The next time the eye opened, she had been standing in front of a mirror in the bathroom. Her suspicion was confirmed; there had been a split moment before she had collapsed to the cold, stone floor where she had seen the eye on her forehead open to reveal a bright blue iris.
But this time, she fretted to herself as she felt her joints lock, she was alone. Every other vision she'd had, Harry had been close by, ready to wake her. Without intervention, she had no idea how long this vision might be.
She was curled up on a deep, red sofa in front of a roaring fire. There was a worn copy of David Copperfield sitting open at the middle on her lap, but she wasn't paying any attention to it. Instead, she was listening with a smile to the soft male whispers that were drifting down from a room further up the hall.
"Time to sleep, little Lily flower," the familiar, comforting voice was saying. There was a warm chuckle, and then, "Such a pretty little thing you are. Beautiful, just like your mum."
A blush rose on her cheeks as she listened to the voice sing a soothing Muggle lullaby, one that she recognised from her own childhood.
The song petered out just before the halfway point, and Hermione guessed that their baby girl had finally fallen asleep. A door closed, and footsteps became louder as they neared the end of the hall and appeared in the doorway.
"Is she asleep?" Hermione asked as she set down her book.
"Out like a light," Harry said proudly as he threw himself onto the sofa beside her.
"Reminds me of someone I know," she teased as Harry slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. "How often do you insist you'll wait up for me, only for me to find a drooling mess when I finally do come to bed?"
"Not my fault you keep such ridiculous hours," Harry retorted. "Who would have thought you would prefer reading books 'til two in the morning to snuggling in bed with your sexy husband?"
"I don't prefer it," she denied, giggling when Harry began tickling her side. "I just lose track of time… sometimes."
"All the time," he corrected, smirking. "It's a good thing I know exactly how to distract you."
Shooting him a challenging grin, Hermione picked up her book again, opened it at the middle and began to read. "Prove it, Potter."
He was still for several long moments, and Hermione wondered if he was going to try anything at all. Just when she had given up hope and settled back into her book, idle fingers began to dance up and down her thigh.
She bit her lip behind her book, refusing to give him the benefit of seeing her reaction to his touch, but he knew her too well. His hands abandoned her leg, coming up to tear the book away from her hands and toss it to the floor.
"Harry!" she whined, staring with disdain at the way the book fell with the spine bent and the cover creased. "That's a favourite."
"I'll buy you a million copies of the damn book, Hermione," he said, his voice teasing. "Now, hush up and let me distract you."
He slid a hand up to cup her cheek and leaned in to brush a teasing kiss to her lips. She felt him smile against her before he drew her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled playfully. A hand snuck its way beneath her nightshirt, grazing lightly against her breast, and she gasped loudly.
"How am I doing?" he murmured.
"Brilliantly," she breathed.
She felt him smile against her. "Good."
She all but melted into his embrace when he kissed her again, shifting her position on the sofa so she was sitting astride his lap. She felt she could happily spend all her life kissing Harry. His hands went around her back, peeling off her shirt and pulling her closer, sliding up and down the heated sway of her spine, while hers worked on blindly unbuttoning his starched, grey shirt.
"I love you, Hermione," Harry whispered against her lips. "So, so much."
She held him to her just that little bit tighter and let out a happy sigh. "I love you, too, Harry."
Hermione gasped and jerked herself upright. Her breath fell in sharp, harsh pants, and her hands were shaking. Her skin was cold and clammy, too, and there were little beads of sweat rolling down her neck.
Bracing herself on the basin, she pulled herself up and splashed her face with icy cold water. It didn't jolt her back to reality as she'd hoped, only threw everything she had just seen into stark, bright contrast.
"That was the future," she whispered to herself as she stared at her pale reflection, the eye in her forehead now closed and still once more. One saving grace, she supposed, was that the eye hadn't been visible on her in that vision. She must have found a way to break the curse.
It hardly felt like a silver lining, though. Still shocked into silence, she slumped down to the stone floor again, hardly able to breath as the vision played in her mind over and over again.
XXX
In the month that followed seeing her own future, Hermione had been struck by countless new visions. She didn't know how she was keeping all the new information in check without unthinkingly blurting it out anytime she saw one of the subjects. Visions and reality were starting to bleed together; she couldn't recall anymore whether or not she and Harry were already together or still waiting for the catalyst.
