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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.
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It was hot.
Very hot.
And not like the kind of warmth that one sought in cold nights, but the kind that scorched and burned as if one was placed right above a burning hearth!
Harry tried to open his eyes, but found the effort too tiring. It was if his lids were weighed down by rocks, rocks that were also at the moment, trying to crack his head open.
He heard a rustling noise from the corner of the room and forced his lids to open despite what he felt, but even as he managed to pry them against their will, he found his sight was quite blurry.
Confused, but not really frightened for his lack of vision, he tried to get up, but the throbbing pain that shot from his shoulders down to his arms made him close his eyes again, his face masked with a grimace, a groan escaping his lips before he could even think about masculinity.
Was he in hell?
It sure felt like it.
Wait…
Hadn't he been in hell already?
This was not what it had felt like.
This was more human.
But still…
The pain could make anyone wonder.
"Your Grace, are you all right?"
Someone came rushing to him, her voice echoing in his head.
Hermione.
Even in his current state, he recognized her voice.
Definitely not hell, he decided.
"Are you all right?" she repeated.
"No." He managed to bite through gritted teeth. There was no point in denying it; as it was probably written all over his face that he was not all right.
She touched his forehead and gave a mild curse as he tried to get up despite her protests.
"You're still warm." she said when he was already up, his back against the headboard.
"I know." Harry said, although `warm' was not the word he was thinking of. It was actually a piece of an understatement. He felt as if he was burning up, but he could only say what he could without offending her.
Drummed into his head for the past five years were rules on how a gentleman acted and what he said, so he couldn't very well say just about anything he wanted in front of her.
"You've been running a fever since you fell asleep," she clarified in an anxious tone, "I've been trying to lower your temperature, and somehow it did, but you're still warm to the touch."
"Maybe if you lifted all these blankets off me." he grumbled.
Noticing for the first time the mountainous blankets that were around him, enveloping him like a cocoon, Hermione muffled a laugh. When she saw him shivering a couple of hours before, she had retrieved all the extra covers the closet had and put all of them on him.
Although it had not been a good idea to cover him so much, the cold wind from the storm didn't bode well for his state. And so, she took the risk.
"I'm sorry. You were shivering." she offered lamely
"Not anymore." Harry breathed out.
She just nodded, and began to remove the extra pieces one at a time. She had her hands on the last one, when his hand abruptly closed over hers. Her gaze flew up to his and saw that he was staring intently at her, with a mild amused look. "What is it?"
"Maybe you should leave this one on me." Harry said in a serious tone.
Belatedly realizing that he was naked underneath the very sheet she was holding, Hermione snatched back her arm in embarrassment.
For goodness' sake! She scolded herself. She was already 25 years old! She did not have to act like this. Like a girl fresh out of the school room! The situation was bad enough without her behaving as if she didn't know what was underneath his blanket.
"Is that better?" she managed to ask, although her voice was slightly strained.
He nodded, although the effort still made him reel.
"I cleaned your wound." she said, motioning to her own forehead, he figured, at the exact same spot he had his wound. "And I also put a sling around your arm so you wouldn't aggravate it when you move."
"It must be quite painful for you, my lady, to be helping me like this." He teased, although he was feeling quite irritated for some reason.
Was it because she was the reason for his injury or because for a moment back there, she had him worried when she followed him?
He shook his head.
There were a lot of good reasons why he was acting ill-tempered, but he refused to consider the latter.
Why would he be angry with her for putting herself in danger?
It was her life, not his, which she had risked by following him. And as charming as the thought was for anybody who would hear it, he found it hard to believe that it was for that reason he was treating her poorly.
It didn't make sense.
At least he thought it didn't.
"Yes, well," she sighed, no trace of contempt in her voice, "I was the reason you were hurt. Regardless of how I feel, it would have been ill-mannered of me to have left you."
She paused, considered what she just said, and then laughed.
He frowned. "I should not like to think that you find me funny in this kind of situation, madam."
"I do not." she replied somberly. When he only gave her a questioning look, she continued. "I spent seven years with nothing but great dislike for you. I never thought that a day would come when I would be seeing to your well-being."
Harry had nothing to say to what she did, and so he just nodded, oddly feeling that he been put in his place even though she was the guilty party.
Hermione, taking this as a means to move away, excused herself and turned around. It would have been a successful retreat, had it not been for the fact that the cottage was small, the space only enough for a single room, and he could still see her wherever corner she went.
Knowing that there was nothing she could do about that, she decided to get back to what she was doing before he awakened. So she sat down on the chair and began to peel the potatoes that she found in the cupboard, which were, surprisingly, still fresh.
