were that she wanted to run away from it by trying to be just like all the other girls.
It didn't turn out well, obviously, and every moment, since Dumbledore's death, had felt like she was making up for her folly, and for what she hadn't been for Harry.
She had looked after Harry in the last year, but not the year before that.
"I wasn't always looking out for you," she said morosely, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I screwed up that one time. You asked me to help you catch Draco and I didn't. Told you that you were being paranoid."
He sighed, hunching over on his seat to lean his elbows on his knees. "Yes, well, I was paranoid with Sirius, wasn't I? And look where that got him…"
"That wasn't your fault, Harry."
"Wasn't it?"
She turned to face him. "Harry, do you really want to know why I didn't help you catch Malfoy? I said you were being paranoid, but that was really only a part of it. The truth was, what happened in the Department of Mysteries scared-terrified me. I got hit by that curse, and it was really painful. The danger became very real, not only for me, but for everyone else. It finally sunk in that people around me could die… that you could die. At first I thought I could handle it. I swear I thought I could, but then you told us about the prophecy, and it was like it just hit me that I didn't want to do this anymore, and-and-"
An expression of complete understanding befell his face. "And you just wanted to be a normal, teenage Witch…"
Hermione was glad he understood, but she went on. "I just wanted to act my age. I was seventeen and I figured the only things I ought to be worried about are grades and boys. The grades were easy, but the boys part really… threw me off. You probably noticed how stupid I acted all year. Getting all frustrated when my plans didn't work out." She saw the mild surprise in his face. "Yes, Harry, I had a plan. We've talked about me and plans, remember? The plan was I would get noticed by boys and I'd date while I got to spend time with my best friends, but when you and Ron spent time with other people, both of whom didn't like me-"
"Didn't like you?"
"Lavender and Ginny… well, maybe Ginny wasn't that mean to me, even if she had no qualms telling me how annoyed she was of me… anyway, both of them got snitty with me at a certain point when I was around, and I couldn't compete, Harry. I just couldn't. They're both so pretty and popular, and the two of you fancied them. And when they were mean to me, you and Ron just thought it was funny. Well, it wasn't funny to me, and it just made me more frustrated."
He looked horribly shamefaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't-I should have-"
She waved his apologies off. "What's done is done, and I'm not completely blind to the fact that I could be spectacularly bossy, nosy, and a Know-It-All. To be fair to Ginny and Lavender, I had it coming, if not from them, then from you and Ron. But it stung a bit that I was called on my failings after I began to make an effort to be less neurotic-supposedly more normal, and as was obvious, I was being a complete failure at being normal. I was horrible to both you and Ron, but I was in a stubborn frame of mind, so if you didn't want me, then I didn't want either of you. The problem being, of course, was that I cared and you didn't."
"Hermione! Of course we cared!"
"That's debatable." She cut off whatever protest he was going to make. "And either way, I've already concluded that wasn't your fault. I still wanted my plan for normalcy to work. I'd failed at everything else, so I ignored you when you came to me for help about Malfoy. You realize it served a double purpose. I was punishing you, too. I felt that it was all well and good for you and Ron when you needed my help, so I was going to be difficult and teach you both a lesson. Well, it backfired, didn't it? All of this culminated into the disaster that was the attack on Hogwarts. We all share the blame on that one, but I've come clean to you about my part in it, so there. Don't be thinking I'm `perfect.' I'm a complete and utter witch, and I don't mean that in a good way, either."
"Is that how you felt? That we took you for granted?"
"Perhaps, but I was seventeen and neurotic. Now I'm eighteen and still neurotic, but I think I've loosened up a bit. Just a bit. Anyway, the point is, we can't always be heroes of the world and one another. We want to be, but we can't be, because we're human and we make mistakes. I've realized all that since Dumbledore's funeral, and I try to understand what kind of pressure people's expectations of you have affected you."
He stared at her, seemingly awed by what she said.
