A/N: So I finally got to upload this one because LJ decided to cooperate with me. `-_-
Thanks so very much to Tome Raider for betaing and giving me advice on just about everything else.
I might as well tell you all, since it's going to affect you, too. My updates might take a bit longer than usual. While I know I'm not the fastest updater in the planet, I think it's only right to warn you that I might take even longer these days. I'm in my first trimester of pregnancy and I basically nod off to sleep every moment I get the opportunity to sit still. I swear to you that I do not do this on purpose. If I can stay awake most of my free time, I'd love it, but my eyes get heavy, and I get very nauseous when I fight the sleep, so I sleep-and therefore I have to stop writing. Unless I can develop a way to write while I'm asleep, the writing's not going to get done as quickly.
So, with that, I hope I haven't turned you off. Thank you for your continued patience. You've been wonderful.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Seven - The Lovers, the Moon, and the Star
Her leg was hurting quite bad, but she sucked in whatever complaint she desired to make. There was no use making a fuss about it at the moment. They stopped for a few minutes by a tavern and Hermione peeked out of the tarp, finding a row of old farm trucks.
She met eyes with Harry, wordlessly discussing this new prospect they had of getting further away from their enemies.
Harry nodded and urged them to jump out of the carriage, hiding within the shadows of the dumpster which was nearest to the parking lot.
Hermione tried her best to ignore the pungent smell of rotting food as they crouched away from the light.
She watched the lights from the tavern dancing with the murmured sounds of conversation and perhaps even carousing.
To one side of her was Ron. On the other, Harry.
"How's the leg?" Ron asked as they waited.
"Fine," she replied. "Not as bad as Harry's, I'd wager."
"Want me to do a numbing charm on it?" Harry whispered from her other side.
"I was just going to ask her that," Ron hissed.
Harry scowled. "Oh, it's going to be like that, is it? What are you going to do next, ask to buy her a drink?"
Ron reached over her shoulder threateningly, probably to grab Harry by the collar just so they could have it out.
Hermione pushed them apart roughly, immensely annoyed. "Oh, for heaven's sake! What is the matter with the two of you? Are we going to have this stupid conversation again? You're both acting like idiots! Yes, you too, Harry!"
"He's the one being a big arse berk," Harry muttered.
Ron looked ready to swing and hit. "What-"
"We'll talk about all this later," interjected Hermione.
"I'm not talking to your boyfriend," Ron growled. "If it hasn't to do with escaping with our lives, or getting off this Merlin-forsaken island, I don't have anything to discuss with him."
"Ron!" she cried.
"That's fine with me," Harry grumbled. "Hermione's much more pleasant conversation, anyway."
She gasped. "Har-oh, this is ridiculous! I've had it with you both. Don't speak to me, either of you-yes, you too, Harry!"
She saw Harry shoot Ron a most vicious glare. He was blaming Ron, of course, but at that moment, she was too irritated to care. They were being so stupid. At a time like this, too!
The waiting was wrought with tension, and Hermione almost sighed with relief when a man who appeared to be one of the many truck-owners sauntered out of the tavern.
Casting concealment charms, they stole into the back of the truck just as it began to depart.
The truck was full of chicken feed and old furniture wrapped in quilts. Overall, their situation could have been worse. They could have shared the truck with farm animals, which would have made the trip extremely uncomfortable and smelly.
They covered a lot of ground, and a little bit more than half an hour later, the truck slowed down within the confines of a cobbled-ground town.
Between streetlamps, they managed to hop out soundlessly, dodging anyone who might still be out in the semi-deserted streets. They converged in a dark alley.
Knowing that she could finally relax her guard for a bit, her adrenaline seemed to drain instantly away from her and the pain in her leg flared unbearably to life. She found a grimy, creaky throwaway crate and sat, biting back her tears as she breathed through the pain.
Harry knelt in front of her, and hesitating only slightly, he spoke. "Give us some light, Ron. Just a bit."
Ron was cooperative, though he showed no expression on his face. He cast a dim Lumos-just enough for Harry to see without lighting the alley up unnecessarily.
Harry tore her pants leg open, exposing the bloody mess that was her wound. The Reducto had merely grazed her, but the wound was bleeding. The sight of her blood seemed to make her feel a little lightheaded.
"We need potions," Harry said, slipping off Excalibur and its harness and shrugging off his jacket. "We need a place to patch ourselves up."
"The next Wizarding town's several kilometers from here still, and we don't know what our reception there would be," Ron said.
Harry took off his over shirt and then his undershirt, tearing the undershirt into strips.
"Death Eaters could be everywhere on this island," she said a bit hopelessly. "Muggle towns are our best bet. The Order could be on the island in the next few hours. The easier to meet up with them, the better. I attached a homing spell to my Patronus, so any Patronus they send back to us should be able to track my wand, but if we keep moving, it would be that much harder for their messenger Patronus to find us, so we'll have to stay put for a bit."
Ron looked worried. "But won't that make it that much easier for the Death Eaters to catch up on us?"
"It's not like they're chasing us on-foot, Ron. They could pop in and out in a second whenever and wherever, so running is a bit pointless. Hiding is a better option than running in this situation, so while we're hiding, we'll have to settle for Muggle first aid. What do you think, Harry?"
Harry began wrapping her leg with the strips, pulling it somewhat tightly to cut the flow of blood. "We'll wait-use the time to recover. We're badly beaten up. If the Order's not here by the first light of day, we have to assume they didn't get our message. We have to try to find a way to get out of here by ourselves."
Hermione nodded, agreeing with this course of action.
Ron spoke. "In the meantime, I'll try to find us a place to stick around. You two stay here. I'll be back as quickly as I can."
"You can't go alone!" she protested.
"He has to go alone," Harry interjected. "We're not exactly going to be helpful to him, Hermione."
She took stock of their blood-stained appearance. Even if they did manage to cast Glamours to hide the worse of their looks, they were still too injured to walk around with reasonable speed.
Defeated, she shot Ron a look. He seemed determined, and even if Harry hadn't jumped in to defend Ron's point, Ron looked like he would've done what he wanted, anyway.
