This chapter is dedicated to NorthernLights25 and LeonaMasha who have stayed with the story and reviewed almost every chapter. To Emma Winslow, who inspired my love of Armione with her story 'Back in Time'. To Bradley James for being so beautiful and to my mother, for buying me Mcdonalds while I'm sitting in my pajama's with a cold writing this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything original. Just the armione plot. And Arthur. Don't say anything. Let me live in my own world.

The weeks following what Hermione called 'the almost kiss' were awkward and embarassing. She saw more of Arthur now than she saw of him before, or maybe that was just her being hyper aware of him. It seemed like she had a sixth sense when it came to Arthur, she knew he'd be coming around the corner, and saw all the little movements she'd missed before.

She saw how he tightened his grip on his sword when the Knights weren't paying any attention or how he'd glance out the windows as his father spoke, as if longing to be outside in the sunshine.

Maybe, she thought, I'm so aware of him because I know how he moves up close and personal, I know how it feels to be in those arms, the feel of broad shoulders underneath my fingertips. The different shades of blue in his eyes, tilt of his mouth, the puff of his breath ...

stop. no need to torture yourself.

But she couldn't help thinking about it, Was it something she'd done? Did he not feel the same as she did? Had she misinterupted his actions and he didn't feel for her at all? At least, not romantically? She used to scowl at Lavender and Parvarti when they'd moan and ball over heartache from boys they barely knew rejecting them and look at her now. Three months here, and she'd fallen in love with a literal in-the-flesh Prince Charming.

It was days like these that she really missed home, missed Ginny and Ron and Harry and Luna and Mrs. Weasley and her parents and Professor McGonagall. She was hit with a sudden bout of homesickness so strong she felt dizzy, she'd even settle for seeing Draco Malfoy right now.

She especially missed Ginny and her all-knowingness of a boys mind. Maybe she'd be able to decipher Arthur's feelings because Hermione was seriously out of her league when it came to these sorts of things. Hell, she didn't even know that Viktor had fancied her until he'd come right out and asked her to the ball.

But speaking with Arthur was easier said than done. She'd stopped asking Merlin where he was, she was tired of seeing the pitying looks he sent her while he lied for Arthur. He was always out training, with his father, taking a bath, 'I don't know', talking with Leon, with Morgana.

It was awfully embarassing.

She'd given up a month later, tired of seeking him out and exhausted from crying. It was late at night and Lady Morgana's birthday was in a few days, so she was putting the finishing touches on the pastries, chopping fruit to set atop the sweet treats. Her hair was in braid, damp with sweat because of the heat of the kitchen. She spent most of her time away from Gaius and Merlin, tired of them dancing around Arthur's name, tip-toeing around her like she might snap. How did Merlin even know? Arthur must have told him, or he'd guessed, or even worse - he'd seen it. And Merlin, being Merlin, shared with Gaius.

She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn't notice Cook standing in the doorway, a bag of potatoes in each hand. "Hello Hermione," She stated in a thick accent that Hermione still couldn't place. "Almost through?"

"Almost," She replied, eyes on her chopping.

"They're fickle things, aren't they?" Cook asked randomly, heaving the potatoes onto the counter and cracking her knuckes.

Confused, Hermione stopped chopping and looked up into Cooks hard grey eyes. "Strawberries?" She asked, confused.

"Feelings," When Hermione flushed, Cook smirked. "I was young once. Chopping does wonders for an aching heart." When Hermione stayed silent, Cook smiled again.

"Goodnight Hermione," She smiled and left, heavy shoes clopping on the floor. Hermione waited until she couldn't hear the footsteps anymore to keep chopping. Just as she was cleaning up, the knife slipped, and she leaped back - attempting to save her already cut-up fingers. The knife clattered to the floor, and she cursed, bending down to retrieve it.

She was still crouching when she heard footsteps again. If she'd been paying any attention, she'd have realized that they were much to light and agile to belong to the aging woman. "What'd you-" When she peaked over the countertop and caught sight of Arthur, standing barefoot and in his night clothes she fell silent.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she ignored it. This was a boy who'd made her cry. Who got her hopes up and then spit on her heart and kicked it to the curb.

And spit on it again.

So, throwing the knife into the sink, and swept past Arthur in the most dignified manor she could manage. "Sire, goodn-"

Unfortunately things never seemed to go Hermione's way. She stumbled on the edge of a rug, too caught up in her performance to notice the flipped up corner and almost face planted. Arthur reached forwards, meaning to catch her but she curved her body away from his touch, catching herself on the edge of the counter.

Ignoring the pain in her wrist, she stood to her full height, which wasn't much compared to Arthur. Arthur stared at her, eyes sad but lips twitching into a small, beautiful smile.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, leaning on the counter, hand almost touching hers, his voice sounding so loud in the stillness of the kitchen.

Maybe the question took her off guard, or she was emotional, or defensive, or it was the lack of rest, or the fact that she was just so tired of playing games with boys she felt for, dancing a complicated dance that she rarely ever won. She reached out, and placed her hand on his large, sturdy palm and whispered back,

"Everything."

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