She went on. "I know you have responsibilities. And I know you know it, too. I realize that doesn't make things easier, so I constantly draw the line between letting you know I'm aware of your responsibilities and remembering-always-that you are my best friend first. It's a fine line, especially this past year. You and Ron had somehow mastered the art of being of a single-minded focus. You're living up to the reputations of your sex-that men focus on their ultimate goals and set everything else aside. You can compartmentalize thoughts and feelings, bring one or the other out only when necessary. I tried to keep up with you and Ron, and I'd like to think I've made a fair effort of it. I think, or at least I hope, I've been tolerable in the last year. I haven't been throwing fits and squeaking much… though I have to say, I can't keep it up like you and Ron can, Harry. I don't know. I feel things. I used to think I was uber cerebral and I could think rationally, without my emotions clouding my judgment, but I found that while I'm least susceptible to falling on feelings to make my decisions when it comes down to it, there are times that I think we should feel, and during those times, my emotions become so strong, it baffles me how you and Ron can manage to be so cool and unemotional. I mean, really, aren't I supposed to be the rational, unfeeling one?"
His features softened. "Rational, yes. Unfeeling? Never. Ron and I do feel, but we don't-we didn't feel nice things anymore. We covered it up with anger, or frustration, or just plain being mean. You've… you've allowed yourself to feel everything, and I really appreciate you for that. When Ron and I were in the worst of moods, you manage to find the time to-I don't know, do something about it. Not necessarily for us, but for someone else. You help people out, or remember them when it counts, like when you send the Weasleys birthday cards, or when you knit things for Julien…"
She reddened.
He smiled. "You can think of something to laugh at even when it's all dark and dreary, and you don't pretend that you can't feel, whether it's anger or passion…"
Her cheeks felt hopelessly aflame.
"You've been an…" His voice trailed momentarily, as if unsure if he should go on. "When everything's so bad, I know I can look at you and feel better. You tell me what to do and where to go, never leading me astray. You're… you're like a guardian angel. My guardian angel. That's the only way I can explain it."
"Harry… I really, really appreciate that. You don't know how much."
His responding smile was all she needed to forget that he'd been the cause of her misery one time or another in the past. She couldn't help herself when she leaned over and kissed him.
There was none of the awkwardness that they'd seemed to have during their first few kisses. This shared kiss was sure and easy, like it was the most normal thing in the world, but it still felt wonderful. The touch of his lips still made her toes curl and her insides tighten with desire.
They always separated breathless, and perhaps now, having shared what they did the previous night, the thought that they had been so deeply intimate removed all kinds of barriers.
She sucked lightly on his bottom lip and he hissed.
"I love it when you do that," he said in a voice that made her want to do unholy things to him then and there.
She smiled lazily, slipping her arms over his shoulders as she laid back on the grass.
Is that all you love about me?
She pushed back that fleeting, almost forbidden thought, as she pulled him to her for a kiss. There was no hint of resistance on his part.
Their kiss took on a scorching quality and Hermione found herself hitching her leg around his hips. She arched her back to press closer to him and his hand cupped her arse, pressing himself against her as he squeezed her bum with almost painful need.
The mere thought that they would have to run-probably stumble-all the way to his room was too much for her to bear. She didn't think she could make it that far.
He moaned, sucking on the skin of her throat.
She closed her eyes and smiled, "Well, before I abandon all reason…"
"Gods, I'd give anything for my Invisibility Cloak right now," he murmured against her throat.
"I'm tempted to tell you that you have quite the talent for an Accio, but truth be told, I'm not quite ready to shag out in the open, Invisibility notwithstanding. For one, we've grown quite a bit since first year, and the cloak's much too small for the two of us now…"
He raised his gaze to meet hers and he could only smile down at her, his fingers brushing over the buttons of her shirt. "Logic's impeccable, as always…" His fingers began to make circles on the patch of skin between her shirt and trousers.
She let him, watching the amusement playing in his eyes. She giggled when his touch tickled and she grabbed his hand to keep it from tormenting her. He turned her hand over, kissing the underside of her wrist before he pulled it over his shoulder to coax another kiss from her lips.
She sighed, contenting herself with just snogging with him in luxuriant ease.
It was so nice, to be this relaxed in each other's company, as if they'd been doing this for a long time.
