A/N: Thanks to Tome Raider for pointing out the details that matter! All writers should be so blessed to have a beta like her.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Five: Love in Dreams
As morning grew brighter, someone came knocking on Harry's chamber door.
It was Hermione who awoke to the soft tapping. She shifted gingerly, hoping not to wake Harry up as she scrambled hurriedly to get out of bed to put on one of the ugly nightgowns that were in Harry's closets.
When they got back from their adventure in the lake, they were of singular mind to find warmth in each other once more. It was perfectly fine by Hermione, since seeing Harry with a sword had stirred something quite primal in her. She didn't even know she could feel like that.
Harry had an almost embarrassingly powerful effect on her.
Dressed in her ugly nightgown, she opened the door just when the knocking began again, and louder this time.
Hermione cracked open the door and she found Brigit looking fresh and perfectly put together.
Brigit didn't look the least bit surprised to see her. "Good morning, Hermione. Is Harry there?"
Hermione felt the slightest bit flustered, her brain still addled from sleep. "He's asleep."
"Ah, well, he needs to be awakened, then. The Priestess Morgana is asking for him, and if he… has anything to show her, he must bring it with him."
This woke Hermione fully. "How did you-"
Brigit arched an eyebrow, and Hermione instantly felt silly for asking. Of course the priestesses would know. They were magical and mystical, weren't they? They knew things.
"The stable maids saw you two last night and informed the Head Priestess about it. She's only assuming you… picked something up on your way back. Really now, we don't always do things the magical way," Brigit told her matter-of-factly.
"Right," Hermione said with an accompanying sigh.
"Wake him, tell him what I told you, then come back out again. You and I must talk."
Now Hermione was really confused, but Brigit had affixed her with a stare of martyr-like patience, and Hermione began to feel the full force of it. She apologized hastily and said she would do as instructed. She hurriedly closed the door and proceeded to wake Harry.
She gently roused him from sleep, and when she told him what Brigit told her, he didn't seem all that surprised about it. Drowsily, he pulled himself out of bed and began to get his things ready. Their clothes from their early morning adventure weren't dry yet, so Hermione explained that she had to go to her chamber to dress.
Harry nodded. "I'll come by your chamber to get you in a bit, then."
She shook her head. "You'll have to go to the Priestess alone. I have a meeting with Brigit."
"Brigit?"
"That lady that came-"
"Yes, yes, I remember her. You have a meeting with her? What for?"
"I don't know. She just said she and I needed to talk, and frankly, I wasn't given a choice. You'll be fine by yourself, won't you?"
For a moment, Hermione thought Harry would say no. He didn't appear to want to go all by himself, but he nodded, and she had to take it at that.
She offered him an encouraging smile and hastily gave him a goodbye kiss, which he seemed to appreciate. "I'll see you in a bit."
Hurriedly, she left his chamber and invited Brigit to wait in hers. Brigit accepted and settled comfortably on the neatly made bed while Hermione showered and dressed.
When Hermione was done, Brigit brought her to a tearoom with a solar overhead. The stained-glass windows were very pretty, and the fanciful décor was fairyland-like, with Satyrs and sprites carved into the stone columns and the enchanted paintings filled with familiar faces from fairytales told.
Brigit pulled a wand from her sleeve and Hermione found herself surprised by it.
It must have shown on her face because Brigit once again lifted a superior eyebrow and said, "What, did you think we were Muggles?"
"I-that is to say-" stammered Hermione. "It's just that I hadn't seen any of you with a wand and it completely slipped my… you know what? You're absolutely right. It was silly of me to be surprised."
"Well," said Brigit somewhat haughtily. "We rather like doing things with our hands around here. Makes us feel closer to the Great Mother's gifts. Wand and magic is a blessing, of course, but sometimes the earth on our palms or the labor of knitting, for example, makes one feel more connected to the Creator of All."
"I understand." And Hermione did.
Brigit seemed to believe she did, too, because the priestess nodded approvingly and waved her wand to ready the tea.
It only later occurred to Hermione, as she sat across from Brigit who was pouring the tea, that the room had a crib on one end of it.
Why, this is the baby room!
And Hermione found that quite amusing as she lifted the cup and began to drink the tea.
She almost choked on it because it was awful. The bitterness was one thing, but there was a very unpleasant, rust-like taste to it. like it had been sitting in an iron pot for decades. It settled flatly on her tongue, so the taste wasn't going anywhere.
"It's bad, I know," said Brigit, smirking. "But you must drink all of it."
"I must?" Hermione gasped, gagging at the mere idea that she had to ingest such a foul substance so early in the morning.
Brigit nodded, pouring more of the tea into her cup.
Hermione noticed that Brigit was taking none of it, and no wonder. It tasted bad enough to harm the baby. "I won't drink anymore. It's horrible. Have you brought me here just to drink this tea?"
"Yes, and from what tales Harry's told of your brilliance-"
She blushed with pleasure. "He said that? That I was brilliant?"
Brigit completely ignored her question and went on, "you've drank worse, or at least something equally as foul. Polyjuice isn't exactly cherry flavored, you know."
"But that was a potion! An important one at that!"
"Well, how sure are you this isn't like a potion?"
Hermione glared. "For what, then? What sort of potion am I drinking?"
"For strength. You'll need your strength for the coming days. All you need to do is finish this pot, and you'll never have to drink it again-" she paused. "Well, maybe not until… you know what, just drink the tea."
"Maybe not until what?"
Brigit briskly had Hermione lifting the cup back to her lips. "Not until you know you'll need it again."
"Why will I need my strength? What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing you shouldn't have already figured out. I'm guessing Harry destroyed the last Horcrux this morning, didn't he? He'll have to face You Know Who soon enough."
Hermione's lips pursed for a moment. "Voldemort will be dealt with when Harry's good and ready."
Brigit chuckled. "Everybody has a plan until the first hex. Now drink your tea."
