Hello all!

Testing the waters of writing again! It has been over two years since I have posted anything - so we shall see how this goes!

This takes place during Deathly Hallows. Probably a month or so after Ron leaves.

Anyway, I own nothing.

Enjoy!

-Bella

Harry awoke with a start. He had been dreaming – was it dreaming? Or was it Voldemort once again unwillingly overtaking his mind? Whatever it was, it was suffocating. It was as if every bit of air had been sucked out of his body through tiny, penetrating straws. The force caused his muscles to contract.

This was hell.

Gasping, as if oxygen was a precious resource about to expire, Harry looked around. His twice blurred vision could not make out much in the darkness. He could not recollect where he was or what he was doing -if only he could forget who he was. The Boy Who Lived felt ready to die-because of fear, because of exhaustion, because of exploitation; what more was left?

The darkness slowly became clearer: furniture, books, papers, and a small table.. A tent, he was in a tent. In the middle of nowhere. Looking for Horcurxes. Hungry. Cold. Alone.

Alone? Not alone.

Hermione.

Harry's gaze darted to his right. Across from his bed laid another, and in that bed laid his friend – his best friend. A girl- no, a woman. What brilliance she has shown in the past few months. Harry knew that she was brilliant, but her resourcefulness with their task has been astounding. Her steady and soft breathing filled Harry's cold body with warmth. He felt the exhaustion emanating from her pale and malnourished body. Ron had left them; and together they carried that burden of rejection. Together they pulled each other up and gave each other hope. If they didn't, they would surely die in these godforsaken woods. Harry would give anything to see Hermione smile again. Her laughter, so bright, has turned into an empty, mirthless sound.

Harry was so lost in thought that he did not notice Hermione's small frame adjust to a sitting position. A small, fragile voice broke his reverie.

"Harry? Are you okay?" the voice called, ever so softly.

Harry jumped, surprised by the voice. He wiped his perspiring forehead and swallowed hard, trying to regain composure.

"Yeah, 'Mione. Just a dream. I'm fine... go back to sleep, k?" he tried to put her off. He dreaded nothing more than burdening his companion with worries of his nightmares.

His comment was met with a heavy and exasperated sigh. He heard more movement: a cover being thrown off, legs swinging over the edge of a bed, and small footsteps approaching his bedside. 1, 2, 3, he counted.

"Lumos," said Hermione. A bright white light blinded him momentarily. As his eyes adjusted, he saw her. Her hair was tossed in a messy bun, her pajamas were decorated with small, wide-eyed owls. The tiny birds almost seemed to mock him. With a hand on her hip and an expression that could terrify grown men, Hermione glared at Harry. If it wasn't for the hollowness of her cheeks and the bloodshot nature of her eyes, Harry thought that she almost resembled Molly Weasley. No matter- she was still beautiful.

"Harry Potter," she started.

"Hermione Granger," he interjected. Annoyed, Hermione did not reply. She merely took her hand from its resting place on her hip and motioned for Harry to move over. Harry furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Don't just stare at me, Harry, move!" she demanded, using her most authoritative voice. Harry thought it safest to comply, she was armed with her wand, after all.

As he moved over Hermione effortlessly took solace underneath his covers and whispered, "Knox."

Harry paused and stiffened, not knowing what to do. Fortunately, Hermione took the lead and wrapped one arm around his middle. They naturally positioned themselves as Harry gave in to the urge to pull her close. He felt Hermione start to convulse in short, sporadic spurts. For a moment her movements reminded him of someone experiencing the Cruciatus curse. It took Harry some moments to realize that she was crying.

"'Mione?" he whispered, as tentatively as a prayer.

"Oh, Harry," she cried, her tears more obvious now, "I'm so sorry…"

Harry waited for her to elaborate. She continued to cry.

"Sorry for what, 'Mione? You know I don't mind if you cry, we've been through this. You have a lot on your shoulders and it's just us out here, I know it gets lonely. We just have to-"

"No! No, not about that," even in the darkness Harry knew that she was biting her lip, contemplating what to say. She continued,

"I'm sorry that you have no peace. Even your dreams are haunted by him. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn to for solace. For one moment of silence. Oh, Harry, I would take it all away if I could!"

She cried into his shirt, holding him closer and tighter. Harry's mouth fell agape. This beautiful, selfless creature was crying for him. She knew everything- his pain, his secrets, his hopes, his flaws, his desires, and his fears—everything. And still she cried. Harry was speechless. The only thing he could do was rub her back and murmur whatever comforting nothings that came to mind.

Some moments passed and her breathing slowed; Harry could tell she was giving in to her exhaustion. Eventually her breathing steadied and one last tear touched his forearm. He knew she was asleep.

"'You asleep?" he tested. No response. She was probably off learning something in the classroom of her mind. He sighed and pulled her close.

"I love you, 'Mione," he whispered into the void. He too felt the call of exhaustion; his breathing slowed; his eyes fell; he was asleep.

He was at peace.

There you have it! R&R to let me know if I should continue.

-Bella