2. Chapter I

Chapter I

April 12, 1912

The rays of the sun came through the dusty windows of the bar by the dock, and inside, men of all walks of life were sitting around tables, drinking, shouting and joking. The word was, though, some dimwit had bet a pair of Titanic tickets in a poker game, and that's where the excitement was centered. One Harry Potter, a ramshackle seventeen year old, and his friend through travels, Dean Thomas, were bidding to win the aforesaid tickets.

“Dean, come on, mate!” Harry called out. “Deal `em out.”

“Last hand!” Dean shouted. “Whoever wins, takes the tickets!”

Around them, cheers and jeers echoed. “Idiots!” someone called. “It's the bloody Titanic. No way!” another said. Another round of laughter echoed. “The poor bastard, look at `im!” a third voice echoed ironically, and even louder hysterics followed.

“Seems we're keeping those tickets,” the first player said, and slammed the cards on the table. “Straight!”

“Oy, good one, mate!” the second shouted to the surrounding cheers, before throwing his own hand on the table. “Royal flush!”

Yet, the look of delight on Harry's face did not disappear. “Good playing with you gentlemen,” he said laconically, before showing his hand, “Full House! Hell yes!”

“You idiot!” one of their opponents said, “How could you bet our tickets! Idiot!”

“Boys, you better hurry,” the barman said, “The Titanic leaves in five minutes.”

Harry quickly grabbed the tickets from the table, swung his pack on his shoulder, and pushed his way through the crowd.

“Git outta the way! Dean, come on, we only have a minute!”

Before anyone could react or stop them, Harry and Dean rushed from the bar, and ran, as fast as they could, towards the majestic ship still docked on the side.

“Wait! Wait!” Dean shouted, waving at a crewman, who was preparing to disengage the walk from the door, leading to the ship's third class accommodations.

They ran up the path, and did so just in time. “Wait, hang on, we have tickets!” Harry tried to dissuade the porter. He and Dean held them out, and despite the porter's disapproving gaze, he permitted them to enter.

“Come on, let's go find our bunk,” Dean said.

Barely managing to leave their sacks in their quarters, Harry and Dean quickly left and pummeled through the hallways, startling passengers and mounting one staircase after another.

At last, they came onto the top deck. It was brilliant, bathed in sunlight, and high above the docks. Grinning and exhilarated, Harry flung his sack aside, and ran up to the very end of the ship; he took hold of one of the ropes and stepped on the railings. He looked back at Dean, and then out into the horizon. By now, the docks were barely visible, and out ahead, nothing but the open and vast Atlantic Ocean spread out in front of them.

“I'm the King of the World!” he shouted at the top of his lungs “Whoooohooo! Whooo!!”

Dean couldn't resist, and joined his friend by the railing. “Whooohoooo!” he echoed him. “Bugger off, mate! I'm the King of the World! Whoooohoooo!”

Harry had already jumped back onto the deck. “Come down from there, Dean,” he called his friend loudly. “You look quite the idiot up there.”

“Hermione, dear, could you please pass me my fur? We need to be at dinner in fifteen minutes, you know we must not make young Master Weasley wait now,” my mother said in one long breath; I still marvel how she could do it, even after all these years.

“Yes, Mother, a moment,” I replied, going into the other room to retrieve her fur. I never told her, but I loathed the article, wondering how she could possibly want to wear it. “Here you are,” I offered it to her, stepping back into the first room.

“Thank you, my dear,” she embellished me. “Let me look at you.”

I stepped back impatiently, permitting my mother to inspect my red dress; she asked me to spin around, and I obliged. Unwittingly, I knew she would find a flaw somewhere.

A disappointed sigh came from her, and I smiled inwardly to myself - my suspicions had proven correct.

“Come on then,” she said. “We do not want to be late.”

Reminding me of a peacock in her appearance, I watched my Maman strut out of our first class flat, and into the hallway. I followed her, trying to imitate her in the most ladylike way possible.

“Remember, Hermione,” she whispered at me, as we walked, or rather, strutted along, “you must be respectful, obedient and agreeable. We both know you need to make a good impression on Master Weasley, as you will be marrying him, when we reach Philadelphia.”

“Mama, are you positive about this?” I asked her uncertainly. “About the marriage, I mean.”

“Certainly, my child,” she reassured me quickly. “Your father left us with debts, and we need them cleared, as to regain our good name. You do realize this, do you not?”

“Of course, Mother, of course I do,” I reassured her on my own turn.

“Good,” she said. “Alas, we approach. Be on your best appearance and manners!”

Indeed, we were. The attendants at the doors smiled warmly, and admitted us with a courteous bow.

“Smile, my dear, smile,” my mother urged me silently through her own rather forced smile. I followed her direction, grinning as naturally as I could in my otherwise humorless mood.

“Mister and Missus Weasley,” my mother simpered politely, as we approached the lavishly decorated table, around which our hosts were already sitting. “And young Master Weasley! It's truly a pleasure to see you again.”

“Good day,” I curtsied politely, and offered my own greetings to the company.

“Please, do take a seat, Missus Granger,” Mrs. Weasley offered the remaining two chairs to my mother and I. “And you too, Miss Granger, join us.”

“I say,” Mr. Granger spoke in his deep voice, “let us leave the formalities. We are all nearly family, it is only appropriate we address one another less formally…call me Arthur, my wife Molly, and our son Ronald. Otherwise, it does seem a tad awkward, wouldn't you agree?”

“Oh, yes, yes,” my mother hurried to assent Mr. Weasley's sentiment. “I quite agree. Likewise, I'll be happy if you address me as Antoinette, and my daughter as Hermione.”

“I've said it before, and I'll say it again,” Mr. Weasley spoke generously, turning to me. “You have a beautiful name, dear.”

“Thank you kindly,” I offered my widest smile. “And, Arthur, your own name is legendary.”

“You are well read, Miss,” he complimented me again; it seemed then, for a lack of suitable conversation, awkward small talk was our only outlet.

“You make me blush, sir,” I relayed to him warmly.

“Speaking of legends,” my fiancé intervened in the exchange, “I have personally heard that the very ship we are on, at this very moment, neither Thor, nor Neptune, can sink.”

“Oh, really?” I asked with interest. “Unsinkable?”

“Quite so, yes,” Ronald continued enthusiastically. “She is constructed of the strongest steel, with the more recent technological developments - she is truly magnificent.”

“Titanic, indeed,” I quipped, laughing politely, “I agree entirely with you…Ronald.”

“Dear,” Mrs. Weasley turned to me curiously, “I simply have to ask you.”

“Yes?” I turned my attention to her.

“I have been wondering, my dear,” she went on in her most formal tone, and it was even somewhat giddy, I thought. “How many children can we look forward to?”

My face burned at the casualness, with which the question was asked. That's not something as bland as the weather! Children are an important matter! And what was most important, I had not considered it - not one bit!

“I…I don't know, ma'am,” I mumbled out embarrassedly. “I suppose I have not thought about the children at length.”

To my surprise, both Mrs. Weasley and my mother looked incredulously at me.

“Why, when I was a maid of your years, maybe a little older,” Mrs. Weasley pronounced impressively, “young Ronald here was already born.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to respond with, “that is admirable, Molly.”

“Thank you, indeed,” she swelled importantly.

“Yes, most definitely,” my mother hurried to enter in the conversation, “I fail to understand why today's young people are wanting to marry later. I think our class is the only one with any sense left,” she ended rather huffily.

My mother happened to be very conscious of class…she had this notion of being part of the elite, or superior society…I do not think she ever managed to overcome that notion of hers.

“My heavens, Antoinette, you are completely right,” Mrs. Weasley affirmed with a gasp of surprise.

“Mrs. Granger, if you will allow me to say,” Ronald, my fiancé, intervened in his deep voice, “class is a very peculiar animal.”

“An animal?” exclaimed my mother, no doubt appalled by the use of such a comparison. “Do please explain yourself, Master Weasley.”

“Certainly,” he said, “I am quite convinced the French did possess the right idea of eliminating the bourgeois class, but the rise of capitalism and the emergence of the captains of industry, as such are the fine gentlemen aboard this vessel, the creation of an upper, influential class is inevitable, despite the intent of the Revolution.”

“Certainly an intriguing thought,” my mother agreed. “And I certainly share your view on capitalism. I daresay America is a bastion for business, capitalism and wealth.”

I caught my mother's pointed glance in my direction, and I hastened to keep up appearances.

“Ronald,” I chirped, smiling widely all the while, “you are indeed a deep thinker; I am certainly awed at your ability to reason so comprehensively.”

My mere was satisfied by my response, and her expression showed it quite plainly. Truth be told, politics interested me little; in fact, it thoroughly bored me. The opposite could be said of my mother, and apparently, my fiancé. My would-be father and mother-in-law were also engaged in the discussion of capitalist ideas. On several occasions, I attempted to profess an opinion, but my mother put her hand over my own under the table, and compelled me silently to be quiet and attentive, just as a future virtuous wife should be.

I really did attempt to remain as interested as long as I could, but with time, I drifted away in my own thoughts. My reflections turned more and more to my own condition. And I thought; I thought hard about my situation. I yearned freedom from the established convention that was my life. My father passed away when I was still a child, and throughout my young life, my mother directed my decisions and influences. I was her…doll, to put it in perspective.

“Hermione, love,” I heard Ron's voice say distantly, and then his hand touched mine. I jumped, surprised at how wrapped in my own world I was.

“Y-yes?” I asked faintly, my voice faltering slightly.

“Are you feeling well?” he inquired gently.

“I think I will go for a lie-down,” I said. “However, thank you for your concern.”

“Would you prefer me to escort you to your quarters?”

”No, no, that's quite alright,” I deterred him quickly. “I can find my way back well enough.”

And so I left, hearing the mutters accompanying my leave, behind me; honestly, I did not have a care what my mother was whispering with my fiancé's family - hopefully they attributed my exit to seasickness.

I retreated to my chambers, eager to let myself adrift in that bliss which is slumber. Lying down on the bed, I closed my eyes, and felt the sound of the ocean lull me away…

By the time I awoke, night had already descended. My return to consciousness was rather abrupt, as I had had an unsettling dream, which scared me with its reality and vividness; I still recalled it, even if I was wide-awake.

My husband-to-be, Ronald Weasley, was the center of my dream. I dreamt I was an old maid, scrubbing the floor, while he sat on a sofa chair, one leg over the other, and berated me for the smallest detail. In the end, I took a knife, and was about to stab myself, when I awakened with a violent start.

My mother still had not returned, and I figured she was still quite possibly involved with Molly, while father and son were engaged in the traditional business of drinking brandy with fine cigars, while discussing important business and political matters in the so-termed Gentlemen's Chamber of the Titanic.

A sudden, desperate feeling, reared up in me quite unexpectedly. I had had enough; I couldn't go on pretending any longer. I was tired of upholding an image of virtuousness for so long, for the sake of my mother, and for a man, who I was not even positive I loved. My frustration had been enough; I wanted to break free, to release myself…

Perhaps I could. A wild thought struck me, and without even thinking of the implications in my frenzied state, I broke from the apartment, and ran, as fast as I could to the bow of the ship. To end it all…that would be my respite! My relief!

My heels cluttered against the wooden deck as I ran. The night was quiet, and the heavens strikingly clear and beautiful, but I took no notice. My resolution was set, final and irreversible.

I reached the bow, and looking around, I saw nobody. The watch on my necklace indicated the time was eleven - just an hour to midnight; perhaps if I waited, and no-one came to look for me…

No. I grasped the cold railings, and stepped up on the bottommost bars. Carefully, I transferred myself over, careful not to accidentally step and slip on my dress. If I looked back, I could see the black abyss of the dark ocean below me. Ever so slowly, I turned to face it, with my back to the ship - to my old life. The clutches of death seemed ever more inviting…

“What are you doing?” came a quiet voice behind me.

I turned my head to see who was speaking to me. My eyes settled on the lanky figure of a rather poorly dressed young man - about the same age as me, I would say; he was quite probably in the steerage, judging by his attire.

“Go away!” I snapped. “It's none of your business.”

He continued to approach. “Go away, or I will let go!” I threatened vocally.

“Alright, alright,” he said, backing off slightly, “but all I'm saying is, that's not a good way to go.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him, in spite of myself.

“Well, only that the water down there is really cold, and it's not going to kill you right away…it'll be kind of slow and painful, actually.”

Inexplicably, my resolve began to crumble, but even more mysteriously, I found the strength to keep my resolve.

“How do you know?” I challenged him.

“Well, from my own experience,” he told me casually. “Fell through the ice one winter in my childhood, and I still remember it. The water pierces you, as if a thousand knives are plunged in your body at once. You can't think, you can't breath, or function…your mind is only on the pain.”

“You're lying!” I accused him.

“Miss, believe me,” he spoke gently and calmly, “I am only speaking the truth.”

“Why should I believe you?” I huffed even more audibly.

“Look, you don't have to,” he told me. “But if you go in, I'm diving in after you.”

“You can't do that!” I replied, appalled. “You're crazy!”

“Really?” he smirked. “Everybody says that, but with all due respect ma'am, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here.” He took off his jacket.

“Well…” I stammered, “You don't know me. Why would you want to jump in after me?”

“That's the way it is,” he said easily, taking his shoes and socks off, “you jump, I jump.”

“Leave before someone notices us!” I exclaimed.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he remained adamant, and rolled up his pants around both ankles. “So, are you jumping?”

He came up right behind me, and whispered, “You jump, I jump.”

I couldn't move.

“Come on,” he said gently, “give me your hand.” He proffered his own to take mine.

Without knowing how he had convinced me, I placed my hand in his, and grasped it tightly, afraid to let go.

“Careful now,” he instructed me further. “Turn around, slowly. I won't let go.”

Strangely, his words reassured me, and I made to do as he said. Feeling the foolishness of my decision, I looked down into the abyss one last time, and internally shuddered. I was going to end down there, in the bottomless ocean, dying in pronounced pain. No, I wouldn't have it.

For the first time, I managed to take a proper look into this man's face. He was handsome with messy black hair and green eyes; for an unfathomable reason, he mesmerized me…

I didn't even feel it happening. He was holding my hand, and I was stepping up onto the second railing to pull myself back onto the deck, when I suddenly lost my footing, and slipped back down.

Panic enveloped me, as I had never experienced it before in my life. Or since, for that matter.

“Help me! Help” I shouted loudly, as my feet dangled above the black water.

“I'm holding you!” my new companion told me. “Calm down! Just pull yourself up!”

My panic subsided, but I still whimpered in fear, as horrifying thoughts of plunging to my death flew through my mind. Yet, I retained a semblance of self-control, and using him as my anchor, I dragged myself back up.

“That's it,” he was saying, “that's it. Now just step onto the railing - slowly, that's it.”

