They landed on the stormy Cornwall coast, wind lashing their faces and the roar of the waves in their ears. Hermione hadn't seen the house since she had apparated to Gringotts, polyjuiced as Bellatrix Lestrange. Her memories of this place were completely wrapped up with that vile woman, and she found it hard to breathe.
Despite the weather, none of them had moved. Harry turned and she could tell he was staring up the cliff behind them at Dobby's grave. His hand dropped from hers, and he began the trek up the sandy path, feet slipping on the eroded dune.
Ron was staring at the house with an expression she couldn't place. And then, like Harry, he let go of her hand and went inside, the door slamming behind him with a bang.
She stood alone at the gate.
Already wet, she didn't think it mattered if she stayed out. She didn't feel like going inside at that moment to see the place where she had woken up screaming due to Bellatrix's torture.
She walked down the rough cut steps to the beach and sat on a large chunk of driftwood. The frothy surf danced near her feet but didn't quite reach, although she got hit by the spray repeatedly.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as she was brought back to that day Dobby rescued her from Malfoy Manor and deposited them in the wet sand.
Unknowingly, she twisted her left forearm causing the holster to pull at the scar tissue, but she didn't notice. She remembered Harry crying over Dobby and how much she wanted to comfort him. At that time, she couldn't deal with her own issues, much less his. She knew Harry dug the grave and they buried the faithful elf, but otherwise she had little memory of that time. The ones she did have consisted of a small bedroom and Fleur's softly accented voice until she recovered and they continued on their mission.
A particularly vicious gale that caught her hair, whipping the drenched ringlets in her face, finally convinced her to move. At the top of the steps, she looked toward the cliff and could just make out Harry's dark head among the bending grasses. With a sigh, she kept walking and struggled up the hill after him.
She found him crouched next to Dobby's headstone. Hermione came up behind him and knelt by his side. The wind had already started to wreak it's constant assault on the limestone; the pits and scars were beginning to obscure the letters Harry had carved.
She laid a hand on his back, and he slid his hand back to land on her knee. They stayed that way, battered by the weather, until Harry stood and pulled her to her feet next to him. As he started to step away, she stopped him and withdrew her wand. After a slow circular motion, a bright, colorful wreath appeared. A carefully applied sticking charm ensured it wouldn't be blown away.
They were halfway down the hill when Harry turned to her. "He would have liked that," he said softly, and all she could do was nod.
They entered the side door into a small anteroom and cast multiple drying charms until they were sure they wouldn't track wet and sand throughout Fleur's house.
Ron was found in the small but homey kitchen, a fire going in the grate and tea on the butcher block table. He sat in one of the chairs, elbows on the table, his hands wrapped around a mug. He barely looked up when they came in.
Hermione shrugged out of her jacket and laid it near the fire as it was still a bit damp. "Alright, Ron?" she asked, as Harry took a seat and studied them carefully.
"Yeah," he replied, distractedly
"What's wrong?" she asked again and went to lay a hand on his. But he pulled away so she couldn't reach him. She tried not to be hurt by his action.
"Ron," Harry said once, but his voice was hard and conveyed an entire conversation with one syllable.
The wooden legs of the chair scraped the stone floor as Ron stood up suddenly and stalked to the sink, depositing his cup in it with more force than Fleur probably would have appreciated.
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and leaned back against the basin, crossing his feet at the ankles, purposefully not looking at her or Harry.
"I hate being here," he said quickly. "This is where I came after...after I left you two in the forest. Bill and Fleur let me stay and sulk, and after awhile Bill talked some sense into me." He turned around and looked out the window, watching the rain hit the glass in long streams, rolling sideways from the force of the wind.
Hermione was about to speak when Harry held a hand up to stop her.
"Then we were back here after Malfoy Manor and everything was so awful. I just wanted to get out of here as fast as I could. I haven't been back. Even when the girls were born, I just waited to see them when they came to the Burrow," he finished and stared for a long time before he turned around.
"I'm so sorry, Ron. I had no idea..." she trailed off, considering what he had told her. "I'm not terribly fond of the place myself, but it's better than being in the middle of London."