There had been one of Seamus Finnegan and Pansy bloody Parkinson, of all people, having a rather spectacular snogging session in one of the Quidditch change rooms; one of Blaise Zabini being loudly (and quite harshly, too, in her opinion) rejected by a haughty-looking Daphne Greengrass; one of Christmas at the Burrow in what looked like at least five years from now, wherein Ginny finally looked happy again on the arm of Ernie MacMillan. She and Harry had featured quite prominently in that one, too.
So it was with little recourse that she now found herself avoiding Harry with the same voracity she might have employed had he been carrying the bubonic plague.
It didn't matter how she tried to distract herself, she couldn't shake the vision of her and Harry together – married, with a child – from her mind. She shuffled from class to class, hardly able to concentrate on anything that was happening around her. A full night's sleep became little more than a fondly recalled dream. Nothing else seemed even remotely important by comparison – she was even shirking her Head Girl duties! – and it made her feel like the silliest girl to be worrying over a boy like she was, especially one she hadn't really given much romantic thought to before.
Of course, she had noticed Harry. He had grown significantly, though he was still barely an inch taller than herself. His body would probably always be just that little bit too skinny, but years of Quidditch had given him a lightly muscled, slender physique that she knew many a girl, Gryffindor or otherwise, appreciated. His hair, ink-black like raven feathers, would likely always be messy, but he just wouldn't be Harry if it were any other way. It was his eyes that drew her in, though. They were most incredible shade of green, hardly unlike emeralds, and were the most expressive part of him. She could look into Harry's eyes and know exactly what he was thinking at any moment.
But for the longest time, she couldn't see him as anything more than a brother. She didn't know what to think anymore after seeing the visions of them together, and looking so happy. She loved him dearly already and knew she always would, but was there anything more to it? The thought that her future lay with him was both scary and oddly exciting, and made her feel warm all over to think about in a way she'd never felt before, not even when she'd had shared her first kiss with Viktor.
A pounding headache mounted as questions swirled in her head as she staggered towards the common room, all demanding answers at once:
Should she question Harry now, or should she let their eventual relationship take its course?
Just how far into the future did the vision take place? Neither she nor Harry had appeared to be much older.
Would it be fair to continue to keep the vision from Harry when it concerned him, too?
Did Harry's affection over the past few weeks, and even years, mean anything in regards to the future she had seen?
Could the visions be changed?
Did she want to change it?
There was only one person she could think of who might be able to help her answer those questions.
A hand shot out and gripped her elbow, pulling her into a darkened alcove covered from view by a tapestry hanging from ceiling to floor. She yanked her arm away from her assailant and turned, ready to give the mystery person a piece of her mind.
Her jaw dropped in surprise, and even in the shadows, the hurt that crossed his eyes was plain to see. He still looked at her like she was something precious, though, and another question crossed her mind, one that made her eyes grow wide and her knees go weak:
Is he already in love with me?
"You're avoiding me," Harry stated. His hair was standing on end – not unusual, but still worth noting in Hermione's opinion, as Harry did usually did at least try to keep his hair under control, even if it didn't work the majority of the time. His jaw was unshaven, his glasses were lopsided, and his uniform was dishevelled and unkempt. He looked almost as though he had been cornered in a broom closet, and the thought sent the most infuriating rush of jealousy through her.
"Yes, I am," Hermione meekly replied.
"Have I done something wrong?" Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Standing so close, she couldn't believe she'd never noticed just how broad he was. "Something to offend you?"
Hermione shook her head and let out a derisive scoff. "Of course not, Harry. Don't be silly."
"Then why?" he demanded.
"I can't say."
His eyes narrowed. "Was it something you saw?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not say."
"That's a yes." He pressed forward so their bodies were separated by mere inches. His proximity was warm and incredibly distracting; she could hardly look at him without seeing the loving husband and father she had seen in her vision and, in that moment, just how much she wanted that threatened to overwhelm her.
"What did you see, Hermione?" he asked softly.
"I – I can't tell you," she stammered.
"Was it about me?" he pressed on, unconcerned. "Am I going to get hurt?"
"No!" Hermione exclaimed passionately. "Nothing like that." She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed him away. "I can't tell you what I saw, Harry! You know I can't!"
