.

So far... After a hellish experience in which Hermione had a history as a cruel Slytherin, Merlin's Blessing has now taken her with Harry to a heavenly paradise where all their needs and comforts are met but they are under pressure to see each other in a new way. Now read on...

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Chapter 11

Breaking Barriers

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~~~ Turned To Stone ~~~

Harry had been right about their newfound home. The colourful profusion of blossoms on the rose bushes indicated that a week had passed in their idyllic bliss and each day had been as delightful as the previous one. The natural setting was soothing away the memories of their former burdens and they found plenty of interesting and enjoyable activities to replace those worries.

With Hermione's help, Harry had built his platform — no more than a crossed-log floor — and together they had contrived on top of it a one-room store-cabin for shelter and protection, and Harry said he would get back to develop it into a 'proper house one day'.

"There's no pressure on us here," he sighed happily, "and all the time in the world."

Hermione had found Harry's self-inking pocket quill still trapped in her hair and plenty of pale leaves to write upon brief story fragments or short essays on different subjects, all of which she related to Harry around the campfire each night, evoking much agreeable discussion.

Harry cut himself a short length from one of the narrower flute-stalks but within hours of trying to carve out holes along its length, the leathery material hardened until it was almost as tough as iron and near-impossible for Neville's penknife to make any further impression upon it. Nevertheless, he persevered on other days, cutting a fresh length and working faster, though he never quite had enough time to tune in the instrument — to Hermione's amusement — before it became too dense to carve further.

Each morning, they would trek — almost always together — along one of the side channels to explore for fun, and mostly come back with interesting new finds and varieties of food. They chatted endlessly about nothing in particular, made up games to play, even songs to sing. They were a family at last, as strong as anyone's, with no need for a future when the 'now' was one long wonderful holiday.

In this atmosphere, Harry set off at the start of the second week with his staff well-sharpened and his hopes high to explore an additional side gulch whose entrance was marked by an especially tall rock they called 'Sentry'. The journey promised more water plants if nothing else, for much of the main stream diverted that way. Hermione had chosen to remain behind to 'have a big clean up'.

Harry was glad to leave her to it. Disposing of their discarded leavings, rinds, and gourd shells was one of the few necessary chores they shared usually, casting them out of the gully onto the lava wasteland beyond, where they would, in time, be consumed by the smouldering rocks.

Nor were the endeavours on his own little journey fruitless. Large flowing pools revealed a new bounty: fish! Here was a plump species that made little attempt to dash away from his improvised spear as he splashed about in the shallows, developing his technique.

He took his time and soon separated out three fine specimens from his catch with which to impress and delight Hermione then, after a short, lazy rest, he set off back home. And 'home' was how he now thought of their nature paradise. His heart was centred there and he knew full well that Hermione's was too.

As he rounded the Sentry stone he stopped quite still. His mouth fell open. For a few seconds he lost the power to move — then self-disgust dragged him backwards and he slunk rapidly away along the trail he had come.

After fifty paces or so he dropped down to sit against the embankment trying hard to get the image of Hermione's naked back out of his mind. It was entirely his fault, he thought to himself; he had returned early and unannounced. He should have considered she was a young woman now and needed her own privacy. His intrusion into her aloneness — though it had lasted mere seconds — was inexcusable, profane. He wanted to undo it, make it so it had not happened. Nothing could compensate for his transgression because something precious had been despoiled: her right to sanctuary.

He tried to think what to do without being distracted by the visions in his head, but it was impossible. She must have risen moments before from the soap hole and had been gliding off face down under the clear water of the large pool to rinse. Incapable of movement, Harry had gaped helplessly as she began to rotate lazily back to the surface — then, horrified by the waves of desire that had been controlling him, he had fled like a scared rabbit.

But sitting with his miserable head in his hands, the image of her 'turning-but-not-quite' continued to possess and taunt him. How was he to drive it away?

Denouncing the monstrous pleasure that had swooped through his bowels, he jumped up and strode back and forth, wringing his hands in a form of agony new to him. Turning-but-not-quite, turning-but-not-quite; each time he swerved around in his pacing, the vision of her emerging loveliness tortured him anew. What was he to do? How could he ever deserve to be with her again? Think of something else.