Hermione couldn't, for the life of her, understand what kind of power Brigit had on her. "I'm only doing this because I trust Harry when he says nothing bad could happen in Avalon," she muttered, poising the cup to her lips.
"Goodness, alright then. Whatever makes you happy! You're a stubborn little shrew, aren't you?"
Hermione was so shocked by Brigit's language that she hardly noticed Brigit tipping the cup until the awful liquid sloshed into Hermione's mouth.
She had to take deep breaths to keep from retching it all back up.
Brigit wasn't kidding when she let Hermione drink all of it, and it was with great relief when the last drop fell from the pot's spout. Hermione downed it with sheer determination, and when it was all done, Brigit "rewarded" her with the most delicious pastries.
"I s'pose I ought to be glad they're not doggie biscuits," Hermione muttered.
"Don't get snarky. It's for your own good. Now, what shall we do with you? Ah, gossip?"
Hermione glared at her.
"No? Well, that's too bad. I've been dying to ask you about Harry."
Hermione gave Brigit a poisonous smile, setting a pastry down delicately. "Thank you for tea, Brigit." She stood and began to walk to the door.
"You're welcome. You wouldn't want to be Harry's weakness, after all, now would you?"
Hermione stopped in her tracks and whirled to face the priestess, eyeing her with all-out suspicion. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. You and Harry would probably be heading on your way later. It's best you travel with a full belly."
Annoyed by Brigit's superior tone, Hermione merely nodded and left, grumbling under her breath about priestesses who called her names and said crazy things.
Harry was already in the breakfast hall when she arrived. He didn't have his sword with him.
She sat beside him, in no way eager to discuss what Brigit had told her but wholly curious about what Priestess Morgana had told him.
She refrained from asking though, feeling that he didn't want to be pressed about it.
In the middle of her bacon and eggs, he pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to her.
It was a crystal pendant that looked exactly like the ones Brigit and some of the other priestesses wore around their necks.
"Priestess Morgana told me to give this to you. She didn't exactly say why, except that it's only right you have one."
Hermione's brows knotted. The priestesses were all acting awfully weird. She took the pendant. "Well, I suppose I'd have to thank her, then."
"Later, before we leave."
It irked Hermione that Brigit had known they were leaving before she'd given thought to it herself. Not that she was adverse to the idea of going on their way, because really, they'd done what they came to do, but it was so annoying to have everyone around her know more than she did.
She absentmindedly put the pendant on.
Harry took his coffee. "Priestess Morgana also warned me that while the sword always, always has the best intentions for its wielder, it's usually given because the wielder's going to need it. Badly."
Anxiety sliced through her. Was Harry telling her that the sword was the harbinger of danger?
He gave a tiny smile. "S'alright. I'm used to it."
Hermione thought that quite depressing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saying goodbye to Avalon was a very unceremonious affair. The only ones to see them off were Priestesses Morgana and Brigit.
They were brought to the very spot from where they came and the Priestesses gave them their blessings before bidding them farewell.
Hermione, in spite of her minor irritations of Brigit, gave her as warm a thanks as she gave Priestess Morgana. Brigit showed no indication of Hermione's earlier treatment of her. The younger priestess had, in fact, given her a wink and smile as she sent them away.
Hand in hand, Hermione and Harry walked through the mist. She moved about blindly, but she wasn't worried. They'd get where they had to go, safely.
The mist cleared in due time, and soon they found themselves along a quietly running river.
Hermione looked around her, feeling slightly disoriented. The sun was bright over the meadows, and while their surroundings were nothing as perfect as Avalon, she had a strange feeling that she'd seen this place before.
"Hang on," Hermione said, trying to put a name to her surroundings. "Harry, are we-"
He laughed, and it seemed they were of the same mind. "We're in Ottery St. Catchpole! Look there! It's the Burrow!"
Hermione followed the direction of his finger, and in the distance, small but distinct, was the impossibly structured home of the Weasleys.
"That was nice of the priestesses, wasn't it?" Harry said, already heading briskly in the direction of the house. "Dropping us off like this?"
Hermione was most grateful, but she couldn't help but think that it would've been so much easier for all of them if Avalon had just appeared in Ottery St. Catchpole when they first decided to go to it.
Oh, well…
She hitched her bag higher up her shoulder and followed after Harry. They jogged and walked briskly by turns, and soon enough, they were pushing open the fence that would lead them to the front yard.
When Ron opened the front door for them, he merely stared in open surprise. He seemed to be at a loss for words.
"We're back!" Hermione said somewhat lamely.
"Harry!" someone shrieked from behind Ron.
Ron was then battered aside to make way for Ginny who had thrown herself at Harry, arms around him in a fierce hug.
Hermione's easy mood deteriorated in a second, and swallowing whatever jealous words she might have spat out in her moment of anger, she turned and nonchalantly walked into the house.
Harry hadn't quite said that he was over Ginny, and really, even after a year of being officially broken up with her, Hermione-nor Ron, for that matter, hadn't really asked Harry about his feelings for the youngest Weasley. Harry never seemed very eager to talk about it, but it didn't mean he didn't want to.
In fairness to him, Hermione could admit that he had-in the last few days, dispelled many of her insecurities regarding his ex-girlfriend, but still, it didn't mean she could watch Ginny be all over him.
Ron sniffed rather disdainfully but seemed to gather his bearings. "Have you two had anything to eat, yet?" he asked in typical Ron fashion.
Hermione nodded, plopping her backpack in the corner of the kitchen and seating herself at the table. She looked at the Whereabouts clock and saw that most of the Weasleys were at the hospital.
"I'm surprised to see you two home," Hermione said. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ginny chatting up a storm as Harry tried to make his way past the threshold. "Is Bill feeling better?"
Ron shrugged, taking a glass and setting it in front of her. "Not any worse." He summoned some pumpkin juice from their stock and poured Hermione some of it into her glass. The juice was cool to the touch. "Ginny and I were at the hospital all night. Mum made us go home this morning. Said we should catch up on some sleep. How'd you get here so quick? Where in that wilderness did you find a Portkey?"