Before I knew it, I could feel the wood beneath my feet. Only then did I realize I was shaking with exhaustion, and my feet gave way. I fell right into his arms, exhausted, wishing to sleep, but still incredibly relieved I would live to see another day.

“I never asked you,” I spoke after about half a minute, once I had caught my breath, “what is you name?”

“Harry Potter, Miss,” he said somewhat formally, “And you?”

“Hermione Jane Granger,” I introduced myself, in the manner akin to my upbringing. “Good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter.”

“You'll have to write your name for me, Miss Granger,” he told me with a slight smile, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Thank you,” my eyes went down, as I mumbled my gratitude, suddenly very keenly aware of the circumstances.

“What's going on here?!” came several loud voices, as rushing feet ran in our direction.

I raised my eyes to see my fiancé, along with two crewmembers running as quickly as their feet would carry them, towards my saviour and me.

“Sir, step away from the lady,” one crewmember roared towards Harry Potter's direction. “I said, step away sir!”

“Alright, alright,” he replied, evidently startled and annoyed, “I haven't done anything.”

The crewmember rushed forward, and grappling with him, cuffed his hand behind his hands.

“Not done anything, have you,” he sneered, seeing the clothes spread out messily onto the deck.

It was then that I realized what the situation seemed to be, and what he perceived had happened. I clutched Ronald's coat around my shoulders, and I hastened to clarify the matter.

“Sir, wait!” I declared loudly, “This man saved my life!”

“What are you on about, Miss?” the other crewmember asked. “Mr. Weasley, do attend to her recovery, she has obviously been badly frightened.”

“Aye, good sir, most definitely,” Ronald moved and turned to me. “Come on, love, you need rest.”

“I am quite in retention of my faculties,” I retorted severely. “Listen to me!”

They all stopped, and even Harry turned to me questioningly.

“What did you want to say?” Ronald asked me quietly.

“I…” my voice faltered, “I wanted to see the propellers of the ship, and I was leaning over the parapet, but in my inattention, I almost fell overboard. I would be on the bottom of the ocean, had it not been for Mister Potter's timely intervention.”

“Is this true, you no-good scum,” the crewmember, apprehending Harry, sneered at him.

“Every word,” he answered quickly. “Ask the fish even, if you want.”

An awkward silence fell over, as the validity of my account was being considered, judging from the suspicious expression on my fiancé's features.

“Well then,” the second crewmember declared jovially. “The boy's a hero! Mr. Weasley, you will have to reward him for saving your wife!”

Slightly annoyed, Ronald was hasty in taking a twenty-pound note from his pocket.

“Thanks, mate,” his voice was slightly ironical, “go buy yourself something nice,” he added, looking with marked air of superiority over my saviour. I, however, wouldn't release the matter that easily.

“Ronald,” I observed with purposeful disdain, “do you value my life at a mere twenty pounds?”

He seemed startled for a second at my question, looking at me with incredulity. Then, just as smoothly, he recovered his confident air.

“Perhaps,” he said with a cold smile, “Mister Potter would consent to joining us for dinner tomorrow night, at the First Class dining hall? That is, to embellish us with the details of his undoubtedly heroic deed?”

By now, his hands were free of the cuffs, and he considered my fiancé carefully. “For sure, count me in,” he agreed. “I'll be there tomorrow night.”

“Excellent, then,” Ronald continued. “We will see you tomorrow night, sir.”

He made a small bow of goodbye, and him and I turned to leave.

Harry couldn't quite place this girl. Nowhere had he seen a woman before, as well off as her, try to put an end to her life by jumping from the keel of a ship. There was something about her that intrigued him, but he couldn't quite place what it was. Deciding to dismiss the matter for the time being, Harry put his jacket and shoes back on, before stretching out on the bench he was laying on an hour before, and lighting another cigarette. Above him, the stars continued to shine with brilliant clearance, as the Titanic sailed on through the night…

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3. Chapter II

Chapter II

April 13, 1912

The next morning I awoke with a dull headache pounding at the bottom of my skull; my neck was stiff, which meant I had fallen asleep in an awkward position, and now my neck would annoy me with its painful pangs for the rest of the day…

I called on my servant girl to assist me in dressing. As she tightened my corset, I reflected with annoyance on how constricting it was, figuratively and literally, when my mother came in suddenly, and dismissed the servant girl to the other room.

“Rose, dear, are you all right?” she asked me urgently, and from habit, continued the servant girl's task of tightening my corset still more.

“Yes, mother, I'm quite well, if only a little tired,” I answered her dryly.

“Don't you dare take on that tone with me, young lady,” ma mere admonished me. “You must have respect to be proper!”

I barely resisted rolling my eyes in the mirror, and looked down instead; there was a glimmering wish in me, wanting to break free, to escape this lifestyle of appearances I was currently leading…

“You are right, Mother,” I conceded. “I apologize.”

“That's better,” she responded, “now remember, child, you must go express your gratitude to the man who saved you. It is important not to appear to be condescending to the lower classes, even if it is commendable that they be avoided by us.”

“Yes, Mother,” I said, rising up to put on my dress. “As a matter of fact, I'll depart right now.”

“Alright, and please return quickly.”

My mother strutted out of the room, and I took the opposite direction towards the decks on the front of the ship, to look for Harry.

It did not take long to locate him - as it happened, he found me, rather than I him.

“Hey,” a voice called behind me, and I turned; there he was, waving at me.

“Mister Potter,” I acknowledged his presence as I approached closer. “It's good to see you.”

“Miss Granger,” he observed the formalities on his own turn. “Likewise…it's great to see your propeller-seeking self.”

“I attempt to kill myself, and yet, you tease me,” I said, affronted. “Have you no decency, sir?”

“See, I have plenty of decency,” he observed without being insulted, “and also the sense to know that committing suicide in the ocean is not the way I would go about it, if I wanted to end my days quickly.”

“Then what would you do?” I asked him testily.

“There are plenty of other options, Miss,” he continued on casually, “such as shooting oneself, or swallowing a fast-acting poison.”

The ease with which he spoke of such horrid matters, unsettled me a little bit and I decided to voice my thoughts.

“Are you not disturbed by this discussion of death and suicide?”

“No miss, I'm more worried about your vivid interest in these matters - after all, you're the one who tried to kill yourself.”

I looked at him with incredulity. “How dare you say that?”

“I'm only observing the facts,” he answered, casting his gaze at the horizon.

“Humph,” I miffed, “then why did you offer to jump in after me?”

He stopped walking and turned to me with a thoughtful expression. “Because I knew you wouldn't do it,” he explained simply.

“Who are you to know what I will and won't do?” I exclaimed. “I could have very well jumped!”

“Yes, but you hesitated,” he answered challengingly, “else you wouldn't have waited at all.”

Alright, so he had a good point. “Are you really a good as swimmer as you claimed?” I continued my forceful interrogation

“Certainly,” he replied. “I grew up in Wisconsin, if you know where that is. Biting winters we have there; and one such winter when I was a child, I fell through the ice. I tell you, it was as if knives drove right through your flesh - all I could think about was the pain, and nothing else. My swimming practice saved me, believe it or not.”

“Really?” I said with interest, but then checked myself, and returned to my affronted tone. “Then why aren't you back in…Wisconsin?”

“My folks passed away some years ago. I've been on my own since I was fifteen - going where life takes me.”

“So you live without a plan, but day for day?” I observed, shocked. “How do you live with yourself?”

“Yes ma'am and it's not very difficult,” he smiled at me. “By the way, why did you do it?”

“Excuse me?” I was confused.

“Why did you try to jump off the back of the ship?” he repeated his question casually.

“Excuse me!” my tone rose sharply again. “You have no right to ask such a question!”

“Oh, I don't?” he smirked. “And you do?”

“Well, ah…” I faltered, “you are being very conceited, Mr. Potter. I cannot stand your company, and therefore I am leaving!”

Strangely enough, I didn't budge.

“So why did you do it?” he asked me again. “It's only fair that you answer my question.”

“No, it is far from fair, demanding such an answer from me, Mr. Potter. Good day to you!”

I continued to stare at him with a murderous gaze, not daring to move, challenging him to retaliate.

“All right, then,” he replied as calmly as before, “but had you meant your threat, Miss, you would have already left.”

The nerve of him! I needed a diversion, quickly. My eyes landed on the sketchbook Harry was carrying under his arm, and seized it from him. You know, the sketch of myself wearing only that necklace came from the pages of that sketchbook.

“Are you an artist?” I asked him irritably.

Sitting down on one of the lounge chairs, I flipped in agitation through the first few leaves, and he looked on at me, smirking all the while.

“Oh, my, these are really good,” I admitted quietly, as my senses finally interpreted what I was seeing. “Where did you draw these?” My eyes searched out his for an answer.

“Paris,” he told me at length. “There are plenty of ladies there who don't mind taking their clothes off for me,” he added furtively.

“How dare you suggest such a thought!” Somehow, I could not muster the strength to make those words sound as diminutive as I wanted to.

“I have suggested nothing,” Harry replied simply. “I'm only saying how I obtained these drawings.”

“Well, you clearly have a talent,” I observed awkwardly, torn between my admiration and frustration for this man; for an unknown reason, the corners of my mouth tugged of their own accord, and I looked down to conceal it, but -

“Would you look at that,” Harry said grandiosely, “Miss Ice Queen herself cracked a smile.”

“Be quiet,” I replied quickly, “It is not true! I am still quite mad at you.” Who was I fooling, I told myself - something attracted me to him right then, at that moment.

“Hermione,” he knelled down beside me, “have you ever tried to…you know, let loose?”

“Why would I do that!” my appalled tone reasserted itself, “I am much too proper to degrade myself with entertainment of such low quality!”

After these words, I involuntarily gasped; the sudden realization hit me that I was speaking exactly as if my mother had uttered the same sentence.

“Miss Granger,” Harry whispered to me. “Hermione, I mean, excuse me. You know, I can see it in your eyes…you want to break free.”

The proximity between him and me made me feel both nervous and scared. I tried to collect my fleeting thoughts. “Mister Potter, I do not think this is such a good idea. It would be dreadful, if my mother spotted me in this position.”

“Is that so, ma'am?” he asked me cheekily, standing up. “Well then, we better make haste to remove us from this place,” his mocking formal tone continued. “Will you accompany me, ma'am?”

Despite my agitation, a squeal of laughter escaped me. “Yes, yes I will!”

“So,” Harry said, as we made our way along the deck of the Titanic. “Why did you want to jump?”

A part of me wanted to admonish his personage for meddling in my personal life again, but it was quickly overpowered by what seemed to be a more rational side of my mind.

“I don't quite know you,” I said reasonably, “and there is a good chance I will not see you again when we disembark in New York, so I do not think there would be harm in telling you.”

“Lady, look,” he rejoined, “I am an honest, poor guy. There is nothing I have to hide from you. I take life one day at a time, and try to live it to the fullest - which makes me genuine and trustworthy.”

Needless to mention, he had read my thoughts. Especially the casualness, with which he showed me those drawings of his, I was more convinced in him being a reliable confidante.

“All right, I will tell you,” my reply came, and then I asked, “Do you remember mentioning freedom a little earlier?”

“Yes, I do,” Harry affirmed, and waited for me to continue.

“Well,” I said, “it is that which freedom which I desire so painfully. You see, my life is fit to a mould; it is pre-determined, already cast in stone! And I want to see the world, experience it and then, perhaps, consider settling down, on my own means and terms.”

“Rich girls can't move about as they want to,” Harry observed, “but come on, I want to show you something.”

“What?” I inquired urgently, but he only took me by the hand, and dragged me behind him to the railing of the ship; looking down, I could see the waves crashing into the hull.

“Can you spit?” he asked me suddenly, with a peculiarly enthused tone.

“Excuse me?” I exclaimed for the consecutive time that day. “That is not something a lady would do!”

“Watch me,” Harry warned me, and noisily gathering about whatever moisture he had in his mouth, and nose I might add, he looked at me mischievously a moment before he unleashed the disgusting substance.

“Look at the range on that!” he quipped. “Come on, you must have spit at some point.”

Giving up all restrain, I meekly did an imitation of what he wanted of me.

“That's downright pathetic,” he did not fail to criticize me, “It's all in the back of your mouth. You just collect you spit, and suck in hard from the nose,” and, despite myself, I performed his instruction. “That's it. Now lean back, as far as you can…you hafta give it leverage.”

And so I did - to my amazement, my first attempt at long-distance spitting did not turn out badly at all. Only, I did not notice a small group of first class ladies coming up behind me, and harrumphing quite loudly, that I finally acknowledged their presence.

“Whoa, impressive!” Harry complimented me, in full view of our newly arrived company.

Their scorns burned me; awkwardly trying to appear as innocent and proper as possible, I waited until they shared disapproving gazes between themselves, shook their heads, and drifted away rather miffed.

“Impressive!” I hissed, “You have absolutely no idea how embarrassing that was!”

He seemed perfectly untroubled. “And what is your point?”

“That I lose their respect, is all,” I snapped, and turned on my heel, preparing to go back inside the ship, and towards my cabin.

“Hermione, I'm sorry,” he apologized, “but wouldn't you say that that was great!”

I most certainly did not want to admit that I agreed with him. “I will see you tonight, Mr. Potter.”

And with those words, I carried myself with dignity away from this most intriguing personage…

That evening, my fiancé and I were alone in mine and mother's flat. I was placing my hair in an elaborate arrangement for tonight's dinner, and he was rummaging inside the safe box he had brought with him.

“Ah, here it is,” he rejoined in satisfied tones. In the mirror, I directed my eyes at him.

“What were you looking for, dear?” I asked simply. He showed me a thin, velvet box, about as long as his hand, and sewn in with gold thread.

“Hermione, love, you know I care very much about you,” Ronald answered. “So, I decided to arrange a small gift for you.”

He walked right up behind my chair, and placing his arms in front of me, opened the box carefully. When I saw the object inside, it took my breath away - an exquisitely beautiful sapphire pendant in the shape of a heart, rimmed in a golden frame. A very fine chain, made of the same metal, extended from the top of the heart.

“I want you to wear this during tonight's reception,” Ronald told me quietly. He took the pendant from its case, and unclasped it. Placing it around my neck, I felt the cold gem against my chest and watched it fall slightly, as he fastened the clasp on the back of my neck. Raising my hand, I felt it with my fingers, still awestruck at the site in the mirror.

“It is called The Heart of the Ocean, and I thought, since we are going to be married soon, it would be suitable to give it to you on this voyage.”

“Th - Thank you, Ronald,” I managed to utter, “You are truly a gentleman.”

He smiled rather mechanically, but I dismissed it. “I will see you at the reception,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek, before leaving in the direction of the First Class dining hall.

“Harry,” his aunt, Mrs. Evans, was saying fervently, “this is your first introduction to high society, so be sure to make the appropriate impression!”

She adjusted the white necktie a little more, and fussed over the specks of dust covering the jacket of the impeccably black suit.

