A/N: I do not own any character references by JK Rowling in the Harry Potter series or agree with her comments. This story is a product of my pure imagination. I do not profit from this and will not pay for any commissions for art about this story.
Been looking forward to the future
But my eyesight is going bad.
And this crystal
Ball
It's always cloudy except for (Except for...)
When you look into the past (Look into the past...)
One-night stand
One night stand off!
One night and one more time
~ Thnks Fr th Mmrs by Fall Out Boy
~*~ 19th September 1997 ~*~
In the past month, so much had changed. They had been fortunate at first, so privileged to have Grimmauld Place to rely on. Kreacher prepared their meals, they had warm beds, and they could shop and conduct reconnaissance. Then, after infiltrating the Ministry, everything fell apart.
Who would have thought that one Muggle-born avoiding the registration act, one pureblood faking illness, and one boy with a bounty on his head, who would break into the Ministry of Magic, which Death Eaters had overrun, would go well? Well, of course, it didn't.
Yaxley grabbed hold of them when they apparated, and now they were stuck camping. Ron had been injured, and it took all of Hermione's strength not to freak out as she took control of the situation at the time. Harry was having visions of Voldemort killing people again, and they were hungry. So hungry. They were living off the things they scavenged, as the dementors were causing a cold, evil, haunting mist in some of the towns they had passed through. Ron was a ray of sunshine that Hermione wanted to throttle daily, thanks to Molly Weasley and her never letting Ron go without. Harry was his usual slightly brooding self, something he tended to be after just returning from the Dursleys. Overall, it was she and Harry fending for the three of them while Ron complained.
Hermione sighed, pulling her jumper closer to her in the chilled night air as she sat outside their tent on watch, early in the morning of her birthday. It was shortly after midnight, and earlier in the day, they had ventured into London in an attempt to find Voldemort's old orphanage, but had no luck. It had been torn down long ago. The cold locket that lay against her chest was still the only horcrux they had.
Glancing behind her as she heard footsteps, the flap opened, and Harry emerged. Ron's snoring was clearly heard through the opening.
"Can't sleep?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head as he came and sat next to her. "No," he said with a sigh, "Too many thoughts."
Hermione glanced at him, "Your own?"
Harry gave her a side glance, "Some mine, some not. I'm trying, Hermione, really I am, but Snape really didn't teach me HOW to block it. Probably purposely."
Hermione chewed on the inside of her lip. "Does the horcrux make it worse?"
Harry pulled his knees to his chest, setting something next to him. "They are more intense."
Tugging the sleeves of her jumper over her hands, she looked away from him. "You should try to get some sleep. We don't know what tomorrow will hold."
Harry ran his tongue over his lips as she heard him swallow hard, "I nearly forgot what day it was."
Hermione looked at him, confused. "What?"
"It's your birthday, Hermione," Harry told her.
Hermione racked her brain trying to think of what day it truly was. With everything they had faced, all the days seemed to blend into each other. What did a birthday matter?
"I didn't even remember," Hermione told him.
"When we were in London, I saw a newspaper. I tried to find a place to get a cake, but I couldn't. We should do something," Harry told her.
Hermione huffed, "What would we do, Harry? Toast with pond water?" she asked, pointing to the pond in front of them that was seemingly steaming.
Harry was quiet for a moment, then turned, handing her something, "One of the stores I went past had flowers, I used the cloak, and I picked this. I thought it was beautiful."
Hermione took the flower and felt her throat tighten. She brushed her thumb over the fragile petals. "It's lovely, thank you."
"There was a sign," Harry said as he shifted, resting his arms on his knees, "I thought it was fitting. It's a Lily. I put a preservation spell on it."
Hermione swallowed back her tears as she sniffed it.
"I just wanted you to have something. I don't know where I'd be without you, Hermione," Harry told her.
Hermione looked at him, the small fire she had built to keep her warm was dancing in the reflection of his glasses, casting shadows, making him seem so much older.