"How long have we been here?" He asked after a tremendously long and uncomfortable silence.
"I do not have a watch. But it is still raining." she added, even though she had no idea what it was good for.
"And so it is." Harry muttered. Then he angled himself across the bed to see more clearly what she was doing. But she was blocking his view and the only item he could make out that was in her hand was a knife. "What are you doing?"
"You sound alarmed, your grace." She paused for a moment to send him a fleeting glance.
"Not alarmed, just curious." Harry corrected, and then he scratched his chin as if contemplating on a very important matter. "You wouldn't be poisoning me, would you?"
Hermione must have guessed what was causing his distress and smiled despite herself. "I do not hate you so much as to have you die in my hands."
"Oh." Was what he could only say. It was, he belatedly realized, such a preposterous thing to have even considered. Of course, she wouldn't. After going through all that trouble trying to keep him alive, why would she? "Glad to hear it."
More relaxed now that he had been human enough to have said something quite stupid, Hermione leaned back on her chair.
"What are you doing with the knife, I'm still curious." Came Harry's voice from behind.
"Trying to make you food." She replied.
Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing at her statement.
"Trying?"
"Sirius' cottage is not well supplied, if you must know. I'm trying to do my best to make something that would suit your overly scrupulous…" she trailed off, blushing and clearly aware of almost being embarrassed had she continued.
"My overly scrupulous what, my lady?" he asked, although they both were cleverly aware what she had been about to say.
"Appetite." she supplied a little too late.
Harry was already sporting a smug look.
He tried to shift sideways but bumped his injured arm on the post near his head. He waited for a while for the pain to subside before turning to look at Hermione.
"It doesn't matter what you cook, I am certain I will not have the energy to eat anything at this point." He mumbled.
He saw her place down the knife that she was holding and slowly turn to him. Guilt was obvious in her face, as it was in her tone. "Are you really that hurt, your grace?" She asked quietly.
Harry considered telling her yes but even the thought did not appeal to him. "No. But I am tired."
"How long will it be before they find us?" she asked, trying to make conversation.
"The storm is still here, but I doubt Sirius would wait for the rain to stop before he sends someone. We will be found before sunset." he reassured her. When he recognized the look of doubt on her face, he added, "This will be the first place they'll go to. Trust me. Sirius knows I end up here every time this happens."
"Every time?" Hermione turned around from her seat, her brows crossed. "This happened before?"
She must have looked more scandalized than she thought because Harry immediately smothered a laugh when he saw her. "I have been stranded here before, but never with a woman. This is a first for me, if that is what has that fire burning in your eyes."
Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Of all the…! I do not care whether you use your godfather's cottage for your lurid quests!"
"Sirius is your godfather, too." he reminded her, not bothering to comment on the rest of her sentence.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but thought better of it. She knew he was annoying her, exactly for what reason, she had no idea. But she wasn't about to allow him to bait her in. She closed her lips and got back to trying not to poison him, although she was precariously close to adding more pepper to his dish so that he would choke on it later.
The thought had her humming out loud, and Harry smiling behind her.
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"I've sent servants to look for them." Sirius informed his son-in-law and daughter, as they both came striding in his office five hours after they proclaimed Harry and Hermione missing.
"What of Hermione?" Luna asked in a worried voice.
"If she is with him, she will be fine." Sirius assured her, missing the point she was trying to make.
"No." She shook her head, her hands balling into fists beside her. "That is exactly what I am worried about, father. If they are seen together, Hermione would be ruined. They would have to marry, and all of us know that Harry will never consent to that. He would not marry her and Hermione would never find a suitable man."
"Has it not occurred to you, my dear, that she has been trying not to find one all these years?" Sirius massaged his forehead, and sat down, leaning heavily against the back of the chair. "She went to Scotland to evade her suitors despite our protests, do you remember that? And if she had changed her mind, which I presume you were about to suppose next, I truly believe that with or without a tarnished reputation, she would find herself sought after either way."
"You father is right, darling." Ron squeezed his wife's hand in support. "She will be fine. What we have to think about first is their safety. And if worst comes to worst, we'll just find a solution for it then."
"I suppose." She agreed half-heartedly. "But if the situation they are to be found in would deem them to marry, we have to at least try to convince Harry of taking responsibility."
"We will." Sirius nodded. "But chances are, he has already thought about that, and has come up with a way to get himself out."
Luna lifted her chin in resolution. "Well, we'll just have to find a way to keep him in, won't we?" she said, quite pleased with herself.
