~.~.~.~.~.~
Christmas Eve, 1997
Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire
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The night of their lucky escape from Nagini's clutches in Godric's Hollow had left Hermione utterly exhausted. She not only had had to Side-Along Harry to get his unconscious form back to camp, and then use a Hover Charm to move him inside the tent, but she'd spent the last hour watching over him in growing fear. He'd grown quite ill from the effects of the snake's venom that had been pumped into his body, and the dittany she'd used to counter it was doing a good job, but he was still in obvious pain. He tossed and turned with restlessness, mumbling incoherent words - occasionally shouting them. She fretted constantly at his side, checking his temperature and making sure he didn't thrash too violently and reopen his wounds.
The locket had been a problem as well; it had stuck to Harry's chest for some unfathomable reason, so she'd had to use a Severing Charm to remove it, and then a quick Healing Charm and more dittany to fix the skin and stop the bleeding. Currently, it was around her neck, whispering its evil to her. She attempted to tune it out by reciting the facts behind the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, but kept nodding off in the chair she'd set up at Harry's side. This last time, she'd actually fallen out of her seat, hitting the hard canvas floor and hurting her shoulder.
The hateful tears she tried to keep hidden from Harry as often as possible wavered before her eyes again as she dragged her tired body up off the floor. Blast, she was just so bloody sick of it all! Between the constant need to move their camp to throw off the enemy, trying to keep Harry's spirits up, feeling the pressure of coming up with the locations of the Horcruxes, wondering if Ron was ever coming back, and hearing on the WWN of the casualties mounting by the day, it was all too much for her to take on her small shoulders, Gryffindor brave or not.
...And this bloody locket was driving her mad with its constant, buzzing insinuations and suggestions!
She grabbed the cursed item from around her neck and threw it across the tent as hard as she could.
The instant it was off of her, she felt a weight lift from her soul, and her mood vastly improved. However, she also knew they couldn't risk the dangerous artefact being so far away from one of them. She wouldn't put it back on, but it needed to be temporarily stored somewhere safe, where it couldn't affect either of them. Her beaded bag would do.
Wiping the tears from her face, she resignedly set her wand down and crawled across the tent to where the locket lay against the far wall, near her bunk. On her haunches, she paused to stare at the lovely piece of hand-crafted jewellery. It had probably been worth a fortune before Voldemort had gotten his hands on it and corrupted it. Certainly, it should have belonged in a wizarding museum at the very least, as it had been an important piece of history, belonging to Salazar Slytherin at one point.
"Ral," she whispered, "I wish you were here. I need you." His familiar, comforting scent was a phantom memory in her mind.
As she reached out to grab the locket, her vision grew dark along the sides. She sighed with relief as the fugue took her quickly.
~.~.~
Hermione blinked.
~.~.~
She was standing in a doorway to what appeared to be a large, personal library in a rather upscale home. Books of every colour and size lined two of the four walls. Directly across from her was a giant stone hearth that looked like something from Medieval times; carvings of various battles were cut into the mantle face. A cheery fire was lit within its depths, warming the room.
Her wand was nowhere in sight.
Stepping further into the room, her trainers sunk into the plush Persian carpet. "Hello," she called out. "Is there anyone here?"
There was no answer.
She took in the measure of the room, walking along the walls, inspecting the books. Most of the titles weren't in English, but in a variety of foreign languages. She stopped as she found one that had that same strange triangle-circle-line diagram that had existed on Ignotus Peverell's grave, and wondered again what it might mean.
Just as she was reaching for the book to pull it from the shelf, the sound of running steps approaching her location echoed from outside the door. Glancing about for a place to hide, she decided to duck underneath the large, mahogany reading desk nearby. Quieting her breathing, she tried to remain as silent and still as possible to avoid detection.
The steps slowed and then the door to the library-study was thrown open. Because of the carpet's luxuriant weave, she was unable to hear the person's footsteps at that point, and so had to strain her hearing for the sound of fabric sliding across fabric as the person prowled about the room.
"Mother? Rolph?" a voice she recognized finally called out. There was a baited pause. "Hermione?"
"Ral!" she called, and scampered out from under the desk, sure it was safe. He wouldn't have said her name aloud otherwise. "I'm here!"
As she made her feet, she was quite suddenly embraced within a pair of warm, strong arms. The familiar scent of liquorice and sweet cloves pervaded her senses, calming her nerves. "Gods above and below, I knew you'd come back to me," he murmured against her ear as he held her tight. "My Hermione."
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, nuzzling her face into his chest, "I can't control this."
He let out a deep, shaky breath. "I figured, sweet girl." With a pull and a bend of his knees, he had her up and in his arms, bridal style, and carried her to a large, leather sofa situated before the hearth. He sat with her in his lap, waved his wand over his shoulder to shut and lock the door to the room, and then tossed his wand aside to reach up and cup her cheek. "Look at me," he bid.
She met his beautiful, blue gaze. There was relief reflected in his eyes – and pain. "It's only been a few weeks, but I missed you," he admitted, leaning forward to place a tender kiss to her lips, "and I worried about you."
With trembling fingers, she touched his face, realizing how very wrong she was to believe this wasn't real. "I'd convinced myself that last time had to be a dream, too, but now... you're real, aren't you? This is all real. Somehow, I'm magically being drawn to you, across the distance."