"Don't think I don't notice, Harry. You carry all of this like it's your responsibility alone. But it's not. We're in this together… and with Ron," Hermione stated.
Harry looked at her, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. The sounds of the forest, a distant hoot of an owl, and Ron's snoring were all that was heard around them.
"I'm glad you're here, honestly, Hermione," Harry told her.
Hermione smiled as she tucked the lily behind her ear, then leaned her head against his shoulder. They sat that way for a while, watching as the clouds parted and stars became visible overhead. Harry rubbed her shoulder, "Go get some sleep. I'm not going to fall asleep at this point. Go get your rest."
Hermione swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"
"It's your birthday, go," Harry told her.
Hermione threw her arms around his neck, "Thank you. If you get tired. Come wake me up." With a quick kiss to his cheek, she went into the tent.
Kicking her shoes off, she went to the kitchenette and got a cup, setting her flower in it on the table. With one last sniff and glance at the shadow of Harry's silhouette, Hermione climbed into the top bunk.
~*~ 21st October 1997 ~*~
Hermione watched Phineas Nigellus stick his blindfolded head back into the picture.
"Professor Snape has more important things on his mind than the many eccentricities of Albus Dumbledore. Good-bye, Potter!"
And with that, he vanished completely, leaving behind him nothing but his murky backdrop.
Hermione could barely contain herself. Professor Black telling them about Gryffindor's sword was a ray of sunlight in their darkened day. "Harry!" Hermione cried.
"I know!" Harry shouted as he punched the air.
Hermione sat at the table, her hands folded in front of her, as she watched Harry pacing up and down the tent. Hermione took Phineas Nigellus's portrait and pushed it back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp, she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry. "The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them — Harry, that sword's impregnated with basilisk venom!"
Harry turned to her, "And Dumbledore didn't give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket —"
Hermione stood up, "— and he must have realized they wouldn't let you have it if he put it in his will —"
"— so he made a copy —" Harry added.
"— and put a fake in the glass case —" Hermione added excitedly.
"— and he left the real one — where?" Harry asked, looking at her.
They gazed at each other.
"Think!" whispered Hermione. "Think! Where would he have left it?"
"Not at Hogwarts," said Harry, resuming his pacing.
"Somewhere in Hogsmeade?" suggested Hermione.
"The Shrieking Shack?" said Harry.
Hermione shook her head. "Nobody ever goes in there."
"But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn't that be a bit risky?" Harry stopped and looked at her. "Dumbledore trusted Snape," Harry reminded her.
"Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords," said Hermione.
"Yeah, you're right!" said Harry, "So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d'you reckon, Ron? Ron?"
Harry looked around, and Hermione froze when she saw Ron lying on the lower bunk, obviously upset.
"Oh, remembered me, have you?" he said.
"What?" Harry asked, confused as he looked at Hermione.
Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk. "You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."
Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, confused as he was.
"What's the problem?" asked Harry.
"Problem? There's no problem," said Ron, still refusing to look at Harry. "Not according to you, anyway."
Hermione heard the pattering of rain start on the canvas of the tent over their heads as it began to rain.
"Well, you've obviously got a problem," said Harry. "Spit it out, will you?"
Ron swung his long legs off the bed and sat up. He looked mean, unlike himself. "All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."
"I don't know?" repeated Harry. "I don't know?"
Plunk, plunk, plunk. The rain was falling harder and heavier; it pattered on the leaf-strewn bank all around them and into the river chattering through the dark.
"It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here," said Ron, "you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."
Hermione's stomach twisted angrily, nearly making her feel that she was going to get ill. "Ron," Hermione said, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could pretend not to have heard it over the rain that was now beating on the tent.
"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," said Harry.
"Yeah, I thought I did, too." Ron bit out in a tone so different from himself.
"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations?" asked Harry. "Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to Mummy by Christmas?"
"We thought you knew what you were doing!" shouted Ron, standing up, "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"
Hermione gasped, "Ron!" said Hermione, this time clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.
