She woke up slowly, groggy-headed from the potion, and another rainy day was keeping the sun from announcing itself. The first thing she noticed was that her leg no longer hurt. The second thing she noticed was one very asleep Harry Potter with his head pressed into her shoulder blade and a hand still clenched in the fabric that covered her stomach.
So it wasn't a dream. He was really here and he had really stayed. She let out a shuddering exhale, just then realizing how much distrust she had that he would actually be there in the morning.
Where had he been? Four years with no word and now she discovers he's some sort of Special Branch Auror for lack of another definition. Who in the Ministry knew? Kingsley for sure, that much was certain, but she was so out of touch she didn't even know who the head of the Auror office was right then.
Was he a Hit Wizard? That could explain his inability to go into detail about his job, but she couldn't actually see Harry as a Hit Wizard. They had a reputation for being dirty and going rogue, doing things outside the scope of regulations. But she had to admit that she didn't really know the Harry lying next to her. Maybe that was something he did now.
She came back to the same question: Where had he been? He hadn't been in England, of that she was certain. He had to have been far away, he had said he had to be `found'. That made it sound like maybe even his own department didn't know where he was at all times. Then he had said he needed to make `arrangements' to come back, which suggested he was involved in some sort of operation that he couldn't just walk away from, maybe even undercover. It would be hard for Harry to go undercover even with glamours. Polyjuice was always an option, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be his first choice.
There were wizards and witches all over the world; however, there were only certain areas that had large communities like in England. She had to posit that an Auror of Harry's `specialty' would not be stationed in some tiny wizarding village in Belgium. It made more sense to assume that he was someplace more populated. Not only more populated but one of the larger populations of wizards outside of Great Britain. That really only left St. Petersburg or Hong Kong.
She had been so lost in thought she hadn't felt him begin to wake.
"Worked it out yet?" he asked, voice rough with sleep and she started not only because he surprised her but also because of the way her stomach flipped at how he sounded.
She swallowed heavily and licked her lips before she replied. "Eastern Europe or Asia." not wanting to annoy him by being too specific, since he didn't want her to know where he'd been.
"Don't insult me Hermione." he pushed.
"Fine. St.Petersburg," she said in a clipped tone. This wasn't exactly how she wanted to start the day.
He rolled to his back and sighed heavily, the hand on her stomach fisting in the fabric. "Gods `Mione, why do you have to be so bloody brilliant all the time?"
She didn't answer.
"How'd you know it was St. Petersburg?"
"Your cloak. Heavy weight fabric meant for cold climates and I could feel the warming charms still on it when you put it on me last night. You wouldn't need that cloak in Hong Kong."
He rolled back towards her and pressed his forehead into her collarbone. "You can't know that. You can't know where I've been or what I've been doing. It's not safe."
She brought her left hand up instinctively and combed through the fringe over his scar, taken by the genuine concern in his voice.
"Are you a Hit Wizard?" she had to ask.
He let out a dark laugh and shook his head "No. Nothing like that. I can't...I need you to forget where I've been, ok? It's not safe for you to know. No one can know." he pleaded
She pushed his hair out of the way and began to trace his scar. She had never done that before. "Ok, Harry. I won't mention it again. I promise."
His eyes slammed shut and she could see him fighting for control. "Thank you," he said, voice gruff, and she just kept tracing the jagged mark.
The hand from her stomach came up and wrapped gently around her wrist, pulling it away from him slightly so he could look. His thumb followed her lead and ran over the last `d' that still stood out so vividly where her sleeve had fallen back.
With a flash of panic she realized her arm was bare. "Where's my wand?" she asked frantically, eyes shooting around trying to find it.
"Calm down," he said forcefully. "I took it off of you last night after you fell asleep. It didn't look very comfortable." Reaching behind him he grabbed her wand and holster off the table and pressed it into her hand.
She felt less frantic as soon as it was in her hand again. "It's funny, I haven't used this wand in so long I couldn't even remember where it was at first, and now that I have it again...it feels like it's been no time at all."
"That's because you're a witch Hermione, you're supposed to do magic." he said quietly, and she could feel him scrutinizing her face. "So how come you stopped?"
"Ah, the question," she began, not sure how or if she could explain this to him.
"Yes. The idea that you haven't done magic in so long...I can't quite understand that."