He shook his head. "I don't know how, I swear it. I haven't cast any spells to call you to me. You just appear when I need you the most." He kissed her again. "Like now. Salazar's bones, I need you!"
"I need you, too," she replied, very much in tune with his thinking. She'd ached for him for the last several weeks, her body craving a repeat of what they'd done together on her previous visit.
In a quick turn, he had her on her back, flat against the leather couch, and he was over her. His mouth devoured hers, even as his hands roamed everywhere, leaving no place untouched. As before, Hermione's thoughts simply deserted her, and there was only sensation left - a need for him that went soul deep, and made her wild heart tremble. Clothes were divested with eagerness, and her legs were spread, and then he was in her again, stretching her open with the thick width of him, driving into her with a fierce, powerful rhythm that pushed her up the sofa. Bracing a hand against the couch arm, she rode out his desperation, wincing when he pressed so deep that he was crowded against the very end of her channel. His mouth greedily stole her breath, his hands held her hips in a tight grip.
It didn't take long for either of them, their desperation for the other a powerful aphrodisiac. "Come," he begged her, reaching between them to rub her tiny clit with an expert touch. "Come, my sweet girl, come!" His other hand reached up to pinch a nipple, and the stimulation was too much. With a wail, Hermione flew into the sky, the pleasure wrapping itself around her in soft wings.
With a muted groan, Ral found his release on the tail end of hers. His hips continued to rock back and forth as he released up inside her.
When his shudders finally stopped, he collapsed on top of her, bracing his weight on an elbow to try to keep from crushing her. "Hermione," he breathed against her neck in hot pants, "where do you go when you leave me? Why does it hurt so much when you disappear? Who are you to me?"
Wrapping her naked limbs around him, she held Ral close, unsure how to reply.
They were quiet for a while, each lost in thought. When her arm started to get that queer pins-and-needles sensation, however, Hermione shifted, breaking the moment. She sighed, resigned to have the conversation she'd been dreading. "Ral, I don't know why this is happening to us, but it hurts me, too, when I leave you. I feel like I'm in mourning whenever I return to where I was. Like... every time we're together is the last time, and I'm always saying goodbye."
He nodded and lifted his head to look her in the eyes. "It's the same for me, but it's so much more. I also feel like there's... time... years that separate us from each other, and I'm aware of them, but I can't get them back for some reason."
Worried he'd think her crazy, Hermione hesitated in telling him one of her theories, but he coaxed her until she finally fessed up. "Well, I'm not much for believing in such things, but... do you suppose we might have had a past life together?"
His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "I'm not sure." He narrowed his eyes in consideration. "That almost feels right, but... not quite. I feel like I knew you even before the train, but not in a past sense, but a future one. Like I was waiting my whole life for that moment to happen only I didn't know it until it did. Every time we've met since has been the same. I seem to just feel when you're going to appear. Something in me has an overwhelming desire to be in a certain place at a certain time, and when I show up, you do, too. It's like... I'm divining your appearances."
"Or you're magically drawing me to you without realising it," she offered. "Only, I can't for the life of me figure out how you're doing it."
Ral adjusted his hips, and she gasped to feel him still thick and heavy inside her. Her pelvis was canted at the perfect angle to allow him to stay within her, and he took advantage of that to begin seducing her a second time.
"I don't know how this is happening either," he confessed between small kisses, "but this connection I feel to you is the strongest thing I've ever known, Hermione." He rocked in and out of her to a slow, lazy rhythm. "Through it, I know you're mine - that you'vealways been mine, even when we've been apart. I know that what I feel for you will follow me for the rest of my life, and I'll never feel this way for anyone else." He lowered his face until he was hidden against her throat, as if he were afraid of revealing so much of himself. His whole body shivered as he made love to her again. "I... Hermione, I love you," he whispered. "I think I've always loved you, and... I know I always will."
They made love a second time, and it was slow and sweet.
In the afters, they redressed each other, and there was sadness to the act, as if they both knew their time was running out and she would be leaving again soon. "I still have your clothes from the last time. You left them behind."
So, it was true. They weren't meeting in a dream world, but in real life.
With magic, anything's possible.
The tears rushed down her cheeks as darkness began creeping into the sides of her vision. Throwing her arms around Ral's neck, she clung to her lover, praying to stay with him, even as she felt the world begin to dissolve away around her.
"Ral, I love you, too," she murmured into his ear, pressing a gentle kiss to it.
Everything went black.
~.~.~
Hermione blinked.
~.~.~
She was sitting on the floor of the tent, the locket was within reach, but she could barely see it through the haze of her tears. The crushing sorrow of leaving Ral once more felt too heavy to bear, and she leaned on her palms, sobbing, all the time aware that Harry was still unconscious behind her, shouting the occasional, "NO!" aloud as he struggled through his nightmare.
Two hours later, she was back in the chair at his side, her emotional storm calmed for the moment, and the locket safely stowed in her beaded bag. Harry was still asleep, but his fever was gone, his wounds healing nicely. Dawn was coming; she could see the changes of the light through the tent canvas.
It was a new day outside, but somehow, it felt empty to her.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Author's Notes:
The confession of feelings, finally! And some hints about why things are happening, as well as some foreshadowing for the future, too...
Next up: the mystery is solved & Hermione gets her answers... just in time.