But the vivid picture of her Slytherin underwear and the dripping tee-shirt all hanging before the warm blowhole would not fade — she must have washed them only minutes before he arrived. Imagination portrayed that scene in his mind as bright as any cinema screen: soap foaming away the grey from the white cotton cloth lumped and squeezed between her fingers while she sat there completely—

No! Think! Think! Think of anything but that... The hot air should dry the clothing in ten or twenty minutes, he told himself. If he waited another half hour then surely she'd be finished and decent again? I'll look at the sky! Isn't it beautiful? Oh, look, there's a peach rose the same shade as— aaagh... ah, what a wonderful rock! That's the best rock, I've ever seen! It's erm... grey and uuh... rocky and...

He watched that dumb ugly stone and others, and the sky, and the dirt, and his fish, for most of an hour to be sure, then walked slowly towards the corner whistling tunelessly on his improvised flute, and tapping his staff loudly on every rock he passed. As he rounded the bend, he kept his eyes averted towards his catch but out of the corner of his eye he was relieved to glimpse she was dressed again.

"You sound chirpy!" she called brightly, but there was a note to her voice as odd as his flute's. "Find anything?"

He wanted her to hate him — he deserved to be hated — but instead he heard himself answering with dishonest fervour, "Did I ever!"

He drove his pointed staff down into the ground where he always liked to keep it handy, then, with no sense of pride at all, he held up the three fish, checking her reaction as she came forward. It was fortunate her attention was on the fish else she might have seen his eyes bulge at the sight of her attire. He struggled to compose himself, determined not to draw her attention to how Luna's cheap tee-shirt — now as spotlessly clean and white as when new — was even shorter and had shrunk upon her so intimately he could scarcely breath, let alone her. Luna's message: 'Friends! — no longer obscured by ash — was stretched so tightly across her front that Harry was horrified the threads must surely burst apart, while below, sitting upon the now-protruding hemline of her pants as if on a low wall, were the little printed children, swinging their toes, hands-over-mouths, eyes-wide, giggling and wagging their fingers reprovingly at Harry.

He knew he ought not to look at her this way — Hermione was his best friend after all, almost family — but it was a monumental effort to drag his attention back to the fish with which she, fortunately, seemed enraptured.

"They look wonderful don't they! Really sweet! — the fish!" she added in a strange tone. "We can boil them or fry them in the butter-plum oil."

Harry croaked some kind of response but his retinas were still too dazzled to perceive anything so mundane as fish.

She seemed unusually excited, perhaps the promise of more delicious variety in their diet, added to the chaste freshness of her garments that she was now enjoying, had greatly lifted her outlook — or perhaps there was another reason she was behaving this way.

"Plenty more where they came from," he murmured, his spirits roused by her praise and beginning to feel quite the hunter-warrior despite himself. "Let's eat, I'm famished!" But another part of his mind was trying to suppress the disgrace that constrained his heart.

As he placed the fish in the shallow gourd they used for cleaning, he caught a fleeting edgewise impression of Hermione plucking out and trying in vain to stretch the fabric of the shirt. It was only a glimpse but it told him the exaggerated exuberance was to mask her own self-consciousness. She had known all along it had shrunk. Of course she had! How could she not notice! He resolved never to look at her for more than a glance, to take no undue notice that might make her uncomfortable. He diverted all of his concentration on preparing their lunch.

He was aware of her watching him closely as he skilfully cleaned and gutted the catch. There was a glow in his stomach he had never enjoyed when Aunt Petunia had scrutinised his food preparation. If Hermione was squeamish, she hid it well. Perhaps her attention wasn't wholly on the filleting. He glowed a little more, yet he didn't deserve her being blind to his sin, and he continued to feel guilty about his trespass. Something had to be done.

