**I saw Part 1 of Deathly Hallows this evening with my sister for the second time, and I was inspired to do a Harry/Hermione piece. This is a psychological narrative about desire, jealously, and resiliency. It might come off smutty, but I'm trying to be artistic. It's hot for sure, but the true intention lies in painting an accurate portrait of the whole situation in which these young people find themselves.**

The night Ron stormed off, Harry wanted to do so much for Hermione. He wanted to comfort without words, he wanted to hold her and rock her, he wanted a lot, but he mainly stood there thinking about everything that had just happened. He was paralyzed because Ron might have scratched at some type of possibility of which he was very unaware. Instead, he watched her cry as she stood in the doorway of the tent with a look of consternation on his face. He stared and thought for a few minutes, then felt compelled to finally put an arm around her shoulders and she immediately wrapped her thin arms around his torso, causing his heart to jump for he had no time to foresee how quickly she would mold to him.

"Harry, we have to stop him," Hermione said, weakly into his shoulder before breaking into body-shaking sobs. Words refused to move from his throat as he softly rubbed her back. He didn't know what to make of himself in the moment, and normally he's aware of his moods—he has to be considering who he is—but right now, he can't decide if he is confused, saddened, or evasive. Ron overstepped the boundaries whether he was wearing the horcrux or not. He verbally hit Harry below the belt and for right now, at least, Harry wasn't going to let that go in five minutes. He did, however, have to get Hermione to sit down because she was losing her breath crying so hard. Guiding her over to a chair, Harry crouched down holding her hand and watched her forcefully wipe the tears off her face with the sleeve of her sweater.

"You gotta calm down, Hermione."

"We have to go after him." She took a deep breath and shook. "He'll die alone out there." To Harry, this didn't seem right. Ron was always jealous, it didn't take much to see that, but it was also something he hoped to overcome. He knew to have decorum for Harry's sake because of the lack of reliable figures in his life; any type of confrontation would be inconsiderate and heartless on Ron's part. Harry was getting angry all over again, thinking about the times Ron acted like this life was something he asked for. He didn't ask for this scar or the fame. He didn't ask for a life without parents or worthless relatives. If he had things his way, none of them would be where they are now. Without realizing it, the energy shifted from Hermione and seemed to be embodying Harry now. He was staring past his bag in the corner of the tent, shaking a little bit, and Hermione could sense an air of vitriol in his eyes.

"You heard what he said," he said, coming to. "He walked out on us and must have meant it some way because he isn't back now."

"Harry, he's stubborn and so are you. He needs reassurance that we—"

"That we what? Need him?" He watches her, waiting for a response, but she just sits there, staring back at him. "He walked out on us, Hermione, which means he must have meant some of what he said. You've done more alone in six years than Ron ever has." At this moment, Harry knew that it would probably be a good idea to stop, but part of him wanted to keep going, to vent because he deserved to take the liberties almost everybody in his life seemed to be taking every time he turned around from the dawn of his time. "Just because he's doing more now doesn't mean he's everything." His point had been clear, concise, and correct because she couldn't really rebuttal in good conscious. Silence is golden, and with Hermione, it's a good thing. It means you've appealed to her or that she agrees in some sense with the logic. But more than anything in that moment, Harry wanted to hear her voice or have some interaction with her because even in his anger, he wanted to be wrong. He wanted them to venture out into the night, past the charms and protective enchantments to find Ron. It amazed Harry at how indecisive he could be at a time like this. Part of him hated Ron and the other part feared for his safety. He wanted Hermione's counsel but he partly suspected that she was sick of the same of old roles everybody was playing: Harry the hero, Ron the other one, and Hermione the voice of reason. For once, Harry could see on her face that she wanted to be freed from expectation and calm down and let Fate run its course without infringement on her part.

She gets up and walks over to the mini kitchen with her arms crossed. She stands by the sink and stares down at the dripping faucet and the dishes piled on top of each other, then turns around, grabbing the kettle.

"I think I'd fancy a cup of tea. Do you want some?"

"Yeah." She cast the appropriate spells and before they knew it, the tea was ready and they both settled into bed. Anger never subsided for Harry and he lied awake all that night, thinking of all that happened. He heard Hermione crying below him since she decided to sleep in Ron's bed in his absence that night and it lasted for an hour and a half, the tears, the sniffling, and at one point he decided to climb down and check on her. "Lumos."

"Harry is everything alright?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to comfort you. I didn't know you could cry so much," he said, looking down. He meant to be funny and wanted to lighten the mood, but she was set on being in the doldrums for a while.