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Miles from the grand home and estate of Lord Black, the Keeper of Slytherin Estate, however was not at all pleased to hear that the object of his plans, the very same person who was the key to his success was missing with the very person who could ruin everything.
"What of now?" He asked, his dark voice rising, causing his messenger to flinch away from his gaze.
"They have not been found, my lord, but Sirius Black has sent his servants to look." he explained.
"Did he seem to know where they are?"
"Yes." he nodded eagerly, but all color drained from his face when he realized how little he knew. "B-but I did not find out the---the exact place, my lord. He didn't say it out loud. The others seemed to know."
"That bastard is ruining my plans, Wormtail." he gripped his cane as he stood up and walked over to the window, what he was looking at outside, the servant had no idea.
"What would you like me to do, my lord?"
The Baron thought for a moment.
"Go back, but do not mingle anymore. Inform me once they have been found. I will tell you then what we will do next." he said without as much as a glance towards the man who was with him in the room.
Wormtail bowed low, his head almost touching the ground, "As you wish, my lord."
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As the wind howled and the rain continued to pour outside the meager cottage, Harry Potter couldn't decide which was more surprising: the way his food tasted, the way he was enjoying Hermione Granger's company, or the way he couldn't take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tried.
It was hard trying to concentrate on his meal, knowing she was just seated across him. But the good thing was, it kept his mind away from the pain his arm was causing.
"I must say, Lady Hermione, how relieved I am to still be alive." He said.
Hermione gave him a look of disbelief. "And it is such a sorry thing, really, that you still are."
In his suddenly found humor, Harry gave her a small grin. "Tut, tut…that was a compliment, Hermione."
"Empty compliments from a fool." she muttered under her breath. "And pray do not call me by my name."
"Why not? You called me by my given name." he teased as he took a sip of water.
"Beg pardon, your grace, but I do not recall doing that."
"Perhaps this should refresh your memory." Harry inclined his head to his arm and waited until Hermione could recall the moment she had uttered his name.
Not long after, she huffed. "That was only during a fleeting moment of confusion and panic. In any other circumstance, I would have rather stuck my finger down my throat before letting your name out my mouth."
"Such unladylike words, Hermione." He said if only to irritate her.
Hermione threw him an irritated look before going back to her food.
Harry, however, did not.
If he had been angry earlier because of her following him, his temper had long simmered down. Unable to fathom what it was exactly, he just chose to accept that there was something relaxing about the way they were both seated across each other that eased his mind.
He would like to think that even for just that night, a truce had been declared between them.
She, on the other hand, seemed to feel the opposite way. He was trying hard to get her to look at him, whereas she was trying very hard not to. Her head was stiff as she tried to focus on her own meal.
Harry was soon unable to tear his gaze away again. There was something about her that was tugging at his heart. And it was not the aversion that he felt because of how she was involved in his past.
Though he still felt that way.
Somehow, he just couldn't bear to dissociate her from all that he had done, and it was difficult having mixed emotions, especially now that he suddenly found himself liking the way her hair curled around her face, framing it perfectly and then falling on her shoulders, down her back. He had never appreciated long hair in women before, because, well, because they got in the way. But for her, there was no other way to describe it. It was, simply put, perfect.
What was it about her that had him so attracted? Even when he was telling himself that there was no possible way that he could be, not after learning that she was a part of the past he wanted to forget, his mind and body were telling him otherwise.
He grimaced.
"Does the food taste that bad?" Hermione said.
"What?" his eyes blinked in confusion.
"The food, your grace. Is it that bad?" She asked, setting down her spoon and then wiping the corners of her mouth.
"No, no. It's rather surprising, really." Harry shook his head and gave her a grateful smile.
"Surprising?"
"The food."
She looked at him expectantly, not bothering to say anything.
"It was well-cooked."
"And it's surprising for the reason that…?"
"It's rather well done for a lady such as yourself."
Hermione had to admit his confusion was pretty amusing. "Not every lady who was born in a noble family was brought up with a silver spoon in her mouth."
"And you were not?" Harry raised his brows at her.
"If my stepmother had her way, I would have been. But my father let me be independent." If she had been affected by the mere mention of her father, Hermione didn't show it as she continued. "It was not necessary to learn everything on my own, but after he…well, you know…it was no longer a want, but a must."
Harry tried to say something, he really did. But what was he to say? He could not do anything to comfort her. It would be quite hypocritical in her eyes, because through them, she saw him as the enemy, the reason that she had to live alone.
"You've always had the Black family." Harry consoled after a while, hoping that he was saying the right thing. "And from what I've heard, gentlemen from different estates."