"We'll tell you all about it in a bit," Hermione said, drinking from her glass to avoid Harry's gaze on her as he entered the kitchen.
Harry and Ron shook hands then patted each other's shoulders the way best friends did.
"Bill doing better?" Harry asked, settling beside Hermione.
"Not really."
Harry gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry to hear that, mate."
"Yeah, well, at least the healers think there's a chance he'll pull through. If I have to keep thinking about it… well, I'm glad to see you two. I was getting sick of putting up with Gin." He didn't sound like he was kidding in the least.
Ginny stuck her tongue out at Ron just as she slid into the kitchen bench next to Harry.
Harry moved slightly away from her, bumping his hip against Hermione's.
Hermione moved further away on the pretense of giving them more space.
Harry, probably knowing exactly what she was thinking, cast her a scowl.
"Ginny, for Merlin's sake, give Harry some space!" Ron cried irritably.
For once, Hermione felt like agreeing with him.
"Don't be a grouch, Ron! I've missed Harry," said Ginny, her snappy tone turning affectionate as she switched her attention from Ron to Harry. "I never get to see Harry anymore."
Hermione refrained from blurting out that she'd been gone for just as long. Did Ginny miss her?
That would, of course, send Ginny's hackles rising, and Hermione wasn't quite sure she was in the mood to butt heads with the fiery little redheaded ex-girlfriend.
"The three of us have to talk," said Ron. "In private."
Ginny's chin hardened stubbornly. "Don't you send me away-"
"Ginny, please," Harry said quietly. "Just for a bit."
To say that Hermione found Ginny's behavior, however justifiable, very infuriating was an understatement, but she held her dignity with admirable grace, and she observed it all without expression.
Ginny looked about ready to explode, but with Harry asking her so nicely, she wasn't about to throw a tantrum. Huffily, she got up from the table. "Only because Harry asked!"
She left, stomping around and slamming doors as she went.
"Whatever," Ron muttered.
Hermione wasn't going to comment.
"So," Ron began unsmilingly. "Tell me what happened."
He sounded exhausted, and Hermione did feel quite bad for him.
She launched into a severely edited version of the last few days' events. She could have sworn she felt Harry's leg twitch uncomfortably under the table a couple of times.
Ron listened without interrupting, asking no more details than what she provided him. He did, however, seem to hunker down lower the further into the story she went.
When she got to the part about the sword, Ron seemed to perk up a bit, though she could see that his dour mood hadn't gotten better for it.
"So you did find it," Ron said. "Do you still have it?"
"Yeah," Harry said, hauling up the wrapped parcel attached to his rucksack. He pulled the cover off the sword and showed it to Ron.
Ron held it up by its hilt, examining it. "D'you use it?"
"Yeah," Harry said more quietly. "On Slytherin's locket. It-It worked. The locket's destroyed."
"Well, Hermione said the sword would do the trick. So the last Horcrux is destroyed… what now, Harry?"
Hermione frowned. "Really, Ron, do you have to ask that?"
Ron scowled right back. "Well, it's got to be talked about some time! We've put this discussion off for a year, haven't we? Don't want to be upsetting Harry, now do we?"
Hermione's eyes blazed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Oy," Harry interjected. "That's enough, you two. Ron, we'll talk about that as soon as we can get word to McGonagall and Remus safely. Hermione…" He shot her a pleading look.
While she wasn't entirely in the mood to be indulging him, she was sensible enough to back off. Ron was understandably touchy, what with his brother being in critical condition. She should have cut him some slack. "Fine. I'm sorry, Ron. I really am."
"Whatever," he grumbled again, setting the sword down. He rose to his feet. "I'm going to go eat some pie."
He left them to go to the pantry.
Harry sighed and looked at Hermione.
She wasn't sure she should be dealing with anybody right now. Ginny had agitated her, and Ron had upset her by bringing up something she was probably more reluctant to talk about than she was willing to admit. Even Harry couldn't cheer her up right now.
"I'm going to read," she said, getting to her feet as well. "I'll be in the living room."
He said nothing as she left.
She made herself comfortable in the reading chair by the window and propped a book up on her lap. After a bit, Harry plopped on the couch nearby and fell fast asleep.
Hermione curled up in a sofa chair and kept reading, drifting off into sleep shortly after.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They were awoken by the sound of Weasleys, a redheaded army thundering into the house and ready to eat their dinners.
They had brought Fleur and Julien with them, and while Molly and the other Weasleys fussed over Harry's sudden reappearance, Hermione spoke with Fleur while cooing over Julien.
Molly dragged Harry to the kitchen, the rest of the Weasleys following, and Hermione was a bit glad she could give Julien attention in peace.
"He's grown so much since I last saw him," Hermione said, wiping the drool from off the corner of Julien's mouth.
Fleur smiled and nodded. "He has. I had to lengthen his robes just last week. `E is growing so fast! His `air ees grown thick, no? Very red. Just like his papa."
Hermione smiled in agreement, but then Fleur's eyes began to water, chin trembling. In the next second, Fleur was weeping, and Hermione could do nothing but rub Fleur's shoulder comfortingly, offering her soothing words of how it was going to be alright.
Julien, oblivious to it all, laughed and gurgled, which was just as well.
Hermione let Fleur cry, and soon enough, Fleur's tears waned and she looked up, giving Hermione a grateful smile.
"I am sorry," Fleur said. "Eet is difficult, with Bill in ze hospital. I am in fear that Julien will grow up wizout a papa."
"Oh, don't say that," Hermione said gently. "Bill's a Weasley. They're a stubborn lot. He'll pull through."
Fleur sniffed and nodded. "Merci. You are very kind."
They were called to dinner, and Hermione was surprised when Fleur gave her hand a warm squeeze. The Frenchwoman had never been very nice to Hermione, but Hermione thought Julien adorable, so somehow, the baby bridged some of the gap between them in the last year. This was the first time, however, that Fleur had shown her any sort of affection outside of her fondness for the baby.