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~~~ Body Awareness ~~~

In the days that followed, Harry struggled hard to not look at Hermione more than necessary while at the same trying to never make it obvious. It was evident her movements were very stiff and controlled if he was anywhere near. She never bent or stretched or twisted naturally anymore but kept an upright posture as far as possible and was forever burdened by branches of large fruiting shrubbery hugged to herself, or tall stacks of the largest empty gourds, or else bundles of poles to and fro from the cabin where she frequently lingered out of sight, and Harry swore the identical collections were making the same journeys on several occasions.

He felt badly for her, knowing that he was the cause of her discomfort. A faint groan escaped him. How he wanted back the original, more compact, almost-tomboyish, sisterly Hermione, the one he'd known for years and who was as comfortable to be with as was wearing one of Mrs Weasley's baggy old hand-knitted sweaters!

What I would give for her to be wearing one of those big floppy pullovers right now! Harry thought morosely. He dared another glance at Hermione who was sitting oh-so-squarely on an uncomfortable stone block counting the roses on a tall potted bush on her lap instead of sprawling uninhibitedly in the sand as she used to.

He shuddered, closed his eyes, and attempted to visualise her wearing a gigantic Weasley woolly jumper with a hemline dragged across the ground and a collar up over her chin. Instead, all his imagination showed him was the back of a glistening, soapy body slipping into a crystal pool and emerging at the far end as a dripping wet Aphrodite, then turning... but not quite.

He fidgeted his position on the sloping sand. Never had he missed his wand so much as now. He would use the Engorgement charm in a trice to baggify Luna's shirt as floppy as an end-of-season circus tent. His hand twitched instinctively to his back wand pocket, and, of course, came away empty. But not quite empty...

There was something caught between his fingers and for a few seconds, Harry could not make out what it was. A shred off the legs of his ripped jeans? A detached label? A swatch for patching holes? He turned it over. The number 29 stared back at him from a tiny picture of a barometer. A forgotten memory from another world clicked into place...

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~~~ A Declaration of Love ~~~

That night, Hermione lay miserably in her sand bed gazing through the soft gloom to the other side of the gully where Harry was sleeping. Even from this distance she could trace out the broad curving outline of the young man's bare shoulder lit by the pale moonlight. Was he warm enough without a shirt? The nights were always mild but she reached out an imaginary hand to feel if his skin was chilled... Aaagh — gross! What am I thinking! She sighed and rolled over to face the sand slope, trying to push such thoughts out of her mind and get to sleep.

Could it be because Harry's frame was now filled out to look so grownup that made him more fanciable? He never had before. Oh, interesting yes, stalwart yes, and noble ... and recklessly brave ... yet very tender and affectionate at times ... and... NO! She hugged her arms around herself and stared at the sand grains sparkling in the moonlight.

It's the Blessing, I know it is! Merlin was not infallible. Probably as stupid as everyone at Hogwarts! Just because Harry and I are close friends does not mean... She frowned into the darkness, examining her own feelings for the umpteenth time. Hermione always strived to be ruthlessly honest with herself. Yet she always came to the same conclusion. Yes, Harry might be rather nice-looking in some ways. And yes, attractive in a way he had never been before as were lots of other guys. But she knew that although she loved him as a friend she could never be romantically in love with him, The forgotten thought had surfaced to add to her worries. It makes no difference! I could never have been in love with him anyway, no matter who his ancestor was! She loved him as her kin and that was all she wanted. I'm going to beat this!

Most of an hour passed while one of the moons slipped beyond the shadow of the gully edge, and still she found no rest from her troubled thoughts. The fact was, Hermione missed her old Harry — the boy who had befriended her for herself — brothered her in an easy-to-live-with way. Oh, they had their ups and downs but there was a balance, an evenness; they both knew the waves raised by any temporary storm would always even out again into a peaceful calm. Now their stupid bodies were intruding between them, forcing them apart. Merlin's Blessing had got it all wrong if it was trying to...

She stifled a gasp. Something dreadful was creeping through the moon-silvered ravine. Soft footsteps could be heard moving stealthily in her direction! Night terrors clutched at Hermione, tightening her stomach in fear. Keep calm! Think! Common sense told her it could only be Harry, but had he misunderstood her scanty clothing as some kind of invitation? Did he not realise she would not have shrunk the tee-shirt on purpose?