"We won't be here long," Harry supplied. "Long enough to do some research, get our feet under us, and see where we go from here."
Ron nodded. "Thanks. And...I'll be fine, I'll get over it. It was just this is the first time I've been here, and it feels so much like it did when we were here before..."
"You don't have to explain," Hermione said in a falsely bright voice, and Ron cocked an eyebrow at her. "Don't patronize me, Granger," he growled mockingly and then scrubbed a hand through still wet hair, sending water droplets everywhere like a shaggy dog. "No worries. I'll get my head out of my arse soon enough. Think I'm going to go claim a room. I hope there's something other than Vic's pink Pegasus bed to choose."
After he'd left, she turned to Harry who was seemingly lost in thought, staring into the fire.
"I left them part of the mirror," he said, not moving his gaze. "It's the only way we'll be able to contact them. It may be dangerous, but I didn't know what else to do." He sighed and rubbed his temple, the strain and stress coming out now that it was just the two of them.
She rose from her chair and came up behind him, leaning over his left shoulder and letting her arms fall down onto his chest. She pressed her cheek into his hair. "It was the right thing to do," she said softly and they stayed there like that, looking into the fire until they heard Ron's heavy boot treads descending the stairs.
She didn't straighten up until Ron was almost in the room, hands resting on Harry's shoulders.
"No need to worry about being attacked by Vic's stuffed animal collection overnight; there was another room," Ron said, sounding better than he had before.
"We should probably go get settled," she said and pulled Harry up by the hand.
"Thought you'd want Bill and Fleur's room," Ron called after them as they headed for the staircase. "Oh, and the spell is `Si-len-ci-o," he enunciated carefully.
Hermione chose to ignore his ribald joke, but she saw Harry draw his wand and send a flick over his shoulder right before Ron let out a yelp. "Oi! That's not funny!" the red head bellowed from the kitchen.
She was glad to see Harry chuckling.
When they reached the upstairs hallway, there was nothing but closed doors to choose from. The first was an explosion of pink and white, and the large canopied bed in the center with prancing Pegasus running across it could only belong to Victoire. The one next door was smaller and clearly the nursery; the small stuffed dragon in the crib made Hermione wonder if Dominique was missing it, and she felt a pang that somehow she was responsible for driving this family from their home.
Harry must have sensed her guilt and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze.
The next room was the one Ron had claimed, his jacket and pack thrown haphazardly on the bed. The door across was the bathroom. And then there were only two left. Something was crawling up inside her that she couldn't put her finger on, but it was making her uneasy and skittish, and she didn't like it.
Harry pushed into the next to last room and her breath caught in her throat. This was the room she had woken up in. The one where she had first seen her scar and where she had writhed in pain from the after effects of the numerous Crucios Bellatrix had used on her.
She backed out of the room slowly. There was no way they could stay in there.
She kept moving back until she hit the wall behind her and sucked in deep breaths through her nose. Harry was right in front of her, a hand at her waist. "Alright?"
"Yeah," she said shakily. "But I hope you don't mind if we don't stay in there."
He just took her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before taking her fingers and drawing her behind him as they entered the room at the end of the hall.
It was perfect: big and bright and airy. All whitewashed wood and gauzy curtains that looked over the sea. There was a padded rocker in one corner and she could almost see Fleur sitting in it rocking the baby.
"This will do," she said breathily and was glad to see that Harry looked a little lighter just by being in the serene setting.
They spent their time unpacking. Even though they could be leaving at any moment it gave her a sense of security to set things up the way she wanted. It may have been a false sense of security, but it was better than nothing. Setting up the tent just so had always been the first thing she had done when they arrived at a new location, and she knew the boys appreciated it even if they didn't seem to notice.
Harry handed her a small black pouch and she arched a brow quizzically. "Last two days of your potions," he responded. She opened it and saw six miniature vials ready and waiting. "Is this really necessary?" she asked exasperated. "I'm feeling back to normal."
