Disclaimer: Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and all the rest of the characters belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: Harry and Hermione finally have their talk. I really don't like to end on a total cliffhanger, but I had to put a break in somewhere or else end up with a ridiculously long chapter that's really one extended scene. I promise that everything will work out in the next chapter, so no fear. But if you really don't like cliffhangers, you may want to wait to read this until after the next chapter is published, which I promise won't take as long as this one did.

I sincerely appreciate all the kind reviews and comments, which have greatly inspired me in the past couple weeks. At this time of the year of thanksgiving, I am grateful to all of you.

Chapter 7

Hermione stirred as a thin ray of sun struck her face. She attempted to ignore the brightness permeating through her eyelids, but the morning light forced them open. Glancing about the tent, memories of the previous night slowly surfaced, and she jerked around to see that Harry was no longer next to her. Scrunching her eyes closed again, she let out a long sigh. She had no idea what Harry's reaction would be this morning, and she was dreading the fallout. At the best of times, he could barely voice anything about feelings. And when he was finally opening up to her last night, she messed everything up. Their friendship had weathered many things, but she felt like she had crossed a line, even if accidental. She guessed he—in typical Harry Potter avoidance style—would probably just ignore it and pretend as though nothing had happened. And after all the wonderful things that happened yesterday, she didn't know if she wanted to risk ruining anything further.

She heard some clunking noises outside, metal banging against metal. And then her eyes opened wide again as a breeze wafted a glorious scent through the tent. It was the smell of frying bacon. Harry had clearly been awake for a while. A couple of the tent windows had been unzipped a bit to let in some fresh, dry air, along with the sunbeam that had roused her. The water was gone. And he somehow had managed to reorganize a few of their wet items in the tent without disturbing her. Most of her clothes had been emptied from her bag, presumably so Harry could take them outside to dry out in the morning sun. Looking closer, she saw some of her spare underthings peeking out. After the way she and Harry spent last night, she didn't know why this embarrassed her, but he clearly had tried not to rummage through her clothes, just focusing on those elements that had been caught up in the rain during their tent flood last night.

Raising her arms above her head, she gave into the joys of a morning stretch, finally coming to full consciousness. She turned over and spent a couple minutes snuggling up in the space she knew Harry had recently occupied. It no longer carried his warmth, but his familiar scent lingered on the pillow. Part of her wished he was still there, so they could wake up together and talk. Or not. Maybe he wouldn't want to talk about it, but she felt like it would be somehow easier to deal with this if she could just put her arms around him. She knew he'd never deny her that.

As she lay there, her eyes chanced on the wristwatch hanging in a pouch on the tent wall, where she had placed it while putting on her pajamas last night. Thankfully it must have stayed dry from the rain. She crawled over to retrieve it and quickly returned to the warmth of her bedding before hooking the clasp on her wrist. It was just after eight o'clock, later than she'd usually sleep. Then again, she had spent half of the night awake and still felt a bit exhausted. Her mind was apparently seeking distraction, and she found herself entranced with the many gears inside the skeleton clock design as they continued in their rhythmic patterns.

For a time as a small girl, Hermione had been fascinated by clocks. She had happened upon her grandfather's pocketwatch one day among her dad's cabinets, and her father taught her how to use it: how to wind the crown just enough, not too tightly. For several months she carried it everywhere, carefully maintaining and caring for it each day. At the beginning, it kept passable time for a few hours, but it needed to be serviced and finally appeared to stop altogether. Her father never got around to taking it to a repair shop, and Hermione's interests gradually moved on to other things.

It was the memories from this temporary time obsession that once drew Hermione's attention to the notion of Time-Turners when she happened upon a passing reference in a rare library tome, which led her to ask Professor McGonagall about the possibility of using one during her third year. She had been so excited to have one. But looking back, it seemed absurd to Hermione that the Ministry would give such a powerful item to a mere student, no matter how trustworthy. She could think of so many better purposes for them today, had they not been all rendered useless a couple years back. How many times could they have made use of such a device in the past year—to save people, to save themselves? But right now, she merely wished she could turn back time for a few hours.