She forced long, steady, deep breathing, feigning sleep; perhaps he would not then approach. Certainly his footsteps could no longer be heard. Was he standing in the middle of the gully hungering to hold her, kiss her, to carry her off and ravish her with adoration— STOP! STOP! STOP! What nonsense! Of course he's not! Hot and flustered, she concentrated on slowing her breathing which for some reason had increased. Breath in. Release... Breath in... Still no sound from Harry. Had he returned to his own bed, chastened by his impetuousness? Or was he moving so slowly he made no noise at all as he drew ever nearer? Breath in. Release... Breath in...

There could be no doubt he was very close, for now she could faintly hear his breathing — intermittent nervous panting then holding it, listening, then breathing again. Did he really suppose...? Hermione readied herself to give him a really good slap. He needed to be taught a lesson once and for all!

Warmth was radiating over her back — his warmth — and she stiffened, almost forgetting to keep steadily, evenly breathing. Harry's own exhalations were now so chaotic she feared he would suffocate himself, lower and lower upon her she sensed him examining her closely until his breath was gently caressing her bare arm...

At his touch, a terrible thrill cascaded up from her stomach and flowed throughout her body — his fingers were stroking her hair — no, lifting it, turning it aside to expose the nape of her neck. Hermione awaited the touch of his lips she felt certain would be planted there. What could she do while her tummy churned with passion inside her? The tip of his finger slipped inside the back of her tee-shirt and softly hooked down the edge...

Then he was gone. Something was different but Harry had slipped silently and swiftly away. She dare not turn yet. A faint scuff of sand indicated he was back on his own bed. Had he lost his nerve? Had he come so far only to touch her neck? She could still feel the light touch of his fingertip — but it was not only that delicate sensation that remained. What was it? A leaf? A message? A lover's declaration! How romantic! Ridiculous! It couldn't be! It MUSTN'T be!

Long, long minutes passed — endless unendurable minutes — ten... twenty... The second moon slid silently below the horizon leaving only that peculiar, ongoing soft twilight-dawn that blessed all the nights of this world, and still she had not dared to move.

Eventually, she rolled quietly over, hearing the tiny crunch of every sand grain beneath her. As far as she could tell from the faint sounds of his slow, rhythmic exhalations, Harry really was fast asleep. She sat up. It was a matter of moments until, with an effort, she peeled off the clinging tee-shirt and, through the gloom of heaven's dusk, strained to see the inside of her collar. She blinked in astonishment; he had only affixed a size label! Had it previously come off when they first descended into hell? Why on Earth reattach it so furtively in the darkness? Was he trying to tell her something? What was he thinking, sneaking across to her bed in the night and scaring her half to death! How dare he!

She humphed the tee-shirt back over her head, struggled irritably to pull it down over her stupid, ridiculously-swelling bosom, then flung herself down onto the sand again, fuming. She'd give him what-for in the morning, alright!

But as she lay there, waiting for sleep to finally take her, Hermione could not help thinking about that lost kiss.

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~~~ The Good Omen ~~~

Both Hermione and Harry overslept the next morning. The sound of splashing and humming from the cabin told Harry that Hermione was already up, washing and grooming herself, so he stirred at last, yawning lazily. He swung his legs down the sand slope and stood up, stretching before the sun's morning glory. Then he remembered...

He wandered cautiously along towards the kitchen area, noting their kettle-gourd was already bubbling away over a little fire, just as Hermione emerged from the hut. They looked at one another awkwardly, eye-contact skipping back and forth. The long baggy smock she now wore was only recognisable by the children merrily dancing in and out of its loose folds and the amiable message above them was reassuring to Harry: Friends!

She smiled. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, you?"

Hermione nodded.

The events of the previous night were left unspoken but they both recognised that the other knew a magical enchantment had taken place during their repose — her freedom of movement could hardly go unnoticed, after all — and the entire atmosphere was lighter, more relaxed, because of it. As they sipped tea, Hermione exclaimed, "Look, Harry — a bluebird!"

Perched atop Harry's staff where he had thrust it into the ground the night before was the first bird they had seen in their 'Garden of Eden' as Hermione sometimes called it. Its sweet song gave them renewed heart that their completeness was not too far off.