In the past, she'd had fleeting thoughts-snatched imaginings-of what it would be like to kiss Harry Potter. At first she chastised herself for it. It was silly, she had said to herself that first time in fourth year, to be thinking of one's best friend that way, especially when he was crushing on Cho. She had put off thinking about him as anything other than her best friend, but then those dratted articles came about, making it all the more palpable that perhaps Rita Skeeter had seen into her brain and-and figured her out.
That wasn't the case, of course, and she quickly convinced herself of that, but Ron began to act like an arse, and she couldn't help but compare, and compare, and compare… Viktor was a welcome distraction, especially during the ball where she made it quite a point to show Ron up-which of course ended up with them rowing and Harry getting stuck in the middle of it all.
All that drama, however, didn't change the fact that he had such striking black hair and green eyes. The glasses only added to his charm instead of taking away from it. He seemed so scrawny at times, but that was only around the beginning of the year. Not even halfway through the first term, he would always gain back what mass he had lost, however little even that was, but he always looked better for it. Then in sixth year, he just blossomed. He was so beautiful to her. Never more fanciable. Her attraction to him was one she couldn't deny anymore, but she was a highly rational being, and she could tell that he didn't see her like that, so she quite cleverly put her feelings for him aside in various ways while she inadvertently took out her frustrations on Ron.
She hadn't really been in love with Harry Potter, or at least she thought she wasn't in love with him. A crush, perhaps. She definitely found pleasure in looking at him. And didn't she smile when he kissed Ginny in the common room? Yes, she was happy for him. And for Ginny. She was happy for everybody. She was just that kind of gal.
Another sigh of contentment escaped her, Harry's tongue sweeping to massage hers.
Oh, but what did I know of happiness then?
She couldn't have known. She knew absolutely nothing, because now was so much more wonderful.
This was true felicity. This was everything she never knew she wanted.
She should have expected it. Everything she did from the very beginning, she did for Harry. She had dreamt of him, alive and whole after Voldemort's defeat. She thought of him first, always, when danger was afoot. She wanted to make him happy with gifts and things, and even girlfriends…
It seemed so natural now, to come to this realization that she was fast falling for her best friend.
It was a strange thing, to realize that one had fallen in love. She understood that it was a completely cerebral impulse that had nothing to do with the heart, except maybe when it was thumping wildly because the person you love is so near, but ultimately, the emotion her mind generated throughout her body felt as real and potent as a pin pricking one's finger, or a cherry's juices bursting in one's mouth. It was all very true, and it felt right, but Hermione had never felt this way before, so she still had to puzzle a lot of it out.
But right now, complex thoughts scattered by his touch, it felt so easy to love him.
He pulled away and began to push himself off the ground. She looked at him questioningly before he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet.
He led her then, across the grass and through the woodland, through the courtyard and back into the tower, through the halls and up to his chambers, where nothing mattered but the two of them and the intensity of their kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This was nothing like their first time.
Where the previous night had been filled with secret uncertainties and cautious surrender, this was unbridled desire.
The frantic removal of clothing, the hot, fevered need to kiss and touch-the sweat breaking from the pores of their backs as they held on to each other in a tangle of limbs.
They went through the same motions of skin upon skin and torrid kisses, but Hermione, perhaps driven by her realizations, of how she felt for him and why, found herself taking the lead and pushing him on the bed.
When she crawled atop him, he had no choice but to relinquish control to her, but it wasn't as if he resisted.
She was driven now, by some intrinsic need to be accepted by him; perhaps for him to love her the same, even if for now, she only knew how to do it by physical means. She'd done all she can to love him with her heart. Her body was now a glorious extension of it.
Straddling him on the bed, she ran her fingers roughly through his hair while she kissed him with possessive fervency before sitting up and taking him into her.
There was a momentary rush of pleasure. Like it could end right then and there and it would be perfect for them both, but then she moved her hips in delicate thrust, and Harry's eyes looked to roll to the back of his head.
"Oh, my God," he moaned, like it was the most amazing thing in the world.
She had never, in her life, felt so drunkenly empowered. Hands braced on his chest, she moved, and amidst her own haze of wonderful sensations, she could see how Harry was absolutely lost to it, and she smiled when his fingers dug tight over her hips.