Harry's eyes flared and she forced down the urge to take a step backwards. "Since I sat by your lifeless body not four days ago I'd say it's necessary," he bit out, then turned on his heel and was out the door in three strides.
She heard the quick staccato thumps as he practically ran down the stairs and then a few seconds later Ron called out to him before the slamming of the door shook the entire house.
She shut her eyes tight and tried to control her breathing. Harry was closer to the edge than she had thought. Setting the potions to the side, she walked to the window, pulled the sheer curtain out of the way, and spotted him.
Harry stood twenty feet in front of the house, arms crossed, watching the waves bash the coastline. There was another shake of the house, not as violent this time, and then she saw Ron approach him.
Ron stood to Harry's right and, intentionally or not, mirrored his position. From what she could tell, neither of them were speaking.
She didn't move to join them. It didn't seem like the right thing to do. Watching as the rain continued to drench them, Ron eventually turned towards Harry and said something. There were wide arm movements and pointing back to the cottage. Harry stood in stony silence.
Hermione was frozen in the window as she observed the one sided conversation. Ron threw his hands up in exasperation, kicked a stone off the side of the overlook, and went back to studying the sea, hands shoved in his pockets.
She started to wonder if maybe she should go down there: Is that what he expected? Suddenly Harry turned his head and, as if he'd known she'd been there the entire time, his green eyes locked on her brown ones.
Then she blinked and he was gone. She startled, her heart in her throat, but there was a noise behind her. Harry stood in the middle of the bedroom, dripping water everywhere, looking equal parts miserable and...something else.
His eyes were dark to match his hair and then before she could consider what it all meant he advanced on her.
The something else was desperation and four years of being apart. One hand cupped her jaw, the other wrapped around her waist and then his mouth was on her; unforgiving.
Her fingers were in his wet hair, and she shivered, but not from the cold seeping from his drenched clothes into hers. His hands were skimming under her shirt while his mouth reacquainted itself with her ear and then her neck.
"Oh, gods, Harry," she moaned. "I missed you." He silenced her with his lips.
He pulled back to drag her shirt over her head. As she struggled to remove her wand holster she had the sense of mind to silently cast the spells that locked the door and silenced the room. Then her wand fell from her hand and he was backing them to the bed while her hands were pushing his sodden jacket off his shoulders.
He gave a growl of frustration, and with a flick of his wand they were divested of heavy boots and hard to remove trousers. "Nice trick," she said approvingly. "I've been saving that one," he replied, sounding predatory, making her stomach flip.
Then he was pushing her back, lips finding every scar she had, ghosting over them, and making her gasp. When he got to the one on her side, he bowed his head over it, his breath ragged. "Don't die on me again `Mione. Just don't," he begged brokenly. She pulled him back up towards her and promised him with kisses.
She woke up later to seagulls calling, and a weak post storm sunlight filtered through the large windows. Her hair spilled over his bare chest and their legs were tangled beneath the thin sheets.
She didn't want to move. A memory from when they were alone and on the run struck her; she had said to him one sad day that they should just hide out in the forest and grow old together. That's how she felt right then.
Absently tracing circles on his stomach, she didn't know when he woke up. "That tickles," he said, voice rough. She lifted her head and sat her chin on his chest so she could look at him. "Sorry. Want me to stop?"
He rolled them so he could look down at her. "Never," he replied and proceeded to dance his fingers over her ribs. She shrieked in protest and tried to get away from him, but he was too strong.
The teasing soon changed to something else, and she gasped as he trailed a hand down her thigh and hitched her leg over his hip. She had discovered that there was a spot on his collarbone that caused him to make a rather interesting noise. She decided turn about was fair play and tried to see if she could force him to make it again.
She must have gotten it right because he sucked in a sharp breath and his hand clenched on her hip. "Now who's not playing fair," he growled and pulled her over on him and they got reacquainted. Again.
Thirty minutes later she was searching the floor for her wand and smiled wryly when Harry accio'd it for her. When everything was back in place she considered herself in the mirror and sighed. It was impossible to hide what they had been doing. Her jaw was red and blotchy from his stubble and he had a bruise forming on his neck that his shirt didn't quite cover.