It could have been because Bill's state was making Fleur a bit unbalanced, but Hermione could never believe that Fleur was as snobby as she initially seemed if she was capable of loving a man with a horribly disfigured face, so it wasn't impossible to assume that Fleur actually liked her as a friend.
Hermione smiled faintly at Fleur as they made their way to the dining room.
Weasley dinners were always lively, especially now when all of them were there. Sometimes, talk would become somber because of Bill, but the atmosphere was charged with positivity, so they toasted to Bill's recovery, and Hermione noticed that Fleur's smile was not forced in the least.
Harry seemed far more subdued now that they were out of the calming shelter of Avalon, but it was more his normal state these days.
Even when he was smiling, he was brooding. Ginny kept fussing over him at dinner, and Hermione could only look away. She scolded herself for being petty, of course. It was completely in Harry's nature to be kind and thoughtful. He would never flip Ginny off just because-
Because what? Because he's not available?
The implications of the thought made Hermione's stomach knot. She pushed those thoughts aside and just let herself enjoy dinner, resolving to write to her parents later that evening.
Several times, Ron would knock things over when he scrambled to get anything she asked for. The oddest thing was, half the time, she wasn't even asking him to pass the salt, or the potatoes, or the sausages. She usually asked Fred, who was beside her, but no matter how softly she asked Fred to pass something, Ron was always there to the rescue. It got so bad that he knocked Fred's glass of water over and had its contents spill on both her and Fred.
She and Fred instantly got to their feet, chairs scraping back noisily as they hastily avoided getting more of the water spilled on them. Molly was already shooting Ron a very dismal frown and Arthur was already appeasing her with the press of his hand. George and Ginny were snickering, Charlie and Fleur were sighing, and Harry was staring at Ron with unveiled confusion.
"What in the world is wrong with you, Ron?" Hermione cried, unable to help herself.
"Sorry!" Ron cried.
Fred shot him an annoyed glance as he flicked a drying spell in Hermione's direction, then himself. "You didn't accidentally eat those Klutz Cookies George and I got up, did you? They haven't been tested, I'll have you know."
"I said I was sorry," Ron muttered as they all sat back down.
Julien gave a shriek and that took the attention away from Ron.
There were no untoward incidents after that.
After dinner, Molly ordered Ron to clean the dishes. Ron looked positively miserable for it. With the twins and Charlie there, there were heaping piles of plates.
Hermione felt sorry for him and volunteered to help.
She could have sworn Harry's eyes flashed for a bit, but she could have very well imagined it.
The Weasleys helped pile everything up by the sink then the kitchen cleared as they all headed to the living room.
Harry was the last to go. "Are you sure you don't need an extra-"
"Oh, let them, Harry," Ginny said, pulling on his arm.
Pursing her lips, Hermione turned to the sink. "We'll be fine, Harry. Go on ahead and relax. We've got it covered."
Ron sighed as Ginny's entreaties faded into the hallway.
It took sheer determination on Hermione's part not to bang the plates around as she flipped them magically through the wash.
Ron stood beside her, in charge of drying them.
For a long while, they worked in complete silence, but several times through the entire process, Hermione spied Ron looking like he was about to say something.
It was impossible to ignore forever. "Alright, Ron, what is it?"
He blinked in astonishment. "W-What?"
"You've been trying to tell me something in the last ten minutes. What is it?"
He looked positively panicked, for whatever reason, and Hermione began to feel irritated. She was about to scold him about how ridiculous he was being when to her utter and complete shock, he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pressed his lips to hers.
It took her a moment to register that Ron was actually kissing her, but the fact became monumentally and horribly real to her in the next second. She pushed him back with a gasp, a plate crashing to the ground between them.
They stood there, blinking at one another, as if Ron couldn't believe it himself.
A twisted sense of déjà vu assaulted Hermione, except this time, she was anything but enamored of the kiss. Ron's lips had been stiff and unsure, and it felt more like he had decided to "go for it" at the very last second, like he wasn't ready for a quiz but he decided to take it anyway.
Hermione's thoughts spun as she stared at him. She wanted to slap him. Or maybe punch him. Just to wipe that ridiculous look off his face.
They heard footsteps, and Harry was there in the doorway.
He looked quite annoyed. "Mrs. Weasley sent me to check on you two. Are you fighting again?"
They both stared at him. For Hermione's part, she was at a complete loss for words. Ron just looked like he was still recovering from the shock of what he'd done.
Harry, unfailingly observant, began to look concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing! I'm done cleaning," Hermione squeaked. "I'm going to bed. Very tired."
She longed to have her own, private room to run to. Right now, she was sharing with Ginny, and she didn't much fancy staying up with the young girl to talk of silly things. She wanted to be left alone, and seeing as Ginny was still spending time with her family, perhaps she could avoid chitchatting with the redhead if she went to bed ahead of her.
She made a beeline for the exit and she could feel Harry's gaze following her, but she refused to hold back. She'd let Ron handle it because she figured he simply couldn't screw it up any worse than she could.
She was very confused about what Ron had done, not because she had feelings for Ron, but because she was completely unprepared to deal with the situation of Ron, Harry's best friend, kissing her. Should she tell Harry? Or perhaps she should talk to Ron first? She was Ron's friend, too. She didn't want to cause any trouble.
She had to sort everything out before she did anything she might regret later. She needed to sleep on this. She needed time to think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione couldn't sleep, and she blamed Ron for it. It was his fault that her brain was going on overdrive, and thought, several times as she sat in the swing seat out at the Burrow's front yard, that she should have given in to her initial instinct of punching him. At least she'd have gotten that out of her system.
She pulled the shawl around her tighter. Clad in nothing but the shawl and her pajamas, the night air was a bit nippy.
She suddenly missed the comfortable temperatures of Avalon.