“Believe me, auntie, I'm as excited as you are about it,” Harry replied shakily.

“Do you remember what I told you about etiquette and conversation? Start from the outside and work your way in, when the dining commences. And please, use more formal language tonight, none of the slang you young'uns use these days,” she continued lecturing him very rapidly.

“Well, in any case, you reminded me again. Now I have to go, or I'll be late!” Harry tried to disengage himself from his aunt. “I promised Hermione I would be there at six o'clock.”

The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece indeed showed he had a mere fifteen minutes to traverse the length of the liner, in order to arrive in the first class dining hall.

“You seem very anxious about young Miss Granger,” his aunt said conversationally, seemingly unperturbed by the urgency of the situation. “Are you attracted to her?”

“This is certainly not the time to think about, or answer on such matters, Auntie,” Harry snapped. “Leave me be, it is only a snobby dinner we're talking about here…”

On that note, Harry forestalled any further interrogation by bidding his aunt goodbye, and hurried off to his destination. His hasty walk was accompanied by the curious glances, and from some, the braver catcalls, which his dashing appearance caused to be excited.

At length, he did arrive, slightly disheveled and out of breath, at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, which had been advertised as a special attribute to the Titanic's design. Around him, other respectable gentlemen were calmly looking dignified, glancing around themselves, and also in expectation of the even more respectable ladies they were waiting on to be escorted. Harry, largely unaccustomed to the formal air of the surroundings, employed his utmost in the effort to resemble the men around him; calm and collected in outward appearance, he stuck his hand behind his back, as a gentleman close to him was doing, and started slowly walking back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, to fit in as best as he could…glancing sideways on occasion, he took note of the mannerisms associated with actually meeting and escorting the respectable ladies towards the first class dining hall, and thought himself most inadequate in replicating the smoothness, with which those gentlemen conducted themselves in the venture…

“Mr. Potter?” a heavenly voice came from above, startling him from his preoccupying worries.

He looked up, and saw her. Dressed in a stunning black and red dress, with her hair formed in an elaborately beautiful arrangement, Hermione Granger's appearance was simply…magnificent; thinking of himself as little better than a simpleton, Harry could not cogitate enough words to describe her, let alone think himself worthy of accompanying such a creature tonight…

“Are you feeling alright?” Hermione asked him, approaching him curiously.

“Yes!” Harry found his tongue finally, and broke into an unintentional smile. “Yes, I am. Good to see you, Hermione.” He took her hand, and kissed it in the most gentlemanly of manners.

“I agree,” she responded mysteriously. “Shall we?”

“Certainly,” he proffered his arm, and she took it. “On to the incredibly awkward affair that is first-class dinner parties…”

His sense of humor did not fail in impressing Hermione, and she was forced to stifle a laugh, as to not appear conspicuous in the surrounding milieu of respectable and important ladies.

They made their way through the doors, and the attendants bowed politely as they entered; on Hermione's subtle indication, Harry returned the gesture.

“Welcome to tonight's affair, sir,” the attendant closest to him recited.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Harry said with dignity, surprising himself even.

Admittedly, I was impressed more than he was; a strange feeling arose within me, as we made our way towards the arranged table, full of my associations. It was oddly comforting, and the prospect of dinner suddenly did not seem as dreadful as before, that is, in the presence of my newly acquired acquaintance…

“Hermione, dear, you are here,” Mrs .Weasley simpered in her familiar tones. “And your…saviour, I hear. It is such a delight!”

My mother turned at once in her chair to look at me. “Lovely to see you, Hermione,” she told me pointedly. My mother always seemed to have a hidden intent or meaning, signified in her eyes or expression, every time she addressed me.

Harry and I diligently took our seats. Mine was between Ronald and his father, while Harry sat down by my mother's side. From that moment, the air became thicker than ice.

“So, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Weasley decided to re-introduce the concept of communication by voice, “please, do tell us how you saved young Miss Granger here?”

Harry, visibly relaxed, grabbed a bun from the basket at the center of the table, and bit into it, before chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds.

“You see,” he mumbled, his mouth not quite empty of the soft bread, “I didn't do a whole lot. Hermione `ere was just looking to see the propellers, and she slipped…I only pulled her back on board.”

Among others, Mr. Andrews, the Titanic's designer, was also present at our table. His grace to join in for dinner certainly helped alleviate the tense air to an extent.

“Harry, my friend,” Ronald suddenly said loudly, “I have a question for you.”

Coincidentally, however, I knew the glint that had come into his eyes - it was that of a hawk, ready to pounce upon its prey with merciless force and determination.

“Fire away,” Harry said easily, and looked on calmly at my excited fiancé.

“Well, actually, there are two questions I meant to ask,” he went on slyly, picking his words carefully; I had the feeling he had rehearsed this beforehand. “Firstly, what do you plan to do with your life? And my second question is of a more philosophical nature - what do you think life's meaning is?”

He had been reading into the whole matter of philosophy recently in fact, but he was not not nearly an expert, nor did it give him license to torment Harry so, I thought with hidden bitterness.

“Well, sir,” Harry handled the attack with envying confidence, “I think I can give you answers to both your questions.”

My mother, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Andrews himself, were raptly paying attention to this most intriguing exchange, not daring to even utter one word of protest.

“Well then,” Ron's tone of superiority continued, “let's hear what you have to say, shall we?”

I saw Harry narrow his eyes at his adversary, ever so noticeably, and I realized he had caught on to the whole scheme.

“I'll admit that my life is that of a vagabond,” Harry answered freely, without hesitation. “I live for each day to enjoy it to the fullest. Planning is not in my habit - I prefer a lifestyle that lets me be free, and have an unpredictable life, to deal with it as it happens, not as it is planned, ah…Mister Weasley.”

“Mister Potter, thank you very much,” Ronald answered somewhat pompously. “And your free-spirited life…how do you cope with not having security...surely, you must be miserable, Mr. Potter.”

“On the contrary,” Harry rejoined with a laugh. “I am very much satisfied with my life. I am not slave to some repressive master plan, but I shape my life as it progresses, according to my desires, and not anyone else's. The truth lies in making each day count.”

“Are you suggesting an insult upon my honour, Mr. Potter?” Ron's voice became a little more tense, though he contained himself - I, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly impressed and dare I say it, attracted to Harry, as I sat, listening and watching him.

“Not at all, Master Weasley,” he emphasized. “You required an answer, and I gave it to you.”

“Very well then,” my fiancé responded curtly. “What of my second question?”

“What is the meaning of life?” Harry echoed him, and Ronald nodded. “Hopefully, you know that people have been trying to answer that for thousands of years, and I can only afford you with my view.”

“Of course, I realize that,” Ron said impatiently.

“Right then,” Harry looked around the table, and his gaze lingered on me for a second longer, “Life is a sum of experiences, on which you reflect and think about…sometimes life can surprise you, suddenly and unexpectedly, without notice. Other times, it can make you fly, or crush you under its weight.”

I listened to him intently, amazed at the depth of his reasoning, despite his otherwise fleeting lifestyle…

“But,” he continued, “The ultimate question is why? Well, I think the answer is because we can, because we have the ability to interpret life, to think about it and ponder, to make choices in the different situations; in other words, our ability to make choices. That is the meaning of life - at least, in my humble opinion.” He raised his glass, and called, “A toast to making it count!”

Voracious laughter echoed all around the table, and everyone joined in and echoed the toast; the easiness, with which Harry managed the affair, greatly impressed me for the consecutive time.

My most definitely furious fiancé tried to think of a suitable answer; the murderous expression of rage on his face, for having been out-thought by a mere member of the steerage class, incensed him.

“Well said,” I did not hesitate to compliment Harry. Simultaneously, I received a livid glance from Ronald, and a subtle smile from Harry. Inexplicably, I disregarded the first and focused my attention on the second, wondering what that smile meant…

The waiters had already brought our dinner, during Harry's narrative on the meaning of life, and I was anxious to finally begin my meal. As delicately as I could muster, I pierced a potato with my fork, and brought it to my mouth with dignity, chewing as slowly as my manners would allow.

The discussion had now shifted to Mr. Andrews, with the praise he was receiving for building such a marvelous ocean liner. As pretense as I found the remarks of my familiars to be, I still thought Mr. Andrews deserved the credit - after all, he was the one who designed the Titanic, and there was nothing in the world to match its ingenuity, size and class. That last thought suddenly triggered another question in my head, and experienced a strong urge to voice it.

“I need to ask something important,” my voice sounded, attempting to attract attention in my direction, and indeed, every head turned to me with interest; including my mother's gaze, which plainly told me not to embarrass her in front of our fine company. “What,” I said, “is to be figured of man's fascination with size? Why is bigger always better?”

Mr. Andrews looked at me curiously, before he took the word.

“Miss Granger,” he told me in his deep, calm voice, “size is something which indicates stability, respect and eternity. This ship, frankly, is constructed to be unrivaled in the world, and provide an inspiration for exactly those qualities. If you were to compare the Titanic to a mere wooden boat, well it is impossible to do so. A storm would disintegrate the wooden boat to smithereens, but the Titanic is capable of withstanding the worst of God's wrath.”

Needless to say, I was interested by his response, and decided to delve further into it.

“If you know what Sigmund Freud says on the matter of size - “I began, but someone cut me off.

“Freud? That lunatic?” Mrs. Weasley piped up. “Child, those are blasphemous works! Freud was possessed by the Devil, as he wrote those words! They are outrageous and progressive! There can be no good in that!”

“Mrs. Weasley, what are you implying?” I asked, confused by her sudden outburst.

“Miss Granger,” Mrs. Weasley's voice entered the proceedings. “There are some readings a respectable lady, such as yourself, has no business in seeking. They are corrupted, degrading, and profess very unholy thoughts and concepts. It is best you part yourself from the temptation of reading them, even if you should gain access to them.”

“I believe I will have to mind more closely what she does and does not read,” Ronald said loudly, and laughed afterward, joined half-heartedly by the rest.

“Hermione, dear, I do think you have done enough for tonight,” my mother leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Please, return to our flat.”

However, in that precise second, Harry stood up.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have enjoyed your company immensely tonight, but most unfortunately, I will have to depart for the evening,” he declared formally, bowing respectfully all the while.

“We will most definitely miss your refined company,” Mr. Andrews offered his parting greetings. “Good night, sir.”

“Same to you, sir,” Harry replied, and spread this sentiment to the rest of the table in one circular motion of walking around, and bidding goodnight.

However, when he came to me, he stopped for a second longer than usual. “I enjoyed tonight very much, Miss Granger,” he told me discreetly; my mother was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Weasley, and the men were involved in their own discussion, so our exchange was not overtly noticed.

Harry took my hand, and in his, I felt a piece of folded paper. I looked up at him, and he returned an imploring gaze, telling me to take the parchment. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he told me pointedly, and released my hand carefully - I clutched the folded paper between my fingers as clandestinely as I could manage.

Once he had gone, I opened the paper in my lap, and read it quickly.

Hermione, it said,

If you want to experience a real party, meet me by the clock, on top of the Grand Staircase, in fifteen minutes, at precisely nine o'clock.

Harry

My heart quickened at those words; looking around, I saw no trace of Harry - he must have gone to the arranged spot. It was then I decided to invoke my skills from the acting training I had received in my younger years.

“Mother,” I declared, “I do not feel entirely well tonight - I think I shall retire for the night.”

Ma mere gave me another of her pointed looks. “A swell idea, Hermione, dear,” she simpered, “have a pleasant night. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, definitely,” I remarked, and after exchanging the obligatory partings with my other associates, I left in a roundabout way, with the intention of going back to the flat, but my feet were apparently set on a different goal. My steps directed themselves towards the Grand Staircase.

I saw him - he was leaning against the rail, his hands in his pockets, and his gaze directed at the watch. I cannot say why this sight made my breath hitch, but with resolute firmness, I ascended the stairs.

“Harry?” I said quietly.

He turned around, and saw me; a smile appeared on his face. “I didn't think you would come.”

“Dare you underestimate me, Mr. Potter?” I attempted to challenge him angrily, but my own spontaneous grin revealed I harbored no malice towards the man.

“No, of course, Miss Granger,” he answered me formally. “My only intent is to show you what a party is really meant to be. Which actually reminds me…what of your fiancé?”

“Oh, him,” I replied dismissively, waving my hand,”as long as the brandy and cigars last, we should remain inconspicuous, and I can assure you that will take several hours.”

“In that case, I beg of you to come with me, m'lady,” Harry professed his arm, and I took it once more, eliciting a polite laugh in the process.

“You do realize, Hermione,” Harry observed, “you're among the steerage class now - you can be yourself.”

And so I was, my mind reflected; the thought seemed more liberating than repulsive, I might add.

So, Harry led the way towards the back of the ship, where the Third Class quarters were situated. Admittedly, I was intrigued, as the sounds of clinking glass and chatter from the First Class dining room died away.

Fifteen minutes passed, during which we walked in silence, further and further in the bowels of the ship. At last, we made the consecutive turn, and Harry stopped in front of a door halfway down through the hallway.

“Are you ready?” he whispered in my ear. I nodded, and for yet another unfathomable reason,

Shivers travelled up my spine.

If the thud of music and dancing people was audible through the door, it was nothing to when Harry pushed it open.

The noise shocked me at first, and I gasped - never before had I been exposed to such a disorganized affair.

“Harry!” someone called out from the crowd; I bravely followed Harry inside, and was nearly forced to fight my way through the mess of people.

“Dean!” Harry shouted back, and waved at his friend. “How's it going, mate?” he asked, when the two had approached one another finally.

“Oi, not too good, mate. Francesco's furious…he lost the bet!” Dean answered and laughed heartily. “Who is your friend?” he asked, directing his curious eyes at me.

“This is Hermione Granger,” Harry introduced me. “She's a fine gal.”

“So I see,” Dean shook my hand, and winked at Harry, “Good to meet you, ma'am.”

“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” my good manners manifested themselves. I silently cursed myself because of it.

“Loosen up,” I heard Harry whisper to me. “Remember, here you can be yourself.”

“Alright,” I snapped back. “You don't have to pester me about it.”

“Hey, Dean, pass me a shot, will yeh?” Harry called on over to his friend.

“Here ye are, mate,” the latter slid a glass along the wooden surface of the table.

“Watch this,” Harry smiled at me, and mocking me silently, he drained the glass in one quick gulp; he smacked his lips, and a glint came into his eyes.

Anxious, I looked quickly around me, and saw another young man, very much drunk already, shakily carrying a similar glass to his lips.

“Give me that!” I shouted, and he turned to me blearily, scrutinizing me with an unfocused gaze. Without hesitating, I snapped the glass from his grasp, and in one breath, it disappeared down my throat.

“Oi, mate, she's not half bad at it!” a voice called over the assembled crowd, and someone else clapped Harry on the shoulder. “She's a keeper, mate!”