"Those gentlemen you are talking about are only after the title of my father." she scoffed. "It's all right, your grace, you don't have to make me feel better." But she appreciated it all the same, although she didn't say it out loud.
"If it is any consolation, I didn't know I even had a family until Sirius found me."
Hermione stared at him.
She was surprised that he had offered the information. She was not even that sad to begin with. But she felt his emotions and found herself being pulled into those entrancing green eyes of his.
"Where did you grow up?" She asked softly.
Harry hesitated, not knowing whether he should continue. Any more of this and he would be telling her his life. Was that something he wanted? Would he really give her a piece of him? But didn't she already have one of his, the one that held his identity as an assassin?
"I grew up in a town called Averhille; it's miles outside of Hogwarts." He explained when he saw the look of confusion on her face. "It was small, compared to Hogwarts, it was like a pub."
"It must have been cozy. Small enough for you to be friends with everybody." She waited for him to agree, but when he didn't, she took a deep breath and asked. "Whom did you live with?"
"You've heard about how I went missing when I had been a year old?"
"Yes." She heard herself say.
"A woman named Polly," His voice broke and he cleared his throat to cover it up, but not before Hermione heard and recognized it. "A woman named Polly took me in. She was also the one who found me. Where, I don't know. I never asked. But she did take me in and raised me as if I were her own."
It was a while after he had finished before Hermione realized that she lost him amidst his statement. He was looking at her, but not really at her. As she gazed at him, with wonder in her own eyes, she saw that he was seeing something else.
Something that was not before them, but within him.
And there was something in his voice that had her enthralled.
Was it remorse?
"You must love her a lot." She surmised out loud.
Harry's eyes snapped back into hers. At first he didn't seem to know where he was, but then she saw his eyes focus and the corner of his lips lift. She wasn't sure whether it counted as a smile, but for Hermione, it was enough. "I did. I do."
Her eyes blinked, trying to fathom the tenses he had used. What had happened between the two of them? Did they have a falling out?
She would have asked, had she been in the place to do so. But as she wasn't, she didn't. Not when he was looking away as if telling her they needed to talk about something else.
It was he who came up with the diversion.
"By the way, thank you for what you've done today." He uttered, unsure of how to voice out what he had in mind.
"I had to do it."
"A sufficient `you're welcome' would have been fine." Harry teased.
Hermione muffled her own laughter, and then shook her head. "I don't do well on gratitude."
He seemed to remember where she had gotten that line and threw back his head and laughed. "I don't as well. And I am not also good at saying thank you's, but because the situation warranted it, I am only happy to go against my will."
"Well then, you are welcome." Hermione gave him a small smile. "It is fortunate that I have a bit of experience with wounds. If I didn't, you would probably be in a worse state, and not be saying thank you."
"Good for you."
Hermione's eyes flashed something that Harry didn't quite catch. He might have, had she not recovered easily. A pity, really, because had he known that it had been something important, he would have watched out for it again.
"I checked your arm, it's not broken." She informed him when she found nothing else to say.
"You sound as if you prefer it the other way."
"No, of course not." Hermione cried out, not knowing that concern was clearly written on her face. She couldn't have been more obvious if she had a sign on her forehead that told him how bad she was feeling. "I'm feeling guilty enough as it is."
"That would teach you to follow my orders."
Hermione crossed her arms at him and leaned back, trying to look irritated. But the gesture was more endearing than intimidating for Harry. "Who are you for me to be taking orders from?"
"Nobody, madam." Harry conceded, which made Hermione feel less about herself, but that was before he spoke again. "A nobody you couldn't stay away from."
"I beg your pardon?!"
Was that all she could come up with?
Pathetic.
"I would believe that you could resist me, sweet, if you tell me a good reason why you followed me?"
Harry had no idea why the thought that she couldn't help but follow him pleased every bone in his body. But at the same time, he also couldn't help but think that if it had something to do with his attraction for her; whatever it was between them at that moment should stop before it got out of hand.
He was not prepared, nor will he ever be, to nurse his feelings. And even if he did, he knew he would never stand a chance. She hated him, and in some way, he knew he hated her, too. There was no use harboring any kind of attraction to her because it would only turn out bad in the end.
So why was he waiting for her answer like a dog on a leash?
"I do not like taking orders."
He felt his spirits plummet.
Is that all? Harry asked himself, irritated at the convincing sound of her voice. She put her life in danger and had him injured in the process just because her pride told her not to accept orders?
Well, if that were truly the case, then maybe it wasn't worth asking about and making a fool of himself for.
"Try to remember what happened to me next time somebody tells you to do something." He muttered in a rigid tone. "Maybe then you'll avoid making stupid decisions."