"Be careful," she told him, meaning it.
Lips pursing, possibly at her somewhat bossy tone, he nodded and set off, peering carefully past the corner before disappearing in the bend.
She sighed and watched Harry dress her injured leg. His shoulder was no better and she doubted if his leg was any less as bad than hers.
"How's the numbing charm on your shoulder and leg?" she asked as he pulled the bindings tight.
"Speaking to me again, are you?" he asked, flashing her a knowing smirk.
She frowned, hating the fact that his grin could bespell her. "I was just annoyed earlier. I didn't really mean it. And you haven't answered my question."
"The numbing charms are holding up, thanks."
That was good enough for her.
When he was done binding her wound, he cast a numbing charm and magically repaired her pant leg before putting his shirt and jacket back on. Gingerly, he set himself beside her on the crate, Excalibur between them, making sure that the crate wouldn't break under their combined weight.
There was really nothing left to do but wait, and hopefully, Ron really meant what he said when he promised to come back as quickly as possible.
She decided she had one little thing she wished to bring up. "Did you really mean what you said to Ron? When he asked if we were together now?"
Harry paused, staring at her from his crouched posture beside her. He tore his gaze from her in the next second, and she could tell he was trying to remember what he had said, exactly.
Honestly, it's not that hard to remember. Ron asked and Harry said, "Yeah."
After a bit, he nodded, wedging his head between his hands as he clung tiredly to the strands of his hair. For a moment, he looked as if he was going to take back what he said, but then he smiled-tiredly, and said, "I suppose so."
It wasn't a glowing response, but she really couldn't blame him. They weren't exactly in the best shape. She tilted a smile. "Let me know when you're sure."
He chuckled. "I'm sorry. Of course I'm sure. I'm just-I'm really tired."
"I was only teasing. This was probably the worse time to ask, anyway-"
"N-No. It's alright. The way things are going… sooner's better than later, eh?"
She stared at him, at first inexplicably shocked at what he said, then it dawned on her. She understood exactly what he was saying. She fiercely fought back her tears. She wasn't going to cry. This situation called for a mature, level-headed approach and she was determined to set aside her petty dramas for the more important issues they were facing now and around them. Harry was a different boy with different needs-
It was no use. She found herself furiously wiping her tears away again. "Have you turned Seer on me or are you just determined to die?"
He sighed, seemingly frustrated with himself. "Don't-Lord, I'm sorry I said that. I didn't-please don't cry. I don't want to die, I swear. It's just-"
She took a deep, calming breath. "Never mind. You're right, anyway. And it's not just you who could die. We all could. I just wish-I just wish that sometimes we could think about the future and not think about how it could all go to hell. I'd like to think that we could one day-I don't know, go out and have a nice quiet dinner in a nice restaurant, or maybe watch a really awful Muggle movie for a lark and snog in the theater or something… it's silly, but it's nice to think about."
He smiled faintly but said nothing, leaning back against the alley wall and closing his eyes.
She stifled a sigh, feeling stupid for saying the things she did. Moments later, she felt his hand slip into hers and she clasped it firmly, taking whatever comfort it offered.
He spoke. "When Ron asked, it really-I just didn't like that he had to ask. I wasn't angry at him… yet. I just-I was thinking that if he had to ask, I must've been doing something really wrong."
"Harry-"
"Well, I was mucking it up, wasn't I? That you had to ask me if I meant it means it's all screwed up. And I really think-I just realized that this isn't the time to be hesitating about things. At least not with you, you know? I really want us to be together."
She squeezed his hand.
When all was said and done, it was simply a fact that she was only just eighteen. She was old enough to cope with the bitter realities of life, but young enough to be blindsided by it. She had been telling herself that Harry was a special boy with special demands, and that she had to try to understand what affected his decisions and the process he went through making them, but it was one thing to tell herself to do, and another thing to actually do it.
At eighteen, she had never felt this way about anybody before. She had slept with Harry, and she had fallen in love with him. That was all she knew for the time being. She could not separate her physical need of him from her emotions. She hadn't been toughened up by years of sleeping with other men and understanding their mood swings, or the simple, harsh truth that men can do one thing while thinking of something else entirely.
Her thoughts and feelings for him were still set on a rather linear line, and anything else could still cause her confusion and pain. It meant everything to her, to have him simplify things like that-break it down to its most basic form, because these matters were things she couldn't research from books.
He was the only book she knew on the subject, so she was wholly dependent on him for her knowledge.
He coaxed her closer and they kissed, the darkness and rawness of the ally lending an odd intensity to their exchange. The soft sounds of appreciation between them wafted through her senses, and shifting closer to him was the only way to appease the need.
She tightened her arms around him and he hissed in pain, his shoulder flinching.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling away. She flashed him a sheepish and apologetic smile. "I forgot."
He smiled back, his gaze forgiving, and in spite of his pain, he looked somewhat pleased. Perhaps he liked the idea that his kiss had made her blissfully unaware, if only for a few seconds.
He took her hands and to her surprise, he kissed them, pressing his lips to her knuckles. Head bowed, he sighed, and it sounded so tired, so worn, that her heart broke. She let him lean his head on her shoulder and he gave in easily, sinking into the circle of her arms.
His sigh of relief tickled her neck, and she smiled, running her fingers soothingly through his hair.
The rest of their wait was spent in this intimate silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It didn't take long for Ron to return.
She had heard a slight shuffling beyond the corner and she urged Harry gently to be alert. Someone was coming.
When Ron emerged, she and Harry were poised casually on the crate with no sign of their earlier closeness. Ron said he had found a hole-in-the-wall inn where they could stay the night.
Hermione frowned. "And how are we supposed to pay for this inn? We don't even have Galleons, much less Muggle money to pay them."
Ron frowned back. "There's a pawnshop not far from here. We could pool what we have and get enough cash to pay the inn."
"And what, may I ask, were you planning to pawn?"
Ron's eyebrow arched and his gaze went pointedly to the pendant on her chest, and then Excalibur.
She clasped her crystal pendant possessively as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, for goodness sake. Leave the mythical artifacts out of this. I was expecting you'd have the sense to have ill designs for my wristwatch. Sometimes, you can be a real idiot, Ron."