His lips quirked into a wicked grin. "Did you see me having sex?"
Hermione nearly choked. "Good Lord, Harry, no! Nothing of the sort!"
His smile tamed. "Then why are you acting so strangely?"
"I just…" Hermione tugged at her hair and let out a frustrated sigh. She looked down to the floor where their feet were toe-to-toe and cast in shadow. "I don't know why I'm acting strangely," she muttered.
"You saw something about me, and now you're thinking too hard about it," he told her as he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "I've known you for years, Hermione. I know how you get when you dwell too hard on things."
She paused and looked at him, as though seeing him for the first time. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach a hand up to brush his messy fringe away from his eyes. "You really do, don't you?" she said softly, her trembling hand settling on his cheek.
He studied her carefully for a long moment, his bright green eyes boring into her brown ones, and slowly, he brings his hand up to meet hers. His fingers moved in between hers, and he held her there, still looking at her with a wary gaze that was very nearly calculating. Her breath caught in her throat when he began to slowly move in closer, his eyes focussed on her lips.
"Hermione… I –"
A deep, masculine yelp of pain sliced through the tense air between them, and a solid body fell into the tapestry hiding them from view, knocking them to the ground.
"Oi, Smith, ya clumsy oaf!" a coarse, undignified voice rumbled. "Geddup off the floor! We're late for Creatures as it is!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming," the body grumbled, hauling himself back to his feet. Harry and Hermione listened to the footsteps become quieter and quieter before disappearing entirely.
Harry heaved a deep sigh, sounding nearly disappointed. He stood and held out a hand for her to take. "Come on, Hermione," he said, his voice hollow. "We should get back to the common room. You have a free lesson right now too, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," she said, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. The headache that had been threatening nearly burst once she was upright, and she barely stifled a groan of pain as her hands flew to cradle her head.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asked, his hands wrapping around her shoulders to steady her.
"Just a headache," she answered with a grimace. "I have a potion for it in my dorm."
"Can you walk?"
She let out a little laugh. "I'll be fine, Harry."
Regardless of her words, he looped an arm around her waist and led her towards the staircase. She leaned into his hold, her eyes closing as she enjoyed his warmth and the wonderful scent of peppermint that he seemed to be shrouded in.
"Listen, I know you're in pain, and I was only thinking… but have you considered talking to – and please, don't hit me for this, but –"
"Spit it out, Harry," Hermione murmured as she rubbed at her throbbing temple.
"Trelawney." Harry leaned in close, his whisper conspiratorial. "Have you considered talking to Trelawney? See what she might know about all this?"
Hermione let out a weak scoff. "What is Trelawney going to tell me? That fraud of a woman delights in foretelling your death from nothing but tea dregs and shadows and you think I should seek her out?"
"But she's the Divination professor, Hermione," Harry pointed out. "It's not entirely out of the realm of reason that she might know something about a bloody future-seeing eye on your forehead!"
"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed. She cast a quick glance around the hall, making sure no one had heard. "Honestly, Harry!"
"Sorry," he said sheepishly.
"No, I don't plan on talking to Trelawney," Hermione went on. "Dumbledore couldn't offer anything constructive, there is nothing about whatever this is happening to me in any books, and in any case, I don't believe she would assist me anyway, not after I offended her in third year."
"You really did," Harry agreed, grinning. "You should have stayed, Hermione; Divination was a right laugh."
"I had far better things to do with my time that year than sit in with some old fraud and listen as she detailed the many and varied ways she had seen you die that week in the bottom of a teacup."
"That's why it was so funny," Harry pointed out with a chuckle.
Hermione rolled her eyes and slouched further into his side. "In any case, Harry, I don't plan on talking to Trelawney. I have someone else in mind to talk to."
"Really? Who?"
"Theodore Nott."
"Theodore Nott?" Harry repeated, crinkling his nose. "Why?"
She yawned, tired all of a sudden. Her limbs felt like lead, sinking her towards the ground so she could finally, finally sleep. "I was going to look for him now. Don't you remember how he was acting when he pulled me away from Hagrid's trap? He was relieved, and not just because he saved me. And remember how he kept saying something was gone, something that he never wanted to find again, and how he was rubbing his forehead?"
