"I don't believe this," Hermione paced back and forth, grime covered and wild, "I can't fucking believe-"
"Woah, Hermione-"
"I HATE this sodding tent!"
"Er… we all hate the tent…"
"Shut up Ron, you had a nice little holiday-"
"AHEM!" Harry cleared his throat loudly and started coughing. They all had lungs full of castle-dust, but this was the least convincing coughing fit Ron had seen in ages.
"It's fine, Harry, I'm not going to over-react,"
"Oh, right, over-reacting, is that what I'm doing, huh? I want a shower, Ron, I want- we defeated that-" She let out a startling string of expletives he hadn't realised she knew. Some of them were goblin-speak. She'd clearly lost her mind. "- and we're still stuck in this unspeakable SHITHOLE."
Silence rang loudly, punctuated by the dripping of the rain on the tent, Hermione's uneven panting breath. Ron exchanged a worried glance with Harry and Ginny. They were both ashen, but relatively normal.
"I don't know," she said in a small, dangerously brittle voice, "How much longer I can do this."
They all stared at her.
"It won't be long," Ginny said tentatively, "I'm sure it won't be long…"
Hermione's death-stare turned on her, full beams of utter derision.
Ginny blinked.
"Well, that's terrifying."
Ron was surprised at how calm Ginny seemed. There was something about Hermione that was sending icy fingers of panic down his spine. It was like looking into an active volcano. Something bad was going to happen if they didn't… didn't what?
"So we get rid of the tent," It was the only thing he could think of.
"What? We just set it up,"
"Maybe if you take her for a walk-"
Hermione made a very alarming sound, and Ron found he was stepping in front of her to talk to Harry and Ginny… and shield them.
"The Death Eaters are on the run too. The horcruxes are all gone. What if we find an empty muggle holiday house and just…crash there?"
He watched as Harry's gaze flicked past him, to where Hermione stood, radiating disaster in all directions.
"Can she wait that long?"
Ron turned to look at her.
"Exactly h-how long is that?" She was slightly breathless, like it was an effort to keep in all the rage.
"An hour," he said, calculating quickly. "Can you wait an hour?"
She pressed her lips together. Her whole frame was shaking. Whatever it was- stress? Grief? Rage? It was ripping her apart from the inside.
Dangerous levels of emotion for a magic user…
She took a breath and forced a smile.
"An hour."
Harry and Ginny bustled about packing up the tent and muttering in undertones to each other.
Ron kept an eye on Hermione. She'd gone silent now, sitting on a wet rock, with a glazed fake smile on her face and the rain dripping and frizzing her manic hair into a wild snarl.
"I've never seen you like this,"
Her breathing was still shallow.
"You're not normally around when-" she cut herself off, closed her eyes and took a breath, "Ron, please. Just get me somewhere I can scream."
All up, it only took them half an hour to pack up, apparate to darkest Wales, and find an appropriately empty muggle holiday house in a nice secluded location. Fear of Hermione going mental was great incentive. They put up the protections again, and she didn't help. She couldn't. Just stood in the kitchen, surrounded by appliances Ron half-recognised from his dad's shed, staring into the middle distance.
"Muffliato. Ok, scream away."
She looked like she might explode into a million pieces. Fragile. Like it was just skin and bone holding her together, or more probably, just willpower.
"You still have twenty-five minutes,"
"What?"
"You three should shower. I can wait."
She walked into the living room, where Harry was lighting a fire in the little wood burner, and sat on the arm of the sofa, straight-backed, chest heaving with each staccato breath.
He thought she might've been counting them to keep from losing control.
He took the first watch.
"We can take over now," They had mugs of tea and bags of take out.
"I still think that was dangerous," His stomach growled.
"More dangerous not to feed the two of you. I got her favourite." Ginny passed him a bag. "We'll be in the kitchen. Has the best view. Shout if you need us."
He unpacked the take out onto the coffee table. Summoned plates.
Hemione watched.
"Not all of it. I'm too- I won't be able to eat that much now. Save it. Put it in the fridge."
He nodded. Served her a small portion. It was some kind of Thai noodle dish. Seemed very muggle. Not that they didn't have magic in Thailand, just… it was about as far from Hogwarts' dinners as you could get. In the opposite direction to the tinned goods they'd been surviving on for the past year, of course.
She still had blood in her hair, and streaks of grime on her face.