There was a sound at the door, and when she looked, she saw Harry. She should've known he'd be the only one awake at this time.
He had a thick house robe on over his borrowed pajamas, and he seemed unbothered by the cold. He sat beside her on the swing seat and put his arm over her. "And what are you doing up?"
His closeness was comforting, and she was ashamed to admit that it was all he needed to do for her to forget about how Ginny fawned over him all day.
She smiled. "Couldn't sleep. Too many things to think about."
He nodded. "Me too."
She wondered if Ron had said anything to Harry about what happened that evening in the kitchen. She was too nervous to even hint at it, and several moments passed in silence between them, neither of them saying anything.
Finally, Harry spoke. "I've been thinking about the end. When I face Voldemort."
Hermione's stomach dropped. She suddenly didn't know if talking to him about Ron would've been a better subject to broach.
And why did he call it the "end," anyway? The only thing that was going to end was Voldemort's reign of terror.
"Don't look at me like that," he said, laughing softly. "I'm not dead yet."
She swallowed, holding her tears back. "You're the one talking as if you're dead."
The laugh died on his lips, his smile waning, but he didn't seem angry.
She could feel his fingers running through her hair as he met her gaze.
"If anything happens to me," he began.
She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, her vision going liquid.
"Please listen to me," he said, holding her firmly by the shoulders.
He needed her to listen. She could feel that, and for him she stayed still, meeting his gaze even as her tears spilled.
Seeing that he had her attention, he started again. "If anything happens to me, I want you to promise me that you'll go on to do the things you would have done if I were around. I want you to promise that you'll be everything you want to be. Alright Hermione? Do you promise?"
She didn't want to be thinking that anything would happen to him, but this was a relatively simple thing to give him. There was no difficulty in nodding and saying, "I promise. I promise, Harry."
He smiled and he glanced briefly at the house, as if to check if anyone else but they were awake, before he leaned over to seal her promise with a kiss.
She clung to him, cupping his face as she took the soft press of his lips, and the warmth of his tongue. She instantly felt wanted, and cherished. Suddenly, all her petty insecurities of that evening were inconsequential. All her muddled thoughts finally settled, and under the light of the moon, she snuggled in Harry's arms, comforted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fleur had wanted to buy some things for the baby, and Harry, as well as everyone, was surprised when Fleur extended her first invitation to Hermione.
"Julien behaves when you are about, `Ermione," Fleur said, never minding the astonished stares she earned from everyone. "Would you mind ever so much?"
"Of course I don't mind, Fleur," Hermione replied with perfect poise. "I'd be glad to help you buy things for Julien. Give me a few minutes to put on something warm. I'll be down straightaway."
"You can come too, Ginny," said Fleur. "Eef you are interested."
Ginny jumped at the chance. "I've some things I'd like to see over at Madame Malkin's."
Molly shot her a frown.
"Not to buy anything, mum. Just to see the latest styles."
"Oh, let her, Molly," said Arthur as he flipped the pages of the Daily Prophet over his pancakes. "She can have a girls' day off. She's been spending much too much time with her wild brothers."
"Daddy!"
Arthur flashed her a fond smile.
Ginny grinned and winked at Harry.
Harry felt his face burn as he looked away, praying that no one had seen it.
Ron scowled, first at Ginny, and then at him.
So much for no one seeing that.
He caught Hermione's gaze and she gave him a faint smile. He wished he could go with them. He didn't mind shopping for baby clothes at all if it meant spending time with Hermione, the one woman who could percolate his mind with important discussion one minute and make his blood boil with desire the next. The last two weeks with her had been a roller coaster ride of emotions and hormones, and yet Hermione was never one to care for drama, so it wasn't as if she was deliberately inducing it. She stirred turmoil in him without trying, and as much as that same turmoil had given him troubled thoughts, it was the kind of uncertainty that seemed to make him want more of her, just to see if he could make it all settle down, even if some secret desire in him didn't want it to.
He'd seen her confusion whenever he was silent when he was perhaps supposed to be talking. She was a creature of logic, discussion, and words, and when he was slow to respond to that, he knew it bothered her, yet she didn't make a huge fuss. She let him ponder and brood, and he knew each time that he was pushing her patience to the limit. It was a different kind of rush, whenever he knew that she was thinking of him on account of it. He wasn't toying with her; that had never been his intention. Her growing impatience was merely incidental to the amount of time he needed to let his thoughts of her sink in, but it gave him a rush, anyway. He never delayed speaking to her once his decisions were made, but he found that she'd just about reached her limit around the time he figured it was time to talk. He didn't know if it was actually one of the many things that attracted him to her, but the fact that they had this system that seemed to fit made it all seem very… comfortable.
Or maybe comfortable wasn't the correct word.
Right.
Things felt right, with her.
And then she'd told him she loved him. It was the single, most amazing feeling in the world, to be told, by her, in no uncertain terms, that it was what she felt about him. He didn't quite know how to respond.
He had lived day to day since Dumbledore's death, taking things as they came. He had closed his mind to dwelling on the past, kept his heart from looking too far into the future; as much as possible, he thought of now, and "now" didn't seem to include relationships-until she said what she said.
He didn't know what he felt. He didn't want to put a label on things; not right now, at least, when his future was so uncertain that he almost felt a physical ache in his chest whenever he told himself that he shouldn't be making any plans, especially when it came to Hermione.
He couldn't help it, though, that whenever he touched her, just before the passions and yearnings took over, that some of those yet-unlabeled feelings would show when he brushed her hair back, or when he kissed her on the forehead, or when he was just looking at her through his unspoken words.
And then there was Ron to consider. His best friend, Ron Weasley, throwing in his own share of confusion into this mix.
In the past, Harry had thought that maybe Ron fancied Hermione, which meant, of course that Hermione was "off-limits" to Harry, yet Ron would do and say the stupidest things which would have Harry completely convinced that Ron had no romantic feelings for their best friend. Harry had, in fact, asked Ron once "what the deal was." Ron had vehemently denied any attraction to Hermione, which seemed to settle things, until Ron did something again that had Harry rethinking the whole thing.