She couldn't possibly fathom what else could feel better, having him inside her, the center of her pressing just right against his firmness. Incredible sensations pulsing through her at each thrust, it felt so heinously good.
Her name falling from his lips while he thrust back to meet her rhythm made it all the more stimulating, and before she could think on it, before she could be self-conscious about her words, she told him, with no uncertain terms, that she was coming.
It might have surprised him, what with his eyes dilating even more, but he didn't lose his cadence, and gasping, he begged her not to stop.
That was her complete undoing. Head thrown back, she climaxed. Waves of pleasure burst from within her, coursing through every possible nerve in her body. It was mind blowing, coming with him inside her. It was her first time ever to feel an orgasm like it. It was different from her first ones. She couldn't explain what, but she knew that this one was powerful, with her blacking out a few heartbeats and every single nerve of her body pulsing tumultuously with pleasure.
Harry bucked beneath her, their combined moans of surrender ringing throughout the room.
Hermione collapsed upon him as her orgasm waned, her face cradled in the crook of his neck and shoulder. They took several moments just recovering their breaths.
The damp warmth of his skin thrilled her even now, loving that she could do this to him.
A few heartbeats went by and he wrapped his arms around her, his face turning to press a kiss to the top of her head.
She closed her eyes, savoring the tender gesture, before she looked up at him and smiled. "That was wonderful, wasn't it?"
"Absolutely unbelievable," he whispered.
She settled on his side and he turned to face her, gathering her in his embrace as they lay there amidst the late afternoon sun streaming through the French windows.
Wrapped in the reassuring warmth of his body, listening to his gently beating heart, she felt swaddled in his presence, like nothing could ever harm her again. She looked up to meet his gaze, and taking a deep breath, she told him. "I love you."
For a moment, he could only stare back, then he pulled her closer as he sighed. She didn't know what the sigh meant, but he kissed her forehead, holding her tight, like he didn't want to let go.
She didn't want to ask if he felt the same way. It seemed so pushy to do that, but he was holding her so very closely, and the gentle caress of his fingers through her hair and his hand on the small of her back felt oddly like he didn't need to say the words back.
Her eyes drifted close, and soon, she slipped into a satiated sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione woke at midnight because Harry was nudging her awake.
She blinked sleepily, trying to make sense of Harry and the darkness surrounding him. Even through the dim light of the moon, she could see that he was worried.
"What?" she asked drowsily. "What is it, Harry?"
"Can't you hear it?" His gaze left her, moving towards the window. "That voice…"
Sleep left her completely and she began to get alarmed. When Harry heard voices, it was never, ever a good thing. "I can't. What does it sound-Harry, no! Don't follow it!"
He had left her side and was gathering his clothes. She grew frantic.
"It's a woman's voice," he said. "Like she's singing, but… not." He pulled on his trousers.
Sighing, she scrambled to follow him, dressing in a hurry. He was already tying his shoelaces, and all he had to do was put on a jumper and he would be all done.
Hermione barely finished buttoning her jeans and jumper as she frantically shoved her foot into her boots. "Harry, you should tell the priestess first. We can't be wandering off-"
"It's not telling me to go to the priestess." He didn't even bother to argue with her. He just stood, grabbed his coat and began to leave.
"Harry!" she hissed, hopping on one foot as she slipped on her other shoe. She was too afraid to lose him to bother with tying the laces of her boots. She hurried on after him still securing the buttons of her clothing, her haphazard state putting her in a great state of agitation. Trudging purposefully to fall in step with him, she pursed her lips in stern disapproval. "You're doing it again. Jumping into anything and everything, and you don't even know if it's good or bad!"
"It's good," he said, taking her hand and looking at her. "It has to be. Nothing bad could ever exist in this place."
He held such warmth in his eyes as he said this, his gaze never wavering from her face, that she caved completely.
I'm such a damn fool for Harry Potter, she thought, only semi-grudgingly as she let him lead her.
He let her out of the castle and she was surprised that it was only slightly cold.
She followed him through the courtyard and the grounds beyond. They passed the stables and Hermione saw a faint flicker of light from the nearby cottages. She could hear laughter and was drawn to the orange glow seeping through the windows.