Still, as Hermione contemplated the mesmerizing ticking of the escapement, she considered what a lovely gift Harry had found for her. She realized after her initial winding that it was an automatic mechanical watch which would keep going merely from the motion of her wrist. Although it was rather plain in some ways—with a simple leather strap that seemed appropriate for the outdoors—inside was an amazing piece of technology, one that had caused her to think of Harry every time she looked at it over the past week. She knew most girls would have preferred a bracelet or necklace or some other item of jewelry, but to her, the watch was a thing of true beauty. It was again proof that he must have cared enough to remember some horological sermonizing she probably had engaged in over the years.

She hadn't paid any attention to the time at all yesterday, lost in the meandering blissful adventure they had had. As the seconds relentlessly moved forward, though, she realized that their non-magical day would be over in a mere hour. Yes, the deadline was mostly symbolic. But part of her felt like she was in a bizarre reversal of a Cinderella tale, dearly wishing to remain in this artificial non-magical world with Harry for just a little while longer before the pumpkin turned back into a magical carriage that would force her return to Hogwarts, along with the loneliness she had been feeling for weeks.

She buried her face in the pillow, breathing in the memories of last night again—being held in Harry's arms. Why wasn't he still here with her? Why had he robbed her of the joy of waking up next to him? If he were just here, she knew they could lie here together for a while and hold each other until her anxieties were back under control.

Another nagging part of her brain argued that perhaps that's why he left the tent. Maybe that line they crossed was really too much for him. A wave of panic suddenly went through her as she sat up—had she ruined everything? Her remaining friendship with Ron had certainly become quite strained lately, but she simply couldn't contemplate that happening with Harry. She could not deal with things right now without him. He was about the only bit of happiness for her in this post-war malaise. Whatever had been going on between them recently, she still desperately needed her best friend.

Her stomach—perhaps reflecting her disquiet—let out a growl, and Hermione was again distracted by the wonderful smells and sounds of cooking coming from outside. No, she reasoned, if Harry were truly upset with her, he'd have gone off for a walk or done some other silly thing by himself. That was his way. Whatever the fallout from last night would be, he was still here, cooking breakfast. And she was now quite eager to see what lovely food he had likely brought along.

She reached over to pull her bag and backpack closer to retrieve a bra. As she clasped it on, her eye caught upon that beautiful little compact mirror Harry had given her the previous day. Pulling it out and examining herself in it, she suddenly felt anxious in a way that she had never felt around Harry before. She took out her brush and tried to make some sense out of her unruly hair, wanting to at least look presentable as she gathered it into a loose ponytail. Closing the mirror, she stared at it for a moment, wondering if there was a meaning behind the design, which also seemed to resemble an antique clock, not unlike the gears that were ticking in the new wristwatch she wore.

But another breeze brought the odor of bacon again, and she thought she heard some eggs crack. Flipping the sleeping bag off her, she grabbed the pajama bottoms that were still hanging from the tent roof. They were slightly damp, but dry enough to wear. She started to pull them on, but found that the dampness was enough to get them stuck around her thighs, and there wasn't enough room to stand up in the tent. She finally ended up rolling onto her front in a crouched position to try to get them up all the way. Distracted by her efforts, she failed to hear Harry's footsteps as he approached the tent and started to unzip the door.

"OH!" he cried. "Oh god... I'm sorry. Sorry."

She heard the zipper go quickly back down as she called out in reply, "It's okay, Harry. I was just getting dressed." Hearing nothing in response other than the shuffling of his feet, she added quickly, "As you know, it's a bit difficult in this small space."

"Sorry. Sorry." He just kept muttering the same word. "I... well, breakfast is almost ready, so I was coming to get you up. I'm... sorry."

"Be right there. Thanks!" said Hermione as she collapsed forward onto her stomach, now realizing exactly what Harry must have just witnessed. Last night she had been brazen enough to push her bum back toward him as they snuggled together, and now he would have just seen most of her bare backside with her on all-fours, swaying back and forth as she was struggling with her pajamas. The knickers she was wearing weren't incredibly revealing, but they weren't overly conservative either. She could only imagine the view Harry got. It was no part of her body Harry hadn't seen before in at least some other context—they had lived in a tent together for months—but this was just the newest highlight within the comedy of errors their camping trip had become.