And it wasn't enough that Ron was a complete mess. Hermione fought with Ron a lot on account of his stupidity, and it happened so often that Harry couldn't help but wonder if Hermione actually liked the pointless banter. He knew it was moronic to suppose that Hermione would ever fight with someone she fancied, but perhaps she made adjustments for Ron? Yet… a certain, alluring fire stirred in Hermione's eyes whenever she got that way. Harry couldn't quite explain it, but she took on a different quality of attractiveness when she traded barbed wit with Ron on such occasions.
Harry didn't know if it was normal for a bloke to find a woman attractive when she was angry, but if he somehow liked the way her cheeks got flushed and the way her eyes flashed whenever she got that way, it was only logical to suppose Ron felt the same way, didn't he? Why else would Ron keep trying to provoke her anger?
It made sense, yet it didn't, which was why Harry was in a constant state of confusion when it came to his two best friends, and it was why, until that night in the cave, he never thought of wanting Hermione any more than as his best friend.
That night after the Dementor attack, Hermione's anger had been directed at him, and he felt an inexplicable surge of desire. Her inner fire gave him more warmth than the fire they had going in the middle of the cave. So many nights of their quest had been so cold, and her emotions, not necessarily her anger, the rawness of it, went straight to his soul. And as quickly as her anger came, it waned, replaced by her despair, and he longed to comfort her, which he did.
When he kissed her, it felt like letting himself feel again, and it was wonderfully intoxicating. It was the first time he felt that rightness, but it was so sudden, so unexpected, that he felt he had forgotten to consider many things about it, one of those things being Ron.
So he pondered and brooded, and he could see that it drove her crazy, yet she said nothing, and it just made him want her even more. When she told him that she didn't fancy Ron and she gave him that logical, "What kind of person would I be if I fought with someone I fancied? I'm not six years old, Harry!" he felt lightheaded enough to think, "Well, she's right, of course, and Ron would have to be an idiot not to think the same thing." That his judgment was clouded, that was for certain, but at that moment, it was like all the permission he needed.
It was only the next day, waking up from a dream of Ron socking him in the jaw, that he realized that Ron didn't exactly think on the same terms as Hermione did, so he fell to pondering again, which in turn seemed to have driven her to a point of psychotic insecurity.
Her presumption of his ignominy when it came to matters of her and Ginny angered him at first, but after he gave it some thought, he realized she wasn't all to blame for it. He was the one acting so indecisively towards her, so yes, it was his fault that she'd gone and thought that his uncertainty was her fault instead of his.
Everything from that point on had been about her. With Ron out of sight, he hardly even remembered Ron had once been an issue. He gave his best friend the obligatory thought once or twice, but each time, Harry thoroughly convinced himself that Ron never thought of Hermione the way Harry was thinking of her now. Ron couldn't have, or else he wouldn't be able to blow Hermione off so easily, because Harry couldn't bear the thought of having her stop looking at him the way she did, much less lose her to any sort of circumstance. So no, Ron couldn't possibly fancy her. Not in the least. Not with the way Ron treated her. Each day that passed only seemed to make Harry's feelings about Hermione more intense, and that became more evident when Fleur asked Hermione to go with her to shop for Julien, because the mere idea of not seeing her all day appeared to give him a considerable amount of distress.
It probably wasn't all that healthy to be thinking like that, but what was he to do?
He thought about talking to Ron.
Yes, he'd decided he would tell his best friend. Harry had, after all, convinced himself that Ron felt nothing more than friendship for Hermione, and really, when a bloke had problems with women, who else would they turn to except their fellowmen?
This morning, with her and Ginny away, would be the perfect time to talk.
His affections for Ginny had changed very little in the last year, but now knowing how intensely he felt about Hermione, he couldn't help but realize that his feelings for Ginny were only slightly more than a passing fancy. She was pretty, and she was fun to be with, but she couldn't possibly fulfill in years what Hermione had done to him in a span of two weeks. He had, in the last twenty-four hours, considered Ginny's advances a bit of an annoyance, mostly because he didn't want Hermione thinking that he liked it just because he couldn't out-rightly, and unkindly, tell Ginny to just stop doing what she was doing.
It was, regrettably, a relief to get her out of the way this morning.
He watched the girls leave the breakfast table with equal amounts of longing, trepidation, and relief.
His gaze on Hermione went unnoticed and breakfast resumed as if nothing was amiss.
When the rest of the family were done with breakfast, Hermione, Ginny, Fleur, and Julien were ready to go. Julien, laughing in his baby way, was slung in a cute little papoose, strapped happily to his beautiful mother, and looking at their party, Harry thought Julien had every reason to be quite content, being in such lovely company.
"'E shall be back as soon as possible," Fleur declared, as if to promise Harry and Ron. "I will not keep the girls longer than I `ave to." She winked.
Harry wished for lightning to strike him dead.
"See you in a bit, Harry!" Ginny chimed, bumping him with her hip as she went.
Hermione's expression was implacable as she walked past him with perfect dignity. "I'll see you boys later," was all she said, casting Harry a barely noticeable second, more significant glance, as she stepped into the floo with the shopping party. And then they were gone, and Harry couldn't help but give a huge sigh of relief.
"Sorry about Ginny, mate," Ron muttered behind him. "She's just happy to see you."
"Right."
Harry offered to do the dishes for Fred and George, and the twins looked very much ready to take the offer, but Molly intervened, threatening her sons with her wrath if they so much as took their wands out of the kitchen sink.
Molly hustled Harry and Ron out to the back yard, telling them to keep themselves outside in the fresh air. Ron didn't need to be told twice. He hurried on out and Harry had little choice but to follow.
It was just as well. Harry thought it presented the perfect opportunity to talk to Ron about Hermione. Harry was just about to bring it up when Ron turned to him with purpose and said, "I need to talk to you about something."