Hermione must have been caught in surprise by the sudden change in his voice because all she could do was nod her head in response and say in a low tone, "I'm sorry."
Hating himself for rubbing it in her face when she had done enough to assuage herself off the guilt, Harry reached over and for the second time that evening, laid his hand on hers.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, but not bothering to pull it away.
"I should be the one saying sorry."
If she was concerned over his mood swings, she didn't show it as he wordlessly lifted the hand he was holding and let his lips graze her fingers gently. He knew he would berate himself later for giving in to the thought, but it didn't matter as all rational thoughts sank into the very recesses of his mind.
Without pausing to think at all, he leaned across the table and kissed her.
A soft fleeting kiss, not invasive, but a mild touch that told her he was not taking advantage, only that he was there and he was sincere with his apology.
Inappropriate as it were, he leaned back on his chair with her hand still in his, his thumb grazing the back of it in a mild caress, his eyes never leaving hers.
If she was mad for what he had done, she didn't show it. Even as he continued to look at her in silence, she didn't speak. He knew, by the way her eyes were glazed over and focused on him, that she was thinking about something.
Maybe it was about the way she could kill him, or just hurt him a little. But anything she did would be worth it, as long as he got to kiss her, even for the last time.
If only he could hear her thoughts…
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`Why do I feel as if everything's all right when I'm with you?' Hermione asked him silently, her eyes looking into his.
The way his hold on her tightened had Hermione's heart beating hard against her chest. It was as if he heard her thoughts and had responded to it the way a man would when he liked what he heard. If he really knew what was going on in her mind, she knew she could never be in the same room as he.
`I shouldn't be feeling this way.' She thought, scolding herself for the tenth time that evening. Being this close to him had not been the best idea. It wasn't even a good one. And then, feeling as if her confusing thoughts would go away if she recalled what she hated him for, Hermione pointedly looked at the man across her, `You are the reason he is dead.'
That's right!
That was the reason she should not allow him to kiss her, or be near him, or talk to him, or even breathe the same air he did!
He was the one who refused to help her, the reason she was forced to live in Scotland and face her problems on her own.
His presence aggravated her. His past was sickening, his deeds frighteningly so. His mistresses were repulsive. And his attitude was confusing.
She should hate him.
She should.
Yet she couldn't.
Not anymore…
Not when she was finally beginning to understand him.
Not when she was suddenly realizing that she had been as selfish as he was…
But she was not yet ready to forgive.
No…
What he did, or did not do, was inconsolable on its own. Seven years of blaming him was not enough to atone for everything that happened in her life. But she would not, could not, go on pretending that all she felt for him was this…this hatred.
She was not in love with him. That much she knew. And even if she were, she would not be staying long enough for her feelings to be known or even grow.
They were too different. They were still hurting from what went on in their pasts that they could never be happy seeing each other and knowing that, somehow, their lives were connected.
But she would only be lying to herself if she denied she was attracted to him. How could she not be? He was everything she had imagined a perfect man would be.
Imperfect.
He may have done frightening things in his past, but she could see that he was principled. And that he had a mind of his own. He liked to tease, but not overly so to ignore when she did not need to hear his banters. And when she needed to be serious, he had the sense of mind to take her seriously.
But of all the people…!
Why him?!
She should not even be thinking that way.
Maybe if she just ignored it, it would go away.
But what if it didn't?
What if her feelings become something more?
If they did, then she would just try to find a way to get rid of it.
More to the point, she should not do even be doing this.
Not to herself, not to her father.
Harry had betrayed both of them. And if she were to continue this madness, she would be a traitor to her own flesh and blood.
And how could it even be possible?
Was it only yesterday that they met for the second time?
`Oh, God…' she thought, `please…don't…'
But even as she prayed and called to God to clear the confusion in her mind, Hermione was aware defeat was close. She would have succeeded, had it not been for the fact that his eyes were on hers, holding her captive.
And somehow…she knew.
As Harry lifted her hand and locked their fingers together, nothing could have prepared her for the revelation that came next. After three months of struggling against it, Hermione now knew where she stood in battle.
`I'm sorry, father…'
She sighed as closed her eyes in silence.
`I lost…'
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A/N:
This is my third revision, I don't know if you will like it. But as of now, I'm going to consider this the permanent one. Thank you for giving me your opinions, and I hope that, in one way or another, I met your expectations. I will be working on Chapter 13. Till the next update, then…
By the way, I didn't erase the slots for chapter 13 because the reviews would be wasted if I did, so please bear with the confusion for now until I finally update…thank you…
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