Hermione was attempting to put her curls into a messy plait when Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Ron's never going to let us hear the end of this," she said with a long suffering sigh.
He dipped his head to her neck again. "Ron should mind his own business," his voice muffled.
She squirmed away, turning to face him. "Stop! Or we're never going to leave this room," she admonished.
"If only that were possible," he said, sounding so tired her heart ached for him.
"I know, luv," she replied, hand brushing the hair away from the rim of his glasses.
They were still and then he kissed her gently before taking her hand and turning for the door. "Come on, let's go face the inevitable."
But when they got downstairs they weren't prepared for the sight that met them. Ron had made himself at home. He was in the kitchen, two skillets and one bubbling pot going, with Fleur's ruffly apron tied around his waist.
Harry and Hermione stood stock still in the doorway, unable to move or speak.
Ron didn't turn around, but he floated two plates from the counter to the table in open invitation.
They were two steps from the chairs when he spoke up. "Got that out of your system, did you?" and she had to swallow down the instant flare of indignation she felt.
Harry merely sat down and began to eat, ignoring the comment. "Cheers mate, almost as good as your mum's."
Ron extended his middle finger in Harry's direction, clearly disappointed they hadn't responded to his attempt to rile them.
Ron's wand flicked at the stove and the flames died down as he took off the apron and tossed it over the back of the nearest chair. He took a plate of his own and joined them.
Hermione got an evil smirk on her face as she began to eat. "Thanks for cooking, Ron. I've worked up such an appetite, I'm completely famished," she said sweetly. Harry choked on his food and began coughing uncontrollably while Ron went red to his hairline.
He sputtered for a moment before he erupted. "That shite right there is NOT ALLOWED!!!" he roared, and she dissolved in giggles while Harry was still trying to catch his breath.
"Really, `Mione." Harry was finally able to get out, but she just gave him a simpering smile. She was not going to be bested by Ron Weasley.
"What?" she said innocently and Ron glared at her. She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you don't like it then you need to behave," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Hermione tucked into her rather tasty meal while the boys took a bit longer to recover. When she was done, Ron was still silently fuming and picking at his plate. She put her dishes in the sink, pressed a kiss to Harry's hair as she walked by, and slapped the back of Ron's head. "Research time, boys; meet me in the library." She sailed out, heading upstairs to get their stash of books.
Shell Cottage didn't have a library per-se, but it did have a decent sized room that Bill seemed to use as an office of sorts. The parlor was larger, but it contained too much of Bill and Fleur's life; she didn't want the constant reminder that they were in someone else's home.
Bill's office had a large desk that faced the windows and two armchairs situated in front of a small fireplace.
By the time the boys joined her she had cleared the desk, moved the chairs, and had a magical map of Europe and Eastern Asia floating off to the side.
Ron still looked slightly mutinous, but he did look her in the eye when he came in.
Harry wandered over to the map and stood, staring at it, hands in his pockets. After a turn about the room Ron joined him.
Hermione dug through the books and found one on the history of Slavic magics. She had nothing to base this on, but she had a feeling St. Petersburg wasn't a coincidence and she wanted to be familiar with the magical community there.
She curled in one of the armchairs and began reading. In the background she could hear Harry bringing Ron up to speed on what he had really been doing, what his job actually was, and why he had been in Russia.
An hour later she looked up and saw Harry with a book and Ron writing on some parchment, a look of intense concentration on his face. Her eyes slammed shut, and with the heat of the fire, and the smell of leather and old books she could pretend they were fifteen again, working in the Gryffindor common room. Her heart hurt for a moment and when she opened her eyes again she caught Harry staring at her like he knew what she was thinking about. She gave him a sad smile and went back to the book.
Harry calling her name sometime later broke her from her reading. " `Mione, come here and look at this."
She put the book aside and stood up stiffly, her legs protesting after being in the same position for so long. She may have also been overdue on a potion or two and would have to rectify that before Harry got that look in his eye again.
Harry was at the desk and she came up behind him, rubbing a hand over the tense muscles in his back as she looked at what he had.
