Firelight, a harry potter fanfic

I own nothing, unfortunately.

"You have no right, Harry James Potter!" she yelled, pacing furiously up and down the room. Harry sat on the couch watching her pace, her thin figure passing back and forth in front of the warm fire, making her chestnut hair look as if it were ablaze.

"You don't understand, Hermione! I can't let you do this. I just can't! It's too dangerous. You could be killed, don't you see? I won't let you. I refuse." He was standing now. He took one long stride until he was directly in her path. She stopped in front of him, arms crossed over her chest, and glared up into his vibrant green eyes.

"I am an adult, Harry. I can and will do exactly as I please." Her words were vicious, her tone dangerous. Harry could see the passion, the fire in her hazelnut eyes. She stared at him with an intensity equal to that of the sun. He was afraid he would lose his will, his control over the situation.

"Please, Hermione," he was begging, pleading with her to see his logic, to understand. If anything happened to her... No! He wouldn't let it get to that. He'd not see her get anymore involved than she already was. He couldn't protect his parents, or Sirius, or Dumbledore, but he would save Hermione. He had to.

"I'll not be left behind." A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek, glistening in the flickering light of the fire. Her arms hung loosely down by her sides now, and she swayed ever so slightly.

It had all started about a month ago. After Dumbledore's funeral, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had moved into number 12 Grimmauld Place. The Order had moved to a new location, though many people such as Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Bill and Arthur Weasley still stopped by regularly. Hagrid had taken Buckbeak– Witherwings– back to Hogwarts and the portrait of Mrs. Black had been thoroughly covered. The house was much quieter– and much cleaner thanks to the help of a reluctant Kreacher.

The three stayed in the open bedrooms on the second story, though Hermione was continuously found late at night in the library and Ron in the kitchen. Harry went back and forth between the two: trying to prevent Ron from eating all the food in the place and attempting to ensure Hermione didn't spend all her time cooped up by herself with dusty old tomes. She worried Harry, and Ron, of course, with how much time she spent alone in the dreary old library of Grimmauld Place. He cared for Hermione just as he cared for the well-being of all his friends... all his just friends.

Harry had broken up with Ginny a month ago at the funeral. He told her it was to keep her safe. He told himself it was just to keep her safe. There was more to it, though. He'd had feelings for someone else for awhile now; well, what he thought were feelings. He was so confused all the time and romance hardly seemed like an important topic to him at such a time– yet it was all he could think about late a night, when he was laying in a bed next to Ron's and listening to him snore. He thought, in fact, much too much about relationships and much too little about the upcoming and inevitable battle. Ginny was wonderful, but she just wasn't her.

Ron and Hermione had finally realized that they were acting childish and that the whole "you're in love if you argue" thing only applied if you were ten. This was much to Harry's relief. He was unsure if he could stand to be cooped up in that dreary old house with the pair of them if all they were able to do was bicker. And Harry had always worried about the possibility of Ron and Hermione getting together. Where would that leave him? Where would it leave their friendship if it didn't work out? How could he find a way to not brood or not have the urge to punch Ron? Those awkward situations, however, had been graciously avoided.

But it wasn't all smiles at Grimmauld Place. Despite their desperate research, they were still lacking vital information about the Horcruxes, Voldemort's location, and so many other necessary things. And to make matters worse, Ron's father had been attacked– again– at the ministry. Mrs. Weasley was all hysterics and insisted that Ron return home, threatening that Lupin would use force if necessary. So, when Lupin showed up at Grimmauld Place one afternoon with an apologetic smile they had agreed to let Ron return home for a short while, since a plan of action was still yet to be determined.

For two weeks it was just Harry and Hermione at the house. They were agreeable enough to one another and could easily talk without the tension created by Ron. Things were going smoothly, though without much progress. Until one day.

The day had started like any other. They got up, ate breakfast, Hermione went to the library and Harry to the hall to practice spells on the dummy Hermione had made for him, ate lunch, did a little more research together and practiced defensive spells, ate dinner, and retired to the drawing room on the second story to relax. They did this so as to allow time to just unwind and think about happier times, though it was sometimes harder than others. Spending all day, everyday inside the dreary confines of Grimmauld could get to anyone if left alone to wallow. And this is when the fight began.

Harry told Hermione that after his eighteenth birthday, he was going off to find Voldemort and finish things for good. He had stated other similar plans before but without much conviction or planning. But this time was different, and she knew it. She gave him her skeptical, worried, motherly look. Then, after what Harry assumed was considering for a bit, she smiled sadly and told him she was going to go with him. This statement horrified him. Of course she was not going to go with him. She could be injured, or killed. He couldn't take that. He couldn't...

Hermione, however, would hear nothing of staying behind. She could not bear knowing he was out there, facing what could possibly be his death, alone. She would worry herself to madness. She had never once abandoned him as of yet, and she wasn't about to start now. No. She was going.

"Hermione," he said softly, turning to face her on the couch in front of the fire. "Please. I know it's a lot for me to ask of you... but please, just stay here; you'll be safe here."

"No, Harry, I won't. Nobody is safe. Not anymore. Harry, I'll not be any safer away from Voldemort without you than I would be near him with you. Don't you see?" She placed one trembling hand on his cheek. "Don't you see? I care for you far too much to just send you off."

Her words stung him. It was exactly what he wanted to hear and at the same time, the exact worst thing she could have possibly said. Everyone who cared for Harry got killed.

He sighed before saying, "I know you're probably right, Hermione. You pretty much always are." He gave her a slight, sad smirk. "But I don't think I could stand to know that you were in harms way with me. If you do come with me you'll be his number one target. If Voldemort knew how much... if he knew the one thing that he could take from me to destroy me and somehow got to you, it would all be over. I– you can't– Hermione, I forbid you to come with me!"

Mistake.

She immediately stood, gave him the most furious look he could imagine coming from her kind eyes, and began pacing.

"You have no right, Harry James Potter!" she yelled, pacing furiously up and down the room. Harry sat on the couch watching her pace, her thin figure passing back and forth in front of the warm fire making her chestnut hair look as if it were ablaze.

"I am an adult, Harry. I can and will do exactly as I please." Her words were vicious, her tone dangerous. Harry could see the passion, the fire in her eyes. She stared at him with an intensity equal to that of the sun. He was afraid he would lose his will, his control over the situation.

"I'll not be left behind." A single tear rolled slowly down her cheek, glistening in the flickering light of the fire. Her arms hung loosely down by her sides, and she swayed ever so slightly. That was the final straw. He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. She went rigid at first, then collapsed into him. Had he not been holding her up, she would have hit the hard, wooden floor.

He heard her murmur something into his chest.

"What?" he asked quietly, pulling back to look at her face.

"I love you, Harry. Don't– don't ask me to stay. I c-can't do it. I just can't," she sobbed, her eyes never leaving his chest.

"Oh, Hermione. I love you, too; and that's exactly why I can't let you come. If something were to happen to you... it would all be over. I couldn't do it. You are what keeps me going. Without you, he would have the advantage. And if Voldemort knew how much you mean to me... he'd come after you for sure."

"I don't care! Better he came after me while I was with you than stuck here! Harry, if I am to die, I'll not do it in this miserable place! I will be with you until the end; be it four weeks from now or forty years. I want to be with you." She was looking directly into his eyes now, and he knew he didn't stand a chance.

After looking at her determined face in the firelight for a minute longer, he lowered his head until his lips met hers. It was soft and sweet. A surrender. Once he pulled away, they rested their foreheads together.

"Ok."

And so it was settled. She was to go with him. They would face whatever came their way. But they would do it together, and that was all that mattered.