Despite her embarrassment, she found herself laughing into the blankets on the tent floor. The only comparison that kept coming to her was some nature documentary she had watched as a child, where some female primates displayed "sexual swelling" and went around pointing their bums at males when they were fertile. It was absurd, of course, and while she had been giving in to her attraction to Harry more in the past day, none of this was deliberate. But the ridiculous image lingered in her mind while she finally finished dressing with the only dry clothes she had. In a couple minutes, she pulled on a pair of mercifully dry slippers and emerged from the tent, the tartan blanket draped over her pajamas to keep away the morning chill.

Harry was stooped on one knee in front of the fire, vigorously stirring and flipping things in an enormous skillet. She noticed that his clothes must have stayed dry on the other side of the tent during the night, so he was dressed as he had been when they set out yesterday. Though she was thankful that he was obviously warm and comfortable, part of her missed seeing the cute image of him with his bare legs mulling about the previous evening in the firelight.

As she approached the fire, Hermione gasped. "Sorry again," Harry murmured. "Just a bit busy at the moment." He was just beginning to load up some plates, which already had grilled toast waiting on them. He added bacon and sausage, then used a spatula to retrieve the eggs and fried tomatoes from the cast-iron pan.

Hermione was in awe. "Harry! What have you done? How many people are we expecting to join us for breakfast?"

He started to hand her a plate that was weighed down by the sheer quantity of food. "Full breakfast, at your service," he said with a chipper tone. "Oh!" he exclaimed, turning back around, "Can't forget..." He opened a small pot hanging from the tripod and spooned out some baked beans in the center of the plate before finally handing it to Hermione. "Sit down and eat while it's hot." He was still bustling about, preparing his own plate.

She was a bit stunned, but responded to his frantic energy by obeying and settling in front of the fire, taking the utensils he handed her before he ran off to their supplies. She stared down at the enormous mound of food in front of her and just shook her head. Hermione now knew the stories of Harry's childhood, when his family had forced him to be their own short-order breakfast cook. And while they were on the run last year, he had taken many turns cooking the often meager provisions they had. But she had never seen his skill in action like this, and over an open fire, no less. All of that anxiety she had gone through upon waking up began to dissipate: this was still her Harry, or at least the strangely overly attentive one who had given her the most wonderful day just yesterday.

Harry startled her from her brief musings as he came dashing from behind her again, grabbing the moka pot that was sitting on a small grate resting on stones near the edge of the fire. Her poured a cup of steaming liquid before turning and holding it out to her. "Coffee?" he asked, his eyes dancing about with a bit of nervous energy, seemingly contemplating if there was anything else he needed to do, or anything he might have forgotten.

"Umm... just... er... wow," Hermione stammered. Realizing he was still holding the mug, she put her plate down next to her on the picnic blanket, juggled her utentils into her other hand, and took the coffee, finally answering, "Sure, thank you."

"You're not eating," Harry said with an air of concern. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, of course not," she quickly replied, glancing back at her plate and still shaking her head in awe. "It's impolite to start eating before others, particularly when someone has gone to this amount of effort."

"I guess that's something the Dursleys never taught me," he sighed.

She looked back up at him. "Please, Harry, sit down with me. This looks and smells wonderful. But I don't want you to act like my servant."

"It's your birth—"

She interrupted him, "That was yesterday. Sit down!" The last two words came out unintentionally as a rather stern command.

He immediately seemed to lose his agitated energy. Pouring himself some coffee, he grabbed his plate and settled beside her, notably a bit farther away than usual.

Hermione finally took her fork and began to cut into her eggs with it, dipping her fried bread in the yolk and taking a bite. She closed her eyes. "Mmm. You've really outdone yourself here. Everything's perfect and infused with that campfire smokiness." She paused, watching the smoke rise and waft out into the trees toward the river, playing in the warm morning sun that was poking through the leaves. "You know, one of my happiest memories as a kid was coming out to a fire in the morning when my dad would be making a fry-up in a heavy skillet. He'd rarely cook at home, but I loved to sit and watch him."