Harry had to do a double take, letting it sink in that it was Ron who said it, and not himself, who was thinking about saying those very words only a few seconds short of Ron blurting it out.
"Er, sure, Ron," Harry said. "What about?"
Ron's ears reddened, and he began to look supremely agitated. He paced a bit before stopping and seeming to make a resolution to just say it. "It's Hermione. I kissed her last night."
Harry could not have been more shocked. He stared at Ron, utterly at a loss for words. His mind went completely blank, like it had imploded, and then when Ron's words began to register, he felt a very, very strong urge to swing and serve Ron a punch to the face.
He held back, of course, and he had to stamp his possessive anger away, only to have it replaced by a burning, unreasonable jealousy. Why didn't she tell him about? It had happened in the kitchen, broken plate and all, when he almost walked in on them. He knew that now.
She had the perfect opportunity to tell him about it during their rendezvous last night, on the swing seat. She could have taken a minute out of their insanely pleasurable snogging and said, "Oh, I almost forgot. Ron kissed me this evening. I feel strange that he did this. I didn't kiss him back, of course…"
Because she would feel strange about it, wouldn't she? She wouldn't kiss him back, would she?
But why else would she NOT tell me about it?
He took a deep breath, berating himself for thinking that Hermione would be so inconstant. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for it all.
"Alright then," he said in a perfectly controlled voice. He told himself he shouldn't ask for details. He shouldn't be encouraging Ron to kiss and tell. Besides that, he trusted Hermione unconditionally, right? But Harry was human, and jealous, and he had to know. "And what did she do after that?"
Ron sighed and collapsed against the apple tree. "I think maybe she pushed me away. Yeah, I think she did. And then she ran off. You saw her go, didn't you?"
Harry did recall, only too clearly now that he thought about it, and that, coupled with Ron telling him that she had "pushed" him away appeased his jealousy immensely. He didn't say anything, though. He could feel a brood coming along, and it was beginning with burgeoning intensity.
This did not stop Ron from speaking. "I suppose I shocked her, and looking back on it, it wasn't the best way to go about doing that, but I couldn't help it. I've been wanting to do it since after those Dementors… you remember that night, don't you, Harry?"
Harry nodded wordlessly.
"I mean, it's crossed my mind lots of times before that, but I never really gave it much thought until two weeks ago. I've fancied her for ages, you understand-"
"No, I don't understand," Harry blurted before he could stop himself.
Ron's brows knotted. "I know it didn't look it a lot of the time, but I-well, I do fancy her. I'm not good with this emotional stuff. She's… when we're fighting, it's about the only time I have her full attention, and you know, she kind of looks more fanciable when she's all riled up… I don't expect you to understand-"
Harry positively fumed at that. At how Ron got her angry on purpose and how Ron assumed so easily that he wouldn't understand. Harry felt, indignantly, that he was all about understanding Hermione. He lived and breathed her. What manner of rubbish was Ron talking about?
Ron, blissfully unaware of the danger he was in with regard to Harry's feelings on the matter, continued. "But it's just as well. You don't have to. I just wanted you to know how I felt about her. I mean, I don't want to be keeping things from you. You're my best mate."
Harry wasn't feeling much like Ron's "best mate" at that moment.
"I sorter just wanted to talk to you about it before I-you know, really start to pursue this thing I have with Hermione. I don't want you to feel weird or left out."
It was completely outrageous. "Left… out?"
"Well, I think maybe it's possible that she fancies me back. If she does, then we might be a couple and you-well, it can't be the three of us all the time anymore, yeah?"
"You think she fancies you back?" Harry asked through grit teeth.
Ron reddened, somewhat shamefaced. "W-Well, of course, I'm not really assuming… I'd be a lucky bloke then, if-"
Harry had never felt so murderous in his life. "Yeah. You'd be quite the lucky bastard."
Ron, thick-skinned as he was, did manage to notice Harry's cold tone. "Look, Harry, I realize that this might be very awkward for you right now-"
Harry stepped back, out of punching range. "I can't talk to you about this."
"Harry-"
He turned and began to walk away. "Not now, Ron."
"Mate, don't be like that! I swear to you, I don't want this getting between our-"
"SHUT UP!" Harry yelled over his shoulder as he rushed back into the house. He needed a place to shut himself into. He needed his own room. A cupboard. Anything! He just didn't want to see Ron's face right now. Or else he might do something he'll regret.
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When Hermione got back late that afternoon with Fleur, it appeared to Harry that Ron wanted to speak to her.
Foregoing any sort of pretension, Harry crossed the room and intercepted Hermione before Ron could get to her. He shot Ron a menacing glare, and Ron merely sighed, perhaps assuming that this was about Harry having a stupid best-friend fit over Ron's confession to him.
For the most part, Harry wasn't really angry. He had gotten over that between speaking to Ron and Hermione's arrival. Right now, he was just supremely annoyed by the entire mess, and he needed to talk to Hermione about it.
He led her to the Weasley cellar, and by the time they got there, she seemed as annoyed as he was.
She confronted him squarely, her face set on a rigid line. "What in the world is this about? What's so top secret that you had to drag me here to the cellar?"
"Did Ron kiss you last night?" he demanded without preamble.
She froze.
Please don't lie to me. Please don't. Please don't…
"I was going to tell you," she finally said, her tone rigid, though her face was completely aflame.
Her admission-her truthfulness, he realized, was all he needed to make the last of his residual insecurities ebb away. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Why didn't you? When Ron told me, I was completely unprepared! I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do! First I was afraid you'd liked it-"
She gasped. "Harry, no! It wasn't like that! Did he tell you I did? He's lying, then!"
"He didn't lie," he said, dryly. "He just didn't know what you meant when you pushed him."
Hermione scowled. "Honestly, he's completely-"
"The point is," Harry continued, refusing to be sidetracked. "You should have told me, so that we could've talked about it, and so Ron couldn't have blindsided me with it. What if I-what if I punched him in the face? I wanted to, you know!"