"Hermione, come on," he said, urging her gently by the arm. She went on, drawing her eyes from the light to the darkness.
The sky overhead wasn't all that gloomy, but they had to venture through the woodland where the trees and foliage was thick and oppressive. There were sounds, and in spite of the darkness, there were shadows. She tried to push back thoughts and memories of the Forbidden Forest, how nothing good ever came of being there.
This isn't the Forbidden Forest. This is a small patch of charming woodland in Avalon. It is a wonderful place during the day. There are no dark creatures lurking in the-
Hermione jerked at the sound of snapping wood and she almost screamed when something bounded out of the bush.
She clamped a hand to her mouth just in time as her mind's eye registered a fawning deer, leaping gracefully through the trees.
Oh, for goodness sake, Hermione!
Pursing her lips, she waved Harry's look of concern away and plodded on.
She kept casting glances at Harry's face and saw how his expression changed just before he turned in a certain direction. It frightened her, how elements could speak to him and he'd hear them, and with a person like Harry, he was never content to just let it fade away. He had to listen and follow. It has gotten him in loads of trouble, but it also made him the hero that he was.
He suddenly stopped in his tracks and pressed his finger to his lips, signaling her for silence. His finger drifted about his ear while his questioning eyes turned to her.
She listened, and to her surprise-and not without a bit of trepidation, she heard a low, musical hum, like a droning melody that didn't quite have a tune, but had baritone notes thrumming through the smallest nerves of her body.
His wavering finger began to point in a direction.
She looked and saw nothing, but then his hand pushed some bushes aside, and she saw it; an ethereal, ghostly glow.
The unearthly sound hit her full force and prickles raced down her spine. She stood on her spot, transfixed.
Harry began to walk towards it and Hermione had to stifle the urge to cry out-to tell him to stop, but she knew that short of attacking him with a binding hex, she wasn't going to get him to listen to her.
Her stance reflected rigid protest, but she fell into step with him. If he was going to go into this without listening to her, she was going to go right with him on equal footing.
They emerged from the brush, and Hermione saw they were back to the lake they'd been at the previous afternoon, but it looked much more ominous at night. The moon shone upon the glassy surface. The reflection of water rippled all over their surroundings, silver, shapeless discs of light dancing as they bounced off the lake and into everything else.
At the center of it all, Hermione squinted through the glow and made out what appeared to be the svelte forearm of a woman, skin as pale as death. In her hand she held a sword by its blade, hilt point towards the starry sky.
There was nothing splendid about it. It was a small sword, its mercurial blade long and slim. Its hilt was a marriage of leather and steel with a pommel almost as large as Hermione's fist. It could be any man's sword, yet even in the darkness, Hermione could tell that it was the sword that hummed with melody, and she could feel power radiating from some kind of inner, magical fire. The song, unintelligible, could have been its tale, how it could have been held by the greatest Wizard ever known, and how it made Arthur King. It was a compelling sound.
A boat sat beached nearby, a long bamboo pole leaning against its stern.
Harry hastily went to it and Hermione followed. The boat had intricate carvings of mythical creatures on it from stern to bow, but most of its paint was worn bare. The wood was no longer smooth to the touch and the carved fairy at the bow had lost its smile for a gruesome, disfigured grimace. It must have been a wonderful boat in its prime. Now it just looked like the rotting shadow of a dream.
For some reason, Harry seemed displeased by it. She doubted it if was because he thought the boat didn't look pretty enough.
He paused as he hefted the pole in his hand. "This boat won't fit both of us."
She frowned.
"It's alright," Harry whispered, not even bothering to look her way as he began to push the boat into the water. "I can do this alone, Hermione. It's only a few meters away."
She grabbed the edge of the boat before he could completely get it into the water. "The boat can turn over if it's not properly balanced in the water-"
"No," Harry interjected, darting his gaze at her. She froze when she saw that his eyes blazed with open rejection. She took a step back, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn that the sword began to diminish in luster.
Her gaze flickered between him and the sword somewhat uncertainly.
His expression softened, first with regret, then affection. "The lady isn't asking for you… and I'm afraid of what will happen to you if I let you go with me."