They sat on the floor and ate in silence.
"You seem better,"
A cackle. Despair.
"I'm nothing if not responsible,"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Wait until we're safe. Wait until we've eaten. Wait until-" she pressed her lips together. "Are you ok?"
He put another forkful of slippery spicy noodles in his mouth and chewed slowly.
"I'm in shock." He said after a while of staring into her dangerous eyes, "So I'm ok for now. And Harry's ok, and Ginny's ok. If you need- what ever you need, you can do it. You look… I'm worried about you."
She let out a derisive huff.
"Is that what it takes,"
"What?"
"Nothing," she reverted back to silence, mechanically making her way through the small pile of noodles on her plate. She drank most of a cup of tea.
"I'm going to shower," That cracked, crisp tone. Like with every word, the tension in her got screwed up tighter and tighter.
He swallowed his last mouthful half-unchewed.
"You have to yell at me first."
"What?"
"Yell at me."
Another derisive huff.
He glanced across to where Harry and Ginny sat, chairs pulled up to the windows, clearly trying to focus on keeping watch, and struggling not to be distracted by Hermione.
"C'mon. You're in the master bedroom. There's an ensuite. You can shout at me from the shower if you like,"
Rage seemed to rush out with her next breath.
He really had to get her talking.
"Up," He held out a hand and she took it.
It was a very strange turn of events.
Not long ago they had been picking through the rubble at Hogwarts. Clinging to the living, clinging to the dead. Relief and grief in equal parts.
And now they were back on the run.
He wasn't pleased about that.
But.
"Muffliato. What is it that's really getting to you?" He let go of her hand. They were in the bedroom now. Ginny and Harry had made all the beds. This one looked particularly inviting.
It was long as well as wide.
They'd left the bedside lamps on, and a pair of her pyjamas on the pillow.
Hermione gave him an exceptionally dirty look and turned away.
He scratched his ear. If she didn't let it out, whatever it was, it was going to find its own way out. Accidental magic in adults was… unpredictable.
"You hate the tent,"
She stalked into the ensuite, flicking the light on and pumping soap out of the little container by the sink. She turned the water on and scrubbed her hands.
It looked painful, with the spell burns, and the grazes. He summoned the dittany and waited.
"You thought this would be over,"
"Stop trying to-" she cut herself off again. "Look, I was wrong. Ok? I had a momentary- I'm fine. Just leave it."
"Hermione," he found her eyes in the mirror above the sink, "Yell at me."
She glared back at him.
Fine.
Time for something mildly annoying.
He summoned her mug of tea and held her gaze as he slowly tipped and poured the remaining liquid onto the tiled floor. Then he dropped the mug. It bounced once and smashed on the tiles.
She snatched her wand out and cleaned it up. Her wand sparked and vibrated in her wet hand.
"Why the fuck do you think pushing me is a good idea, Ron? What possible reason could you have for thinking that being deliberately provoking is a smart move, huh?"
"Expelliarmus."
"GIVE ME BACK MY WAND."
Like a blast from hell. He felt a rush of affection and adoration, and Merlin help him, attraction. She was so… powerful.
There would be time to stew over whatever that meant later. Possibly, he was soft in the head.
"Nope." He stepped back and went to sit on the end of the bed. He kept a tight grip on her wand. She'd be wanting that back… "We didn't survive only to be blown to bits by your inability to handle your emotions,"
He winced even as he was saying it. She'd coped so well, for so long… maybe that was part of it… he and Harry had both flown off the handle a number of times, but she'd been… well, a bit weepy, but, for the most part, stalwart. Constant. Unbreakable.
Even under torture.
"-MY inability- THAT'S RICH, coming from the arsehole who-" He let it wash over him, the furnace heat of her rage, and tried not to listen as she tore him to shreds. She really did know a surprising range of invective.
She was pacing. Not going after her wand. Though he couldn't assume she wouldn't lunge when she thought he'd dropped his guard. She was still too deranged to be holding a wand.
"- eating canned garbage for weeks on end- and you with that nightmare radio, as though we need to hear how god-awful things are- just WAITING for more deaths- and it's filthy, you and Harry, EUGH DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH YOUR SOCKS REEK?!"
He really did. That was the bog they'd been forced to walk through. Wasn't just his socks. Besides. He was squeaky clean now. No smells. She must be mid-reminiscence.