“Don't tell me that,” Harry grinned at the person next to him. “Tell her fiancé.”

“She's gonna be married? Well, why didn't you say so!” Harry's drunken compatriot declared, and turning to the ramshackle band that was playing in one end of the room, he shouted his directions. “Hey, boys, play something more livelily, eh? We have a lady that's going to be married here! Whoo!”

The request was immediately obliged, and the tempo increased.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” Harry told me, and taking me by the hand, led me through the crowd.

At another table, two other men were engaged in an arm-wrestling contest. They were sweating profusely, had turned as red as crabs, but were as determined as ever - they seemed to be deadlocked.

“Give it up, why don't you,” one grunted, exercising yet more effort to beat his opponent.

“Keep dreaming, pallie,” the other sneered, and his face contracted even more with the exertion.

The table shook violently, as the first man managed to outlast the second, and slammed his hand onto the wooden surface.

“Ha! Next round is on you!” he shouted, and I cheered along with everyone else. It might have been under the influence of the shot I had taken earlier, but my decision to humiliate the loser further by drinking his glass of beer in several large gulps might not have been the wisest one. He lunged furiously at me, but Harry moved deftly in between me and him to prevent an escalation.

“Oh, yer `ginst me too, are yeh?” he slurred, attempting to rise unsteadily. “Well, come on then!”

“I told you a lady can handle her liquor,” I grinned widely at Harry.

“Sit down before I knock you out for good, damn it, you git,” Harry told the poor drunkard carelessly, and then turned to me. “Let's dance!”

I could feel my resistance weaken along with my judgment. “But in these shoes?” I mumbled.

“So take them off,” Harry said, and dragged me towards the center of the room. “You can dance, can't you?”

“Of course,” I replied, affronted. “In fact, I can dance better than you can!”

“Are you challenging me this time, Miss Granger,” Harry asked me over the loud music.

“Believe it!” I shouted back, and without hesitating, I jumped on top of the table. “Are you coming, or d'you plan to be a wallflower all night?”

I saw a devilish grin break out onto Harry's features, and in one deft motion, he was standing next to me.

The band must have seen us jump onto the table, and immediately picked up with another quick-paced song. The tempo permeated my body, but Harry indicated to me that I watch him first. And I did - he was an incredibly skilled tap dancer, and his feet started moving, soon turning into a blur. Around us, the crowd cheered him on, and everything from catcalls to shouts of the most profane nature accompanied his performance. To be honest, I did not mind the wild atmosphere at all, and was enthralled in watching him dance.

It is my belief that it was precisely that moment, in which I fell irreversibly in love with him, after knowing him for merely two days…

The last note sounded with a high pitch, and Harry accompanied with a final tap of his shoes on the table. He looked at me, triumph present on his sweaty, red face, which quite plainly told me I couldn't possibly outperform him. However, I was determined to prove him wrong.

I made a sign to the musicians to start playing slow, and then slowly escalate. And so they did. As a young girl, I had taken ballet lessons, and one of the feats I remember learning to do, was standing on my toes for longer periods of time. So, despite my rather befuddled and spinning mind, I decided to attempt it, hoping Harry would catch me when I fell.

Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me, and envisioned my one-time ballet teacher, who was a rather stern woman, instruct me one how to perform my desired feat. I enclosed my arms in a circle, and slowly raised myself. My head was still spinning, as I felt myself stand on my toes at last.

I endured for several long seconds, at which point the pain became unbearable, and I lost my balance, and collapsed backwards. Just as I had expected, Harry prevented me from injuring myself.

The people were clapping and shouting approvingly. So, I figured, I had managed to impress them - that wasn't bad for a first class girl, such as myself.

Harry helped me off the table, and I gathered my shoes, which had miraculously not disappeared in the time they were carelessly flung aside.

By now, the band had entered into another lively piece, and the people around us continued to dance in groups or couples. Suddenly, a girl of about ten, or eleven, came up to Harry and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and looked down at her.

“Yesterday, you promised you would dance with me tonight!” she piped up.

“Did I?” Harry knelt down, so he could hear the child better, “Oy, I did! Come on then!” and he took her to the floor; he glanced back at me, and mouthed that the girl would only occupy a few minutes of his time. I only grinned at him warmly, and watched him lead the dance - I noted he was just as good dancing off the table, as he was on it.

The few minutes he spoke of indeed passed, and he knelt down again to exchange a few words with the child. He pointed at me, and she raised her eyes, regarding me curiously - I smiled and waved at her. But as Harry was standing up, and coming towards me, she did not seem very satisfied.

“Marietta, remember, you're still my best girl!” Harry told her warmly, turning on his heels as he approached me. Right then, she smiled, and skipped off into the crowd.

“How are you so good with children?” I asked Harry, as he took me in his arms.

“Pure talent, I assure you,” he told me. “Hang on!”

Again, the band picked up the speed of the music, and I took hold of Harry's hands as hard as I could. He in turn grasped mine, and spun me around, faster and faster. I shrieked, as the world blurred, and I became increasingly dizzier, but I did not release his hands. Around and around we spun, and I dared to squint - I couldn't think, but just saw his smiling face, and laughed myself, in a way that seemed not strained for the first time in ages. Dare I say it; I was enjoying myself, at last! This had been the very escape I had searched for so long, where I could release myself, without the worry of conforming to etiquette…here, I was free and liberated, which I had so long yearned for…

"Harry,” I said at length, after him and I had danced for a while, “would you be much objected, if I asked a favour of you?”

“No, not at all,” he bent his head to hear me better, “what is it?”

“Come with me,” I told him, and taking him by the hand, I made for the hallway outside.

Once we were out of sight, and incidentally, earshot, I took a small pause to gather my thoughts.

“Do you see this pendant on my neck?” I asked carefully, growing more restless with each word.

“Yes, I do,” Harry observed, glancing down to see my sapphire. “It's very nice.”

“I want you to do something for me,” I continued, but my nervousness was becoming evident to him.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

I took a deep breath. “Draw me, just as you drew your French girls, but wearing only this pendant.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Wearing only the pendant?”

“Nothing, but the pendant,” I affirmed more resolutely.

“And…you are confident you want to do this?” he asked me again in disbelieving tones.

“Most certainly,” I repeated with the same firmness.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Where would you prefer me draw you?”

“My quarters, in twenty minutes,” I offered. “Do you think you can manage?”

“Hermione, I only need my sketchbook and a piece of charcoal, nothing more.”

“Excellent then,” I said brightly. “I want you to arrange the surroundings in the living room of my apartment to your preference. Pick up your necessities, and wait for me there, in twenty minutes.”

“Will do,” Harry consented, and turned back further in the corridor, while I made my way back to the lavish surroundings of my first class suite.

Passing through the atrium of the Grand Staircase, I caught the sight of my mother and Mrs. Weasley talking absorbedly to one another, while the men in my life were gathered separately, predictably sipping brandy and smoking cigars, no doubt discussing important world affairs. All of which, however, I received very well - I did not desire to be interrupted.

Hastily walking inside the suite, I had only ten minutes to prepare. I only managed to close the door to my private quarters, when I heard Harry come in after me through the main doors of the flat. He walked around the living room for a bit, and the scraping of furniture against the floor sounded, as he no doubt moved the duvet to a more favourable position.

I disengaged the ornaments, holding the complex arrangement of my hair in place, and permitted to fall free in waves around my shoulders. I regarded myself in the mirror for a second, and decided that I looked more beautiful, when my hair was indeed unrestricted.

Then I pulled down the zipper of my dress, and mind you, there were not many dresses with zippers these days, and I let it pool around my feet.

What was I doing, I suddenly asked myself - what power had willed me to bare myself, only to be drawn by a near-complete stranger! I took the sapphire between my fingers, thinking…The Heart of the Ocean…could it be? That my heart actually belonged…no, it was a ridiculous thought, a ludicrous one even! My life had already been set, planned, and that is how I was going to live it! Once we reached dock, Harry and I would take our separate paths, and I would never see him again!

Then why did that thought depress me so? Would it be possible, perhaps…it was a far-fetched plan, but what would be there to prevent me? Abandon my current life, and meet land once again, hand in hand with Harry…him and I, run away together, to a new life, with new possibilities!

I smiled distantly, as I loosened my corset. Soon, it fell away to join the dress on the floor. I could finally feel myself breathing much easier than the corset allowed me to. Without hesitating, my undergarments were the last to join the pile of clothes in my feet, and I looked up to see myself in the mirror, just as I had come into the world.

Had my mother seen me in this state, she would have had a fit, and very possibly grant me with an infuriating discussions about the merits of being proper, humble, and not being tempted by sins - along with the fact that our high class was respectable, and should aspire to be an example to the inferior echelons of society.

Needless to say, her mindset angered me immensely. Honestly, I was tired of my current lifestyle, being a pawn for a greater purpose, and being treated as a prized possession, rather than a human being. I took my breasts in my hands, and then let them fall in their natural position…it was much more relieving than a corset, in which I barely managed to draw a breath.

Looking at the clock atop the mantelpiece of the fireplace, I realized I had barely a minute to meet my appointment. Quickly hiding the clothes in my travelling trunk, I threw a blanket over my shoulders, and scurried out of my bedroom, and into the next room.

Harry had placed himself on one of the comfortable armchairs. He was leaning forward, the sketchbook propped open on his lap. His attention was absorbed by some thought, and I do not think he noticed me enter.

“Harry?” I spoke up to attract his attention. It worked - his eyes snapped up.

“Good, you're here.” He smiled nervously, “are you ready?”

“Certainly,” I answered, and then I released the blanket around me, letting it fall on the floor.

With a small sense of satisfaction, I noticed Harry's expression redden slightly, but he quickly found his senses.

“Which artist do you most prefer; Monet, perhaps?” I quizzed him to see how well acquainted he was with the world of art.

“Hermione, Monet draws landscapes, and thus, nothing I would be interested in…Romantic artists are skillful in their own right, but my preference lies with those of the Enlightenment,” he explained cordially.

“Oh, I see,” I rejoined thoughtfully. “I am impressed with you, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Now, are there any specific procedures you'll require of me as an artist?” I asked curiously.

“If…if you will lie down on the duvet,” he said, gesturing me to do as he asked - so I did, walking over, and lying lengthwise on the duvet.

“Now, just take your arm, and bring it a bit closer to your head,” he continued his instruction, and I complied, “yes, that's it…turn your palm out a little more, and open your hand too…good, good.”

“Is that all?” I asked, smiling at his flustered countenance.

“Almost,” he replied, “turn your head a bit more toward me…just a bit…yes, that's it…perfect.”

“All right?”

“Definitely…just don't move, and relax.”

My eyes followed the movement of his charcoal on the parchment, and jumped to his concentrated face from time to time. He was really focused, occasionally flicking his gaze towards me, to observe a detail, or to ascertain he was drawing correctly.

The fire burned in the hearth, and the sound of the logs cracking as they burned, permeated the otherwise silent setting. On occasion, I saw Harry use his thumb to smear the sketch in places.

“Hmm, the artiste seems to be blushing,” I observed rather flirtatiously, surprising myself even with my boldness. “I cannot imagine Monet blushing.”

“He does landscapes,” Harry only glanced at me, and smiled mysteriously. “April thirteenth, nineteen-twelve,” he said, scribbling the date on a bottom corner of the sketch. “I am finished.”

“Does that mean I can walk around and stretch now, monsieur artiste?” I asked grandiosely.

“That decision is at your discretion,” he replied humbly. “My job is entirely finished.”

Harry rose, and placed his charcoal in a slot in the sketchbook's cover, before closing it and tying the leather strap on top of it. The completed sketch lay on the coffee table in front of him, and he took it in his hand to show me what it had become.

I took the blanket off the ground, and flung it round me again, before looking at the finished piece.

“For you, Miss Granger,” Harry declared respectfully, at last permitting me to see my rather private portrait.

“It is beautiful,” I muttered at a loss for words. “You have a real talent, Harry…I know I will keep this until the day I die!”

“It really is not that special,” he told me, “when you arrive in Pennsylvania, you could commission someone much better than me to draw a similar sketch of you.”

“I won't do that,” I reassured him. “Oi! I hear someone approaching! You would better leave right away!”

Harry stood, listened, and he seemed to hear the coming steps too.

“I hope to see you soon, Hermione,” he parted quickly, “Good-night for now.”

“Good-night,” I called after him quietly, and watched him slunk away through the door, and down the hallway.

Not a minute later, as I had just managed to place the drawing inside the safe box, Ronald, and my mother came in through the door. They both seemed furious, but did not say a word. Ronald only gave me a contemptuous look, and left for the living room. My mother, rather huffily, also refused to talk to me, and she departed directly to bed. Alas, it was only I, left wondering what the source of their unrest may be.

Deciding to put the matter to rest for tonight, I quickly retreated to my quarters, dressed in my evening attire, and said my prayers. Then, I extinguished my light, and climbed into bed, to the peaceful land of slumber, in the hope that tomorrow would, perhaps, bring me closer to the enigmatic Harry Potter…

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4. Chapter III

Chapter III

April 14, 1912

“Will you pass the sugar, Hermione?” Ronald requested of me stiffly. Wordlessly, I obliged his request, and he placed two cubes into his coffee.

The brilliant morning found me and my fiancé, eating breakfast on the first class private deck. Despite the uplifting beauty of the coming day, he was still withdrawn and preoccupied. I couldn't quite place the source of his discomfort, but I also thought he was severely disgruntled. Or perhaps, he suspected something, because between feverishly stirring his coffee, he sent me glaring glances.

“Where were you last night?” he asked me quietly, his voice trembling ever so-slightly; was he barely managing to control his anger? I shuddered at the thought…

“Sleeping,” I replied as calmly as I could. “I retired immediately after the reception.”

The look in his eyes that met those words did not bode well.

“You wish to tell me,” he spoke, deadly quiet, “that you returned to your chambers immediately after dinner. You were not…diverted, by accident, were you?”

“No,” I said a bit more cautiously. “I -“

“Don't lie to me, Hermione,” he said through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing dangerously, “I witnessed everything, with my own two eyes!”

Quite suddenly, he shot up from his chair. “How could you! Have you no decency! How dare you call yourself respectable, associating with third class scumbags?”

I was severely startled by his outburst, and the sight of him, so intimidating, paralyzed me with fear! What would he do! Could he injure me?! I nearly panicked, with such scary thoughts traversing my mind…

My shock only deepened - with a great lunge, Ronald threw the table aside. It crashed to the floor, the porcelain dishes shattering into a million pieces, and the cutlery resonating loudly as it spread everywhere…

Ronald approached me, his chest heaving with anger, and he bent down, his face bare inches from mine; his eyes were ablaze with the rage.

“I forbid you,” he spoke with an enraged whisper, sending chills down my spine, “to see him ever again. In practice, we are married, and you will honor and respect me. Understood!” he snapped, spraying spit in my face.