Her jaw hardened stubbornly. "But you said nothing bad-"
"I'm willing to risk me. I'm not willing to risk you, not even in Avalon. You know how it goes, Hermione… I can poison anything…" His gaze shifted briefly to the scratched and mutilated features of the Gryphon and Manticore shaped along the boat's stern, as if the lost luster of their features were his fault.
Her heart broke at the earnestness in his eyes. He really believed it, and he was genuinely afraid for her. "Harry… no. That's not true. Not in the least."
"Please… just stay on shore."
She swallowed, the plea in his eyes defeating her utterly. She nodded and stayed still, helpless against his persuasion.
The sword's glow brightened, as if summoning Harry to it, and Harry turned to move forward. He waded ankle deep into the water before he gave the boat a strong push and hopped on. He hauled the pole up and dipped it into the water, using it to push him further.
She watched worriedly as the water took more of the pole's length, the gentle ripples on the water's surface fanning out from the boat with whispered lapping sounds.
The water's deeper… if he falls, he can swim. I know he can.
The last time Harry swam, it was in fourth year, when he had ingested Gilliweed. He was able to swim then, and she could only hope that the body's natural tendency to know how to swim once it had…
Harry was bending for the pole to reach bottom now, and Hermione swore that if he fell over, she was going to jump in and save him, sword and lady be damned.
Finally, he came up to the sword as the boat came to a slow stop. Still using the pole for balance, he gingerly made his way to the bow.
With painstaking care, he reached past the boat and over the water. Just when Hermione thought he could reach no further, he managed to clasp the sword by the hilt and the lady relinquished it to him, arm disappearing back into the lake.
Harry hefted the sword and almost lost his balance on the boat.
Hermione made a strangled sound as she watched Harry teeter over the water, but he stabilized in a few seconds, and setting the sword down, he began to push back to shore.
He reached shore and she helped haul the boat upon the bank when she could. He threw the pole aside and hopped out.
Hermione watched Harry take the sword reverently.
He held the sword up to the light of the moon, and it seemed to glow briefly, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the water.
Hermione could see the details on it now, how intricate the carving on the pommel was; how strong the hilt seemed in Harry's grip. And there were the runes, carved down the blade with ancient words.
"Can you read it?" Harry asked quietly.
Hermione studied it. "Only very crudely. These are very ancient words and there isn't an English translation that would do it justice."
"Let's hear it, anyway."
Stifling a sigh, she ran her fingers down the runes. "Live for justice and courage, and you shall be immortal."
Harry smiled slightly, looking amused. "Arthur's dead."
Hermione thought that quite crude. "He isn't. You speak of him, don't you? And always with admiration. He's immortal."
He chuckled and swung the sword experimentally. It hummed. "It's perfect."
She stepped back a bit. "Can you wield it?"
He smirked. "Only as far as I could swing it." He dug in his pockets and pulled something out.
Hermione gasped as she saw Slytherine's locket. "You brought it. Did you know-"
He nodded. "Yeah. The lady told me to bring the unnamed soul. I figured… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you know?"
That was an odd way to call it, and really, it didn't make much sense that the lady would ask for the Horcrux, but Hermione nodded. She could only accept Harry's explanation.
He set the locket on a flat stone and Hermione stepped back a few feet.
Harry looked at her. "Farther."
Stifling a roll of her eyes, she kept moving away. They'd destroyed Horcruxes before and Harry was in the right for being worried, especially for this Horcrux, which had evaded all means of destruction, but really, just because for some reason, the destruction of the Horcruxes wasn't as harmful to him as it was to everyone else who seemed to try, it didn't make him invincible. She wanted to be as near to him as possible in case she needed to come to his immediate aid.
To humor him, she kept moving farther, his gaze did not waver until she supposed she had gone far enough. When she thought herself far enough and he still insisted on her moving by the look of him, she glared back at him, stubbornly locking her jaw and challenging him to tell her to move back more than she was willing to.
He was the one who gave in, sighing as he let her do as she pleased. She smirked at her tiny victory.