He scowled. "It's a Muggle artifact! I don't know what kind of value you put on those things!"
"It appalls me that you were willing to give up King Arthur's sword to a pawnshop."
"Spare me the Camelot: A History drivel. It's not like we'd leave the thing in there. If we had to, we'd simply Accio the thing to get it back."
She sighed. "Why do I even bother?" she muttered. She checked her watch briefly. It was branded and expensive enough in the Muggle world. It was working perfectly now that it had gone beyond the confines of Voldemort's castle, and if she ever got out of this alive, her mother would kill her for pawning it. "It might not get us enough in these parts, but I'll try to tough-talk the pawnshop into giving us more."
She looked up briefly and saw them both arching their eyebrows. She flashed a sneer. "I will not use magic on the poor Muggle if I can help it. I can talk my way through it."
Harry and Ron exchanged looks, but said nothing. She didn't bother asking what it meant. She knew that they were thinking she was getting all bossy on them again.
"I ought to go alone," she said. "And I'll alter my appearance a bit. That way, in the off-chance that any Death Eaters come asking around about three teenagers, the pawnshop's appraiser would only remember a lone girl with different features. Wouldn't put it past the Death Eaters to figure it out anyway, but it'll at least buy us a bit of time."
Harry frowned. "You can't be alone in a pawnshop."
"This isn't London. It's a quaint, island town. I'll be fine. Wait here."
She must've sounded bossy enough to make him listen. She Scourgified the worse of the dirt off her clothes and Glamoured her appearance a bit, particularly with her hair and eyes. Since she was within the glamour, she didn't know quite what she looked like, so she asked.
"How do I look?"
Harry looked mildly uneasy. "Not yourself."
Ron didn't seem to approve at all. "You look... really wonky with straight-blonde hair and blue eyes."
She frowned. "Oh? Remind you of your ex, Ron?" she shot back, leaving before Ron could say anything else.
She hobbled to the pawnshop as quickly as she could and trudged up to the counter, staring the appraiser square in the eyes. She showed him her watch and was quoted a stingy £110. She haggled, of course, and managed to get the price up to £250. When she exchanged the watch for the cash, she resigned herself to the fact that she would never see her watch again.
The appraiser certainly looked much happier with their transaction. She shot the appraiser one last glare before walking out of the shop and heading in the direction of their inconspicuous alley.
She showed them what she was able to get and translated it into galleons for Ron to understand.
"Impressive," Ron said.
Still agitated by her negotiations with the appraiser, she was in no mood to be congenial, especially not to Ron. "But?"
He frowned. "What but? There is no but. Honestly, Hermione, can't I just pay you a compliment without being expected to backhand it?"
She almost wished she could be embarrassed about doubting him, but she couldn't. "Well…"
Ron made an annoyed sound. "Whatever. If it was your boyfriend paying the compliment, you'd be all over him."
Harry made an annoyed sound. "Now how did I get into this argument?"
She scowled. This was getting overly tiring. "Ron, just show us where the damn inn is."
Ron frowned but he didn't object. He turned stiffly to walk ahead of them. "The inn's this way. And that Glamour of yours? It's giving me the creeps."
Se scowled but decided not to change just yet, mostly to be stubborn. Harry followed after Ron and she fell into step.
There was a grocer along the way, and Hermione, with her Glamour still on, bought some supplies, as well as some packaged food while the boys waited outside in the cover of dark.
When she was done with the groceries, they continued the course to the inn.
They reached the inn and with Ron's appearance slightly altered, he undertook the transactions at the counter while she sat on the ratty, lobby chairs. Harry waited outside in the back-alley where she would later fetch him by Apparition.
She waited patiently for Ron to do what he had to do. The couch that had been pushed up against the wall was upholstered in paisley print, and the fabric looked like it hadn't been washed in years. There were ugly, browning stains blossoming all over, and Hermione didn't have the stomach to imagine what sort of life forms had spawned and taken up residence underneath it.
She just knew the lobby was a preview of what awaited their accommodations and her stomach roiled at the mere thought of it.
The room didn't disappoint-or rather, it was the nightmare Hermione had expected. The floorboards creaked, the entire place smelled musty, the bed sheets were yellowed, the pillows looked itchy, the table lamp was atrociously gaudy, and the wallpaper was stained and peeling.
After she fetched Harry, he took one look at the place and said, "What a dump." And coming from Harry who used to live in a cupboard, that was saying something awful.
"Well, it isn't the Place Vendôme on the Reu de la Paix," she muttered, undoing her Glamour while walking to the window to peek through the dented aluminum blinds. The streets weren't completely empty, but there were no black hooded lurkers or even awkwardly dressed "Muggles." Her eyes shifted to the sky above the squat buildings. The moon was slightly obscured-not quite full, and clouds seemed to cloak the stars, save for one that winked and blinked like a bright beacon.
Ron scowled, his own Glamour fading with a wave of his wand. "We're not exactly on a holiday, you know." He turned to the door and cast several security charms. It was his specialty, having lived a perilous life with the twins. He worked on the windows next. "I left a detection charm in the lobby, so we'll know it if Death Eaters are heading up."
She nodded, still looking out the window. "Well done, Ron."
Ron paused noticeably. "Thanks."
She felt surprised, and she realized that she had expected him to react with the same wariness she had when he paid her a compliment earlier. She knew instinctively that Ron would have reacted that way if he hadn't stopped himself, somehow.
Ron and Harry seemed to exchange the briefest of glances before they went back to bustling about the room to get settled.
Harry went to the bathroom door and struggled to push it open. Finally, he had to kick it in. He pulled on a light switch and after a moment's pause said, "At least the light works."
Hermione stifled a wince. The cacophony of terrifying sounds from its pipes followed, just before it quieted down to more familiar sounds of water pelting the bottom of a tub. Harry turned all the water off before reemerging from the bathroom. "Water's relatively clear. Just don't swallow it. Possible roaches, no spiders. Toilet's operational. Sink looks disgusting, but the tub looks like it's clean. And whatever you do, don't use the complimentary toothbrushes."