I nodded meekly, still unable to organize my thoughts. “Y-Yes,” I stammered.

“Good,” he said spitefully, and without another word, stormed off up the deck.

Still reeling from the intensity of the exchange, and clasping the armrests of the chair tightly, I saw a maid appear from somewhere within the bowels of the ship. She ran onto the deck, and looked around wildly - apparently, the sound of the crashing table had not proceeded unnoticed. At last, her eyes settled on my distressed self, and she ran hastily over to me.

“Oh, Miss!” she cried. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

The maid hassled over me, making sure I was indeed all right. “I am fine, thank you,” I managed to say weakly. “A little unsettled is all.”

“Madam, you need rest,” she insisted. “I implore you, return to your quarters. I will assist you if I must!”

“No, no, I assure you, I am quite well,” I argued my stand, a little stronger too. “Let me help you with this mess…”

And as if to assert my point, I stood up confidently, and started collecting the utensils that had spread all over the deck.

“Madam, please!” the maid sounded horrified. “I will clean this; you have no need to help me!”

“But,” I attempted to reason, “I want to. Am I not free to do as I wish?”

“Of course,” the maid was still feverish. “However, this type of work is certainly not worthy of your standing, Miss.”

“My standing has nothing to do with my desires,” I observed neutrally. “Now, please, let us work together to clean this mess.”

The maid and I made a quick affair of the task. Soon, the broken china was placed in the dustbin the maid had brought over, and she had taken the utensils and the remnants of the breakfast away in the tablecloth. I placed the table in its original position, albeit with a few scratches present on it.

“You are generous, Miss,” the maid bowed respectfully, “I thank you deeply.”

“Think nothing of it,” I replied easily. “It was my pleasure.”

With that, the maid did not utter anything else, and departed back inside the ship. I, on the other hand, prepared myself to return to my own cabin.

My mother was in a high dudgeon when I arrived. She might have been expecting me - a suspicion that was confirmed by the hawkish, hateful glare she directed at me the moment I walked through the door.

“Hermione Jane Granger, how could you!” she seethed through clenched teeth. “Dishonour and embarrass me in such a disgraceful manner! Not to speak of the humiliation on your account! Do you realize what you have done? It is a whole wonder Master Weasley has not called off the engagement!”

“Mother -“ I tried to intervene, unsuccessfully.

“You have soiled the family name, Hermione,” she continued her diatribe. “I am indescribably ashamed to call myself your mother right now.”

“I am incredibly sorry,” I pleaded vainly, “Mother, listen to me -“

“And hear what, Hermione?” she looked at me through teary eyes, “Of your blatant disregard for our family and honour? Is that it?”

“No, Mother, no!” I was becoming increasingly frustrated with my parent's obstinacy, “I do have an…explanation.”

My mother paused, incredulity describing itself on her face. “An explanation?” she sobbed.

“Yes,” I went on resolutely. “You see, I wanted a respite, a break, if you will - “

“A respite, Hermione?” The disappointment in her voice, as she asked the question, was worse than if she had been shouting.

“Yes, Mother,” I consented, directing my eyes to the floor. “A respite.”

“Of what,” she asked me simply, the incredulous expression being maintained on her features. “Have I not been a good mother to you?”

“No, nothing of the sort,” I said quickly. “My life, Mother - I wanted a respite from the strict convention that is my life!”

“You must be feeling ill, child,” my kindly mother rejoined with concern after a few seconds' contemplation. “Lie down, I will call a doctor.”

“Mother!” I exclaimed angrily. “I am most certainly not ill!”

She looked at me questioningly. “No?”

“I am perfectly fine, thank you!” I confirmed adamantly.

“Then why this irrational behavior, dear?” my mother replied in frustrated puzzlement. “I cannot comprehend what devil has invaded you that you act so inexplicably, almost…rebelliously.”

“Of what devil do you speak, Mother?”

Those words caused an immediate change - my parent's expression became harder at once.

“You dare mock me, Hermione?” she replied coldly. “Your own mother? I demand that you apologize to me respectfully, and immediately following that, to furnish me with the reasons behind your unacceptable behavior. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly so, Mother,” I answered obediently. Despite my outward calmness, a snake of blazing, white hot anger reared up inside of me.

“Well?” she prompted me.

“Mother, please accept my apology,” I forced myself to speak as calmly as I could, “I did not mean to insult you, and I am truly sorry for it.”

“Good,” my mother smiled, and continued in softer tones, “much better. Now, why have you been acting so oddly in the last two days?”

I scrambled to think of a legitimate reason that would satisfy my mother. “The journey,” I replied convincingly, “Mother, you know I have not been on such a journey as this before, and the sea must be influencing me in a certain way. I am confident that once we return to land, I will be myself.”

Of course, I knew this was a perfect lie - crossing paths with Harry was beginning to change me, and I could feel it. In fact, it was on the Titanic that I reflected on my life for what it really was, and the direction I needed to take thereafter. I needed to make my life my own.

“Rest, child,” my mother offered. “I will leave you in peace for a few hours, but you must sleep. Regain your strength and reason.”

“I will, Mother, there is no need to burden yourself with preoccupations about me,” I placated her worries further, or at least, attempted to do so.

She left, believing my ruse, and I was once again left to my own devices. Deciding I was indeed rested sufficiently, and in perfect control of my mental faculties, I left the flat several minutes after my mother, and headed out onto the main deck.

I was intending to clear my mind of the most recent developments, and find time to think about my current situation. Quite incidentally, I ran into Mr. Andrews, the shipbuilder.

“Good gracious, you startled me!” I exclaimed. “How do you do, Mr. Andrews?”

“Miss Granger, I presume,” he bowed politely. “I sincerely apologize. And I am quite well, thank you. What about yourself?”

“Excellent,” I replied brightly. “Shall we take a stroll?”

“A capital idea,” he smiled, “I was eager to find company as it is.”

And so we departed, traversing the length of the ship, and I bombarded him with questions about the details pertaining to the construction of this gem of the seas we were currently sailing on. To be frank, I was eager on my part to escape the harrowing attitudes of the people who surrounded me.

“And the lifeboats,” Mr. Andrews told me, and I was listening with keen interest, “they are constructed of the strongest wood, to be able to seat seventy people safely, and withstand the challenges of the harsh conditions at sea.”

“Mr. Andrews,” I observed, “speaking of the lifeboats, I only counted twenty, which means that multiplied by seventy, they can only accommodate a thousand and four hundred souls. What of the rest?”

“Ah, there is not need to worry,” he replied easily. “The Titanic is unsinkable. She is constructed of steel, the strongest metal known to man. Nothing is capable of damaging her irreversibly. Now, if you'll excuse me for a bit, Miss Granger, there is a gentleman right over there, to whom I need to talk to,” Mr. Andrews pointed out the finely dressed and imposing figure of an indeed solid man. “The owner of the White Star; I will be back shortly,” he explained in an undertone, and departed towards the aforementioned gentleman.

I was just beginning to worry what I would do, when suddenly, quite unexpectedly actually, a hand grabbed my mouth, and another around the waist. Immediately panicking, I tried to scream, but without avail - my struggle against my captor was fruitless, as various horrible thoughts of murder and torture sped through my mind…

I heard a door open, and then quickly slam shut. I drew in a deep breath and rushed forward. Taking in my surroundings, I realized I was in a deserted hallway, with my captor behind me. Rapidly turning around, I prepared to confront him, tooth and nail, to preserve my existence…sweat formed on my forehead, as I stood on tenterhooks…

He didn't move. Instead, he took off his hat, and raised his eyes to look at me.

“Harry!” I cried. “What is going on?”

“Hermione, calm down,” he rejoined urgently. “We'll be heard otherwise!”

“Why are we here?” I asked, regaining my composure.

“I needed to talk to you,” he explained. “It is really important.”

“Harry, I am sorry, but I have been forbidden to talk to you,” I said quickly, trying to not show emotion - admittedly, it was painful uttering those words. “Please, leave me be. I have to go.” With that, I made for the door, but unfortunately, I did not count on Harry's stubbornness.

“Wait,” he grabbed me by the arm, and pushed me against the wall, so I did not make another attempt at escape. “Hear me out, please.”

“Alright,” I consented, but tried, and failed, to sound impatient. A part of me did not want to leave this hallway.

Harry paused, took a deep breath, and looked down.

“Look,” he started with hesitation, “this may sound far-fetched, strange, or even weird, but it is the naked truth.” He paused again, frustrated, still holding me pinned against the wall.

“Harry, what is it?” I prompted him gently. “What is on your mind?”

“I have been thinking it over and over, and I can reach no other conclusion. I am not deluded, as much as I have tried to convince myself of that…”

“What are you on about, Harry?” I asked, more urgently.

“I know I have nothing to offer you, nothing to insure you with…hell, even I drift where the winds take me, but I'm involved now, too much even…I'm attracted to you, Hermione, and very much too,” he was feverishly passionate now, “I…I think…no, I know, I know I am in love with you!”

Merciful Heavens! In love with me? I looked into his eyes - intense, bright and fixed on me - it was impossible that he was lying!

“Are - are you positive of that?” I stuttered. As my mind slowly comprehended the revelation, a parallel question arose within me about my loyalty and affections…

“I am,” he answered huskily, “Believe me, Hermione, I mean what I say.”

I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time; cry, because of my fiancé's prohibition to see Harry, and laugh, because I was becoming more confident by the second that I was hopelessly in love with him too…

“Harry, I am so sorry,” I replied quietly, my voice shaking and my eyes burning, “but I can't. I just can't!”

“Hermione, wait one second,” he spoke softly. “I can see the fire burning in you, but if you keep hanging out with your family, that fire will go out…tonight, ensure you are not observed, and meet me at the bow near sunset. We can talk then.”

I briefly nodded my assent, but I do not think he noticed it. Distraught more than I already was, I bolted through the door, and left him standing there.

What could I do? I realized my situation held more questions than answers, and the thought only succeeded in depressing me more. As each second passed, I became increasingly convinced that I, too, was in love with Harry. I had permitted to draw me naked, after all! I do not recall bestowing such honours on another man before - besides, I knew my fiancé was rather uptight and traditionalistic to permit himself the indulgencies of freer life, which I so badly wanted.

Conformity! I hate the word! It is what my mother and Ronald expect of me, without question. My feelings do not matter, and I am supposed, no, expected, to maintain an image of virtuousness and obedience, so commonly held in the already parting Victorian lifestyle. They cared little of my feelings, views and personality. What was more frustrating even was ma mere's blatant disregard for my opinion - she had presumed I was ill and imbalanced.

I wandered aimlessly, still absorbed in my worries. Harry, first and foremost. Here was a man, who appreciated my thoughts, feelings and personality, despite my initial reluctance and hostility towards him. In addition, he had saved my life, at a time when I had wanted to end it all. On his turn, Harry was considerate, sincere and honest. His openness inherently made him much easier to communicate with, devoid of the awkwardness and pretense that was always associated in the presence of my mother, fiancée and his parents. To be in love with Harry…it was strange, yes, as I had known him for a mere two days, but oh! how extraordinary those two days were! It was a comforting thought nonetheless and seemed…right, natural, and not forced, in contrast to my current affairs.

I whiled away the several hours until sunset in the typical manner of a first-class woman, such as myself - by talking about nonsense with other proper ladies in the lounge, and even engaging in a very respectable game of bridge, which I also happened to win on more than one occasion. On her exit earlier today, my mother had mentioned discussing the wedding, and now, she was nowhere to be found. I was confident she was in the private company of the admirable Weasley family, setting order to the crucially important event that was due to take place in Philadelphia, once we arrived.

Assured they had left me to pursue my own occupation on the ship, I excused myself from the rather dull discussion I was a part of, and departed to leave my necklace in my flat. As beautiful as it was, it was heavy to wear, and I felt my neck needed relief from its brilliant burden. That task I completed with relative efficiency, since I did not meet a familiar face on the way.

The time Harry had specified came, and I departed, as inconspicuously as I could manage, to the bow of the Titanic. As I appeared on the main deck, my gaze was drawn to the horizon - the sky was awash in the orange, yellow and pinkish hues of the setting sun. It reflected in the water, which was as still as glass. The sight was beautiful, pure and breathtaking…I almost forgot myself and my purpose, gazing wistfully at it…

Tearing my eyes away from the setting sun, I turned to close the final leg to the bow. I saw Harry, with his back to me, and looking out towards the vastness of the ocean as the wind blew chaotically in his hair. He must have heard me approaching, because he faced me right before I was intending to call out to him.

“Hermoine,” he smiled, sounding delighted. “You came.”

“I did,” I breathed, my heart suddenly beginning to race. “Though I can assure you, I cannot explain why.”

“That is perfectly understandable,” he muttered. “Take my hand; I want to show you something.”

He professed his arm forward. “What do you want to show me?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Do you trust me?” he countered testily.

“Yes,” I heard myself answering before my mind had registered the response.

“Then take my hand,” me instructed me softly, and in spite of myself, I did. “Now close your eyes.” I glanced at him questioningly, but obliged his request.

“Be careful now, step forward slowly,” I heard him saying. “That's it, now step up.”

“Harry!” I exclaimed, unsure of what he was requiring me to do.

“Don't worry, Hermione, I am here. Trust me,” he effectively reassured me. “Good, now step up with the other foot, and you'll be steady.”

Cautiously, I found my footing again, and my alarm decreased substantially. “No peeking yet,” Harry breathed in my ear.

“What - “I began, but he cut across me.

“Shhh,” he whispered, “Free yourself, and spread your wings…”

I heeded the instruction, and found myself easily relaxing. As if they had a will of their own, my arms extended outward of their own accord…a peaceful elation overtook me, and I let the sound of the wind, mingled with the smell of the ocean intoxicate me…

“Do you feel as if you're flying?” Harry's words washed over me.

“Mmm, yes…” I replied distantly.

“Open your eyes.”

They fluttered open - and I gasped! I was standing on the rails at the very nose of the ship, with Harry behind me, and the open ocean in view, meeting with the fiery sky on the horizon.

I was speechless - the incredible chills, the emotion traversing my body in this magical moment…time seemed to stand still. From the corner of my eye I noticed Harry was looking at me, and my head instinctively turned to face him…

We locked gazes; The fire, the passion I felt at that moment…drawn, I released my thoughts, and gave rise to my desires…our lips met in the softest of kisses…thrills went down my spine, as the intensity slowly grew…my heart was racing…I was free, at last…

I involuntarily shiver when I recall that day; it was one of the most extraordinary moments of my life, and I still consider it as such, even now.

Ever so slowly, we parted. “My god,” I breathed, as I slowly regained my senses. “Harry…”

Harry's mind was quite possibly still at sea, but his focus definitely was - his eyes were distant, observing me calmly. “Yes?” he muttered.