"Well, sorry to let you down," said Harry, "I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux —"
"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them — nowhere effing near, in other words!"
Hermione leaped forward to Ron. "Take off the locket, Ron," Hermione said, her voice unusually high. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."
"Yeah, he would," said Harry, "D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?"
Hermione gasped as she looked at Harry, "Harry, we weren't —"
"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than —"
"I didn't say it like that — Harry, I didn't!" she cried, walking over to Harry.
The rain was now pounding the tent, as tears were pouring down Hermione's face, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold.
"So why are you still here?" Harry asked Ron.
"Search me," said Ron.
"Go home then," said Harry.
"Yeah, maybe I will!" shouted Ron, and he took several steps toward Harry, who did not back away. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry I've-Faced-Worse Potter doesn't care what happens to her in here — well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff —"
Hermione swallowed back her tears as she angrily swiped at her face.
"I was only saying — she was with the others, they were with Hagrid —" Harry defended.
"Yeah, I get it, you don't care!" Ron yelled as he got into Harry's face, "And what about the rest of my family, 'the Weasleys don't need another kid injured,' did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I —" Harry said as Ron interrupted him. "Not bothered what it meant, though?" Ron asked.
"Ron!" said Hermione, forcing her way between them. "I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about; think, Ron, Bill's already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I'm sure that's all he meant —"
"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you two, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way —" Ron bit out.
"My parents are dead!" Harry bellowed.
"And mine could be going the same way!" yelled Ron.
"Then GO!" roared Harry. "Go back to them, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and —"
Ron made a sudden movement and Harry reacted, but before either wand was clear of its owner's pocket, Hermione had raised her own. "Protego!" she cried, and an invisible shield expanded between her and Harry on the one side and Ron on the other; all of them were forced backward a few steps by the strength of the spell.
Harry and Ron glared from either side of the transparent barrier as though they were seeing each other clearly for the first time.
"Leave the Horcrux," Harry said.
Ron wrenched the chain from over his head and cast the locket into a nearby chair. He turned to Hermione. "What are you doing?"
Hermione looked at Ron, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Are you staying, or what?" Ron asked her.
"I . . . Yes — yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help —" Hermione told him, feeling torn between her friends.
"I get it. You choose him." Ron stated as he grabbed his bag and took off for the flap of the tent.
Hermione glanced at Harry, then at Ron's retreating back. "Ron, no — please — come back, come back!" She was impeded by her own Shield Charm; by the time she had removed it, he had already stormed into the night.
Hermione ran out of the tent, "Ron! Ron! Come back!"
Ron didn't look back as he walked through the pouring rain to the edge of her perimeter, and as she called out his name, tears mixing with the rain that was falling down her face, Ron disapparated.
Hermione felt her legs give out on her, and she went to the ground sobbing. That damn locket had caused so much pain and heartache between the three of them. They needed to find the damn sword to destroy it once and for all.
Rain dripped into her eyes, stinging them worse than from her tears, so she got up and walked back into the tent to see Harry standing in the same place from when she'd left. Pushing her sopping wet hair out of her face, she looked at Harry, "He's g-g-gone! Disapparated!"
She threw herself into a chair, curled up, and started to cry again. Putting her face into her hands, she sobbed. Suddenly, over her shoulder, blankets surrounded her as a warming charm dried her off. Looking up at Harry, he turned without a word and climbed up into his bed, still in his clothes.
Rubbing her forehead and angrily swiping away at her tears as she listened to the rain pounding against the canvas. She curled up tighter, glancing in Harry's direction as he tossed and turned. Knowing tonight, neither of them would probably get any rest.