There were several newspaper strewn in front of him but only one she recognized. The others seemed to be international editions, mostly European.
She reached over him to flip some of them to their fronts so she could better see the titles. "Why would Bill have these?"
"International markets," Ron supplied distractedly from his spot in front of the map. He had used his wand to make some new marks and draw lines connecting specific cities.
"I wasn't looking at the exchange rates though," Harry said. "Nothing big is going on, not obviously at least; but after looking at a few of these I couldn't help but notice that some of these smaller incidents might be part of something bigger."
She nudged his shoulder with her hip. "Budge up." Harry got up and vacated the chair for her. He smoothed a hand over her hair as she sat. "I'll go make some tea and grab some biscuits."
Hermione was so engrossed by the article she was reading that she barely heard him. "Of course," she said absently and didn't even look up as he left.
She was on the third paper when a cup of tea, plate of biscuits, and two potion bottles were set next to her right hand. She smiled a quick thanks and went back to the article. A few minutes later a potion vial was hanging in mid air, gently bumping into her hand. Her brow crinkled in confusion until she looked around and saw Ron smirking and Harry pointing his wand in her direction. Taking the hint, she downed the potions and then washed the taste away with her tea, glad to see Harry's pleased smile.
At first glance, the articles Harry had pointed out seemed to be unrelated. They were small, basic reports of break-ins, one suspicious death, and one report of a prominent local wizard going missing. They were also scattered; one from Germany, one from Norway, and one from Bulgaria. There was nothing in any of the articles to suggest they were connected no matter how many times she read them, but there was something about it that was bothering her, something she knew she'd remember eventually.
Harry's hands settled on her shoulders and she let her head drop forward. "You're right. There's something here, but I can't see it," she admitted.
"You'll get there," he said with conviction. "You always do." She reached a hand up to cover his.
"For now, we'll have Ron put the locations on the map just to see if we can't find a connection," Harry said and took the list she had made.
She sat back in the chair and looked around, wondering when it had gotten dark. Her spine cracked as she stood up and she saw the boys once again at the map. Her hand slid over Harry's back as she went by. "I'm just going to pop out for a second and get some air." His eyes asked if she was ok and she answered him back the same; she was.
She paused in the kitchen to stoke the fire. Once the sun was down it had cooled inside. The anteroom had several jackets hanging on hooks and she grabbed a sturdy looking duster made of moleskin and slipped it on, figuring it must have been Bill's due to the size, not to mention she could never imagine Fleur wearing such a thing.
Light from the house was enough to see by as she made her way to the beach. She was able to walk on the sand some as the tide was out and the surf was calm. Burying her nose in the collar of the coat she stuffed her hands in the pockets and tried to stay warm.
She felt Harry approach and didn't startle when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. She leaned her weight back and enjoyed the solid feeling of him behind her.
"I love it here at night," she said softly. "It doesn't look the same, and I can pretend I'm on the coast someplace else. I've always liked the beach at night." He didn't say anything, just dropped a kiss to her temple and turned them back to the cottage.
They ate sandwiches in the kitchen and purposely ignored the work waiting for them in the office. After cleaning up she went to head back but Harry blocked her. "Not tonight," he said and waggled a bottle of sleeping draught in front of her.
She opened her mouth in protest but he stared her down. "This is the last night, Harry," she said firmly, and he eventually nodded his acquiescence.
Not wanting a repeat of the day before, she took the vial, told Ron goodnight, and headed up the stairs.
Knowing she was playing dirty, she purposely put his jersey on before climbing into bed. He came through the door just in time to see `POTTER' for a brief flash before she turned around. He had a look in his eye that said he'd much rather see the jersey on the floor, but she made a show of tipping the potion back and then setting it on the side table.
If he wanted her to take the damn draught then he was going to suffer the consequences.
It was a smaller dose than the day before so she didn't pass out immediately. She drifted lazily until Harry got in next to her and she settled down in the crook of his shoulder while he stroked her hair. Almost gone, she managed to mumble, "Love you," before sleep claimed her.