"Bluebirds... bluebirds, they symbolise... let me think..." said Hermione, putting her head on one side. "Happiness, of course; transformation, and uuh... modesty."

She had the grace to hide her pink cheeks behind her teacup as she rose to watch the bird stretching and flapping its wings, preparing to search for its breakfast. Harry came and stood comfortably beside Hermione as, together, they watched the bluebird's flight across the sunrise.

"Brilliant, everything's just brilliant," said Harry, and Hermione had to agree with him; despite a subtle change, they each had their comfortable friend back again.

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~~~ The Celestial Saviour ~~~

"What are you making?" Harry switched his gaze from the stars above him and turned to watch Hermione's nimble movements as, with a sharpened fish bone, she forced a lengthy weed strand through a pale leaf. The late evening campfire illuminated her dancing hands with golds and yellows to contrast the little creviced shadows between her slender fingers.

"Stitching some leaves together."

"Ah, right, I had wondered if one day you might want to make yourself a frock or something."

"What on earth would I want more clothes for? These never wear out and nothing more is needed in this climate." That's right, she observed, frowning to recall a lost memory, why would I?

Aloud, she said, "No, it'll be a book one day. The one thing I miss." She smiled. "Remember when Professor Moody Imperiused me to write? I've thought about that on and off since. I've read so many books but until he told me to, I'd never thought about writing one — not counting school essays and so on."

"What will it be about?"

"Well, it's to be a story in diary form. You know, recounting our adventures at Hogwarts leading up to here. I'll embellish it of course, after all, it will be not so much literal history as fun and observations, viewpoints, impressions and so on." She laughed and the sound bewitched the air between them for long, long pleasant moments. "I don't want to sound as dry as Binns, do I?" she added.

"You've changed, Hermione," said Harry softly.

"Really?" she lifted her eyebrows with a smirk. "Perhaps not. Perhaps this is the real me coming out."

He studied her face intently for a while until she, distracted by the knowledge that he was watching her, pricked a finger. "Ow!"

"Sorry," said Harry lowering his attention to her hands once more. "Tell me some more about your book. What will you put in your story?"

"Oh, everything. From Neville's lost toad right up to when we arrived here and how we wonderfully survived our fall into paradise."

Harry became still and the conversation lapsed into an odd silence for a few moments.

"I saw my parents that day."

Hermione's eyes flicked up from her task. His expression was lost in shadow. "Harry?"

"When I died." He covered his face with his hands. "I did die, didn't I?"

She nodded then said it aloud. "Yes... no... I felt sure you had at first; there was no pulse, no breathing but... it's what they call near-death... Somehow you came back."

"It was all so confusing and horrible for a while then... this wonderful peace... no pain... just whiteness..."

"Perhaps it was, you know, imagined afterwards?"

"No, Hermione, it was as real as real. I know it doesn't make sense but from this light formed... well, it was my mum and dad."

Hermione suppressed an urge to tell him it was just an aberration; a lack of oxygen to the brain creating a delusion. Instead, she said, "What did they... Did they speak to you?"

He nodded and a joyful expression lit up his face. "More than words; I felt what they were saying in a new way. They were so, so proud of me." Without warning, Harry broke down, barely managing to control a sob. Hermione dropped her work, swept forward quickly and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Harry? What is it?"

"T- told m- me th- they loved me... no... they DO l- love me, Hermione. I felt it as real as... no, more like... I could touch their love as if it were... present... more solid than shapes and forms — can't explain in words. I almost didn't want to come back."

She rubbed his back gently, giving him time to recover. To inform him that Muggle surgeons were used to patients reporting these experiences when they were clinically dead — that would have hurt him.

"Something evil came out of me."

"What!" She repeated her question more softly, "What was it, Harry?"

He shook his head. "Mum explained it but it made no sense to me. It was... Voldemort's soul, one face of it at least that had somehow attached itself when he tried to kill me as a baby." Seeing the concern in her eyes, he added hastily, "It died, Hermione. It couldn't come back like I did. My parents were right."

"In what way?"