Harry was poking at his food, checking it over. "Yeah, he told me about that too." He seemingly gave up and shoveled a forkful of beans into his mouth. "Well, I tried. I didn't bring the puddings as I thought it might be a bit much, and I left out the mushrooms as I think we all ate a bit too many of those last year." He took a bite of egg. "Cooking over a fire is incredibly difficult. I burned some of the bread while frying it. The eggs are unevenly cooked. There are charred blotches on the bacon, and the tomatoes... well, I just hope it's something like your memories."

Hermione had given into her hunger and had been eagerly trying everything on her plate, barely paying attention to his self-critique. But she stopped short at Harry's last sentence, glancing over at him. "No, this is nothing like my memories," she said in a deadpan tone with her mouth slightly full.

His face dropped as he let out a breath.

Hermione reached out and grabbed his arm, pushing him slightly in jest. "Don't be silly. Harry, this is amazing! I think this may be literally the best breakfast anyone has ever cooked for me. I have no idea what my father told you about what he did..."

"Well... he said he made a traditional fry-up over the fire, with all the trimmings." Harry paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing. "He said you liked it so much that you always came back begging for more tomatoes, which I personally always thought of as an afterthought to breakfast. But I made sure to have them." He eyed the used pots and skillet. "I bent the rules a bit to bring in a heavy skillet and even a coffee pot, which seemed an odd choice of gear for a light camping trip. I just wanted to get this right. He sounded like he was so meticulous and did it with so much care."

All the while Harry was talking, Hermione had been ravenously consuming the breakfast, occasionally letting out unintentional moans of delight. She paused her chewing to look at him through the corner of her eyes. "Is that what he told you?" Putting down her fork, she grabbed her mug of coffee while shaking her head. Then she started chuckling, before laughing outright.

"What? What's funny?"

"I love my dad, but you don't know him. He sometimes has, well..." she paused, chuckling again. "He can have a somewhat grandiose image of himself. I mean, he's a great dentist. But anything he does outside the office is generally a disaster. One summer a few years back, he took it upon himself to 'build a deck' for the garden next to our side door. In the end, my mum ended up paying almost double the normal cost to get carpenters to remove what he did and repair all the damage before being able to start the new construction."

Harry was staring at her in confusion. "When I saw him, he implied he built that deck himself. He showed me this big corner post and described all his work to put it in..."

Hermione guffawed. "The one on the left side? Yes, that's the only piece the carpenters left. My dad apparently dug a hole so incredibly deep and poured so much cement around that post that the professionals said it was easier just to leave it where it was and build around it."

Her laughter seemed to be infectious, as Harry joined in, apparently realizing he had completely misread Hermione's father. "I can't believe I was taken in. In retrospect, now I understand those strange looks your mum was giving me." They continued eating for a while, before he threw a few more logs on the fire and finally asked, "So tell me, what was your dad's camp breakfast actually like?"

She set down her utensils and shook her head. "About eighty percent of it was burned. He'd throw a few rashers in, burn them to a crisp, then fry a couple eggs until they were so hard and crispy you could stand them on end. Last, he'd toss in a couple slices of bread, which ended up black in the center and soggy with grease everywhere else. That was pretty much it. I have no idea where he got the notion that it was a full breakfast 'with all the trimmings.' Oh, and at some point he made tomatoes, which are next-to-impossible to burn. So yes, he was accurate in saying I requested more of them when he'd cook. It was about the only thing that was edible."

She looked down at her plate, now nearly empty, except for a piece of toast that she now used to sop up every last bit of egg and grease and sauce on her plate. She couldn't believe she ate all of that. All the hiking yesterday followed by her shivering during the night had left her more famished than she thought. Realizing Harry was staring at her as she was devouring the last delicious bits of food, she became self-conscious and felt the need to break the silence. "I mean, I ate it as a kid," she added. "But honestly, looking back on it, it was pretty awful. I just liked the novelty of seeing my dad cook, and I loved sitting by the fire on a cool morning like this."

Harry had obviously been as hungry as she, as his empty plate was already sitting on the blanket beside him. He now was absently nodding his head as he contemplated the fire, sipping his coffee. "I guess this turned out okay, then."