"Well, right now, lying here with you...I can't quite understand it either." she admitted and then took a deep breath before continuing. "It's only been the past two years or so really. At first I used it for little things like the washing up or summoning a book from across the room. After awhile I realized I was using it less and less. And when I did use it...it just reminded me too much of what I lost. Magic meant you," she said with a small shrug. "So one day I put my wand in a drawer and I didn't get it out again. It wasn't as hard as you'd think, and it helped lessen how often I remembered."
"I'm sorry," he repeated unnecessarily
"Harry, why..." but she didn't get any farther before he cut her off.
"Not now `Mione. I can't." And then he was pressing a quick kiss to her forehead and swinging his legs off the bed, heading for the bathroom.
She brought both hands up to cover her face and let out a small growl of frustration. She'd spooked him.
She could hear the shower start and knew he was trying to give them some space. But she needed to know. Not what he was doing now or the specifics of his mission, although she was of course curious, but she needed to know why he left and didn't come back. She needed to know why he left her.
She gave herself a few minutes to wallow and then sat up letting her legs hang over the side of the bed. The bandage was still in place but she felt no pain. Whatever Harry had done last night had worked.
She heard the water turn off and only a few moments later he stepped out and she may have forgotten how to breathe.
No glasses, hair wet, towel wrapped around his waist...she got a very good look at Harry Potter for the first time in a long while.
She must have made a noise because his head whipped towards her and he had the good grace to flush. "Oh, um, sorry. Left my pack out here and...I thought you'd be...I just thought you might be asleep again. Let me just grab it and I'll be..." and then he caught himself stammering and snatched up what he was looking for and headed back into the bathroom, door shutting a bit harder than necessary.
She hoped she hadn't looked too shocked. They had been very carefully avoiding bringing up that, and she didn't think right now was the time.
He came out a few minutes later, fully dressed, and not looking the least bit sheepish. The Auror mask seemed to have slipped back into place.
"Want me to look at that?" he asked, pointing at her leg.
"No. That's alright, I'll deal with it," she said quickly, standing to make her way towards the bathroom.
Now it was his turn to stare as she realized too late that she was only wearing a shirt that stopped at her hips and a pair of cotton knickers.
"It feels loads better. Promise," she said with a tight smile "I'll just be a minute and then we can figure out what we're doing." Before he can respond she slipped through the door.
She leaned back against the door and mistakenly took a deep breath. Instantly she was flooded with the smell of his soap and it brought back so many memories she felt light headed.
She couldn't go there right then, it wasn't the time. So she turned her attention to the bandage on her leg.
It peeled off easily and she was pleased to see the wound was entirely healed. Other than a faint whitish line you couldn't tell anything had happened.
She resigned herself to a quick wash, and ran a comb through her unruly locks before rejoining him.
He had been busy while she was in the bathroom. The bed had been made, his pack was out of sight-presumably shrunk-and her bag sat waiting on the chair along with her wand and holster. His robes must have been in his pack or he had transfigured them since he now wore a short leather jacket instead.
"How's the leg?" he asked, clearly trying to move on from what had happened earlier.
"It's perfect. Barely a mark." she answered with a smile and crossed to the chair to get her things. As she was strapping the holster to her arm she could feel his eyes on her scar. "So, what's the plan?" she said, wanting to distract him.
"The plan?" he said with a start and lifted one hand to rub over the back of his head nervously and then he was back. "The plan is to get you back to England."
"And..."
"And nothing. That's it. You need to be back in England where you can have some protection and I can figure out what's going on."
She looked at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? You expect me to just do as you say and head back home, only to be hidden away in a tower somewhere while you go and slay the dragon."
"I highly doubt there is a dragon involved Hermione, although..." he stated in all seriousness
"It was a metaphor, Harry!" she barks "You can't seriously believe I'm going to agree to this."
"I wasn't asking your permission, nor do I need your consent. This is how it's going to be," he said forcefully, and the look on his face told her he wasn't going to be easily dissuaded.
"Just try me, Harry Potter," she retorted, her anger rising at his presumption that he could just bully her around like this. "I know it's been a while since you've seen me, but I would hope that you haven't forgotten the last year we were together where I saved your skinny arse on a semi-regular basis, so don't try and treat me like I'm some mark that's just going to cow tow to your commands because you're mister big Auror man now! This is my life and I have every right to..." but she's cut off because in the blink of an eye he's advanced on her and has grasped her by her shoulders and looks like he wants to throttle her.