~*~ 27th October 1997 ~*~
Near Calne, Wiltshire, the chill had settled into her bones, but Hermione barely noticed it anymore. The temperature was beginning to drop as the nights grew longer. Her hands moved over tattered maps spread across the table. Books lay open beside her, their margins filled with notations, pages dog-eared, and tiny papers serving as bookmarks scattered throughout. Ink stained her fingers from hours, even days, of poring over all the books and maps, trying to find answers to their problems, tracing her finger along the path indicated by old copies of the Daily Prophet from the first war, when Voldemort wreaked havoc on the Muggle world, capturing many important half-bloods and Muggle-borns along the way. Near where they had set up camp had been one of those places. Running her finger along the border of Wiltshire, she murmured to herself, "If the sword was moved after Snape killed Dumbledore…"
The rustling of the tent flap broke her concentration. Wand at the ready, she looked up just in time to see Harry enter. His cloak was damp and clung to his thin frame. Taking it off and laying it on the coat rack near the front, he tucked a paper sack under his arm. Harry said nothing as he kicked off his shoes and made his way to their tiny kitchenette, the fading candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face worn thin and sharp from weeks of stress and lack of food.
Hermione opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, but closed it just as quickly. Since Ron had left, their exchanges had become quiet and careful. Their words were limited to what was necessary: wards, watches, weather, and horcruxes. His name hadn't been spoken in days.
She watched Harry's back as he moved stiffly in the kitchen, removing supplies from the bag. The sight of food made her stomach twist as she turned back to her books. Desperate to uncover something that she had missed.
A delicious aroma began to fill the tent, making her mouth water. Harry must have heard her smacking her lips together as she licked her lips and glanced back at her. "Just chicken and pasta. Don't worry, I paid." He told her he was stirring something in a pan.
"I didn't ask," Hermione stated softly.
Harry crouched to open the oven, then swore, "Damn it."
Hermione frowned and walked over to see what was wrong. Inside the oven sat what could have possibly been a cake. It was flat, a sunken attempt at one. The center had collapsed, and the edges were cracked and uneven.
Hermione blinked as Harry pulled it out of the magical oven and threw it onto the stove next to the frying pan. She let out a small giggle. Putting her hand to her mouth, she tried to cover it, but it broke through, bubbling up into something she hadn't felt in weeks as it turned into uncontrollable laughter.
Harry turned startled. "What?"
"You tried to bake?" She gasped, "With the magic oven that neither of us has figured out?"
His lips twitched. "How hard could it be?"
Hermione doubled over in laughter, tears falling down her face, echoing through the tent. Harry joined in, her laughter seemingly infectious. For the first time in days, they were happy.
They ended up on the tent floor, sitting cross-legged against the kitchenette with the deflated cake between them. Harry handed her a fork, and they both dug in, eating straight from the pan. The texture was dense, burnt more toward the edges, but it was sugary and wonderful. Making Hermione's chest ache not in heartache, but in joy.
Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "It was supposed to be a belated birthday cake. We never did anything for your birthday."
Hermione paused, her fork in mid-air, "Oh, Harry, you got me that lily." She said, thinking of the flower still sitting beside her bed.
Harry shrugged, "Well, happy belated birthday."
Fighting back the sting behind her eyes, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, brushing a few crumbs off his cheek with her thumb.
He smiled, which made her chest ache in a different way this time. Hermione moved to lean against him, and for that moment, they weren't fugitives or broken children living in the rage of war. They were just two friends, sitting on the floor, sharing a ruined cake with the warmth of friendship around them.
~*~ 1st November 1997 ~*~
The cold was settling in earlier each night now, as October had drifted into its final days and the last of the golden leaves had given up their hold, carpeting the ground as November roared in. They set up their latest camp, tucked off a narrow trail on the edge of Chilterns National Landscape, sat on a quiet hill. The woods were curled in behind them like a dark, watchful blanket, while the land stretched out before them in silent, empty fields.
Few people ventured this far into the land now. The chill in the air made even the bravest hikers wary of the woods, providing Hermione and Harry with a bit of solstice.