"You should get some sleep. I'll be okay." She puts a hand on his cheek and forces a small smile. Harry felt seized in that moment. He was looking in her eyes, seeing not only his best friend, but a beauty who seemed to be transforming all along and now that they're alone, he has been awakened to this precious concept if time, space, and biology. Before he could stop himself, he was leaning over to kiss her cheek. After he had climbed back up to his bunk and settled under the covers, he came to realize what he had done, the hardness stretching the front of his pajama pants, and the sudden rise of temperature given the cool draft that always seeped into the tent through the hole above his bed, and he rolled over, trying to ignore all these things.

After Ron left, Hermione spent days crying and moping while Harry tightly held the Snitch, tried to extract meaning from the stories from The Tales of Beedle the Bard to no avail. They didn't talk about horcruxes or listen to the radio for three days. They packed up and just before their departure, Harry watched as Hermione tied Ron's scarf around the tree. Her solemn demeanor as she did so lived days long in his mind after reaching their next destination. It even showed up in a dream of his.

The world seemed to melt around him everywhere he walked, and the he heard screaming all around. The air was thick and could be commanded by something as simple as the wave of one's hand. Through the smog, he saw every person he ever met , but every time he tried to get close to one them, they all moved away or never seemed to make any headway if they were trying to approach him.

He awoke, sometime around the very early morning—maybe four or five thirty—and wanted to write down what he experienced, but it seemed lost through the haze of the darkness and his horrid vision. After five minutes, he couldn't remember how or why he had been sitting there.

The dancing occurred, a few nights later. Time seemed to disappear between them, but slowly and surely, they seemed to be gaining a new sense and understanding of this current situation. Hermione began listening to the radio whenever it was her turn to wear the locket. First she did it in secret, but soon the depression managed to get a deeper hold of her and lethargy ironically compelled her to resist trying to hide her dying hope as she began to rely more and more on the comfort the radio gave her even though she knew it bothered Harry. He wouldn't yell at her even if he wanted, which he didn't, because he actually liked the minimal comfort it provided him as well. The radio made him feel like he was living in two worlds: the past and the present because if he closed his eyes or heard the radio from outside of the tent, it was like nothing had ever changed, like Ron and he never fought, and even though the stress of the Wizarding world at war nearly gave him ulcers, Harry felt connected to the only community he ever knew even if it was in shambles.

Everything was silence too. He'd begun to rethink everything, including silence, because it now meant that life was becoming to real and untraceable. Hermione and Harry barely talked anymore. They ate in silence, the dressed in separate silence, they read in silence, they did most things in silence. It was becoming unnerving how eerie the world becomes when one stops creating noise pollution.

This afternoon, Harry got the urge to dance while he pondered his feelings for Hermione. It was something he never explored before, not like he ever had the time. If he ever had to truly think about it, he would know that in telling others about his dynamic with Ron and Hermione he would explain that she's like a sister, not like he knows what it's like to have siblings. For the sake of decorum, she'd be his sister, but right now, alone, he's not sure if he buys that. Without giving anything a second thought he took her by the hands, removed the locket and started spinning her around the tent and for one second, he knew they were being transformed—if only for mere moments—into different people. People with a connection, people with feelings and hearts, people with souls, and people with sexes. He spun her round too much and they ended up embracing quickly into the cuddle position. Her rear-end snuggly rested against his crotch and though they both noticed, no one fought their closeness. Hermione spun out again and they twisted and writhed with small, childlike smiles to the music, whatever it was, and they managed to escape.

Slow-dancing now, Harry rested his chin on her shoulder and held her firmly by the waist. For a second he felt charged by holding her and wished to never let her go. She was fluid against him and he even felt that she might even be thinking the same thing. Hermione was always quick to show her emotions after all. Guessing that much wouldn't be completely irrational. Soon they were swaying to the sound of air when reality finally seemed to catch up with them. Harry kindly let Hermione go and watched her grab her coat, an extra scarf, the locket, her wand, and a blanket to go finish her "shift" outside in what was left of the darkening day.

"Harry!" Harry fell asleep at the table reading The Fountain of Fair Fortune. He sat up, feeling around for his glasses, shoved them on his face, and waited for the world to sharpen around him. Hermione sat across from him looking a little nervous with folded hands and hesitated as she tried to find the right words. He ruffled his and looked at her calmly before noticing the structure sitting between them.

"What is that doing here," Harry asked, gesturing to a bottled of Merlot. Hermione's eyebrow gave a quick muscle spasm as she sighed deeply.

"I snagged it from Bill and Fleur's wedding… just in case. I thought maybe—in drastic time, of course—if we ever needed to seriously unwind or celebrate something, we'd have the proper accouterments for such activities." She picked up her beaded purse with her wand in hand and summoned a corkscrew and two mugs. Harry inspected the bottle with a small grin then looked over at her once more. "I hope this doesn't make you think less of me. It's just… Given the circumstances, I think this qualifies as a moment in need of some serious unwinding." An awkward laugh escapes her lips and she covers her mouth in embarrassment.

"So we should drink," he asks, as she goes for the corkscrew.