I paused for a second; trying to connect my thoughts, I found myself entirely powerless to do so.
“I think…I love you too.”

Yes, I admitted what I had been denying to myself for the past day, almost - I had fallen irreversibly, in the span of two days, for Harry Potter…

Eventually, I headed back to my quarters, with Harry in tow. My intent was to spend a few more enjoyable hours with him, until the time came for me to confront my sour reality once again.

To my horrible surprise, I found one Mr. Lovejoy, a close associate of Ronald, and the afore-chosen best man, right at the first class gates, looking at me with unbidden malice. I froze, fixing him with a stunned look of my own. Beside me, Harry stopped, confused, glancing from me, to him, and back.

“Miss Granger,” he chose his words carefully, his eyes flicking towards Harry. “I shall require you to come with me as expressly as possible. And if you will, not in Mr. Potter's presence.”

“Why need I come with you?” I answered a second later, after I had comprehended what was being asked of me.

“Master Weasley wishes to have a word with you, and he is rather adamant about it, I am afraid,” he explained in stronger tones. “If I were you, Miss Granger, I would not try his patience.”

“Tell Ronald,” I said decisively, “that I will not be able to see him tonight. I am preoccupied with other matter for the rest of the evening.”

“Miss Granger,” Lovejoy went on with malicious glee. “Master Weasley also authorized me to forcibly bring you to him, should the circumstances arise. And seeing you won't have the will to cooperate,” he finished, and very unexpectedly, lunged for me.

I instinctively jumped back, and Harry stepped deftly between me and him. “Don't touch her,” he warned threateningly.

“Step aside, sir,” Lovejoy said, almost annoyingly. “I have no desire to deal with you as well.”

“And I don't intend to let you hurt her, either,” Harry replied icily, standing his ground.

“I am warning you, sir,” Lovejoy raised his tone, “I would rather not have this confrontation escalate.”

“Let us pass and I won't be forced to pummel you to pulp,” Harry threatened Lovejoy further; the latter paused, as if a thought had entered his mind.

“Alright, you win,” he conceded, shifting his eyes to me. “I'll stand aside.”

I knew I could not trust this man. From my encounters with him, I was quite aware he had various machinations behind his outward appearance that were always different than his professed intentions. And as we passed, I deliberately expressed my distrust silently by fixing him keenly; he only smiled coldly at me.

We walked in silence through the corridors of the first class accommodations of the ship, feeling on edge for some unfathomable reason. Lovejoy's abrupt change of attitude was not convincing at all.

“Halt, Ms. Granger,” his cold voice transplanted itself from my thoughts to reality. “I must insist you come with me.”

I turned around, and saw him, not three feet from where Harry and I were standing. “Excuse me?” I retorted, all the while thinking how he could have appeared so quietly and without notice.

“I have been tested enough, Miss Granger,” he became more stern. “Please, do not force me to take external measures!”

“Hermione,” Harry whispered from the corner of his mouth, “on three, run.”

I nodded discreetly to indicate I had heard.

“One, two…three!”

Without waiting for a second invitation, I dashed after Harry, as quickly as my heeled shoes would permit me, and did not turn back Lovejoy.

“Hey! Where are you going?” he shouted after our retreating backs. “Come back here!”

The sound of his heavy boots hitting the floor, as he ran after us, reached me. “Harry!” I gasped. “We need to lose him!”

“Right,” he replied, panting a bit himself. “The elevators!”

Heavy and lumbering, Lovejoy puffed along behind us, but his age and weight finally said their word - exhausted form the exertion, he slowed down, and even if we could still hear him coming, his steps had grown dimmer to the ear.

“The elevators are this way,” I said nonchalantly, and taking Harry by the hand, I led him down another hallway. In the space of a minute, we reached the doors, but among that, another welcome sound re-asserted its presence- that of heavy boots running along.

“Are you going down?” Harry asked the piccolo in the elevator, before I had tried to.

“Yes,” he replied, dignified.

“Good then,” Harry said and looking back, his eyes widened in horror as Lovejoy appeared at the end of the hallway. “Hurry!”

I dashed inside the cabin, and Harry came in after me.

“Hold the door, man, hold the door!” Lovejoy yelled as he ran closer, but thankfully, It was too late.

“I apologize, sir, you must wait for the next round,” the piccolo called out formally.

As the elevator slipped beneath the floor, I smiled up at Lovejoy's purely livid expression, and laughed out loud, when I saw him grumbled under his breath. A second later, though, he glanced at me, and rushed off in another direction.

“That was a close call,” I told Harry, elated. “I am glad he's no longer after us.”

“Are you crazy?” Harry rejoined apprehensively. “He is descending the stairs, and he saw the piccolo press the button for the bottom floor.”

“You mean the cargo hold?” I asked uncertainly.

“I suppose, if that's what the last floor is,” he observed. “And seeing how slow we're moving, he'll be waiting for us at the door.”

I should not have underestimated Lovejoy's determination, when I was quite aware of that trait of his character. All I could do now was hope that he would not intercept Harry and I at the cargo hold - and even, I told myself, we could hide among the goods in the cargo bay, and frustrate him that way…

After an intense, slow minute, the elevator stopped descending, and halted with a small shake.

“Last stop,” said the piccolo, and opened the door. I was ready to punch, kick, and perform the most unladylike mannerisms, to free my path should I find it blocked. Beside me, I felt Harry stiffen, and I inferred he also expected a physical confrontation.

To my immense surprise, the corridor outside was deserted. Still not trusting the ominous quiet, I and Harry ran out of the elevator, thanking the piccolo in our haste, and looked around for another door or passageway out. In the meanwhile, the elevator creaked back up towards the main floors of the liner, and we were left to our own devices.

“There they are!” two voices suddenly shouted.

Startled, I turned around, but did not have time to think, Seeing a door to the right a small distance further down the corridor, I seized the opportunity, and dashed towards it. Harry followed my lead quickly, and soon, we were through it. The crewmen's steps had speeded up, which only meant they were rapidly gaining.

It was as if we had walked into an inferno. Above us, massive boilers were under immense pressure from the steam that was produced by the heat of the fire in the kilns below. Men were shoveling coal into the kilns, and most were black as demons from the soot that was kicked up; the fire illuminated their blackened and sweaty faces. A foreman was walking in the central aisle between the two rows of kilns, and occupied himself by assuring the rhythm of the workers. The sound of the burning fire, the cling of shovels, and the yells of the workers were deafening.

As he was looking around, however, his eyes shot up to see Harry and myself. “Hey! What are yer kids doing here?” he shouted, waving at us.

Instead of answering, we ran forward, through the multitude of shouts and exclamations by the firemen. “Go on outta here! This `ere `s no place for yeh!” a voice accompanied our departure, and just as we arrived at the exit, we turned around and saw the crewmen who were pursuing us, enter the boiler room. To my delight, the foreman stopped them, and refused to let them pass. They argued, threatened, but to no avail, and at length, were forced to return to the corridor on the other side. I slipped through the exit, and Harry followed behind me.

“Peace at last,” I breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall to quiet my beating heart.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed. “A pure stroke of luck, that was…”

I looked up to see where we were. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I could make out the multitude of crates and chests of luggage and goods. In the dim light, I noticed several new and shiny automobiles gleaming.

Harry must have noticed where I was looking, because he directed his steps towards one of the three cars in view. Smiling to myself, I followed him.

He took hold of the door handle and turned it. “Where to, m'lady?” he asked grandiosely with an artistic bow. Going along with the play, I climbed inside the lavish coupe.

“To the stars,” I commanded equally impressively.

“Right away, Miss,” Harry rejoined sarcastically, and in his turn, took the driver's seat.

From inside the coupe, I rolled down the window that separated the passengers from the driver.

“You know, Harry, I would much rather have you keep me company back here,” I said innocently, poking my head through the opening.

“Would you?” he turned to face me. “I am all, but a poor driver, after all.”

“Certainly,” I said, “come on.” And grabbing him by the arms, and dragged him through the window in the spacious rear quarters. He squirmed to accommodate himself through and eventually, collapsed on the seat next to me.

“So, as far as I gather, Miss, you would prefer me to keep you company?” he continued, but the bravado in his voice quickly died when he looked at me properly.

No words were needed; I only moved forward and kissed him deeply.

“Tonight, Harry, take me, and make me yours,” I whispered huskily. “Here and now.”

“Damn, it's bloody cold tonight,” Johnson Brody cursed, looking out towards the dark ocean.

“Aye,” his colleague, David Whittaker, affirmed. “Iceberg watch will be a pain.”

“Did you ever find those binoculars, by the way?” Johnson inquired, “The captain ordered we ought to have a pair tonight.”

“No,” David rejoined sadly. “They've disappeared without a trace. Bur really, even in this pitch blackness, we ought to see anything big enough to sink the ship.”

“Yeh, you have a point,” Johnson said. “How hard could it be to see an iceberg?”

“Not very, it can't be,” argued David, “They're bloody huge.”

“Still, binoculars would have been helpful,” Johnson observed.

“I'm going to go for a cup of coffee,” the other said. “I'll bring you one too.”

“Alright,” the latter replied, and glanced out towards the ocean. “Wait a second, Dave. Do you see that in distance?”

“Eh?” David turned back, and squinted towards the impenetrable wall of darkness. “That's a silhouette of some sort…might be just our imagination…”

The Titanic's rapid speed quickly allowed for the clearance of any doubts as to what the mysterious object might be.

“It's a bloody iceberg!” Johnson shouted. “It's an iceberg, dead ahead! Ring the bell, damn it, ring the bell! I'll go warn the captain!”

David put his entire strength to alerting the crew as loudly as possible. In the meanwhile, Johnson jumped down the latter, several steps at a time, and rushed towards the bridge.

“Iceberg! Dead ahead!” he panted, storming through the door. “Turn to starboard, quickly!”

“Calm down, man,” the first officer stepped forward. “What are you talking about!”

“We'll crash head on into a bloody iceberg unless you avoid it!” Johnson was nearly hysterical. “Quickly, look!” And he pointed out of the window, where the imposing figure of ice was indeed becoming more imposing.

“Hard to starboard!” the first officer commanded. “Turn it all the way! Engage the engines in full reverse! We must slow down!”

The chaos was complete. Orders were issued to the engine rooms, and the measures implemented hurriedly, haphazardly, but entirely. By now, the iceberg was quite distinct.

“The wheel is locked!” shouted the sailor at the helm. “God be with us…” he muttered.

Up at the crow's nest, David watched apprehensively, as the ship approached the iceberg, and was beginning to turn. “Come on, come on, come on, a little more…” he murmured under his breath, as if trying to coax the Titanic into avoiding the iceberg.

The monstrous body of the iceberg loomed, ominous and dark. Someone standing at the rails on the deck could reach out and touch it.

A strong vibration travelled through the ship, as the hull struck the iceberg. The first officer, standing on the balcony of the bridge, felt the tremor of the railing he was grasping in apprehension. Fearing the worst, he walked back inside the bridge.

“Find out if there has been a puncture,” he ordered coolly, “If so; make arrangements to seal the watertight doors. Hurry now.”

“Yessir,” the sailor replied, and set about to perform the assigned task.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” he responded absently.

“When we dock, I'm coming with you,” I declared resolutely - as it happened, that thought had been pervading my mind for the entire day.

He rubbed my shoulder slowly, and replied thoughtfully, “What of your family? You can't just leave them.”

“I know, Harry, but they will have to understand that I am my own person, not the porcelain figure they want me to be,” I explained solemnly. “It will be painful, I agree, but they will have to adjust.”

“This…this is crazy,” he said after a minute's silence. “We've known one another for three days, and now we've practically eloped. Let alone talking about a future together.”

“I agree,” my answer came swiftly, “and I enjoy every second, because something tells me I have made the right decision.”

“Strange - “ Harry began, but then stopped himself abruptly. “Did you feel something?”

A slight tremor travelled through us, and I was not entirely sure what it was. “A vibration, that's what I felt,” I said.

“Let's go up to the deck,” Harry went on urgently. “I have a bad feeling if we stay here.”

I decided not to object, and followed his lead. On the way to the deck, we did not meet a soul, and when we ventured into the cold night air, an extraordinary sight met us - pieces of ice were sliding on the deck, and children were running around and playing football with them.

“What is that?” I asked, astounded.

“There are icebergs in this part of the Atlantic,” Harry explained. “And I could be losing my mind, but I would say we seem to have had hit one…”

“Maybe that's what that vibration was?” I hypothesized.

“Possibly,” he agreed.

“I want to go see if my family is alright,” I insisted. “And you are to come with me.”

“Can't you go by yourself?” Harry sounded uneasy. “I don't want to confront your fiancé and that Lovejoy fellow.”

“Then, do tell, how do you expect me to deal with them by myself?” I challenged him.

“A fair point,” he concurred. “Come on then."

I entered my flat, expecting it to be empty, or in other words, that my mother, fiancée, and his family, would still be chattering away in the First Class lounge.

Contrary to my expectations, however, they were all assembled in the living room, sharing uneasy glances, and seemingly waiting for something.

“Ah, Hermoine, dear,” my mother sounded falsely elated. “How good of you to join us, and…you too, Mr. Potter,” she said his name with distaste.

“I can take your jacket, Sir,” Lovejoy offered his services to Harry, and while the latter eyed him strangely, complied in the decency, shown by our former pursuer.

“Hermione,” Ronald said neutrally, “I don't see you wearing the necklace I gave you.”

“It is a heavy piece of jewelry,” I replied dryly, “I felt I wanted my neck to relax for a while.”

“I am afraid the matter is much more serious than that,” Ronald rejoined gravely. “Unfortunately, it has been stolen, and I have an educated suspicion of who the perpetrator may be.”

“Really?” I asked, not quite able to make a connection to this new development.

“Lovejoy, would you be kind enough to check Mr. Potter's jacket for the missing necklace?” Ronald turned to his associate with an air of certainty.

The latter made his way to the hooks, where Harry's jacket had been placed, and thoroughly searched the pockets. Surprisingly, I saw something glint in his hand.

“Found it,” he said, “Mr. Potter is a thief!”

“I swear,” Harry jumped up in his defence, “I have no idea how that necklace ended up in my pocket!”

“Lies will not save you, Mr. Potter,” Ronald observed coolly. “Lovejoy, assure that this thief is apprehended and kept under control until we reach port!”

“Aye, sir,” Lovejoy ascertained. “Come along, you.”

“Hermione, don't you believe me?” Harry asked desperately. “Come on, you know I didn't steal that necklace!”

I did not know what to believe. I expressly trusted Harry, and I did not see how he could have carried out the crime. But on the other hand, I also had a duty to trust Ronald, and his conviction seemed unshakeable. Harry was carried out by Lovejoy, but my uneasiness only increased.

“You see what associating with such people brings to you, dear?” my mother pointed out complacently, “Thieves, murderers, and the scum of society!”