"You're going to listen to me!" he growls, and she can tell he's barely keeping himself from shaking her. "They called me back because they thought Ron was going to die! I come here and discover you're being hunted. I intend to do whatever I can to keep you safe and if that means that you're going to do what I say and listen to me then that's what it means." She opened her mouth to retort but his look alone quieted her. "I will not keep you in the dark. You are the most brilliant witch I know and I know you have saved my `skinny arse' more times than I care to count but this is what I do, Hermione. So you're going to have to trust me."
His breathing was ragged and she couldn't look away from him. "That's what this comes down to. Do you trust me?"
Her throat was so tight she didn't trust her own voice right then and then before she knew it she had waited too long and he was pulling away, the hurt evident in his eyes.
"No. Harry!" she tries, her voice breaking but he doesn't turn back to her.
"It's ok, I deserve that."
"I do," she says meekly, knowing that he doesn't believe her, and if she's being honest she's not sure she believes it herself.
His hands clench once, twice. "I think we should take Muggle transportation back to London." He's back to all business now, and she feels so ashamed she doesn't protest as he starts telling her how it's going to be.
"I know apparating may seem safer, but we don't know who's watching. And quite frankly..." he trails off and seems in conflict with himself. "No. Scratch that. We'll apparate, it's safest."
"No, Harry. What was the original plan?" She has an idea of what he was beginning to suggest, but she wants to hear him say it.
"Doesn't matter. It's not happening."
"Not five minutes ago you said you wouldn't keep me in the dark. You ask me to trust you, but you can't make it this long without going back on your word?" she challenges. She knows it's a low hit, but she also knows a question of his honor is probably the only thing that will get him to talk.
His eyes flash dangerously green and for a moment she's sure she sees what the people he's after see.
"Fine." he bites out, voice hard. "If you were anyone else I'd use you as bait. Try and get them to come after you, and keep doing what they've been doing."
"So that's what we'll do," she responds calmly, the plan makes sense to her.
"It's off the table. Forget I mentioned it."
"No. I am willing to listen to you, but you need to recognize I am not some wilting flower. I can handle myself. Now I don't like the idea of being hunted, but if this will help expose whoever this is then I'm all for it. And you should be too. It's a good plan, Harry."
He shuts his eyes and she wonders if he's counting to ten or practicing breathing exercises before responding.
"If I agree to this" he starts, clearly not ready to agree with her yet, "If I agree to this you are going to have to stop arguing with me over every single decision."
She bites her cheek to keep herself from responding the way she'd like "Fine. But only if what you're saying makes sense."
"Hermione," he growls
"Fine. I'll try not to argue," she concedes.
He cocks an eyebrow at her. "Try is all I can promise you."
"Fine." he replies, parroting her whether he realizes it or not.
There is a long awkward moment between them and then he's reaching into his jacket pocket.
Silently he hands her a slim booklet and she realizes it's a British passport. She feels like an idiot, just then remembering she's left hers at her flat. "How'd you get this? I didn't tell you where my flat was."
He just gestures at her to open it and when she does she realizes it's not her real passport. This one has her picture but everything else is different.
"Fakes," he says simply, waving a matching one at her that he still held in his hand.
"Mary Anne Richards, 27, from Brighton." she reads, "Do I really look like a Brighton girl to you?" but he just gives her a look. "Who are you?"
"Um, Jonathan Richards."
"Brother and sister?" she asks and when she sees him blush knows she's made a mistake.
"No. Not exactly," and his eyes dart to the ring on her left hand.
"Oh. Of course. Of course. That makes sense," she stammers
The silence stretches between them before he finally speaks. "We'll take a bus to the next decent size town and then rent a car and head for Calais."
"We're going to take the Chunnel back to England?"
"Correct. That should give whoever is after you plenty of opportunity to make a move." She could tell by the set of his jaw he still wasn't happy with the plan.
"Well then, we should get going. Can't say I'm going to miss the place," she says with forced levity.
He doesn't reply and then before she knows what's happening he's taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the door.
She stares at their clasped hands and doesn't move. When he turns to see why she's not following, he sees where she's looking.
"Jonathan and Mary Anne Richards, right?" he asks, voice not betraying the strained look on his face.
"Right," she agrees quietly, and lets him lead them out the door, trying to ignore the tingle in her palm where her hand was pressed into his.