"Well I'm not playing anymore Wizard's Chess." She smiles for the first time since earlier that day. "Plus I'd really like to get out of my head. I mean, in the Wizarding world, we're adults."

"Then it's settled."

They just sat there as they consumed the wine and grimaced every other sip and tried to make conversation about other things, but it seemed fruitless. Silence prevailed for a time, but for some reason, it didn't feel as cumbersome either because he was slowly becoming intoxicated or he had become habituated to it. At this point, it kind of didn't matter since the buzz was starting to catch them.

"Harry, try to find some more music. I want to dance again." Harry got up and found it hard to walk at first, but when he got used to it, he stumbled over to the radio and channel surfed on the analog radio until some crackling music came into focus.

"How should we do this?" He walked back over to the table, extending his hand out to her and drew her close and led the way to the "dance floor". Although they were the same height, the alcohol still takes hold of her faster than it does Harry and he only knows a few things about the effects of alcohol. Moving her too fast might spell disaster. They slow danced and sipped more wine until it tasted like nothing at all. At one point, Harry felt like he was seeing red, so he laid out a blanket and strew a few pillows on top of it before lying down on his back. Hermione looked down, and poked him with her foot.

"You're not going to blow chunks, are you? I don't think I'd be able to handle that."

"No, I'm just a little dizzy. I think it's time for bed." She knelt beside him, covering him up then stared at him for a minute. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm kind of—almost content… a little less than, actually."

"Good. If you are, then I guess I am too." Harry put his hand on her upper thigh and gently pet it, not entirely for the sake of making a move on her, but because he wanted to remember this moment in time in he died at the hands of Voldomort or something. Having only ever been drunk in his life, he would have spent it with Hermione, lying on the floor and looking up at her. His mind is spinning too much for his brain to catch the details, so he's relying on other senses. She takes his hand and kisses it before also retiring to bed.

Hermione spent the next day hung over and contemplative. She was polite and genial but otherwise caught up in whatever interesting thoughts that wracked her brain. Harry drank lots of water and continued reading The Fountain of Fair Fortune. No one wore the locket, for it hung on the wall, unnoticed.

As the hours went on, Hermione looked more and more like she wanted or needed to say something important. Harry could feel her eyes burning on him as time went on, but he was afraid of meeting them for some reason.

After dinner, he offered to wash the dishes because Hermione's body was still punishing her from last night's past. He sat down, after putting them away and drank some pumpkin juice.

"Harry," Hermione begins slowly, "I was wondering if I could ask you something." In case anybody was wondering the quickest way to get somebody's heart racing, start a sentence this way, he thought, bringing his cup to his mouth. "Last night, I felt different with you last night."

"You were different, Hermione; You were drunk." She laughs, moving some hair from her face.

"Well, yeah, but I mean that it was different. I felt attracted to you." His mouth hung open, and he tried to contain his elation over hearing this, and he could've been content with only that and she continued to catch him off guard. "I think, maybe, and you can say no, we should – I mean I'd like to … with you…" She was gaging his reaction based on whether or not she should continue, so Harry softened his expression and took hold of her hand.

"I'd like to, too," he said, hoping they're both talking about the same thing and she smiled, relieved.

"With this war, we might never get to see on our own if we're compatible or something."

"Right." She regarded him with polite concentration then nodded softly.

"I want to do this because last night, it was definitely different, and I would like to see."

"Absolutely." Harry found himself nodding too, so he stopped getting up to pour more juice. Hermione picked up the locket and her book. "So when should we do this?"

"Tomorrow evening. We can't be irrational about this. Twenty-four hours is plenty enough time in case one of us changes our minds or something." After that, it was set and Harry braced himself for more firsts.

The following evening when Harry came in after finishing his shift with the horcrux, he was surprised to see a screen erected by Hermione's bed. The light of the tent shone in such a way that he could see her silhouette, the shape of her chest, the half-moon of her behind, and he got excited and nauseous as he realized the magnitude of what they were going to be doing shortly. Neither of them changed their minds.

"Uh, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yes!" Through the screen, she pulled on her robe and immerged, looking strong, but soft and beautiful.

"Good. Stand behind here, and strip down to your boxers." She bluntly commanded him, and went to take s drink of water. "I need to make some changes in here." Harry stepped behind the screen and took off the layers of clothes. With an excited tickle in his stomach he heard Hermione recite a spell or two, he stepped out feeling unashamed and was taken aback at how she transformed the room: A bed big enough for two stood where the table formerly was and candles lit the room. "It's not too much, is it?"

"Not at all." They smiled at one another from opposite spots of the room and in the midst of the wonder, it suddenly occurred to both of them that they didn't know how something like this started, who made the first move, etc. Harry got up all the gumption he could and advanced toward Hermione and guided her to the bed. He sat down, pulling her with him and kissed her neck. What started out as awkward and unfamiliar for Harry turned into something nice and comforting. To be close to her this way felt very soothing and she responded strongly to his caress. She ran her hands through his black hair, and she softly moaned or made a noises that egged him on and in less than five minutes, he was very stiff, but wasn't ready to dive into her yet.