"-university, you know, a normal life, and I get catapulted into this UTTER INSANITY, with the two of you, and a bigger pair of MORONS I've yet to meet-"
Was she going to assassinate Harry's character as well? If she called Harry a pitiful coward too, Ron thought he might find it easier to ignore that particular barb.
"-would have THOUGHT after all this time-"
Yup, Harry was a self-indulgent toddler with a hero complex and an ego the size of Jupiter. Had Ginny been with them long enough to get- ah. Yes. Doe-eyed hormone machine with a broomstick obsession. She used 'broomstick' euphemistically too. She really was going to town.
And none of it had anything to do with why she was such a basket case, of that he was quite sure.
"-all the cooking and cleaning, all the planning, all the fucking research, all of EVERYTHING-"
He winced.
That was probably a fair criticism. Not that he and Harry hadn't done any cooking or cleaning, just that… well. She always beat them to it.
"-and they were- I- they were my-" she continued, her voice getting higher and higher, more unintelligible.
Pity. This was most likely some of what had set her off.
"Sorry, Hermione, didn't quite catch that. Is this about Lupin and- everyone who- didn't make it?"
She made a totally feral shrill noise, and tried again, screeching at him, so choked and garbled it made no sense at all.
"You did say you wanted to scream," he said, "Go on, then."
She gave a strangled gargle, and then, as though she thought he didn't think she really would, she screamed.
She just stood there, in front of him, feet planted, hair wild, hands clenched into fists, and she screamed and screamed.
He'd forgotten.
Not that sound. He would never forget that sound.
But he'd been thinking about what she needed, what she needed to give voice to, not how it would make him feel.
Cold sweat burst out all over him. His heart rate ratcheted up, blood pounding in his head. He was shaking now too. He dropped both wands on the bed, not trusting himself.
She screamed.
And he could see her this time.
Her body rigid with sound, face twisted, neck stiff with tendons and noise.
He didn't mean to do it.
It wasn't voluntary.
He'd meant to just let her get it out of her system, but it set him right off.
He lunged off the bed and grabbed her round the middle. Hoisted her up into a crushing embrace. Held her. Just stood there and held her aloft, while she screamed and screamed, her hands now balled into the back of his jumper, the neckline chafing against his neck.
He couldn't move.
He just stood. Holding her. Tightly.
She was still screaming so it couldn't be too tight.
Every inch of him was screaming too. He felt flooded with the urgent need to do something.
But much like when he'd been trapped at the Manor, there was very little he could helpfully do.
So he stood.
And he tried desperately to focus on the fact that she was still breathing, and no-one was actually torturing her this time.
He held her.
It felt like all of time had converged on this moment, and he would have to hear her screams forever, reverberating through every inch of him.
Then like the passing of a thunderstorm, she subsided into anguished weeping, going limp in his arms and burying her face in his shoulder.
He let out an unsteady breath. He'd been screaming too. Hadn't realised.
Shakily, he backed towards the bed, lowering her to the floor, and sitting down before he collapsed. She came with him, half sitting on the bed, half on his lap, sobbing and sobbing and holding onto the front of his jumper now.
He thought he might faint.
Or vomit.
Possibly he should not have eaten so much.
Or, you know, told her to scream.
He never wanted to have to hear her scream again.
"…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
That wasn't right. This desperate sobbing refrain was ludicrous.
"What are you sorry for?" His voice came out all scratchy, "There's nothing to be sorry for,"
"-I made you cry, I didn't mean to, I didn't think-"
"What?"
He put a hand to his face. How had he not noticed?
"Oh. Probably just as well, my eyes were full of dust." He pushed her hair out of his face, and pulled her in closer, ignoring the way his whole body seemed to be shaking.
Her sobbing reverted to unintelligible, and eventually faded into feeble weeping.
He stroked her hair, and her shoulder.
He waited.
The little gulping breaths turned into silence.
"I'm so stupid." A little tiny voice. Not the brittle one. Different. Little and lost.
"You're many things. Stupid isn't one of them."
"I thought…" her body seized up again, panicky sobs taking over.
He squeezed her in tighter and stuck his nose in her hair. She smelled of sweat, and smoke, and blood. She gave another few panicked breaths and relaxed enough to speak.