Truth be told, Hermione didn't care about the roaches and the questionable levels of PHP in the water. She just needed to feel clean after what Goyle had done to her.
She thanked the heavens for drying spells, else it wouldn't be practical to launder the only set of clothes she had to change into. "You boys go first. Just don't use up all the soap and shampoo, okay?"
"If we run out, I'll break into another room and raid its bathroom," Harry said. "Tell Ron he could go first."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing.
Ron scowled. "Tell your boyfriend that he could go first."
That was it. She began to yell. "Duel for the damn bathroom, for all I care. Just don't you two bother me anymore! Honestly, the pair of you! Children! Oh, don't you dare speak a word to me, Ron. And I can't even look at you now, Harry!"
Harry growled. "Fine. I'll go first… unbelievable…" He slammed the bathroom door after him.
Hermione massaged her temples, taking deep breaths to relax, only to be shaken when Ron was suddenly there, facing her, and he had a rather severe frown on his face, though he didn't seem angry.
"What?" she snapped.
His frown deepened, but he didn't snap right back, which alerted Hermione to exactly what he was going to speak to her about.
She knew this moment would come. It was inevitable, and ultimately, if he didn't confront her, she would. She stared right back for a moment, even while feeling the hot flush of her cheeks, waiting for him to speak first. He did.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was looking up at him expectantly, one hand resting lightly on the chipped and rotten windowsill, while the other parted the rusted blinds with her fingers. Even in the dim light of the awful room, he could tell that her cheeks were aflush-or maybe it was just that he had seen her angry, or embarrassed, so many times that he knew exactly what she looked like even under bad lighting.
Her bushy brown hair was all over her face, like a halo of dark-golden ringlets, and being so mussed-up from their dreadful escapades earlier, Ron tried his very best not to think that she was still as attractive as anything.
Merlin, she's a sight to see.
His thoughts wandered slightly, and he recalled being in the dungeons with them earlier. He had watched Harry rising half-dead from the floor just to find comfort in Hermione's loving embrace.
The truth was, Ron realized he was just daft enough, or perhaps delusional enough, to think that what Harry had done was a spur-of-the-moment thing, much like the way Ron had kissed her, even if the way Harry leaned against her seemed so much more intimate.
But Ron kept watching, and when Hermione was offering Harry comfort, and Harry looked so inexplicably content, it was then that Ron felt the full-force of what it meant. Harry had looked at her with surprising intensity, eyes affixed on her face, perhaps barely even hearing her whispered words of concern. It threw Ron off completely, only to have it make sense in the next minute.
Something had happened between them, and Ron had to wonder why Harry hadn't just told him about it. Why didn't Hermione? Did they think it amusing, to keep their relationship secret from him?
And Merlin, I told him I'd kissed her!
Ron had felt anger. Real anger, but he had to wonder at whom the anger was directed. Was it at Harry? Or at himself because he didn't want to acknowledge just how much it hurt to see her with someone else? It was an issue he thought he shouldn't have to dwell on at the time, but as soon as he had the opportunity to stop and think, the facts came back in a clear rush. He fancied Hermione, so he was in an extremely awkward position, not to mention a pitiful one. If Harry and Hermione had somehow found the time to get together amidst the dark and dreary shadows of their lives, then that-Ron felt-left him with little to nothing to illuminate the gloomy days.
He tried to remember who was it that said that if you had love in your life, it could make up for a great many things you lack; but that to have no love, no matter what else there is, it would never be enough. He figured after a while that it didn't matter who said it, because it was true-at least to him.
Sitting in a very depressing inn, their lives in mortal peril, and roomed with the one person he wished could love him but probably couldn't, made it all seem very futile.
Miserably, he began to speak. "You know that the only reason I fight with you is because it's the only time I have your complete attention. When you argue with me, I know that you're thinking of no one but me, and the thought that I can get you riled up like that's reassuring-to me, at least, that I can make you feel things for me, even if it's the negative sort."
She sighed. "In what world would that count as a basis for a stable relationship, Ron?"
He always had trouble expressing himself, and sometimes he wished Hermione would throw him a line and be a bit more understanding. "I said I did it to get your attention. I didn't say I thought it was going to work."
"Is it that you hadn't quite figured that part out yet or that you just began to develop a taste for getting yelled at while I called you names?"
He rolled his eyes as he turned away from her, leaning his back against the wall. His shoulders felt heavy and he was exhausted.
"D'you love him?" Ron asked, mumbling. He didn't know how he found the courage to ask it, or even why he asked. Maybe in the very darkest recesses of his mind, he knew that if she answered "No," or even "I don't know," he would dare to hope for her affections. Or perhaps he already knew the answer, and that he just wanted to start numbing himself. After all, once you've felt Crucio, it seemed like no other pain could be worse.
Her brows knotted, like it hurt her to even have him ask. "Of course I do."
He expelled a breath. Of course she would. "Right."
Something inside him twisted painfully, and he knew that he had been wrong to think that nothing hurt worse than Crucio.
"I never like it when you yell," he said, perhaps to answer her earlier question, rhetorical as it was. "But I never really believed you meant to hurt me, so it didn't bother me as much as you think. Sometimes, it does hurt, but not often enough that I'd-I'd stop having these feelings for you-" He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.
Merlin almighty, that sounded so fucking stupid!
"I didn't even realize I felt this way about you until after that incident with the Dementors a few weeks back. Staring death in the face… makes you realize things, you know. You ought to have figured it out, anyway," he rambled on. "That I felt-for you-I mean, who kisses a girl they don't fancy, anyway?"
She looked out the window again. "Things aren't always that simple."
His lips pursed, feeling an inexplicable anger roil inside him, but not for her. "Only if you're Harry Potter."
Her eyes whipped sharply to him, then the ferocity dwindled to hurt pride.