Inside their tent, the kettle broke Hermione's rambling thoughts, and she poured hot water into two chipped mugs. Adding a spoonful of honey and a dash of milk to her own, and two sugars and a dash of milk into Harry's. The steam rose, curling as she stepped outside into the cooler air. The air nipped nearly immediately at her cheeks as she walked over to Harry, where he sat on a rock near the tent's entrance.
"I made you a cup," she said, holding the mug toward him.
Harry looked up. "Thanks."
Hermione settled beside him, their shoulders barely brushing. The silence between them had grown from uncomfortable to familiar and comfortable. Tilting her head back, she looked up between the trees, letting her gaze drift to the sky. "I know we saw a lot of stars at Hogwarts, but this is breathtaking."
Thousands of stars glittered between the bare limbs of the trees, seemingly dancing within the sky.
"It is," Harry agreed, sipping his tea. "But the paper says storms are coming tonight. You can just barely see the clouds rolling in over there."
Hermione glanced behind them. The stars were already starting to vanish behind a veil of thin clouds. Reaching for the folded paper he had picked up as they walked through town earlier, she scanned the front page. "Anything new?"
Harry's jaw tensed. "Disappearances. More buildings destroyed. No one knows how. Just… gone."
Hermione caught a headline, "Home destroyed in Wembley," she read aloud, "My grandparents used to live there."
Harry turned to her. "Are they still alive?"
Hermione shook her head as she folded the paper neatly into her lap. "No. My dad's father died before I was born. Cancer. My Grandma Granger passed away at the end of our second year."
Silence passed between them for a moment. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Hermione shrugged, eyes on the fire in front of them as it flickered. "It didn't seem to matter at the time."
Harry exhaled, obviously frustrated. "You…"
Hermione looked sideways at him, "I what?"
"You know everything about me. And Ron. But you, you never really talk about your life. I barely know your parents! Well, knew them," he corrected quietly.
Hermione blinked as the truth hit her harder than she expected. She took a sip of her tea, willing her voice not to crack. "They were older when they had me. They met in dentistry school and didn't give each other the time of day at first. Very much like me, focused on academics. They were then hired at the same practice and reconnected. Dad always said he wore Mum down, slowly," She said with a soft laugh. "He was adventurous. Loved to travel. Backpacked across Europe after high school. Mum… mum was a homebody. She'd rather read about a place than visit it."
Thinking of sending her parents off to Australia and how much her Mum would have hated it if she were truly herself made her throat tighten. "Her favourite show was Little House on the Prairie. It was this American series about families farming and surviving off the land as the country expanded. She loved it. She'd have liked camping like this," Hermione whispered, "Even with the cold. I think it would've reminded her of that."
"You said your grandparents on your dad's side had passed. What about your mum's?" Harry asked gently, "I remember you mentioned a cousin once, on a skiing trip."
Hermione turned to him, a little surprised, "You remember that?"
Harry shrugged, "I remember more than you think."
She smiled. "Mum was one of four kids. Her family lives in France. We'd see them at Christmas and during Grandmere's birthday in the summer. July." Hermione bit her lip. "I haven't been there since our third year. Grandpere died that summer. I was close to him." Hermione closed her eyes, thinking of her family, "Everything changed after that, in both worlds. We went to the Quidditch World Cup the next year. In our fifth year, I skipped skiing to stay at Grimmauld. Last year, not everyone attended, and I didn't get to see everyone. My cousin did come, her name is Becky."
She paused, blinking back the tears that came, thinking of her family. "I pushed them all away, Harry. All of them. I didn't want them to know about magic, about what we were facing. I wanted to protect them. But maybe I was just scared to let them in. Now…" her voice cracked as she swiped a tear angrily away from her cheek, "Now I may never see them again."
Harry shifted and slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. His warmth was comforting and steadied her." I'll make sure you see them again," he whispered, "I swear it."
Hermione buried her face into his shoulder and wept quietly.
~*~ 12th November 1997 ~*~
The wind never stopped, but for three days now, they had been stuck as sleet battered their tent as they camped in the Fens outside of Manea near a swamp that was starting to freeze. The waterlogged ground seemed to groan beneath them, and the relentless hammering on the canvas was fraying Hermione's nerves, which were already worn by hunger and fear.