Harry's eyes widened with comprehension. "You think he passed the eye on to you somehow?"
"I'm not entirely certain, but it makes sense, doesn't it?"
He shrugged. "Not really, but it's as good a lead as any. I'll go with you."
"No, Harry," she denied him, reaching a hand around his wrist to hold him back. "I should do it alone."
Harry didn't immediately answer; instead, his gaze was directed to where her hand was still wrapped around his wrist.
Instead of pulling away like her first instinct told her to, she slid her hand down to take proper hold of his. She laced her fingers with his and gave a gentle squeeze. She had never really given much thought before to how her hand seemed to fit so nicely in his, but at that moment her mind didn't seem to want to focus on anything else.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right, Hermione?" Harry asked in a whisper. He touched the back of his free hand to her forehead and frowned. "You feel a little warm."
"I'm fine," she replied in her own whisper. "I suppose I'm a little tired, though. I haven't been sleeping well."
Harry nodded. "All right. But you aren't going to Nott today." He kept one arm around her shoulders while the other moved to scoop up her legs, cradling her close to him. "You need to rest."
She yawned again, the pain in her head ebbing just a little as she curled up against Harry's chest. "Okay, then," she murmured as she closed her eyes. She supposed Theodore Nott could wait a little while longer.
XXX
Theodore Nott was a difficult man to track down. Slytherins who were willing to divulge any clues as to his whereabouts were few and far between, and more far confusing than helpful with their strange hints and riddles. Hermione felt as though she was being sent on a strange sort of treasure hunt, with only cryptic clues and perplexing Slytherins to guide her.
It wasn't until she happened upon Malfoy one evening who, after she had all but begged for the information, told her in a bland tone, "He's in the library, Granger. He only spends about as much time in there as you do, in his little nest by the divination books, of all bloody things," that she felt she had anything to go on.
She went on past Malfoy, ignoring his jibe of, "Should Potter be jealous?", and headed back down the staircase towards the library.
It was a little presumptuous of her, she knew, to assume that just because she didn't like it, that no one else would deign to use the divination section of the library. She tended to avoid the area; it reeked of burning incense, and its windows were swathed in pink and mauve gauze. She rolled her eyes, too, whenever she walked past and heard the ever present sounds of clinking china and high-pitched, tittering giggles.
That Nott would be there – and voluntarily, too – was surprising to say the least.
"I was wondering when you would come looking for me, Granger," he said without glancing up from his book as she rounded the corner.
"Nott." She nodded in greeting. "You're a difficult man to find."
His smile was slow and enigmatic as he looked up at her. "Perhaps I don't really want to be found."
She stared at him for a long moment. "You know why I'm here, then?"
"I can hazard a guess as to why." He fixed her with a wry smirk and snapped his book shut, giving her his undivided attention. "So, what do you think? Are you enjoying my gift?"
Hermione considered that. "It is inconvenient," she responded after a moments' thought as she slid into the seat across from him. "The visions are painful, and impossible to predict, not to mention distracting." She thought back to the vision of her and Harry and blushed. "Can the visions be changed?"
"No," Nott replied, shaking his head. "What you see is set in stone."
Hermione pursed her lips. "Are you absolutely certain?"
"The magic isn't wrong, Granger," Theo declared, sounding exasperated. "I thought you would appreciate that fact by now. You can't change the futures you are shown, but there is one exception to that rule."
"And that is?"
He looked at her meaningfully. "You need to look out for the tears. They'll show you the way."
"The tears?" Hermione repeated, puzzled. "This is no time for riddles, Nott."
"The eye was weeping before I found you, Granger. If there are tears, you are being shown the future; the one you need to change to rid yourself of the curse and pass it on."
"So that's what needs to be done? Saving a life passes the curse on?"
Nott nodded. "Correct. I saved your life, and now you're the cursed one." He smirked. "You're welcome, by the way."
"And if I don't wish to pass the curse off? If I don't wish to burden someone else with it?"
"Then it's yours forever. Enjoy." He narrowed his eyes at her dubious expression and let out a huff of air. "The curse wants to be passed on, Granger. If you die, it dies with you. It shows you a window; it's up to you to take it."
Hermione leaned forward in her seat, resting her folded arms on the tabletop. "What do you know of this curse?"