She set down her plate, grabbed her coffee too, and moved closer, pulling the blanket around herself again as she tentatively leaned against him. "I already told you it was much more than okay," she said. "I feel like I'm becoming a broken record of superlatives, but... I'm so grateful for everything you've done this weekend." He remained somewhat stiff and stoic, not responding or putting his arm around her as she hoped. She chewed on her bottom lip a bit as they both stared into the fire for a few minutes. Hermione knew something wasn't right, but she didn't want to ruin this moment after he had done so much work to please her this morning. Nearly a minute passed before she sighed a bit and looked over at him again. "Are we okay, Harry?"

He took in a long breath and said, "Yes, of course we are." He still didn't look at her, but instead started to get up, grabbing his plate. "Would you like more coffee?"

"I really don't want to put you to more trouble..."

"I'm going to make more for myself anyway. And I'll start cleaning up the rest." He bent down to grab her empty plate.

Hermione stood up too, following after him. "Please, Harry, let me help." He halted for a moment and at first seemed like he might object, but seemed to realize it was pointless. Together, they gathered the remnants from their breakfast as Harry refilled the moka pot and set it near the side of the fire again. After helping for a bit, Hermione busied herself checking on some of the wet items Harry had hung up around camp while he finished cleaning the dishes. Neither spoke, and they eventually found themselves again seated by the fire, sipping fresh coffee.

In the silence, Hermione focused on nature around them: the chirping of birds, the gentle rush of water in the river that appeared a bit higher and more brown from the rain, the occasional stirring of a scampering creature in the underbrush. But as time went on, her doubts grew. Yesterday—was it really only yesterday?—she had felt such a novel sensation from Harry, as if their relationship was starting to shift. This morning, she didn't know what to think. Harry had worked so diligently to make her the perfect situation to wake up to, but the only thing that was absent was him. His touch, his smile, his... anything.

The only possible explanation seemed to be that she had read him wrong. How foolish could she have been to think that Harry Potter, of all people, could fall for her? Glancing over at his face—the angles of his cheeks and jaw, darkened a bit by whiskers that reminded her of his rugged look last year while they were on the run and not always on a regular sleeping schedule—she realized the boy had become a man, a very attractive man, even with the crazed windswept hair and the cracked glasses. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply; she needed to stop looking at him like that.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she finally said, with a note of resignation, slowly opening her eyes, afraid of his reaction.

Despite his taciturn attitude, his eyebrows sprung to life at that, scrunching down as his head turned toward her. "What on earth could you be sorry about?"

"Well..." Hermione stopped short. Is he really going to make me say all of this? "Last night, to be clear, I didn't mean to... well... kiss you like that. I was trying to give you a peck on the cheek, as I always do. But..." She really didn't know how to continue. The fire was starting to die in front of them, and she had this sudden irrational urge to throw herself into it, into the hot embers, and then to run down to the river and drown herself like a madwoman. Literally anything at that moment seemed preferable to this silence, and stony-faced Harry, who was still staring at her expectantly.

"Look," she finally went on, "I think I misunderstood you. Everything was just so perfect yesterday, and I never thought I'd see this side of you, so... devoted to me." She chewed her lip, knowing it had to be said. "But I've always known I'm not what you want, beyond our friendship. I've never been the popular girl, certainly not for my looks. I know you don't see me... like that."

Her last words seemed to cause him great agitation, as he looked away from her, heavily exhaling a few times, before his face fell and he covered it with his hands. Eventually, he spoke with his face still hidden in his fingers, "For as clever and logical as you are, I don't know how you came to that conclusion. I think you're beautiful… stunningly so."

An involuntary cry escaped her throat. "Wha...?" She must have heard wrong. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Don't joke with me now, Harry, I can't take—"

Suddenly, the dam broke in Harry's emotions and he jerked his body toward her. "I would never joke about that! I told you weeks ago!" he nearly shouted. He must have sensed her fear at his sudden reaction and immediately calmed, his features softening. For the first time that morning, he tenderly reached out to her, stroking a few fingers across her cheek. "I'd never joke about that or lie or do anything that would hurt you, Hermione. That's why this is so hard." He glanced down at the ground, dropping his hand and seeming to steel himself, before he looked into her eyes again with an odd uncomfortable expression, almost like he had been defeated. "Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me last night? To finally have the girl I've always wanted in my arms, to hold you so close, with those sweet soft noises you make in your sleep, and just to pretend it was no big deal?"