As a man, Harry was enamored with sex, but one type of physical art to which people never gave enough credit to him was kissing. He felt that he was good at it, and it took time and finesse. Words weren't his strong suit, and he figured the actions spoke way louder than words. He wanted to manifest his unconscious desire for Hermione, show her she was special to him, and to move at her pace. He didn't want to make this experience unmemorable for her.

In some way, Hermione found a way to take the lead, which is the most distinguishing feature of her personality, but in a situation like this, Harry felt very privileged to experience it privately like this. She got on top of him and relieved herself to him. She was in her bra and panties and he felt the heat from her privates heating his erection and he sat up, putting his hand on her breast, feeling dizzy with desire. He tried not to think about Ron's reaction to any of this. He wasn't going to pretend to feel a little guilt over this, but he had to be realistic about this part of his life. He did so much for others, this one thing he could do for himself shouldn't be stopped because for something for this, he would be denying a part of his humanity. Hermione gasped as if she felt pain, causing Harry to pull back, startled a little.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're fine."

"Okay." She smiled, taking his glasses off. Up close, he didn't have trouble seeing what was in front of him and to have a view of Hermione in what he believed was the best she ever looked made him twitch with excitement. "Hermione, could we—"

"Yes." She got up real quick to remove her undergarments and her robe and watched Harry take off his boxers. He saw her eyes widen when she saw his penis. She got back on the bed and took hold of his member, stroking it a few times. Harry writhed with pleasure as he watched her. In that moment, he couldn't decide whether he wanted to watch her work on him or continue looking at her face. "We don't have protection, so you'll have to contain yourself."

"I will, I promise."

"Please be gentle, Harry. This is my first time." His heart melted a little because he caught a glimpse of fright in her eye.

"I will. It's my first time too, Hermione. It's gonna be great." They repositioned themselves and Harry readied himself to be on top of her. He kissed her and fumbled around trying to find an entrance, but she stopped him, sitting up for a second. With one hand, she grabbed Harry by the chin and brought his mouth to hers and with the other, she masturbated him to keep him excited. Then she lied back and guided him inside of her.

She gasped again and Harry was sure it was from pain, but he was literally inserting himself centimeters at a time at the near slowest rate possible. She wasn't crying, but she gritted her teeth and he tried to reassure her that the pain would pass.

"Harry…"

"I've got you, it's going to be okay," he said moving a little faster. "I'm going slow." Harry wondered what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of a lot of things, but he never thought about what it would be like to be a woman or anything like that. In actuality, a lot of his thoughts centered around the mysteries of the afterlife or what it would feel like to die, etc. He rarely ever thought about physical pleasure. Right now, he wasn't waiting for that moment of truth where he would be freed from every physical fetter set before him since the dawn of his existence, near decimation, then new existence following the death of his parents. He waited for Hermione to get comfortable with his speed and rhythm.

As if immerging from a storm at sea, Hermione's resistance faded and she told Harry that he could increase his speed. Little by little, he was being awakened to the begins of his orgasm. He was overcome by the wave of aching euphoria. There's always something to learn and Harry keeps realizing this as the years go on, but right now, he has no idea what he's doing.

Hermione was more than okay. She arched her back, ran her hands through Harry's hair, caressed his arms, kissed his shoulder, and had three orgasms. The first one took Harry by surprise because he nearly jumped when he felt her clench and moisten around him. There was so warning just a moment where things were fluid then for one moment, her breath shortened and he found it slightly more difficult to pass through her. He wasn't thrown off by the other two. He was a gentleman and waited his turn to reach climax.

Harry awoke the next morning, confused by the frigid air blowing through the flap of the tent.

"Hermione?" He tripped, picking up his boxers and walked outside to see where she went. "Hermione?"

"Harry, I'm over here." She was tending the fire and got up to meet him.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. A little sore, but I'm fine." She walked by, touching his arm and he followed her with his eyes. He suddenly wasn't sure if he loved her or sex or weirdly enough life. He was reawakened to his mission and he didn't know or find it advisable to start dating her, but that didn't devalue what they shared last night.

"Thank you Hermione," he said, buttoning his pants and she turned around, looking at him with a hint of confusion.

"For what?"

"For everything. For being there, for being loyal, levelheaded, and beautiful. I don't know where I'd be without you." She smiled, thankfully, and he could see that their relationship was still platonic. They loved each other but not in the conventional way that meant marriage, children, or even physical love again. Their love was something different that transcended all those things, and Harry promised himself that after this fucking war, he'd try to understand what they were, but for now, the fate of the world needed to be the forefront.