"I know enough," Nott replied. "It's called the Postea Visus Curse, and that it is passed on when a life is saved. Documented cases and retellings of those who have suffered are rare; many of those afflicted choose to sequester themselves upon passing the curse on, such is the burden of their knowledge."
Hermione looked at him worriedly. "Will you be…?"
Theo shook his head. "I never saw anything so dire that I thought I wouldn't be able to handle it." He let out a deep breath and went on, "The curse offers random glimpses into the future with no regard for your surroundings or the people around you." He paused, looking contemplative. "When did your first vision occur?"
She cringed. "In Potions class."
Theo's jaw dropped. "So people – and Snape! – have seen you… you know?"
"They've seen me collapse," Hermione offered as she remembered the day, "but whether or not anyone knows why, I don't know. No one has inquired."
"Potter knows, doesn't he?" he asked, smirking. "He keeps close to you now, more so than he normally does."
"Harry only knows what I choose to tell him. Is there a reason why he shouldn't?" Hermione questioned tersely. "We are best friends, after all, and he's been with me since the beginning of all this."
"Not at all." Theo shrugged. "But if I were you, I wouldn't share the things you see."
"You were me," she retorted, a warm blush on her cheeks. "And I don't tell him what I see."
"Good. It's a lonely curse, Granger. One that it isn't wise to involve others in, regardless of the temptation to do so. The burden is too much for even one person, and not one that shares well."
"Then how did you manage?" she asked. "You're right, it's too much, but even having someone else who just knows, even if you aren't sharing the specifics… having Harry has been beyond helpful."
"You don't exactly see me with people, do you, Granger? Even before the curse, I've never been much of a social butterfly. It was enough for me to trust the magic, and you should, too. It won't last forever, but there is no telling how long it might be before the one you are meant to save is shown to you. Just believe those things, and you'll be fine."
"How long was the curse with you for?"
"Nearly three years, and that's considered a short while for this curse," he revealed, cringing in remembrance. "Knowing the future and not being able to change it is a burden I don't wish on anyone, Granger, least of all you, bleeding heart that you are."
Hermione quirked a brow at his presumption. "You doubt my ability to handle this… curse?"
"I saw you die, Granger," he bluntly stated. "That hole was deeper than you think it was, and Hagrid had left a few presents at the bottom. The end result once your body was levitated out was horrifying to say the least. The curse dictates that you will witness someone else's death and, given the sort of person you are, I don't know how you'll handle that."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You think you know me so well, Nott? What sort of person do you think I am?"
Theo leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands together on top of the desk. "You want the best for the world and everyone and everything in it, and you'll do what it takes to get it. It's admirable, Granger, truly, but if you see something that… goes against that, I fear you would lose yourself trying to change it."
Hermione looked down, unable to deny the truth of his words.
"Did you…um… did you see anyone else die?" she asked. "Before you were able to find me, I mean? Surely you don't only have one moment to pass the curse on."
Theo looked down to the desk. "I did," he said softly, after a long, quiet moment. "Only once, though. I saw an older woman in Hogsmeade two years ago. She got drunk, slept outside in the snow and froze to death."
"And there was no way you could have helped?"
His answering smirk was wry, and a little sad. "I would have, if it had been possible with my limited capacity at the time, but given that it was Christmas and I had been back in London with my mother and sister, helping her was quite impossible. I managed to get a message to Rosmerta, but it didn't arrive quickly enough by owl since the window between the vision and the time the event occurs is quite narrow. The woman was dead by the time they found her."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be, Granger," he dismissed. "There was nothing to be done in that case. Saving that woman was nigh on impossible. I've learned to live with it knowing I did all I could. But this is exactly my point; if a time comes where you see a death that you cannot change, what will you do?"
"Do all I can," she whispered, "and learn to live with it."
Theo nodded once, then turned his attention back to his book. "Then, once more, Granger, the only thing I can do is wish you luck."
XXX
The following weekend, Hermione came to a conclusion. She slipped away from the castle and Harry's watchful eye and left for Hogsmeade on her lonesome. There she went to Scrivenshafts and bought a journal bound in soft, supple brown leather, a beautiful swan feather quill and a pot of royal blue ink.