Hermione's brain began to spin out of control. Those shining green eyes were still staring at her, and this was the last thing she was expecting, the last thing she could imagine. She was blinking frantically as she tried to process his words, but finally managed to repeat, her voice breaking, "The girl... you've always wanted?"

He turned away and looked back toward the fire. A wave of tension seemed to finally pass off of Harry as his shoulders sagged forward. "Well, I didn't always know. We've been friends forever, and I've always wanted that. But I figured it out quite some time ago. It's just... you and Ron, well, there was that thing between you. He was my best friend, and… you're my best friend. I wanted the two of you to be happy together. I never wanted to get in the way." His voice drifted off, as his head fell back into his hands.

Hermione was still in shock. Nothing made sense. "But last night," she said hesitantly, "you… you pulled away."

At that, he turned his head toward her briefly, utter confusion appearing to overtake him before he looked back to the fire while shaking his head. It seemed like he couldn't look at her right now. "I… I don't understand," he muttered, almost to himself. "I mean, when I brought you here, after how our day went yesterday, there was part of me that thought maybe…" He paused. "But you said you didn't want to—"

"I said I didn't mean to," she interrupted. She started to reach her hand out to touch his shoulder, but found herself stopping short. Her hand dropped back down, as she still couldn't process what was going on. Did Harry really say that a minute ago? "It was an accident, but…" she paused, trying to find confidence to finally say what was in her heart. His head had fallen into his hands again, but he deserved the truth. "I wanted to," she said. Her voice dropped to a low whisper as she looked back into the fire. "Merlin, how I wanted to..."

Neither of them moved for over a minute. Of all the scenarios that had played out in her mind, Hermione had never quite imagined this. What was supposed to happen now? Harry was silent and not looking at her; she found it disquieting that she had no idea what he was thinking. They had both admitted truths that they had both been hiding deep inside, but it all felt strange. Surreal, even.

A smoldering log broke apart and fell in the fire, creating an opening and bringing new breath to the flames. Hermione poked the fire with a stick to reorient the log and allow it to burn more efficiently. As another piece of wood was suddenly enveloped in heat, a loud crack sounded, startling them both. "Harry," she said, "you still haven't answered me. Several times in the past day, it almost seemed like you panicked when we were close. Did I do something… wrong?"

Harry was still hiding his face in his hands, shoulders hunched. Her question caused him to raise his head slightly for a moment to utter, "No. God no." He spent several moments staring down, until eventually he added, "It's just… well, I don't want you to think I'm mental."

After his wonderful mood yesterday, Hermione was worried about this level of anxiety that reappeared in him. "Please tell me…" she said, raising her hand to reach out toward him again.

In reply, Harry spoke very softly and with great hesitation, "Sometimes... he's still inside my head."

Her hand involuntarily pulled back, as a wave of panic swept through her. "Do you mean—Voldemort?" For the first time in many months, Hermione actually shuddered slightly saying his name. Over the years, she had drawn on Harry's strength and defiance in saying it freely. But after the taboo had turned out to be real last year, after they had been captured—now her mind started running in circles immediately.

"It's not really him," he said, shaking his head a bit, as Hermione let out her breath again. "No, I'm sure he's gone. But he was in my mind, and the Horcrux piece of him also messed with my mind while we were wearing the locket. It's like some sort of weird echo from that sometimes bubbles up. It usually stops when I'm with you for some reason, but when I'm by myself..." He stopped for moment before adding, "Last winter, it made me feel alone, like no one cared for me. Like I was a terrible leader, like you were all going to abandon me."

Hermione knew the effects of the Horcrux well; it had affected all of them. But why was he talking about this now? "I don't understand," she said. "You and I—"

He cut her off. "It saw into me, Hermione. That night, when you had to cut it off of me, it—it seems like it burrowed into my heart… and then it knew the one thing I had been hiding, the one thing he—Voldemort—couldn't ever know…" His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "… How I felt about you. What I really wanted. But I had to protect you from him, so he couldn't know. That's why I kept trying to force those feelings away from my conscious mind, to maintain control." Harry shut his eyes, appearing to try to ward off some horrible memory. "I never wanted him to go after you, to try to hurt me through you. But the Horcrux had been trying to drive us apart for months. And then… didn't Ron ever tell you what we saw?"