"I thought we'd be dead, or free. So stupid… I just thought… dead or free… I didn't think… I can't keep running… I can't, Ron, I can't…" and she was crying weakly against his chest, not sobbing, just streaming tears. "I can't do it any more,"
He sat with that thought for a moment.
"It's'ok," he said finally, "We're not running. We're going to stay here for a while. Learn Welsh. Raise chickens. Toilet-train Harry. Teach him to share his toys,"
It was a risk, but it worked.
A weak watery chuckle was his reward.
So the worst of it had passed.
"Shower?"
She nodded, sniffing.
"Sorry about… all the profanity and screaming. I didn't mean it."
He grinned reluctantly.
"Yeah you did. We're inconsiderate slobs. And childish. It's fine, I'm not taking it personally, I'm blaming that-" he used her recent favourite goblin-speak pseudonym for Voldemort, "It's his fault for putting us through all this shit."
She laughed. The kind of slightly embarrassed laugh that went with something she didn't want to find as funny as she did.
"Ron, do you even know what that means?"
"Yes," he said reproachfully, "I have- many brothers. Love to know where you came across it though,"
"Goblin Conflict, volume seven."
"Filthy."
"Yes, I know."
"Shower."
"Yes. Can I have my wand back now?" She held out both wands, a slightly mischievous glint in her eye.
He glanced at his hands. They'd stopped shaking.
"Only if I can have mine back,"
She passed it to him and got up, sighing.
She was magnetic. He couldn't help it. He stared.
Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, hands limp. She shook her head and bit her lip and walked back into the ensuite. Started sliding the door shut. Stopped. Looked back at him.
"What?"
"I'm just so… argh." She shook her head. Closed her eyes. "It's so fucking frustrating,"
He blinked. It was that tiny lost voice again. Made bold with uncharacteristic swearing.
"Yeah," he said slowly, "But it's over now. It is. And we'll be home soon,"
Tears welled up in her eyes again.
"Where's home, Ron? The Burrow was flattened. Hogwarts is trashed. Even Grimmauld Place is in ruins. And my parents-" she choked. "Where is home?"
"I don't know." He passed her the dittany and sat back down.
He hadn't thought about home like that. As a literal place. Well, he had, it's just that when he thought 'we'll be home soon' he didn't think of the Burrow specifically. Home was… people. And food. And sleeping. And… safety. And her, obviously. And… quidditch, and… home was…
Tears sparked back in his eyes.
Home is the place where they'll always take you in.
Bill and Fleur. Arriving on their doorstep, not once, but twice.
Rescuing Harry from the Dursleys with Fred and George.
Sheltering Remus, Sirius. Werewolf, convicted criminal.
Family. Bloody family. That's what it is.
We've got to get her ruddy parents back.
Fuck.
This is far from over.
Not the time to mention it though…
She'd vanished into the bathroom, leaving the sliding door open a hand width. The water turned on. Garments flopped onto the tile, a tattered sleeve sprawling into view through the gap.
"Hermione?"
"Yeah?"
"You want me to close this?"
Silence.
"If you want to."
Weird response.
"Hermione?"
"Mmmm?"
"When you said it was frustrating…"
"Mmm?"
No. that was insane.
"Never mind."
He left the door as it was and let himself be lulled by the rushing sound of the shower, mesmerised by the curling steam.
He lost time.
The water turned off. He blinked, startled, as the door slid open and she stepped out. Damp. Wrapped in a fresh towel.
He could see the healing cuts and scrapes. More spell-burn. Bruises. That halo of wild hair, now dripping, and glowing, with the bathroom light behind her.
She looked…
He had a momentary post-battle warrior-goddess fantasy, which shocked him so much he covered his face with his hands.
"You should have another shower while I get dressed," she said, "You're all covered in blood and grime again. Sorry."
He was spun.
He just did it.
Stepped into the bathroom. Left the door open a hand width.
Showered.
Let thoughts wash through him and soap wash over him.
Wrapped himself in a towel.
Stepped out.
She was sitting on the end of the bed. Forlorn. Still in her towel.
"I thought you were getting dressed,"
She got up, walked over and threw her arms around his middle, leaning her cheek against his bare chest.
Unprecedented.
He paused. Gave up. Wrapped his arms around her.
"'Mione,"
"Mmmm?"
"You ever hug Harry like this?" Half-naked, and nuzzling? He couldn't say that out loud though.
She made an indignant noise.
"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous."