Ron cursed himself inwardly. If there were O.W.L.S. for hurting Hermione's feelings, he'd have gotten an O easily. "I didn't mean to say that." He didn't, really. He had felt a surge of resentment for Harry-that Harry would kiss her then sweep her along in his tumultuous, confusing storm of emotions. Because Harry had always been the emotionally complicated one, wasn't he? Harry brooded and moped because his feelings were never linear like Ron's. Harry's feelings would have intersections and roadways, and the orderly, neurotic, and painfully no-nonsense Hermione wouldn't have been able to reason out a route through it to save her life.
But Ron's resentment was fleeting. Ultimately, he knew Harry couldn't help what he was, in the same way Ron couldn't help being himself. It boiled down to one thing: He wasn't that different from Harry when it came to what he felt for Hermione. The both of them had thrown her their own share of confusion.
The emotions in her gaze softened. "I know you didn't. I know-I know you don't mean a lot of things you say."
For once, he was able to read between the lines, and he couldn't believe how hurt it made him feel to realize just what she was saying. "Don't do that," he said. "Stop belittling my feelings for you. Just stop. It's insulting and I don't deserve it."
Her lips pursed with the slightest hint of shame.
He wondered if what she understood of his feelings mattered. After all, he'd already lost her, but he realized that it did matter, however unrequited his feelings were.
He sat on the bed and dug through their bag of groceries. There was nothing appetizing in it, and it was surprising to note that he wasn't the least bit hungry. Giving up on their supplies, he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione stood under the running water of the malfunctioning showerhead. The water was coming out as one, thick stream. It worked, but she had to be in a precise spot just so she wouldn't miss it.
Her fingers were pruned, and the soap had run out from her constant scrubbing. There was no shampoo left in the tiny bottle. She had spent most of the hour scrubbing herself and getting clean, thinking that there was still an itty-bitty trace of Goyle that she had to remove.
The wound on her leg had shriveled and paled at the edges. It looked a bit disgusting, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore.
Harry had already knocked on the door twice, asking if she was alright. Both times, she'd replied that she would be out in a minute.
Her clothes were draped over the tub's edges, sopping wet. She had used up most of what remained of the laundry bar she'd bought from the grocery. Her clothes were ruined from the scouring, but they would be clean. Immaculately so.
Her thoughts drifted once again to her conversation with Ron earlier, and she couldn't get past the realization that his emotional range was more expansive than she first thought, and that she was ashamed she had thought so little of him in the first place.
She tried to justify her attitude towards him, but it kept coming back to the fact that she had always dismissed Ron as someone incapable of deep, complicated feelings. She'd dismissed him as someone who didn't need the kind of emotional attention she always gave Harry. She had believed Ron could very well fend for himself because he had his parents, and his siblings, and his relatively normal life. So while in the process of letting him be, she had completely marginalized him, and she had treated him horribly.
She sat in the tub, the water splashing everywhere as it hit her shoulders. She pulled her knees to her chest, watching the liquid beads dancing on her skin. Streaks of red marked the path of her vigorous scrubbing and she wondered if the remaining laundry soap would be too abrasive for her skin.
There was another knock on the door, and it was Harry again, but his voice seemed lowered. "Hermione? You've been in there an awful long time…"
"I'll be out in a minute," she said wearily.
She heard him sigh, and she thought he would leave her alone again, but the door opened, and she stared at him in surprise. She thought she had locked that door. Apparently, the inn was more decrepit than she gave it credit for.
He closed the door behind him and reached into the tub to twist the shower knob.
The water died instantly.
"Hey," she protested weakly as he grabbed the towel from its rack.
"The water's gone cold," he said gently. "You'll get sick."
"That's an old wives tale, you know. Most of it, anyway. You only get sick from cold water if you're talking about hypothermia. You can't get sick from cold water in a shower."
Harry shot her a mildly warning look as he wrapped the starchy towel around her. "Do you need help drying your clothes?"
Sighing, she wrapped the towel more securely around her body and rose from the tub. "I can dry them myself," she muttered, grabbing her wet clothes.
"I'll do that in a bit for you, anyway," he whispered, putting the top down on the toilet. "Sit. Your wound needs dressing."
She frowned. "Why are you whispering?"
"Because Ron's asleep and I don't want him waking up. Now sit and let me look at your leg."
Still grumbling, she sat, and Harry, crouched on one knee, dropped the bag of first-aid supplies to the floor.
Harry began to apply ointment on her wound with a cotton pad. She barely flinched. Maybe the coldness of the water had made her numb. He dressed her wound when he was done then took her hand to examine the gash there. She'd almost forgotten she had it, even if it felt quite sore.
"This wound needs cleaning," he said, swishing his wand at it.
His prodding stung and she flinched. He cast her an apologetic look. He made another quick swish of his wand and she felt something nip painfully at the wound just as a tiny foreign object went darting out.
Harry plucked it from the air and examined it. "Glass, I think."
"Porcelain," she said wearily. "I broke a few things when I-when I was being interrogated."
He stared at her a moment, his expression one of mild suspicion, then his eyes traveled to the streaks of red on her skin, then the bathtub. His compassionate gaze fell on her face, gently rubbing her wrist with his thumb and caressing her leg. "I won't let anyone hurt you like that again. For as long as I can help it, I promise. Alright? And if somehow, I botch that up, I'm quite sure you're entirely capable of defending yourself, especially from the likes of Goyle. You really gave it to him earlier."
She realized that she appreciated what Harry said, greatly. She had considered talking about it with someone, but she really didn't know if either Harry or Ron would be up to it. She didn't want to be the whining victim. Besides that, both of them were boys. She wasn't quite sure they'd understand.
There are a lot of things you underestimate your boys for.
"I fancied myself independent, you know," she said. "I absolutely believed I could take care of myself. But… I really felt helpless with Goyle that first time he attacked me. He was too strong, Harry. I couldn't even push him off me. I was completely paralyzed and for a second… felt like forever, really… for a second, I was completely resigned to the fact that I was-that he was-" She couldn't even bear to say it. "That's how powerless I was. If Malfoy hadn't arrived… God, Malfoy-the absolute last person I'd ever turn to for help-rescued me. How do you get over all that, Harry? How can you ever be the same person again?" She pressed her hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. Her head was hurting and the tears leaked unbidden. She took a shaky breath, trying to stop the sob from rising, but it crept up without warning. It occurred to her just how much she'd been holding in, and that she couldn't possibly push back the tide of emotions. It was too great. She began to cry in her hands-heaving, desperate sobs of humiliation, anger, and sheer release.