"What you saw? What do you mean?"

Harry finally looked up at her. "When he destroyed it? What it said?"

She furrowed her brow and shook her head.

He turned back to the fire. "It showed a vision of the two of us rejecting him. Mostly you, or a vision of you, saying horrid things to Ron. I mean, it was like you, but also distorted and grotesque—red eyes, flaming hair." Harry took a long pause, appearing to take time to choose his words carefully. "And it showed you and me embracing… kissing passionately, as you turned into… a sort of snake."

Hermione's mouth dropped open as her eyes dropped. This explained so much about Ron, so much about his insecurities and… but her brain quickly regrouped and wondered what long-lasting effect this had on the boy sitting next to her at this moment.

Harry continued, "I know none of that was real. But after Nagini's attack, it made me think what I started to feel—what I had wanted with you—was wrong. That vision of us was perverse, mocking us… it wasn't what I wanted… not like that. It took what I felt and corrupted it… turned it into evil." Hermione's heart began to sink. Seeming to sense that his words might hurt her, he quickly added, "I know it wasn't real. I know that, and I haven't thought about it in a long time, but last night, in the darkness… I couldn't see you, only feel you wrapped around me, and… the only image I had to connect to that—well, that strange echo came back to my mind."

He turned his head to look at her for a moment, his mouth open and seemingly looking for more words. But none came. His gaze drifted back to the red, smoldering embers, now threatening to go out. "The Horcrux knew we were getting so close," he finally added. "And it wanted to drive me away from you. I'm sorry—"

"Harry, it affected me too," she interrupted, letting out a deep sigh. As if their relationship hadn't become confusing enough already, now she had to deal with the remnants of Voldemort knocking around inside Harry's mind? "I mean, I didn't see a vision, but wearing the locket made me feel alone too, like I was useless for not being able to help you." She cleared her throat, forcing herself to go on. "Like I was a failure… and that I was stupid for not being able to sort out the clues. Like I should leave, because I was…" she paused, allowing herself to feel the memory again, as her eyes grew watery, "…insignificant to you."

Those words caused him to turn quickly. "Hermione, you are not—"

She waved off his words, as she wiped her eyes, trying to make it appear like it upset her less. "You don't need to say it; I know. I knew back then when I would take the locket off. But it preyed on all of us, tried to drive us apart." Hearing Harry's confession now, Hermione began to realize how much that tiny voice of the locket was perhaps still with her too. Perhaps returning to this place had even exaggerated it in her mind, made her feel an echo of all of those insecurities from last year as well. It had played on all of their natural feelings—Ron's jealousy, Harry's anxiety and feelings of isolation—and the thing had certainly seen deep into her heart too. It knew precisely how to manipulate each of them.

But they couldn't let a stupid dead thing that was already a dead echo of another dead thing continue to affect their lives. As they fell into silence yet again, she glanced over to Harry, contemplating once again how the war had scarred them both. He was a cipher to her now, despite all their revelations. Last night, everything had been so natural in some ways. It all felt so intimate and wonderful. Now, she didn't even know if he wanted her to touch him or lean into him as she always did. She never would have thought about such actions consciously before—she just did them. Sometimes in the past she almost felt like her heart would burst if she didn't throw her arms around him. But now they were on new ground; she desperately didn't want to mess things up.

Hermione wanted to ask a hundred questions, but she was afraid it would irritate him and cause him to shut down again. Instead, she cautiously shifted toward him, taking his hand, threading her fingers with his. "Where do we go from here?" she said softly.