Anger arose within me, and I fought hard to contain it…I knew Harry was innocent - he had been with me the whole day. I did not know my mother and fiancé would stoop to such low ground, to frame the only genuine person whom I had known up until that point of my life.

“Mr. Andrews,” the captain walked into the ship designer's office. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, sir,” Mr. Andrews looked up from his desk. “How can I help you?”

“The first officer relayed to me the unfortunate circumstances that we now find ourselves in,” the captain said urgently. “From you, I need an estimate about the integrity of the ship.”

Mr. Andrews opened a drawer in his desk, and took out several rolls of blueprints. He spread out one that illustrated a detailed cross-section of the Titanic.

“Has there been flooding?” he asked directly.

“Yes, the forward compartments have been flooded,” the captain replied immediately.

“The Titanic is capable of staying above water with up to four compartments breached, sir,” Mr. Andrews explained. “That, however, is the absolute limit.”

“I have received word of five compartments that have been flooded,” the captain said.

“Five compartments?” the latter was shocked. “You are sure of this?”

“Completely, Mr. Andrews,” the captain answered gravely. “It does not bode well.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Mr. Andrews stood up and walked around his office anxiously. “The Titanic is sinking, sir,” he admitted after a minute's silence. “The only viable alternative is to evacuate the ship, while we still have the time. At the rate it is being flooded, we have a little less than two hours, before the Titanic disappears under the waves.

The captain's strength seemed to fail him, and he sat down on a chair near the door, trying to comprehend the reality and intensity of the situation.

“Two hours?” he repeated faintly.

“Two hours,” Mr. Andrews affirmed quietly. “Beginning to load the lifeboats will be the soundest policy at the moment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Andrews,” the captain replied, and rising from his chair, left the office to orchestrate the evacuation of the doomed ship.

Mr. Andrews looked regrettably at the elaborately designed clock on the mantel of his fireplace - in less than two hours, he knew, many would perish.

-->

5. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

April 15, 1912

By now, Ronald and I were alone in the suite. My mother had departed to find a reason for the commotion that was spreading throughout the ship, and had conveniently left me in the unwelcome company of my fiancé.

“Would you care to explain this?” he asked quietly, holding the folder I immediately recognized as Harry's, in his hand.

“It is a folder, yes,” I decided to aggravate him further. “What of it?”

“It is the drawing inside I am worried about,” he went on icily. “How could you!”

“Very simply,” I replied testily. “I took my clothes off, and let him draw me in the nude. Why would that be shocking?”

No doubt surprised at my audacity and stubbornness, Ronald was at a loss of words. Instead, his face contorted in anger, and he fixed me with a murderous gaze.

Then very unexpectedly, he raised his hand, and slapped me across the face - I felt the sting of the impact on my cheek.

“I thought,” he went on, his face reddening with anger, “that you would honour me, respect me and cherish me as a wife should do for a husband! And not go around, sinking to the level of a prostitute! Have you no shame!”

“Have you no human decency!” I countered heatedly, as another ball of anger flared up inside me.

“How dare you hold such tongue in front of me!” he roared, and grabbed me by the arms.

I was just beginning to feel scared about what would follow, when a timely interruption came in the form of a steward.

“Sir,” he said loudly when he crossed the threshold of the suite. “I will require of you and your lady to put your life belts on, as soon as possible.”

“Leave us, you dolt,” Ronald snapped at him. “Can't you see we're preoccupied here?”

“I am sorry, sir, but it is Captain's orders,” the steward answered, coming out of the cupboard, where the life belts were kept.

“This is most unkind of you sir,” Ronald's tone had dropped dangerously low. “I warn you, leave this suite immediately!”

The object of his wrath, however, merely shrugged, and turned to me. “Now, I am sure it is only a precaution, but you should put it on, just in case. I trust we will be on our way to New York as soon as possible.”

“All right,” I agreed, still shaky from the most recent round of rage from Ronald.

“We'll talk about this later,” Ronald said tensely. “Come with me!” And seizing me by the upper arm, he dragged me out of the suite towards the first class deck to find a lifeboat.

Once we arrived, we found it to be rather crowded. Ronald fought through the mass of people, and eventually, reached the front, where my mother was.

A sailor was assisting the women around us into the lifeboat, and our turn would soon come. I felt resigned, slipping back into the prison that was my life.

“Will the boats be seated according to class?” my mother piped up, but nobody answered; slightly uncomfortable, she turned to me. “Well, I hope they aren't too crowded.”

“Oh, Mother!” I snapped, not able to contain myself. “Don't you understand? There aren't nearly enough boats for half the people on this ship! Half of the people will die!” She only looked at me incomprehensibly, and remained silent.

“Madam, it is your turn,” the sailor directed my mother and she willingly stepped into the lifeboat, before sitting down tensely.

“You know,” Ronald turned to me quietly. “It's a pity I didn't keep that drawing - it would be worth a lot more in the morning.

I fixed him with a pitying glare, before I heard myself say my honest opinion, “You unimaginable bastard!” He only leered at me, and started into the boat himself.

“Come on, Rose, dear,” my mother said, waving me over. “There's plenty of room for you here.”

Something inside me froze, and I took a few steps back. “No,” I whispered.

“Excuse me?” my mother was incredulous.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I said sternly, and turned on my heel to leave; unfortunately, I heard the sound of rushing feet behind me.

“No!” Ronald shouted. “No! I forbid you to leave, to demean yourself to his whore!”

“I'd rather be his whore than your wife!” I snapped, and gathering my strength, spit into his face; his mouth opened with the shock, and I took the chance to break free.

“So, Mr. Potter, you thought you could escape unnoticed, did you?” Lovejoy taunted him. “You know very well that scum such as yourself rarely goes unpunished.”

“I didn't do it,” Harry growled, straining against the pipe around which he was handcuffed.

“You are a bad influence on Miss Granger,” Lovejoy continued menacingly. “And as this ship sinks, so will you, for good.”

“How do you know it's sinking?” Harry asked distractedly. “I don't see water anywhere.”

“Oh, it will be here soon enough,” the latter smiled grotesquely. “You see?”

And in fact, the freezing ocean water had begun to snake its way into the room.

“You can't leave me here,” Harry told him. “Have a heart, man!” he called, after seeing Lovejoy rise from the chair.

“Goodbye, Mr. Potter,” he said curtly. “It has indeed been a pleasure.” And with those parting words, he left for the higher decks of the vessel.

“Damn it, wait,” Harry shouted out in desperation. “Help me!”

I made my way through the corridor, heaving with exhaustion from running for so long. Ronald had not attempted to follow me, and I was relieved for that. The water was quickly pooling at my feet, as the stream became deeper by the minute. From asking various stewards and attendants, I knew Harry had been taken down on this level somewhere.

“Help!” I suddenly heard a shout. “Somebody help me!”

I recognized his voice! Despite my tiredness, I fought against the swelling water to reach Harry quicker. I saw a light coming from one of the compartments - he had to be there! Just a little further…

“Hermione!” he exclaimed when I appeared at the entrance, grasping the walls for support.

“Harry!” I breathed out in relief. “You're all right!”

“Hermione, listen,” he spoke loudly to be heard over the roar of the water. “There should be a key in that desk somewhere…look for it, so I can unlock these cuffs.”

“Alright, alright,” I replied hurriedly, turning my attention to the desk in question.

“Hurry!” he said from behind me; frantically opening drawer after drawer, I did see a number of keys, but none of them were made for the pair of handcuffs.

“Wait, I will be right back,” I shouted back, and turned towards the corridor again.

I had seen an axe a bit further down, and I thought I could use it to free Harry. Fighting the now waist-deep water, I slowly progressed, careful not to lose my footing and be swept by the current to a watery death.

There it was! I snapped the axe from its mount on the wall, and doubled back, with even more exertion; the water level was nearing my chest…

“Harry!” I gasped. “The axe! I'll free you with the axe!”

He seemed much less confident than I felt. “Alright,” he said. “But first, take a couple of practice swings at the desk.”

In my excitement, my hands were not very steady. I took a swing, and buried it in the desk.

“Good!” Harry encouraged me. “Now try and hit that same spot again!”

I tried - and failed, as the axe landed far from the original strike. My third attempt was no more successful.

“All right,” Harry said, his eyes ablaze. “You'll have to take a chance, Hermione. Just aim for the pipe - all you need is a single strike.”

Shaking all over, I was anxious, and grew even more so at the thought of injuring him badly. I raised the axe above my head, poised to bring it down, and he stretched the chain against the pipe.

“On three,” he instructed me, but I barely managed to hear him. “One…two…three!”

A great clang resounded, as I closed my eyes and let the axe fall, hitting the pipe forcefully. It didn't rebound, but instead, slid down, and my shaking hands dropped it to the floor.

“Hah!” Harry laughed, elated.”Hermione, you did it!”

I opened my eyes disbelievingly - there he was, grinning at me, free as a bird.

“Oh, Harry!” I cried, and flung myself onto him.

“Come on,” he said into my ear. “We have to go, before we drown here!”

Reality dawned back on me quickly, and my mind seemed to clear. “Yes,” I released him, “let's go.”

The water was already at my chest, and I had to swim out, followed closely by Harry, who helped me fight against the current.

“Grab hold of the pipes above!” he told me. “And look for the nearest staircase!”

The rush of the water, accompanied by the creaking of iron, as the ship strained against the influx of the flood, made any communication between me and Harry nearly impossible. The freezing water also made me shiver considerably, and it took me entire remaining strength not to release the pipes, and surrender myself to Death…

“I see a light!” I yelled back, toward Harry. “It must be a staircase!”

“Head for it!” Harry shouted back.

After another minute's exhaustive effort, we came to the landing. With my last ounce of strength, I took hold of the parapet, and pulled myself to a shallower depth. Harry followed me immediately after.

“We're safe for now,” he embraced me, and I collapsed into his arms. “Come on, let's head up.”

When my senses caught up with me, I realized there was a considerable commotion in front of us.

“Seamus!” I heard Harry address someone. “What's happening here?”

“Oi, Harry!” the latter said feverishly. “Bloody bastards have blocked the exit! They won't let us through!”

“Damn it,” Harry swore. “Alright - let's find another way out.”

He started further down the hall, and I followed him. Dean came after us, but abruptly stopped.

“Helga, come on,” he called urgently, but the girl he pleaded to come with him, shook her head fearfully.

`Non,” she answered quietly, but Dean didn't hear her; the reason for her decision evidently being her father, who was standing behind her. Dean shared a quick glance with her father, full of meaning; he nodded sadly, and whispered something to his daughter.

I saw a tear roll down her face, and with one last fierce embrace of her father, she parted from him and rushed towards Seamus.

“Go, go!” Harry called on me and the other two to hurry - the water was already creeping up to our level.

Running down the hallway, we reached another staircase, but the situation was the same there too- people were crowded around the blocked exit, and shouting at the attendants on the other side to let them through.

“It's no good that way!” Dean exclaimed, and Helga whimpered beside him.

“We're going to die, aren't we?” her voice quavered.

Harry took the lead, and dashed down the corridor, and I followed him - Tommy and Helga kept pace with us. Soon enough, we came up to another gate, but just the same, it was blocked off by a couple of crewmen, and a mob of panicked passengers pleading to be released to the deck.

“Stay back!” a squat crewman was saying. “Stay back or I'll shoot!”

“Seamus, look, whatever we do, we have to do it fast!” Harry told his friend, and then looked around for any way to open up a way through. “Mate, help me with that bench!”

The bench in question was indeed a heavy, wooden one. Harry ran over to it, and with several tugs, dislodged it from the wall.

“You, give us a hand, will you?” he called out to another burly man; he nodded, and grabbed one side of the bench. “Seamus, you're the driver! We're gonna ram our way out!”

“Alright, mate,” the latter answered. “Come on now!”

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” the attendant on the other side asked shockingly, stepping back.

“Now!” The three of them gave one giant thrust, and impacted the gates with the bench - they buckled, but still held. “Again!” The second time was enough, and the bench burst through the opening.

“Outta the way!” someone called to the stewards, but he needn't have done so - they were swept by the moving throng of people.

Harry pushed me in front of him, and I rushed forward, and up to the next level. Thankfully, the water had not reached here yet, but the smell of salt permeated the air still. Eventually, we made it to the top deck, and wildly looked around for an available boat.

“All the boats have gone!” I said, panicking.

“No, miss,” an elderly gentleman told me, as he was passing by. “There is still a boat being lowered near the front of the ship. This way, I will lead.”

Numbly following him, I weaved my way through the deck, followed by Harry, and then Dean and Helga. Indeed, there was more of a crowd formed around the last boat. We fought our way to the front of the crowd.

“Women and children only, please!” the sailor was shouting over the panicking crowd. “Women and children, only!”

“Seamus, you better check the other side, tell us if there's an available boat,” Harry told him in an undertone. “Hurry!”

“Sure, mate,” he replied, and dashed off.

“Miss, are you ready to step through,” the sailor turned to me.

I faced Harry. “I'm not going without you.”

“Hermione,” he looked at me deeply. “You have to board the boat.”

“No, not without you!” I remained adamant.

Quite unexpectedly, Ronald appeared next to Harry. “Yes, you must.”

Harry turned to Ronald, but didn't say anything to him. “Listen, I will catch the next boat, I promise.”

“Hermione,” my now, no doubt, former fiancé, said, “save yourself. I have made arrangements for Harry and myself.”

“See, I do have my own boat to catch,” Harry encouraged me.

I took him for his word, and permitted the sailor to take me onto the boat. All the while, I did not let my eyes fall from Harry's.

“Lower away!” the sailor called, and the two other crewmen at the cranes slowly fed the rope to descend the boat…

“You're a good liar,” Ronald told Harry in an undertone.

“Yeah,” the latter answered, “almost as good as you.”

“Hmm,” Ronald affirmed.

“There…there is no arrangement, is there?” Harry asked in the silence, as he continued to look down at Hermione.

“No, there is,” Ronald replied. “Not that you will benefit from it, however.”

“I knew that,” Harry replied with a slight chuckle.

“I always win, Mr. Potter, and you should do well to remember that.”

I watched them both as I approached the calm surface of the ocean. Harry was resigned, sorrowful, and a tear seemed to fall down his cheek. Something intense welled up within me, and I thought I would burst from the pain I felt, being apart from him…my own hot tears slid down my cheeks, as I thought about it.

And then, an unexplainable thought seized me, and without thinking, or even considering it, I jumped, aiming to grab a hold on the railing.

“Rose! No!” I heard Harry shout above me. “What are you doing!”

I climbed aboard the ship, aided by two men who pulled me over. Without a second's hesitation, I ran to meet Harry, and the fastest way was through the Grand Staircase. Passing by passengers, crewmen and upturned furniture, I did not stop, until I saw him descending the stairs.

“Harry!” I shouted, and flung myself at him, emotion clouding my reason and judgment; all I could do was break down and cry.