It was so tempting to think…
He let go. Reluctantly. Unwound her arms. Held her hands. Held her gaze and tried not to think about giving her towel a tug and letting it drop to the floor.
"I don't want to take a misstep here. I need you to be very, very clear. What's going on?"
She bit her lip, blushing, but defiant.
"You left the bathroom door open,"
"So did you," he shot back.
"You could stay here tonight."
"I'd have to go get more pyjamas,"
He felt trapped in her unwavering gaze.
"Not necessarily." She said finally. Like he'd dragged it out of her.
He felt the heat rush to his face.
"Uh…"
"You don't have to stay," she said quickly, "Or you could stay with pants. I just thought…"
He was really red now. Beetroot. Practically on fire. He cleared his throat.
"It's been… a really long day… probably not the best time for… big decisions… not that I'm against the idea, but…"
The look she gave him sent a lick of heat straight through him. Like she knew. Like every time he'd locked himself in the bathroom in that awful tent, she knew what he saw in his mind's eye. Knew that it was something like this…
"Tomorrow," she said slowly, "Tomorrow, we might be dead. Every day for the last seven years we've been stalked by death. Maybe we're safe. Maybe we're going to live to a ripe old age. Maybe not. But. We're not dead yet. So maybe… we're free… to do… things. I'm not suggesting we do anything really major, just…" she let out a shaky breath, "…make a start. Instead of… p-pretending we're just friends. Don't stay if you don't want to. Or if you think it's a bad idea. Or… you know. It's up to you."
He blinked at her.
"There is no way I'm going to be able to sleep next to you, naked, without…" It was impossible to say it out loud.
"I'm not suggesting we do nothing," she said, lips quirking, eye darting down and back up. "…and if it's too much at any point, we can always stop."
He released her hands and she slid them up his arms.
"Promise you'll tell me if you want to stop," He said, his hands on her towel-wrapped waist.
"I promise," Her hands were in his hair. She was on tip-toe. Leaning up against him…
"Promise you won't regret this," He mumbled against her lips, trying not to give in completely, not yet…
She smiled against his mouth.
"I've been wanting to climb into bed with you for years," she murmured, kissing him briefly, shyly, like she still wasn't quite sure, like it was a suggestion…
He panicked and kissed her. Let that rush of heat wash over them. He couldn't have her doubting for a second.
She made a noise, a small sighing moan against his mouth.
It was hot and heady, and for the second time that night, time seemed to stretch to eternity.
Her fingertips grazed his stomach and hooked into the top edge of the towel. Holding it in place. For now.
"Are you…" he lost his breath.
Her towel had come untucked and was starting to slip.
She bit her bottom lip again, a little nervous, like pre-exam jitters, and started to tug on the edge of his towel. Slowly.
He was so distracted by lamplight striking off the side of her face, and her shoulder, and the curve of her breasts as the towel slipped it was easy to forget that she'd be seeing…
Her towel had reached a point of no return. It went from riding low on her chest, nipples concealed, to suddenly gone, pooled on the floor.
The air went out of the room.
"Fuck."
She blushed, and that mischievous quirk of a smile returned.
"Maybe." she said, smiling, letting his towel drop to the floor too, tracing a finger down from his navel towards… well. Towards the erection he was trying not to think about. "We'll see. I'd quite like to know how this works first,"
"You want instructions?" He meant it as a joke, but her face lit up with interest. "I'm kidding. I mean… I'm pretending that doesn't exist right now, or I'm going to drop dead of seven years' worth of embarrassment,"
She nodded slowly and ran her hand back up across his stomach and chest. Slipped her hand under his arm and leant up against him.
Her warm, naked body pressed up against him.
Breasts.
His heartbeat throbbed against her stomach, and he held her. Stroked her hair. Just stood. She sighed, breath on his chest.
"Ron?"
"Mmmm?"
"You feel like home. To me. Whatever that… means."
"You too,"
His fingers, of their own accord, rubbed against knots in her shoulders, the back of her neck… her head rolled back, her little gasp of pleasure undisguised.
"'Mione," he mumbled, in between breathless kisses, hot armfuls of the person he loved most in all the world, and there was that thing that he wanted, the thing that drove the best of his fantasies, the idea that maybe she'd want… that she'd feel… that he'd know she… "C'n I have instructions…?"
A little gurgle of laughter, and she was nodding, kissing him, pulling him back towards the bed.