Harry's embrace was strong and reassuring. He let her cry on his shoulder, and his fingers running through her hair was soothing to her battered emotions.
"You do get over it," he whispered. "You find ways. I promise."
She found it surprisingly easy to believe him. Somehow, within the soothing cadence of his voice, she noted a familiar sense of defeat. He had felt what she felt-being completely helpless in the face of abuse. She was afraid to ask him when. Had it been at the Dursleys? Had Vernon been worse than Hermione thought? Fourth year, maybe? When Voldemort killed Cedric and took Harry's blood? Sixth year… when Harry had to watch Dumbledore die…
Good heavens… it was all those times. It was all of it. Harry's had to endure it over and over and over…
She let herself sink into his arms. It felt good, knowing that she could trust someone so completely, yet she felt compassion for him, too. Her tears weren't just for herself anymore.
When her sobs eased, she pulled away and turned to drying her clothes. He didn't comment about it. He just helped her then left her to dress.
When she emerged from the bathroom, she saw that he had neatly pushed back the covers of the bed for her. Ron snored loudly on one side, completely dead to the world.
"I'm giving Ron second watch," he said. "Serves him right for going straight to sleep."
She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if there were any bitter undertones.
He flashed a smirk and with that, she laughed softly, slipping into the covers and settling against the pillows comfortably. Ron shifted as she jostled the bed and wrapped himself around her.
Sighing exasperatedly, she pushed him off as she muttered, "Shove off, Ron." He complied easily on account of the fact that he was mostly asleep. He kept snoring and Hermione giggled.
"Was always afraid he'd do that to me," Harry whispered. "That's why I don't like sleeping beside him. Better you than me."
"Nice and chivalrous of you, Harry."
He smirked, pulling the blankets over her shoulders. "Go to sleep." He pressed his lips to hers and she took advantage of the contact, flicking her tongue against his. He didn't resist and obliged her a few seconds of snogging before he finally pulled away.
"We might want to hold off on that for a bit…" he whispered hoarsely.
She smiled, sighing contentedly before she snuggled into the covers.
The last thing she saw before drifting off was Harry standing watch by the window, his wand tucked reassuringly in his grip.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Ron who woke her for the last watch, and he looked about ready to pass out from lethargy. Beside her, Harry lay cocooned in the dingy blankets, his hand draped loosely over her waist and his legs twined with hers under the cover of sheets.
"Your turn," Ron muttered, just waiting for her to stumble out of bed to give up the space.
Easing out of the tangle of Harry's limbs, she slipped out of bed and let Ron roll in. Harry-as if programmed even in sleep, turned over, his back to Ron.
"He just knows, doesn't he?" she said with a soft giggle.
"He would. I do," he said with a tired smirk.
She felt a flush at the implications of his words. She remembered what they talked about earlier and she felt that she had to say something, now that she'd thought things over. "I'm sorry, Ron. I'm sorry that I never gave you enough credit for what you can feel…"
He merely sighed and snuggled into the covers. "S'alright. Lots of it was my fault anyway. I keep thinking that if we hadn't met when we were eleven, things might have been different. I might have been nicer to you, and you might have been nicer to me."
She shook her head. "I would've been just as insufferable. You and I would've been just as mean to one another, because if I hadn't met you at eleven, I wouldn't have met Harry. That would mean the three of us wouldn't have been the best of friends and I wouldn't have learned to loosen up the way I am now, so I suppose…" She laughed at the sudden realization of something. "You and Harry made me what I am now. It's because of you two that I realized I could be this person, and it just… so happened that it's the version of me that you both love, eh? Isn't that funny?"
He blinked sleepily. He smiled and it looked very sad. "Hilarious."
She felt a twitch in her heart. "I'm sorry," she said more softly, smoothing some hair from off his forehead.
"No, you're not," he replied resignedly, his eyes dropping close.
She considered protesting, but she realized that he was right. She can't be truly sorry. Not when it was because she loved Harry. Not when loving Harry made her feel so amazingly complete.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione saw the silvery shape of a wolf entering the room and she bolted out of her seat by the window to receive it.
She crouched to meet the wolf's silvery gaze and heard the phantasmal voice of Nyphadora Tonks.
"MacFusty clan, near Hibridean dragon lairs… Portkey at Digg, woodpile at the back of Anmara cottage, number six." The Patronus did not fade, padding to the corner to take a seat, waiting for something. It was waiting for a return message.
Hermione knew from her Care of Magical Creatures book that the MacFusty clan, keepers of the Hebridean dragons, lived further north of the Hebrides, into the rough hills of Trotternish. She rummaged through their groceries and pulled out the map of the island. She considered asking the receptionist where they were, but that would seem too suspicious, seeing as they were already there.
She looked further into the hotel drawers and found a notepad. It was browning with age, but it had what she needed: The inn's address.
Using the telephone, she called the island's information hotline and made up a spiel about being a tourist trying to find the Albert Silverman Inn.
The operator was glad to help, giving her precise instructions of how to get to Albert from Portree. From there, Hermione was able to pinpoint where they were, and using her wand as a compass, she was able to plot a route on their map. She would have to find out if there was any kind of transportation leaving from town.
Not wanting to leave the room without telling either Harry or Ron, she used the phone to contact the front desk. She asked for the town schedules for all buses passing through the town, just so the receptionist wouldn't know exactly what bus they were taking, and the receptionist sent a general list up to their room. She found out that there were three buses that would be leaving from the station at the edge of town in an hour, one of which would bring them closer to their destination. The bus would take them as far as the lowlands, just a bit off the mountains to the north.
Foot of the Hebridean dragon lairs, thought Hermione, looking at the map.
She proceeded to wake Ron and Harry up.
As they blinked themselves awake, she explained to them the plan as she bustled about, shoving things into their plastic grocery bag. They were only slightly surprised by the silver wolf sitting at the corner of the room.