He looked down at their enjoined hands, appearing to scrutinize them for quite some time. "I don't know," he said, dropping his gaze and briefly closing his eyes. "It's just… I see what happened with Ron. The two of you barely talk to each other. He's clearly unhappy, though he drinks and tries to chat up women most nights. He isn't really like the friend I used to have, either. Since he left us alone last year, I think he feels like he can never quite make things right again with us. He always had some insecurities, but now it's overwhelming. Between that and what happened with you, I don't think the three of us will ever quite be the same. And as for you, how much persuasion did it take to pull you out of your funk the other week?" His eyes had risen to meet hers again.

"What does any of this have to do with—?"

He glanced away again, apparently not quite able to face her as his voice dropped lower. "Everything. Yesterday, for the first time, I actually allowed myself to think about us. I thought something might happen. Part of me even wanted it… but what happened with you and Ron can't happen. I can't let that happen between us."

She squeezed his hand more tightly, causing him to take a breath and shut his eyes for a moment before he went on. "I'm not sure what I expected to happen when we came here together. I wanted to tell you everything, to say the things I started to say last night. I thought I wanted more, but I realized last night that I simply can't screw this up." He finally turned to her again. "I want us to have hundreds of days and months and years together like yesterday. I want to have my best friend. I can't ever take a chance..." he paused, his eyes shining slightly, "... of losing you."

At that, Hermione felt determination well up inside of her, as she looked straight at him. "Let's get one thing clear: Harry James Potter, you're stuck with me. I will never abandon you. No matter what happens. After everything we've been through, I'd have thought—"

Suddenly, he blinked and started chuckling, then laughing while shaking his head.

This was not the reaction she was expecting from him. "What?" she said.

He looked back at her with a legitimate grin, still shaking his head. "You're amazing. And you're right of course. You're always right."

The unexpected smile on his face with his laughter eventually broke through her confusion, and she couldn't help as the corners of her mouth rose too. "What did I say? Why are you laughing?"

"You. You look so adorable when you start one of your determined speeches." He let go of her hand as his fingers came up to touch her cheek ever so lightly. "For years, I've watched you stand up and defend me, break rules for me, lie for me, fight with me." As he gently stroked the side of her face, she closed her eyes for a moment, unable to take the sudden intensity of his stare. "But do you have any clue how beautiful you are, how lovely your face looks in the morning light?"

Her eyelids slowly slipped open, but she kept looking down. "Harry," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You don't have to—"

"Beautiful," he repeated. "Pulchritudinous, even." As her eyes flew back up to meet his, she narrowed her gaze at his utterance. "What?" he chuckled. "Are you the only one allowed to look up fancy words?" His fingers continued to trace a line along her jaw, causing her heartbeat to quicken and her breath to become ragged. "When I learned it, I thought of you… only you."

His face seemed to be closer now. That look from last night was suddenly in his eyes again, and she couldn't quite puzzle out how this could be real. Harry must have sensed something when her eyes dropped again, as he muttered, "You don't believe me."

Hermione simply remained quiet, waiting for him to take the next step. No, honestly, she couldn't quite believe this was happening. After the roller coaster of emotions she had been through in the past day, this was beyond surreal. He brushed his fingertips on her face once more before lowering his hand and turning his head to look at the sun, seeming to ponder something for several moments.

When Harry looked back at her, he sighed and appeared quite confused. "Well, actually," he said, making a slight cringing face. "I wasn't going to say anything… but you may want to... well..." He brushed a finger beside his nose.

That was absolutely the last thing she expected to happen at this moment, and it immediately broke the spell. She took his motion as a hint and did the same. He shook his head and rubbed his finger on his face again. Oh god, she thought. At this moment? Did she have a piece of food stuck there from breakfast, like the marshmallow last night? A piece of dried egg, or even dried mucus? Was it some sort of skin condition? "Maybe you should have a look yourself," Harry suggested calmly.

Utterly bewildered and with embarrassment growing by the second, Hermione threw the blanket from her shoulders and made her way to the tent entrance. "I don't know why you won't just tell me," she said abruptly, as she unzipped the door and retrieved the compact mirror Harry had gifted her. She carried it out with her into the sunlight, where she angled it in various directions. "I don't see anything. What was it?"

"Look closer. I'm sure something will become clear—"

Just then, as she held the mirror inches from her face, hundreds and hundreds of tiny sparkling multicolored lights emerged from the surface and began to circle around her, enveloping her in their bright glow…