She frowned. "Harry Potter! Why would you do such a terrible thing? He's your best friend-"
"He made a pass at you!" he cried in frustration. He couldn't believe she had to ask! Wasn't the answer obvious enough? "You don't think that drove me crazy? He touched you! God, that makes me so-"
Territorial!
He couldn't even say it! It was such a "bloke thing," but even to him, it felt like the sort of shite that didn't need to be said out loud. He growled in frustration. That was all he could manage.
Her lips pursed, and for a moment, he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Then her gaze softened, and to his complete surprise, she slid her arms over his shoulders and kissed him breathless.
He didn't think it terribly bad to forget his feelings of frustration for her to accept such a nice, unexpected offering. It was, in fact, a welcome balm to the distress he'd felt all day, having her away and thinking about what Ron had told him.
His hands automatically snaked to her nicely perky bum, squeezing as he pressed her against the wall. He didn't know what it was about her kiss, but whenever she did it, it was as if his mind shut down to allow only thoughts of her, those lips, and her body. Thinking of anything else was to dishonor the privileges she was bestowing on him.
She coaxed him gently away a bit later, and as was usual, his brain at first refused to process it, but she would insist, and he had no choice but to pull back.
She smiled lazily up at him and ran her fingers through his hair as her smile dwindled into an anxious frown.
"I didn't think Ron would tell you, and the truth is, if I could have kept it from you, I might have. The kiss didn't mean anything to me, and it was such a bad kiss that I figured Ron would've wanted to forget it, too, so I thought it was unnecessary to bring it to light, making things awkward between you two. I thought maybe I could just pretend the whole thing never happened."
"He thinks you fancy him."
Again, her lips pursed. He noticed she did this when she was irritated by something but didn't want to start yelling about it. "And did he say why he thought that way?"
"Not really…"
She tensed in his arms. "Are you-are you going to tell him? That you-and I-?"
"I was going to," he admitted somewhat grudgingly. It was a conversation he had wanted to keep between him and Ron until he figured things out completely, but now there was no help for it. He had to tell her, or risk hurting her feelings by denying it, and he didn't want to do that. "But he sprung that kissing-thing on me-I got sidetracked."
She reddened. "So now… are you still going to tell him?"
He frowned at what her question implied about him; that he would have intimate relations with her on a purely physical level, but then he reminded himself that again, this was a result of his brooding and abstraction-his seemingly distant attitude towards the whole thing. She could very well mistake his silence with indifference, because Hermione was about logic and facts. She wasn't going to assume things, no matter how seemingly obvious his feelings for her were; not when he could confirm what he felt with words.
He cupped her face, running his thumb lightly over her cheek. "What we do-it's special for me. Please don't think it isn't. In Avalon… things seemed so much simpler over there, but since we got back… I've been thinking about things, and I'm just-I don't rightly know where this fits in my life right now. I've got a madman on my back, and he wants me killed. There's a war that we all just want to survive so we can live our lives normally after. It's all about instinct and doing things now before we find out that tomorrow's too late…"
She stared up at him, her eyes filled with pain, but she was nodding, like it hurt to understand.
"It doesn't mean I don't want to try, anyway," he said, taking her by the hands. "I'm just not sure if I should be going into this without careful thought, you know? It's… it's you. You're not just some girl."
Some of the pain waned from her expression and a hesitant smile crept up the corners of her lips.
"I'm still going to tell Ron," he went on. "But I'm not quite sure how, this time." And it was the truth. Harry had no idea how to approach this. He had initially thought it was going to be quite simple, that he would undertake it in perhaps the same way Ron had spoken to him earlier, but now it wasn't as simple anymore. Now he knew Ron fancied Hermione, and having been on the other end of conversation not so long ago, he also knew that Ron was going to be upset. Very upset. It wasn't going to be pleasant.
"He's going to talk to me, you know," she said quietly. "I saw it on his face when I got back from shopping with Fleur. He's going to try to talk to me again. Maybe it will help if I do let him talk to me first. I won't-I won't presume to know what you feel about all this, so I won't talk to him about that, but I can tell him what I feel and leave your end of it for you to explain."
His brows knotted. It seemed like a reasonable way to go about it, but he didn't want it to seem like he was hiding behind her, because he wasn't afraid of Ron. He was just reluctant to hurt Ron's feelings with haphazard confessions.
She seemed to know what he was thinking, because she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "He won't think you're hiding behind me. Leave it to me, alright?"
It was times like these Harry truly knew that he didn't deserve her at all.
He nodded, trusting her.
She smiled encouragingly and was just about to pull him out of the cellar when they heard an explosion from above them.
He froze, his stomach dropping, and he felt the blood drain from his face.
There was a scream.
Hermione's eyes widened with panic. "Ginny!"
Harry didn't have time to let the dread sink in. He felt the magic coming at them from outside the door with burgeoning speed. He turned to Hermione, protecting her with his body as he pressed them as flat against the wall as possible.
The door to the cellar exploded and splinters flew in all directions.
A stabbing pain on his shoulder and leg made him cry out but he wrapped himself tighter around Hermione as they tumbled sluggishly down the stairs.
"Harry!" she cried. "Oh, God!"
They ended up on the foot of the stairs with her atop him, and he tried to scramble to his feet, but the pain on his leg flared, and his shoulder was no better.
More hexes exploded above them, and bits of the cellar roof rained from above. Hermione whipped out her wand but it was too late.
Harry could see feet, and one of them viciously kicked Hermione's wrist. Her wand went flying as she cried out. She threw herself over him, and he felt her digging for his wand.
He saw Snape staring down at them, his nose tilted in disdain and his wand point on Hermione's back.
"No," Harry moaned. Not Hermione…
With what little strength Harry could muster, he grabbed Hermione by the shoulders and flipped them over.
The last sound he heard was her cry of dismay before the curse hexed him unconscious.
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