"We have to hurry. I don't know if we'll be able to make it to the station on time by foot. The bloke at the front desk tells me we can make it if we step it up, so we have to go now. Harry, send a message back with Tonks's Patronus. We'll be at the McFusty's in three hours."
Harry acted fast. His stag leaped from his wand and together with the wolf bounded out of the inn.
They were done getting ready in a few minutes, and as soon as Harry Apparated away, Hermione and Ron hastened to the front desk, settled their bill and hurried out to catch the bus before it left without them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The bus ride was supremely uneventful, and the ride was painstakingly slow.
Harry slumped against the back of the bus, his eyes on the faded lines of the poorly paved road crawling from beneath the bumper and slowly fading with distance.
Ron was slumped beside him, probably doing the same thing.
Harry glanced briefly at Hermione. She was talking to some of the other tourists. She seemed to be fishing for information. It was always her way. She wasn't the friendliest of women, but Harry figured it just made her trust all the more that precious.
He could see her brows knotting slightly. She was thinking, and he couldn't even imagine how that brilliant brain of hers worked so swiftly on so many things at once. He had always admired her cleverness, and he always thought that made her seem so much more sophisticated than her peers. He thought that supremely attractive, but he never really understood the full allure of that until now. He always knew that there was something about Hermione that made her different from the likes of Cho Chang, or even Ginny. He supposed it was too abstract a concept then for him to comprehend what it was. But now he knew, and he could truly appreciate it.
Hermione's profound mind made her gorgeous. Her intelligence made her sophisticated, and it was that sophistication that made her both tough and alluring at the same time. She was vulnerable too, though, and that made her so perfectly human.
He turned and caught Ron staring at her with blatant admiration. He couldn't blame Ron one bit.
"Oy," Harry said.
Ron seemed jolted out of his thoughts and turned to him.
"How long are we going to keep this up?" Harry asked quietly.
Ron sniffed, turning to the window to look outside. "Keep what up?"
"This. Are we going to keep fighting?"
"Yeah. Why not?"
Harry sighed. "God, you're being stupid."
"Listen here, Harry. I'm not being stupid. I'm being the bloke who lost the girl to his `best friend,' now if you don't fucking mind, I'd like to be bitter about it for a few hours. Is that alright with you?"
For some reason, listening to Ron talking like that made him feel very tired. "I'm not going to apologize to you for what I feel about her, or for what she feels about me. She's too important to me for that. But frankly, I just-I feel I have no time to be fighting with you. I don't even know if I'll be alive tomorrow, or the day after that. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
Ron didn't budge, and the pause was so long that Harry thought he'd never have Ron's friendship back again, but then Ron's expression seemed to soften and he finally looked at Harry. "I can't apologize for what I feel now, either. For her, or for you. I don't want you to die, Harry, but I really, really want to sock you in the face right now."
Harry frowned. "Go ahead, then, but I won't promise I won't hit back."
"Like Hermione needs another excuse to yell at me. Thanks, but no thanks."
"The only reason she yells at you-"
"Spare me, Harry. She and I have already talked, alright? I don't need you to tell me the whys."
He was surprised. "You talked? You two?"
Ron nodded. "Yes. It didn't really help me to feel better about any of this, but she at least understands my side of it already. More than I can say about you."
Harry frowned but said nothing.
They fell back into an uncomfortable silence.
He decided he was done thinking about Ron for that day. He had tried, and if Ron refused to budge, there was really nothing he could do about it. He instead watched Hermione laugh at something a twenty-something couple told her.
That momentary sound; that melodious chime of her voice, made him long for that wonderful future she dared to wish for during their private moment in the alley. He wanted, more than anything, for that future to be true.
She looked over her shoulder and caught his gaze. Her eyes were asking if he was alright. He answered with a weak smile. She smiled back. It was a beautiful smile.
God, I do love her.
He wasn't sure if it was something he should be completely happy about. It seemed to him that the people he loved most slipped from his fingers and into the unrelenting tides of loss.
He remembered her crying in the bathroom, every sob rending his heart. He knew. He understood how what happened to her could break someone. He'd lost control of his destiny too many times not to know how heart-wrenching it could be-how it could change you and make you fear things you were never afraid of before…
His blood boiled at the mere recollection of Goyle taking that sense of peace and assurance from her-tearing it away in the most vicious way possible. Too many times, he was unable to keep his loved ones from death and suffering.
I couldn't keep them safe…
But he had succeeded partly with Hermione.
I won't ever let anything like that happen to her again if I could help it. I swear it…
Though he had to wonder just how long he "could help it."
If I wasn't around…
The thought that he would ever lose her like that, or that she would have to endure such horrible things like being assaulted by the likes of Goyle, sent such pain through him that he felt compelled to seek reassurance.
Looking up, he saw that Ron still wasn't looking at him.
Wearily, he nudged Ron's foot with his. "Oy."
Appearing supremely irritated, Ron spared him a glance. "What now?"
"If anything happens to me… if I should-you know… will you still feel the same way about her?"
Ron reddened, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "What the hell kind of question-"
Harry wasn't in the mood to argue. He went on desperately. "As if she didn't-didn't break your heart?"
At that, Ron stopped, and he looked like he was actually thinking about it. Finally, Ron nodded. There was no uncertainty in his expression. "Wouldn't matter. What I feel for her won't ever change."
"So you'll take care of her, won't you?"
Ron's gaze became suspicious. "'Course."
"You promise. With your life?"
Ron looked at him suspiciously, but he nodded. "With my life, I promise… what are you on about, Harry?"
"Nothing," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I just-I can't stand the idea of anything bad happening to her, whether or not I get through this entire thing alive… there are people out there that are horrible and-I don't want her getting hurt like that again."
Harry knew he didn't have to explain to Ron what "like that" meant.
Ron sniffed. "Ever occur to you that you might live and I'd bite the dust?"
"Contrary to what you think, I don't fantasize about your convenient demise…" Harry found it in himself to smirk.
Ron shot him a glare but was unable to hold it for very long. A grin cracked through, though he still didn't appear to be completely ready to be best chums with Harry just yet. "Always thinking it's about you…"
Harry shrugged, letting Ron have the last word.