"They said they would always be... w- with m- me" — he took a deep gulp of air then continued — "that everything would work out, that everything would be alright — but that didn't mean I wouldn't go through hardship first," he added hastily.

Why deny him? Why tell him it was a figment of his imagination? It was natural for the dying brain to dredge up the very strongest, most-enduring, loving emotions; the last few firing neurons... "It's beautiful, Harry. What did you say? Could you speak?"

"I asked them about... about you, Hermione, if you would be safe too..."

Hermione's eyes widened and she held her breath, instinctively holding onto him more tightly.

"But the whiteness was already reforming itself before they could answer," he said glumly. "My attention had redirected itself, you see. If only I had turned it back to them I could have—"

"I don't understand. Your attention? Turned to what?"

"To you, Hermione — when I asked them about you. If I had realised at the time I could have focused my thoughts back on them but... but anyway..." He stared down blankly at the pale sand he was clutching and releasing repeatedly to fall in differently-shaped heaps close to them. Hermione still had her arm about him.

A sigh of resignation escaped his lips before he resumed. "So this magnificent... graceful... marvellous white light remained — which was wonderful in itself. It took me up higher again and it was..."

Hermione waited.

"The whiteness was..." He hesitated, glancing at her expression briefly. "Now, don't laugh but... it was... the whiteness was... holding me... kissing me — the whole of the illumination was something important, I know it was. You had to have experienced it to appreciate what I mean."

He looked more closely to see if she was rolling her eyes but her face was pale and sad and serious. So, encouraged, he continued more eagerly, "It was an angel, don't you see? I know it sounds daft but that's who she must have been, I'm sure of it, but too pure for me to see properly. It wasn't my mum; it was an angel's kiss pouring love into me, pouring... pouring... pouring... It was so intense... everything else just... went away. All I cared about was to let her draw me wherever she wished just so long as that love kept pouring through."

For a few moments, Harry came out of his trance and rubbed away the last sand pile he had let slip, but his reverie still coloured his efforts to sound more sensible. "She gave me a chance of life again. That's why I'm alive now. That's why I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude towards her; why I must play my part in life to the best of my ability. A second chance to do better."

Hermione knew for sure he had been lifeless during the time when their lips had touched — without a pulse for several minutes. She hoped then he would not look up before she had time to wipe her eyes. She did not want to see his disappointment if he guessed the truth about his so-called 'angel.' Yet with all his senses dead, how could he have experienced her mouth to mouth resuscitation? She searched his face but he was in a kind of rapture, far away, thinking of his celestial saviour. Hermione Granger wasn't going to spoil that for him.

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~~~ Second Thoughts ~~~

In time, other colourful birds were spotted by the contented couple, including several robins. And on one of their hunts they came back with a plump duck and Hermione swore she'd heard the poignant cry of a peacock in the distance. The abundance of Dawn Roses indicated that months had slipped happily away, yet the two friends had not tired of the tranquil harmony of their surroundings. Even Hermione scarcely brought to mind anything else before this life. She and Harry were pleased with their one-room cabin — though it was rarely used except to neatly stack away their collection of pots and pans, or to provide a haven of modesty when either took in a bowl of soapwater to complete their toilet in private. They were content to remain sleeping on the sides of the gully — never too far from each other — a brother-sister family each in their own little depression in the warm soft sand under the friendly twilit sky.

It was a pleasant season during which, filled with the curious peace that their paradise evoked within them, all else suffused into a fading history that no longer concerned them. Harry, in particular, had few fond memories to draw his attention — the Dursleys, Dementors, Basilisks, Voldemort, such as those had dominated his former life and were gladly forsaken in his contemplations. However, memories did occasionally stir Hermione to wonder if she might be needed elsewhere.

"Thinking about your mum and dad again?" asked Harry, after she had been quiet for an unusually long time gazing at the nearest rosebush.

She nodded. "Harry, have ever considered if what we're doing is right?"

"Right?" He was lying lazily back on the sand with his hands behind his head gazing up at the blue sky. The only effort he made was to frown — he'd almost forgotten how, and the light tension across his brow felt curiously foreign.