From her vantage point, she watched Harry holding the sword in both hands. The water from the lake reflected on the edges of him like a cloak of light. He looked quite magnificent, and he was lovely to watch as he brought the sword up, swung it in a graceful arc, and slammed its blade down on Voldemort's last piece of soul.
The sword's edge caught on something even before it hit the locket, like it was slicing light. There was a shriek, like life splitting asunder, and when the blade sank through the locket, a scream of pure hatred exploded through the air.
Hermione gasped as she slammed her hands to her ears, cupping them from the piercing sound.
A dull pulse boomed, and Harry was flying back; lifted into the air. The sword fell from his hand, dropping blade-first into the watery soil as Harry crashed with a mighty splash far into the lake.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked hysterically, thrashing wildly into the water.
She could see Harry come up sputtering and gasping, and a groan gurgled from his lips as he struggled to stay afloat. He was grasping his glasses in his hand, and she could see they looked quite fractured even from afar. Frantically, she reached him, and grabbing him by the collar of his jumper, she dragged him to shore with great effort.
When they reached the rocky land, they both crawled on all fours.
"Harry," she gasped, catching her breath. "Are you-"
Harry managed to laugh miserably, dropping flat on his back as he moaned in pain.
Her brows knotted with concern.
"Lord, that hurt," he gasped hoarsely. "I feel like I got punched on the chest by a giant."
He was speaking, and his breathing didn't seem to be bothering him, so she knew instantly that none of his ribs were broken, but he did appear to have some measure of pain. He would bruise, probably, but she decided to make sure.
Automatically, she whipped out her wand and checked him. Her theory of his physical state was confirmed, but he was probably going to feel very sore. She knew a few healing charms that could mute aches and pains, and the moment she administered it, Harry appeared to feel better.
"Merlin, Hermione," he whispered under his breath as he struggled to push himself up. "I don't know what I'd do without you…"
She knew it was his pain talking, but she blushed anyway, helping him to his feet. When he was steady enough, she picked his broken glasses from the ground, repaired it, and gave them back to him.
He thanked her, and when they were relatively recovered, Harry turned back to look at the Horcrux.
The sword lay stood near the flat stone, reticent and unharmed, but at the foot of the stone sat one half of Slytherine's locket, smoke rising from its severed edge.
"It's done," Hermione said, surprised by the simplicity of the fact. "Voldemort's last Horcrux."
Harry nodded, saying nothing.
New fear blossomed from Hermione's chest. The Horcruxes were all destroyed, and that only meant Harry had to face Voldemort one last time.
She held back her tears, fighting back the urge to give in to the panic. She wanted to tell him to run away; save himself. Now that the Horcruxes were gone, anybody could kill Voldemort. Let someone else get rid of him, but she held herself, summoning what courage she had. It was Harry's destiny. If she told him to deny it, there would be lives to pay.
"Are you going to give the sword back now?" she asked.
He stared at the sword a moment, then he looked to the lake, as if to listen. "The lady isn't asking for it. I guess it's mine, for now."
She paused, turning the logic over in her head. Sometimes, it amazed Hermione that Harry could come to such quick conclusions, totally unbothered by the possibility of consequence, and yet, half the time, she trusted him-completely.
She nodded and plucked the sword from the soil. It was heavy, but it thrummed soothingly in her grip, warmth amidst the cold just now seeping into her bones.
Harry took the sword from her, and he seemed to lift it with ease. He wasn't a sword wielder, yet he had told her about the time he had used Gryffindor's sword to fight the Basilisk, which he had vanquished; how the sword had seemed to fit perfectly in his palm. This sword, half his height, seemed to rest comfortably in his hand.
She wasn't one for macho imagery, but Excalibur fit him perfectly. She felt a potent pang of desire and she sighed at her wantonness.
"Come on," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go back to the tower."
"But the Horcrux…"
"It's nothing but a locket, now."
She stared at him, searching his eyes for answers. And then she looked at his scar. "You can feel it, can't you? The soul fragment's gone."
His gaze lowered and she was instantly sorry for being so blatant with her actions. He nodded listlessly.
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder penitently for brief moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't have to ask that."
He managed an appreciative smile. "It's alright." He squeezed her shoulders and led them back from where they came.
TBC
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