The silence suddenly wasn't as badly oppressive as it once was.
Hermione joined them again in a bit, sitting between them. "This bus stops just a bit off the Anmara cottages in Digg. If we wait a bit when we get there, we'd have a shuttle to ride."
"Or we could steal three bikes from those tourists," Ron suggested, jerking his head in the direction of the noisy group of mountain bikers.
Hermione frowned. "Other than the fact that stealing is a crime, it's not as if Harry and I are in any condition to ride bicycles through rough terrain, so you can get that idea out of your head. Honestly, it's no wonder you and Harry get into so much trouble when I leave the two of you to your own devices. The both of you come up with the most bone-headed ideas."
Ron rolled his eyes, scrunching back to farthest end of the seat to watch the scenery outside the bus.
Harry slipped his hand into hers. She looked up at him and they exchanged smiles.
She sighed tiredly, so he put his arm over her shoulders and she sank against him, a comfortable weight against his side. She closed her eyes. Her closeness and warmth were reassuring, and leaning his own head back, he closed his own eyes, drifting off into sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a crack in the thick gates. A tiny rift once bigger-repaired from having been torn much worse in the past.
He touched it, smoothing his hand against the hard surface, assuring himself that it would be safe.
He peered through the hole.
A figure in the distance sent his heart beating wildly. It rocked awkwardly towards his gates-limping and exhausted.
"I see you," came that horrible, hissing voice. "But I don't know where you are…" There was frustration, anger, and hate.
So much hate…
He swallowed, hands shaking as he tried to patch the rift up completely. He couldn't fix it, but there was some reassurance that the demon couldn't look through-that the demon would be unable to see.
Pressing his eye to the hole, he kept watching-guarding. The demon mustn't get through.
The imp was at the threshold and he banged a fist on the gate.
The horrible, booming sound was nerve racking, but the gates were strong now. His strength had been replenished. The gates would be impenetrable.
"Where are you?" the demon demanded. Its rage was potent; hot and poisonous, but the gates held. "Tell me where you are!"
Harry licked his lips and closed his eyes, flattening his palms against his gates.
His magic worked best in dreams.
Harry pushed and there was a loud "Whump!"
The demon screamed as it flew, tumbling in the air and spilling a safe distance away from his mind's sanctuary.
Harry couldn't help but smile.
The demon cursed, a ring of fire erupting from it and heading straight for the steel barriers in retaliation, but the fires dissipated as they neared-extinguished by his magic.
Finally, the demon's rage waned, and casting Harry a glare, he turned, ready to leave. "There are other ways to find you… there are others I can use…"
The demon's voice carried through Harry's mind, passing through the tiny rift, harmless, but carrying with it a most unbearable, nauseating feeling.
Harry felt repulsed by it, and he slammed the rift closed once and for all.
It was stifling, that noxious, poisonous THING that the demon let through. Harry had felt it before. He knew he had. He had felt it before just as potently… from Snape.
Betrayal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione woke to Harry's uneasy shifting. The bus was still moving and it didn't appear that a lot of time had passed since she dozed off.
Ron's head was on her lap. She shifted slightly and he complained with an incoherent groan, as if to scold her for moving. He slipped back into sleep.
"Harry?" she whispered.
He looked very worried. She could feel his restlessness.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
He shook his head. "We have to get to the Order soon. He tried to get into my mind again, but I sent him away. He doesn't know where we are. He couldn't find us."
Hermione's insides twisted anxiously. She didn't need to ask who "he" was. "That's good then, isn't it? It means we're safe for now."
"He said there are other ways to find us. That there are others he could use. I don't know what that means."
"Those other ways mean physically looking for us-like tracking us, which they obviously haven't been successful at."
He shook his head. "But who could he use? D'you suppose he found Snape out? Or Malfoy, maybe?"
She tried to be rational, even as her hands grew cold. "Even if he did catch Snape or Malfoy, they don't know where we are. They wouldn't be able to help in the search. Voldemort was probably bluffing… you know he's got a huge ego…"
Harry looked terribly worried, still. She could feel how tense he was-how unsettled.
"D'you think there's a traitor in the Order?" Harry asked.
The question shocked her immensely. "W-What? Do you mean-like Snape-?"
"Other than Snape."
"Harry! I don't-I don't believe-I don't want to believe-"
"But is it possible?"
"Of course it is! But God, that would be so devastating that I don't even want to think about it!" The mere thought of it was enough to make her sick.
Her stomach roiled and she grew dizzy. This conversation was upsetting her quickly and she had to take deep, calming breaths to settle her gorge.
She pressed her hand to her forehead, focusing on the heat emanating from her palm. "Do you suspect anybody?"
He sighed. "I have no idea. I haven't the slightest clue… could be nothing. Maybe Voldemort is bluffing. It wouldn't be the first time… alright there? You're looking a bit peaky."
She had felt nauseous, but the nausea was fading. "I'm fine. Just-just a bit shaken by the things you said, I think.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "But I'm worried."
"Don't apologize. It isn't your fault, and if you're worried about something, you must always tell me what it is. I trust your instincts. They're hardly ever wrong."
He frowned. "So what do you make of what I've been telling you?"
She took a deep breath, calming herself to organize her thoughts. "If there's a traitor in the Order, then there's nothing we can do about it, but apparently, Voldemort seems confident enough about finding us through this `other' way. If there's any truth to that, then he'd know we'd be heading this way…" The realization struck at that moment and she looked up at Harry, horror overwhelming her.
"We have to get off this bus," Harry said frantically, reaching over to nudge Ron awake rather roughly. "Oy, wake up. Wake up, Ron!"
Hermione's heart triple-timed as Ron just then began to rise from sleep.
"What?" Ron mumbled, pushing himself up to sit.
"We have to get off this bus, or we'll put everyone in dan-"
From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed the blackening sky outside. It grew dark in a second, and a thick, overwhelming fog descended around them.
Cold, like deathly ice, began to seep through the windows of the bus.
"It's too late," she whispered, the freezing temperatures creeping into her bones. "They've already found us…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC
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