Hermione continued, "I've been counting the flowers on this bush. It won't be too long before your sixteenth birthday but we're both at least seventeen, more likely eighteen. Will we still be here on your hundredth but still look eighteen? What I'm wondering is, perhaps true contentment is not simply being comfortable with family, with all one's needs supplied, and free of troubles."

"What else is there?"

"The satisfaction of doing something worthwhile in the world; helping others."

Dark memories surfaced in Harry's mind. "You mean like supporting Pansy, Katie, Angelina, Seamus?"

"No, I mean true friends like Sirius, Remus, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and perhaps even Ron when he's not confused and upset."

"They're fine without us."

"How'd you know they're not all dead? Or in slavery to Voldemort?"

Harry jerked up onto one elbow then to stare quizzically at Hermione. "You're not serious?"

"I've thought about them recently. Oh, I don't know, this world is bliss but... well, I can't help wondering if we're not really intended to stay here."

"What! But..."

"Suppose we were meant to continue down the main ravine to the end?"

"To what? What could be nicer than this?"

"I don't know, Harry. I just thought perhaps..."

"Look, this place has everything and it's sort of... brought us closer together — as kin, like the family I never..." he tailed off lamely, knowing he probably sounded foolish.

"Yes, but only because—" Hermione stopped abruptly.

"Because what?"

"Nothing." She hesitated for several seconds. "Look, Harry, there's something I've never told you..."

Without warning, the ground shook heavily and a ferocious roar sounded from far up the canyon and high above it. They both leapt to their feet and backed nervously towards their cabin, looking up to discover the source of the threat.

"Get inside, Hermione! Throw me out one of the spears!"

"There!" cried Hermione, pointing northeast of the gully's edge.

A distant, heavy column of dark smoke ascending into the sky now marked the direction from which they had first entered this strange world. Out of those fumes, and flapping along parallel to their gully but so high they could barely make out its shape, was the demon, glinting red and gold in the late afternoon sun. The earth shuddered once more and the dense black smoke was illuminated briefly but fiercely from below before its spread engulfed even that daunting conflagration.

"Eruption!" cried Hermione, looking anxiously at the sky. "We need cover! — there may be hot stones showering down!"

They backed into the cabin doorway and while Harry kept his eye on the beast, Hermione took up a couple of spears they had fashioned, a stockpile of which had been accumulated in preparation.

There they stood and watched the beast's progress. A smell of sulphur assailed their nostrils, but the chasm floor, although receiving a spatter of smouldering particles and ash, had stopped its vibrations and the smoke had settled into a steady column — though the demon continued in its flight to safety. Harry nervously pressed the flat of his hand against the stout wall of the dwelling he had helped build as if to reassure himself that, if necessary, they could bar the door against the monster and defend their position in relative safety. Hermione had already pushed her spear through one of the narrow slits she had insisted they incorporate into the walls to enable them to thrust out their weapons to keep any enemy at bay.

But there was no need to barricade themselves in or even close the door. The demon continued its flight high offside the length of the gully and they sighted it descending much further beyond their position. Nevertheless, they waited anxiously until the sun was almost ready to set before they finally ventured forth and stared first back to the narrowing, but still steady, smoke column, then forward in the direction where the creature had lowered itself below the horizon.

"Still think we should continue down there?" challenged Harry. "What if it's waiting to ambush us?"

"You don't suppose...?"

"What?"

"Well, it's odd don't you think that after all this time we were only just talking about going further along?"

"You don't seriously think that demon can hear us from miles away? Understand us? Oh, Hermione, it was just fleeing from that volcano!" He pointed towards the distant smoke.

"I... I don't know, Harry. I just don't know."

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~~~ The Balance ~~~

In time, the smoke column narrowed to a thin tendril and within a week or two even that faded from the sky and from their concerns. Anxiety over, Harry spent a few hours travelling back up the canyon to scout out the situation. On his return he reported it had been no more than a minor outburst that was cooling, had solidified and sealed itself.

"There are more of them; you can see where the terrain has swollen up like small hillocks — boils ready to burst."

"So they're just local lava discharges?" said Hermione, doubtfully. "We needn't worry about them?"