“Hermione, you're so stupid!” he kissed me. “You're so stupid! Why did you do it? Why!”

I looked at him, blinking away my tears and taking a moment to utter a phrase I had found very meaningful recently. “You jump, I jump, right?”

“Right,” he whispered, and hugged me once more. “Oi, Hermione, move!”

Harry swept me down, and I heard a gunshot ricochet off one of the wood ornaments that happened to be inches from my head.

“Come on!” Harry took me by the hand, and we tore down the next flight of stairs. I heard Ronald thundering behind us, and from the corner of my eye, saw his slip and fall on the spot where we were standing moments previously.

Another gunshot - this time it just missed Harry's head. And again, we had reached the rising water.

“Come on, this way,” Harry said, and taking me by the hand, dragged me through the cold water.

We had cleared into the dining room, when I heard another splash behind us - three shots in quick succession followed, two of which went awry, but the third broke the glass of the door, and almost impacted Harry.

No doubt he tried to shoot again, but the sound of the empty chamber clicking the empty round resounded through the cavernous expanse of the dining hall.

“I hope you enjoy your time together!” he shouted but did not attempt to follow us. Regardless, Harry and I slunk back towards the staff quarters in the kitchen to make sure we completely lost him.

A tense minute passed as we retreated into a corner, listening intently. Besides the dripping water and my chattering teeth, all was quiet.

“It seems safe,” Harry said quietly. “Come on.” And not releasing my hand, he pulled me further into the depths of the ship.

The corridors on the higher levels were beginning to flood, and quicker too. Anxious to find a way out, I was exhausted, but something propelled me to keep going, despite the fact that my overtaxed body was screaming for recuperation.

I stopped suddenly, as another sound reached my ears - that of a crying child.

“Harry, wait!” I exclaimed. “Listen!”

Over the noise of the flowing water, Harry heard it too. “Come on!” he said shortly, and ran in the direction of the stranded child.

It didn't take long. It was a small boy, no more than five years of age, perhaps, but he was in a right state. On either end of the hallway, water was rushing in, and at one of the ends, two doors were creaking ominously, threatening to release the wall of water behind them…

“Stay here,” Harry told me, and running quickly towards the boy, he picked him up, and doubled back.

“It will be alright, don't worry,” I spoke soothingly as I took the boy from Harry, despite the turmoil of anxiety and emotion that was rolling within me.

A man came in the hallway, and looking around wildly, he spotted me with the child. “Kolya!” he exclaimed. Then, muttering something in Russian, as far as I gathered, he rushed up to us, took the child from my hands, and pushed me aside, as he continued running down the hallway, speaking to his son.

“No time to lose,” Harry rejoined, “We have to go!”

A thunder sounded behind us, and with a surge of horror, I realized the doors had broken, and a massive wave of water was coming through. In the incidence I happened to glance back, I saw the man, who had just passed us, being swept by tremendous force down the other hallway. His scream seemed haunting, inhuman, and the child cried helplessly too…

I cringe still at the memory, and sometimes I can still hear and see them in my mind's eye, as I remember that night…

The staircase was very near. Harry managed to grab a hold of the parapet, and extended his hand to me, compelling me to take it. I did and he pulled me to relative safety.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, looking up at our way out; it was again barred by gates. Then out of nowhere, we heard running steps, and one steward came into view.

“Sir!” I called out desperately, “help us! Please!” He turned around and stared at us wildly.

“The bloody ship is going down!” he said quickly.

“I know, but please! It won't take long. Help us, please!” Harry pleaded with him.

The water level was indeed beginning to climb, and not thirty seconds had passed when it was at my heels. “Sir, hurry!” I hastened him, as he fumbled with the keys and tried key after key. None worked, and in his excitement, he dropped the chain. I watched, with horror, as it disappeared underwater.

“I am sorry, I have dropped the keys!” he explained himself quickly, and looking apologetically at us, disappeared up the staircase that led to the deck.

“Now what!” I turned to Harry desperately.

Without saying anything, he took a deep breath, and dived under. Seconds later he resurfaced, the keys in his hand.

“Give me a minute,” he said, and set to work, trying to unlock the gates with each successive key. “Where's a bench when you need one,” he joked, and I laughed, despite my alarm - the water was reaching my neck, and I was seriously considering the very possibility of drowning…

The gates swung open against the current, and we were swept to the next flight of stairs.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked me in concern, as we mounted the stairs.

“Yes, I just hit my knee, but it's nothing too bad,” I answered, out of breath, as we at last came to the top deck.

The ship was already submerged under a very high angle. The bow, along with the first class accommodations, was already underwater. I could see the propellers had risen from the water, and the boats were already gone too.

Many people were already in the ocean, treading for their lives. My heart broke, seeing them so helpless and destined to die.

“Hey, Harry, isn't that Dean down there?” I asked, pointing to a speck of a person, who was visible in the light from the ship.

“Aye, it is,” he answered, after scrutinizing the figure. “But he can't hear us. The only way we can reach him, is when we're forced to swim ourselves - “

But he didn't finish. Very unexpectedly, one of the cables holding the forward most smoke column in place, snapped, and shot into the sky. The massive pipe screamed from the strain, and tilted right over where people were already swimming. Unable to speak, I watched, as the cables on the other side snapped too, and the column tilted over dangerously, before falling with a resounding crash into the ocean.

“Seamus!” Harry shouted, but to no avail - I had to restrain him from doing something rash.

“Harry, stop! Compose yourself!” I attempted to calm him, and he closed his eyes, affected by my touch.

“We have to stay on this ship as long as possible,” he said solemnly over the shouts of the people around us. “Come on.”

I was shivering from being drenched by the freezing water for so long, and now coupled with the cold air, my body felt numb all over.

“Harry, let me rest for a little bit,” I breathed, on the edge of my strength and limits.

“It's only a bit more Hermione,” he soothed me. “We only need to reach the back of the ship.”

I forced my protesting body to comply - rising again, Harry took my hand, and led the way; walking over debris, we ascended the sinking Titanic, but it became increasingly more difficult, as the stern rose further and further into the air.

“Almost there,” he turned to me. “Almost there!”

With one last flicker, the lights were extinguished forever, and the Titanic was plunged in absolute darkness, save for the stars above. If that did not surprise me enough, a sudden loud sound of splintering wood caught my attention. “Harry, wait!”

He stopped, and turned around. The words formed on his lips, but they froze, and he and I watched in horrid fascination, as a crack appeared widthwise on the middle of the ship, and next, it spread to the hull - the steel broke apart, rivets shot off as they snapped from their sockets, and impacted several stunned victims. The black precipice opening in front of us could only have one meaning - the ship was splitting in half! More unfortunate souls slid down the decks, and disappeared to their deaths in the black abyss. It was deafening, as machinery, wood, steel and debris exploded, split, and slowly, but surely, spelled the demise of this great ship…

Finally, we reached the poop deck, and hung on to the rails for dear life. The Titanic had almost split, and the rear part was high above the water. Hundreds of feet below, I watched as people fell to their deaths, some bouncing grotesquely off the various components of the deck. I wanted to close my eyes, but couldn't, for fear I would let go too…

“Hang on, Hermione, hang on,” Harry spoke, trying to reassure me. “We'll survive!”

The back of the ship, just as unexpectedly, collapsed back into the water, righting itself immediately. I felt nauseous from the motion, thinking to myself I would not be able to handle much more of this…

“We're saved!” the refrain sounded around the deck.

For one blissful moment, I believed it too, but my illusions were quickly dispelled, as the stern started to ascend once more.

“Oh, Lord! We're going to die!” a woman screamed hysterically, before unwillingly releasing the railing, and I watched, shocked, as she plunged to her death.

“Hermione,” Harry called out to me, “we have to climb on the other side of the railing, or we're going to fall.”

“Alright,” I shouted back, already growing weak from the effort, required to keep myself attached. Harry deftly pulled himself over on the top side.

“Give me your hand,” he stretched out his own to take mine. “Don't worry, I've got you!”

And I was glad for it. Just as I had settled beside Harry, the stern had righted itself straight up the air, resembling an extraordinary tower amidst the ocean.

“Well, you don't see this everyday,” I said weakly, staring down at the surface of the ocean.

The back of the Titanic swayed in its spot, motionless, as if it was waiting for something. Then, with the metal screeching and twisting, it slowly started to sink, straight down.

“Hermione,” Harry said feverishly, “listen to me. Once the stern disappears, it will want to suck as down with it. On the count of three, I want you to take a deep breath, release the rail, and kick as hard as you can. Do you understand me? Kick, as hard as you possibly can, and whatever you do, do not let go of my hand!”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, on the mere edge of my reason and wits.

“Trust me, Hermione!”

“I trust you,” I screamed back, as I prepared myself as best as I could to enter the freezing water for the consecutive time.

The stern sunk faster and faster, as it approached the water.

“On three, Hermione,” Harry yelled. “One…two…now!”

I gulped as much air as I could fill my lungs with, and kicked, just as Harry had instructed me, but I lost the grasp of his arm. The cold water pierced through me with the intensity of a thousand knives, and it hurt me immensely, pricking at every point on my body.

“Harry!” I sputtered, as I surfaced, wet and freezing, and I no longer feeling the drag of the stern beneath me. “Harry! Where are you!” I gasped, fighting to keep myself afloat.

Around me, people were shouting looking for loved ones, and panicking, as the cold paralyzed them. It was a horrible sound, and I wanted to shut it out, but could not.

“Hermione!” Harry came up behind me. “Are you alright?”

A thrill went through me when I heard his voice, and a weight was literally lifted off my chest. “Y-yes,” I chattered, trying to keep myself composed.

“I want you to swim, Hermione,” Harry addressed me insistently. “You have to move around and swim, alright?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered, and tried to swim as best as I could. I knew how, I had done it before, but nowhere near in conditions such as these.

After several minutes of dodging flailing bodies and swimming through the frigid water, Harry came atop a wooden door, which must have been the remainder of some cupboard.

“Hermione, pull yourself on top of this,” he whispered, and assisted me in climbing on board. Then he tried to draw himself beside me, but the door buckled, and flipped over.

I surfaced once again, and Harry shot up beside me. “I guess there's only room on there for one of us. And that would be you.”

“And you?” I asked him with concern.

“Don't worry about me,” he waived me off. “I'll be fine.” Even if he said that, I could see him starting to turn blue.

I dragged myself back onto the wooden board, and Harry accosted himself in the water in front of me.

“Do you think they will be back soon?” I asked him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered quickly, shivering involuntarily. “They won't be long.”

I grasped his hand in my own, and huddled as close as I could for warmth. I kept shivering, barely able to keep myself conscious.

“H-Harry,” I looked up, my voice faltering, “I lo-love you.”

“Don't, Hermione!” he breathed back, his voice barely above a rasp. “Don't say your goodbyes yet. You and I, we will survive. You will live through, marry into a beautiful family, and have lots of babies. And you'll die of old age, warm in your bed. You won't die this night. Don't talk now…you need your strength.”

“My future belongs with you, Harry,” I whispered, and he tried to smile, his breath coming in short gasps.

“Promise me you'll survive, Hermione,” he said, his words coming divided. “Promise…me,” his breathing was still short and quick.

“I promise,” I said, and kissed him. “I promise, Harry.”

My hair was frozen with frost, and I could see Harry's was too. We remained, waiting, hoping someone would come back and find us.

I entered into a daze, and was neither dead, nor alive. The only indication that I was still alive was that I felt Harry's hand in my own. Other than that, I could not feel my body. The calm waves drifted me back and forth, and I was myself slowly drifting off, but something inside me prevented me from slipping completely into blessed unconsciousness.

My semblance of time had disappeared entirely. At one point, my dulled senses registered a bright light in the distance, and the distorted shouting of someone. Slowly, I willed myself to focus back onto reality, and thus, onto the distant object. Only then did I realize, it was a sole boat, returned to look for survivors.

“Harry,” I breathed - my voice was quiet and no more than a weak rasp. “Harry?”

Gently, I prodded him, but he did not respond. His eyes were closed, and he seemed peaceful - his face was very blue, and rimmed with frost. “Harry?” I tried, a little stronger, but I already understood.

He was dead - gone forever.

“Harry,” a tear streamed down my cheek, “Oh, God.”

My hand was frozen with his, and I did not want to disengage it. However, then I recalled my promise, and closed my eyes - I had promised him I would survive, no matter what.

With a heavy heart, I used what little strength I had to pry my hand free. I watched Harry, as he drifted away from me, and slowly, sank below the surface, becoming more obscure, as he disappeared below the waves…

There would be time to mourn him, but it would not be now, I told myself. I directed my attention at the boat, which seemed to be coming closer.

“Help,” I croaked, stretching my frozen arm towards them, “Help!” Unfortunately, there was no way I could be heard, or seen, and I knew that. Close to me, I saw the body of a crew member floating face down, and there was a whistle around his neck.

My saving grace! Exhausted, overtaxed, and miraculously still clinging to life, I paddled as best as I could to grasp the whistle. And somehow, I managed it; blowing it a few times, I seemed to attract the needed attention, and the powerful beam of light turned to me.

“Row,” I heard the command distantly, “Row, damn it!”

Finally, I felt myself more resigned than before. Two powerful hands raised me from my flimsy accommodation upon the ocean surface, and into the boat - it was then that I finally slipped into unconsciousness.

The Carpathia had been the only ship to respond to the Titanic's distress calls. The survivors were picked up from the boats, and after about a day at sea, our boat had been collected as well. Late afternoon had arrived, and I was standing on the deck of the Carpathia, letting the rain soak me, but I did not care. I felt nothing but sorrow and loss; yet, there was a hope within me that I would be able to start anew - perhaps, not with Harry at my side, however desperately I wished for the opposite, but afresh nonetheless.

“Miss?” a crewman of the ship came to me, carrying an umbrella, along with a pad and a pen. “I need to record your name for the list of survivors of the Titanic.”

I looked at him plainly. “Rose,” I said, “Rose Potter.”

He recorded my name, and proceeded on to the next person; I continued to look out at the ocean, thinking and wondering…

“Hermione?” a familiar voice suddenly addressed me, and I turned.

“Ronald,” I replied without emotion, and waited for him to speak.

“I was worried about you,” he said solemnly. “We all are.”

“Look,” I replied forcibly. “Ronald, I do not want to ever see you again, nor do I want you to ever look for me. Do I make myself clear?”

His jaw clenched, but his eyes fell to the deck, “Yes, perfectly. What would you like me to tell your mother?”

I reflected for a minute, before replying. “Tell her…tell her that her daughter was lost with the Titanic.”

He nodded, and bowed slightly, before turning to walk away from me for the last time.

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My Heart Will Go On

1. Prologue

2. Chapter I

3. Chapter II

4. Chapter III

5. Chapter IV

6. Epilogue