After her talk with Nott, she had decided that the lack of documentation of the Postea Visus Curse would end with her. She fully intended to chronicle her thoughts, experiences, and every detail both small and significant and, when the time came to pass on the curse, she would be able to pass on the journal, too. Hopefully the next person would continue the tradition, and the next and so on. She would not allow those who would follow her to be as lost and in the dark as she had been.
Besides, to journal her experiences would be most therapeutic for her, too.
After making her purchases, Hermione didn't feel the immediate need to return to Hogwarts. That would entail seeing Harry, and far more questions concerning her whereabouts than she wanted to answer at that moment. Instead, she headed over to the Three Broomsticks. She noted for the first time, too, the small, brass plaque on the wall and slightly to the right of the entrance.
In Remembrance of
Mary Vanessa Wollsworth
Beloved Daughter, Sister and Aunt
Aug 30, 1948 – Dec 24, 1995
For the woman Theo saw, she sombrely noted to herself.
Hermione pushed through the double doors and quickly found an empty booth in one of the corners, lit by the warm sunlight filtering in through the window. It wasn't an official Hogsmeade weekend, so the pub was sparse and quiet, perfect for her afternoon plans. She settled herself into the seat and arranged her purchases in front of her as a waitress came and took her order of a Butterbeer and chips.
As she waited, she made a brief outline of her notes on a spare piece of parchment. By the time her order arrived, the sheet of paper was covered in lines, arrows, crossed out words and blocks of text written in writing so small it was only legible to her.
"Rosmerta," Hermione began as pushed her paper to the side so the boisterous woman could set down her order, "I've never noticed that plaque outside the door before."
"I forget about it meself sometimes," the older woman answered with a small smile.
"Did you know her? Mary Wollsworth, I mean."
"She was a regular," Rosmerta informed with a shrug. "Sad woman, from what I remember. Never had a family of her own, but she seemed to like it here, where she could talk to people. She drank like a fish though, rest her soul."
"Did you have the plaque installed?"
"Me? Nah, it was one of the students."
"A student?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowed in consideration. "Do you remember who it was?"
"I forget his name… but he was tall, brown hair, Slytherin. Pretty, too, even if he was a bit young at the time. Really shiny hair."
"Theodore Nott?" Hermione ventured.
"That's him," she confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. "Sweet lad, to do that for Mary. She's got a grave, obviously, but he stuck that there for her, too. I assumed he was one of the nephews, since Mary had about a dozen of them, but he just said he was a friend." She shrugged and smiled. "Let me know if you want anything else."
"I will," Hermione murmured, looking back down at her notes as Rosmerta sidled away to another table.
Hermione nibbled at a hot chip before whispering a quick, "Scourgify," to rid her fingers of any oil that would surely stain the paper. She took her new journal and flipped open the cover, pressing down on it at the middle so it wouldn't close as she wrote.
She took hold of the new inkwell and shook it thoroughly to mix the contents before twisting open the cap and dipping the pointed end of her quill in. She breathed in the scent of fresh ink and paper, and poised her quill against the journal to begin her tale.
What I am about to tell you is going to seem strange and highly unbelievable…
XXX
"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed on seeing her the following morning.
She had purposefully delayed her return to Hogwarts the day before until such a time that she could see the flashes of gold and scarlet flying above the Quidditch pitch, when she knew Harry would be too distracted with practice. She had managed to skulk back to the Gryffindor Tower without him noticing and, without his presence, there were no distractions or hindrances, bar the odd greeting, to her mounting the stairs back to her dorm room where she could continue to write and think.
It had been Theo's adamant assurances that the visions were set in stone that finally prompted her to truly consider just what it was she felt for Harry. She loved him, of that she was certain, but she was doubting now, more so than ever before, just what sort of love it was. All she knew for certain was that whatever it was she felt for him was the farthest thing from brotherly, and had probably never been that way at all.
Harry rushed up to meet her halfway on the staircase and seized her in a tight hug, uncaring of the whispers that broke out in the common room below them.
"Where have you been? I didn't see you at all yesterday."
"I had errands," she replied simply, closing her eyes and running her hand slowly up and down his back. He was just so warm and solid, and it was all Hermione could do not to melt into him. "I was in Hogsmeade all day."
"And all night?" Harry pulled back just enough to look into her face and quirked a dubious brow. "Hermione, what were you doing?"