"I'm telling you, Hermione," Harry said, pacing in their cramped space that seemed to grow smaller every day. "Horcruxes don't have to be anything special. He's insane, remember? He could have used anything like a portkey. A coin, a rock, a damn cupboard knob, whatever was near when he killed someone!"
Hermione pressed her fingers into her temples, her heart thudding in her head with frustration. "That's not how it works, Harry! That's not how it EVER worked. I've read enough of the books from Dumbledore's stash to know. There HAS to be a pattern to it, even in his madness! His diary wasn't just a book. It was a link to his former self. The ring was his family's, his wizarding family. The locket was a Slytherin heirloom. They all meant something!" She gestured to her notes, "You said yourself, Dumbledore thought the snake might be one."
Harry scoffed, running a hand through his hair, which stuck up more than usual with the dampness in the tent. "I see through her, Hermione. I was there when she attacked Mr. Weasley and others. I see through Voldemort, too. It just means he's close to it. It doesn't mean anything. It's not like I'm a horcrux!"
The words dropped like a stone into her stomach as her heart stumbled. She closed her eyes. When her voice came back, it was hoarse. "Dumbledore said Hogwarts meant more to him than anyone realized. That was where he felt powerful, safe. Don't you think he would choose things that reminded him of that? Something precious, personal, and permanent?"
"Right, and what?" Harry asked, throwing his hands in the air. "The sorting hat? A tapestry? A bloody toilet? We don't know, Hermione! That's the problem. We're just guessing in the dark. We sit here, day after day, reading the same books, and it's like chasing ghosts!"
"I'm trying my best, Harry!" she snapped as she stood up too. "I'm doing everything I can!"
"I didn't say you weren't!" He snapped back. "But I can't just sit here while people disappear! We listen to the wireless, and it's just names… gone. Every day. And we are here arguing about theories and waiting. It's torture!"
Hermione clenched her fists at her side. "You think this isn't torture for me?" Her voice cracked, "Watch you spiral and break and… I'm terrified I'm going to lose you too," she said finally, "I'm terrified every time you go off on your own, every time you go out for supplies, when I wake up and you aren't there that you…" she said as her voice gave out.
Harry looked at her, and their eyes met. He stepped forward and took her hand, making her freeze. Tugging gently, she fell into him, and his arms wrapped around her. Warm and solid, he trembled too.
Her hands fisted into the fabric of his jumper, her forehead against his collarbone.
"I'm sorry," He whispered into her hair, "I didn't mean to yell at you."
"I know," she whispered.
While the storm raged outside, inside, the storm seemed to disappear. They were safe with each other, if only for a little while.
~*~ 21st November 1997 ~*~
Hermione stretched her legs as she sat at the table, reading a book she had found at the bottom of her bag. Her legs still ached from the hike, having trekked multiple days along the River Great Ouse, and after being stationary, her muscles were protesting. They'd walked nearly fifty kilometers, through the brief clear skies that had offered a reprieve for them. As soon as they could walk no longer and settled in this marsh, the weather had returned with a vengeance. Torrential rain pounded the roof of the tent, its rhythm like drums beating in her head. It made thinking difficult, let alone sleeping. She just hoped her protective charms were working in the ever-changing landscape.
The marshland was off the River Babingley, according to her map, and had seemed remote enough when they arrived. Overgrown and distant from the fields where the farmers had still been working. But now, under the wind and rain, it felt like a trap.
"Why'd we pick a marsh?" Harry asked with a long sigh, his hair drenched after barely stepping outside the protective flap.
Hermione's head snapped up from her book. "Because we were too close to the farms and they were still working in the fields!" She hissed, "I'm doing my best!"
Harry's expression softened, and he stepped back, drying himself. "I'm not saying you aren't. Well, at least we have some food left."