"I think they're just safety valves." Harry said, trying to reassure her, and helped himself to a cup of tea rather too nonchalantly. "That one looked worse than it was from a distance."

The threat passed, their daily routine continued as if nothing had happened: foraging for food and timber, and anything else of interest on the way. It was an uncomplicated but satisfying life that soothed away broken memories and held them comfortably in the present. Even chores were fun.

"One day maybe we'll invent the wheel," puffed Hermione a few days later as, together, she and Harry dragged a sled-load of firewood back into their haven.

"Well, I like the simple routines," said Harry.

She stood back gasping and watched with admiration as, without pausing to catch his breath, he began breaking the branches into shorter sections and throwing them onto their stockpile. This stronger Harry was certainly handy to have around, and less moody without the world's problems weighing him down much of the time, said a voice in her head.

"Yes, but it would be nicer to have a better proportion of work and play, responsibilities and freedom," she murmured to herself.

"What was that, Hermione?" called Harry as he added the last few logs and parked the sled in its corner.

"There's a time for sowing and a time for reaping. Don't you ever want some real challenges? Useful objectives to satisfy the deepest ambitions of your soul so you can then relax periodically with a clear conscience?"

"Conscience? Why should I feel guilty about holidaying every single day? You're the one who made me drink Merlin's Blessing — not that I'm ungrateful."

"Harry, I didn't mean you don't deserve it... I just..."

"This is still about travelling further down the gully, isn't it?"

Harry left the challenge hanging while he started a fire with his flint. Hermione filled the kettle from the nearest outflow and joined him as he added some of the sticks they had gathered to the flames.

"Well..." She was still not convinced she dare tell him yet about the threat against her parents. Presumably the Death Eater would have forgotten about them by now, but would the Unbreakable Vow still be operative? Surely it was not possible for her to cause them to betray their attacker now there could be no repercussions?

"Hermione?"

She said, "Don't you ever wish you could repay Voldemort and his minions for what they have done to your mother and father and yourself?"

"I don't really think about it anymore."

"Maybe you should, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Don't spoil it, Hermione. Here we've got the perfect balance of—"

"No, we haven't, Harry! Whatever else we've got, we do not have a balanced life; this is too biased entirely towards the pleasure and comfort side of things."

"Yeah, well, I like this side of life — the more the merrier, say I."

He took the water gourd from her and quickly hung it over the now fiercely crackling campfire — too quickly, because a few drops slopped onto the flames causing them to spit and snarl. Before the open pan's swing settled down, and while his back was turned, he caught a momentary, shadowed reflection of Hermione's scowl of exasperation on the surface of the water.

But the young woman kept quiet and, seizing the large round pebble they used as a pestle, she began aggressively pummelling and grinding up a few leaves and beans. Hermione knew she would need to give more thought to finding something to attract him onwards, if not, then perhaps something to drive him away from here! A stick instead of a carrot? she pondered, but what?

An outrageous solution suddenly illuminated her thoughts like a spotlight. Of course! He likes the sense of freedom here. What if I make him feel ensnared, restricted by... She took notice of how domesticated they had become together: Harry adjusting their improvised kettle over the campfire; she instinctively helping by preparing their tea substitute. Perhaps she did not need to lure him away from this arrangement but to rub his nose in it, make him see it as a trap! Her idea was daring, and would need carefully wording to shock him, to make him want to depart — to get him to really see how he might become imprisoned! Yes... it might just work... if she had the nerve.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

I hope it's clear that this chapter is not about Harry and Hermione falling in love romantically but about the Blessing experience breaking down the barriers of their instinctive aversion to being physically attracted to the one they see and prefer as a sibling-friend. Do they ever fall in love? That's for you to decide at the end of the story (which draws ever nearer!)

The next chapter might be a few days late because, although I've written a lot of stuff ahead, there is a difficult gap to fill in. After that is probably the final chapter which is mostly drafted but still needs quite a bit of work.

Oh, yeah, and if you were wondering about the Sizemormeter, it really does resize to suit the situation, not merely to fit precisely! Honestly.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

- Hippothestrowl

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