Hermione sighed and reached a hand across her body to retrieve the journal from the book bag that hung at her side. She had spent all day and night filling in every single detail she could remember, from her reaction to finding the eye on her forehead to vaguely recalled accounts of the visions she had seen. She spoke at length about the curse itself and what it entailed, how to manage it and how to pass it on, using the information Nott had given her and what she had gathered herself, and by four that morning, the journal was almost full.
"This is what I was doing," she told him, holding the book out for him to take. She watched his face as he flicked through it, his eyes widening behind his lenses. "I stayed in Hogsmeade most of the day, then I came back when you were at Quidditch practice – not that I was avoiding you!" she declared at his hurt expression. "I only wanted to get back to my room to continue writing."
"I guess Nott was a big help, then," Harry commented, smiling at her over the book. "And the key you were looking for."
"He was," she confirmed with a nod. "He explained everything. I thought it might be a good idea to write it all down, so no one else is as lost as I or anyone else before me was."
"You rarely have bad ideas, Hermione." His eyes skimmed her writing, and widened when he reached a particular passage. "You need to save a life?"
"To pass the curse on, yes."
He read on until there was a deep wrinkle between his brows. "But only the life your vision has shown you?"
"Yes."
Harry's face scrunched up. "Annoyingly specific," he muttered as he flicked to another page.
"I know."
"Well, I suppose I can forgive you, then." Harry snapped the book shut with a gentle smile. "But if you really wanted time to yourself to do this, Hermione, you could have just said something. I'm not going to get offended, so there's really no need to ditch me."
"I didn't ditch you, Harry."
"No, you only snuck around, purposely avoided me in the morning, then you only came back when you knew I was otherwise occupied."
Hermione took a deep breath. "Well then, perhaps you would like to come with me to Hogsmeade next time?"
Harry's hands faltered, dropping the book to the floor. "Uh," he uttered as he bent down to retrieve it. "Did you just say… um…?"
"I did."
"Like a…?"
"Yes, Harry. Like a date."
He pressed the book in her hands and met her eyes. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, smiling. "Positive, Harry."
His eyes took a suspicious glint. "You saw something, didn't you?"
Slowly, she nodded again. "I did, but this has nothing to do with it. I'm asking because you I want to, Harry, not because I feel like I have to. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I've wanted to for a long time now."
Slowly, his lips quirked in a genuine, happy smile. "Me, too," he quietly admitted. "For far longer than I wanted to admit."
She returned his smile with a wide one of her own. "We should probably talk about this," she whispered, very conscious at that moment of the many pairs of eyes fixed curiously upon them.
"We probably should," he agreed, taking her hand in his and leading her down the remaining stairs and out the portrait. He turned back to her with a smirk once the portrait closed after them. "To the Room of Requirement? We can ask Dobby to bring us hot chocolate?"
Smiling, she nodded. "Sounds wonderful, Harry."
He took her hand again and offered another boyish smile, and began to lead her down the winding halls to the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy that served as the concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement.
"Will it be weird?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Harry stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"This!" she exclaimed, gesturing a hand back and forth between them. "We've been friends for years, Harry, and with Ron and Ginny – and my third eye! If we do this… will it be weird?"
Instead of answering, Harry took a step forward and cupped her chin, tilting her face upwards. His eyes glinted with determination as his free hand trailed down her body, coming to a rest at her waist. Slowly, almost shyly, he leaned forward to press his lips against hers in a soft, tentative kiss.
She inhaled sharply and let it out in a happy sigh, lifting her hands from where they were hanging by her sides to hold onto his shoulders, clutching tightly as he began to move his lips against hers. As quickly as it had started, though, Harry pulled away, his eyes bright and his lips red.
"Does this feel weird, Hermione?" he asked, leaning in again to brush his lips over hers again. And again and again and again.
"Not at all," she whispered.
She felt him smile. "I didn't think so either. Was it weird in whatever it was you saw of us?"
She shook her head slightly, not wanting to break contact. "Merlin, no."
"Then we'll be fine. And as for the eye, I'll be right here with you, and we'll get through it, however long it takes. Alright?"
"Okay, then."
Harry chuckled, sounding far lighter than she could ever remember. "You believe me? Just like that?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again, slow but thorough, before pulling back with a smirk. "You're Harry Potter; of course I believe you."