They'd been lucky at the small farmer's market they'd passed three days ago before settling here. They'd purchased a dozen eggs, a bit of chicken, ears of corn, bacon, and sausage, enough to last a few more days if they were careful. Hermione's stomach growled at the thought. She hadn't eaten properly in what felt like months. Fish, so much fish, berries, and mushrooms were what they lived on for so long, between finding farms and small markets when they braved going into towns.
Outside, the storm seemed to get harder as rain lashed at the canvas and the wind howled. The ground was beginning to seep outside, and Harry had dragged in marsh water at the entrance of the tent floor.
"How long have we been here?" Harry asked.
"Three days," Hermione answered, flipping through the pages of A History of Magical Families in Britain. She paused, "Harry… are you related to a William Potter?"
Harry turned from where he was drying his glasses on his shirt. "Not a clue. All I know is Dad was James Potter, and I think his middle name was Fleamont?"
Hermione's eyes skimmed the paragraph on the Potter family. "According to this, there was a William Potter who sat on the Wizengamot. He passed his seat to his son, Henry, who nearly lost it due to his pro-Muggleborn leanings. At the time of this publication, it is reported that Fleamont Potter, a potioneer, held the seat. It says he founded Sleekeazy's Hair Potion Company."
She looked up at him, his eyes seemingly brighter without his glasses. "Could your family have started Sleekeazy's?"
Harry took the book from her hands and read it himself. "No idea. Sirius didn't talk much about Dad's family. Just that Dad was their only child, and after he ran away from home, my grandparents took him in as if he were their own. He called them Mum and Dad Potter. Never by name."
He shook his head and smirked, handing the book back to her. "Potters having terrible hair? I wouldn't be surprised if that were our legacy. Especially if Dad had Fleamont as a middle name."
Hermione smiled, then frowned as the sound of the tent flap changed. The soft drumming evolved into a slapping and sloshing sound. The front of the canvas had shifted and was bulging inward slightly as the flap was weighed down and soaked. Her eyes widened, "Harry…"
"Shit," he muttered, already at the entrance with his wand drawn. "The marsh is flooding."
Harry pulled the flap aside as they both looked out, and a gust of wet wind sprayed them both with droplets that seemed like icy projectiles. The water was rising outside, creeping across the already soggy ground. Stepping back inside, he raised his wand and cast a shield charm and a barrier charm at the base of the tent. "We'll have to be careful setting out. Hopefully, it stops raining soon."
Hermione cast her own reinforcing his barrier. "If it doesn't, we might be wading up to the North Sea by morning."
They stood watching the rain outside, side by side, her hand brushing against his.
Hermione shivered, hugging her arms to herself, "Wish we could make a fire."
Harry sealed the flaps, "Hopefully that helps and keeps our heat in," he said as he cast a warming charm over her.
"Thanks," Hermione said, "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," Harry said, following her to the kitchen.
*Italics are property of Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter: The Complete Collection (1-7). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.
Preview of Chapter 6- Breathe
Inhaling, she groaned as Harry's scent overwhelmed her. Stripping down, she climbed into the shower with her shower kit and leaned under the water, trying to catch her breath. Her hormones, damn hormones, overwhelmed her as the warmth of the water, Harry's scent and her brain all betrayed her.
Between her legs pulsed.
Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore it. Grabbing her shampoo, she lathered it up and washed the grime out of her hair. Her brain left her again as she scrubbed her body, instead imagining it was Harry running his hands over her. Running her hand over her belly, she started to wash in between her legs only to find it swollen and when her fingers ran over her clit, she nearly moaned.
She heard Harry cough outside the bathroom, and she froze, nearly there as she heard her wand vibrate on the sink as her enchantments sensed someone. A knock on the door was like cold water over her head as she heard Harry open the door, greet a woman, and thank her for their food. Swallowing hard as there was a knock on the bathroom door, "Food is here."
"Thanks," she squeaked out, reaching for the water handle. She turned the faucet cold, dousing herself. "You are disgusting, Granger."