JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights Harry Potter and the Harry Potter universe. I own nothing but the inserted original characters/plot concepts. I make no money on this. This is simply a FAN based work.

I would like to give a huge shoutout to the wonderful betas that agreed to help me comb through my old chapters to catch all the pesky lingering errors that I can no longer see. AmeliaDaviesWrites, and GalaxyNightangale – that's you. Thank you, your fresh eyes see more than mine.

And thank you to Greca for agreeing to read and beta my new stuff – your help is greatly appreciated.

GENRAL WARNINGS

explicit language, violence, dark themes, sad themes, dark magic, serious and graphic injuries, PTSD like symptoms, blood and gore, bad situations, rape (insinuated but not explicitly described), explicit smut (but not PWP and chapters with smut will be flagged so you know to watch for it and can skip over it if you prefer and it will largely be edited out for this version), mercy killings, LGBTQ and coming out anxiety, potential character deaths, difficult/controversial topics, torture, interrogation and war. Please this warning and read individual chapter warnings.

Chapter Nine

Harry stood hunched over, elbows on the counter with his hands weaved tightly through his hair. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and he was mentally berating himself.

Fuck, fuck fuck, fuck, fuck! SO fucking stupid! You are so fucking stupid! He sighed heavily and stood up looking to the ceiling, chest tight with frustration. I can't believe I just did that. I can't believe I touched her without thinking.

Harry groaned outward and slammed his fist into the counter. After everything that had happened, all the moments between them – the touches, the looks, the closeness – he had finally kissed her. She had finally not run away. And then, he thought, I completely fucked it up like a major arse.

Since the night on the cliff when he had shared with her that he slept in a cupboard at the Dursley's house he knew that the relationship between them had changed – at least it had from his side. He'd never told that detail about his life to anyone, never trusted a single person enough to tell them that he blamed himself for the deaths of those around him but yet wanted to stay in the wizarding world. He'd never told anyone how terrible he felt about it, how blatantly guilty. The second he had stared into her eyes – he knew. He knew that he would never be able to look at her the same again.

He had wanted to kiss her right then and there, but he had held back, and kissed her cheek instead. He was unsure of his new feelings and nervous that she might not feel the same. Hermione was incredibly logical, reserved and controlled, and Harry highly suspected that she would have reservations about acknowledging any feelings – whether for him or otherwise – while in the middle of a war. He was also concerned that the feelings might be one-sided.

So, Harry decided to watch Hermione. He watched her behaviours, cataloged her touches, her looks and her expressions – and slowly over the last month he began to notice a pattern. And he began to think that she might actually feel something too.

She'd touch his arm when they spoke, sit close to him, lean her head on his shoulder, tangle her legs with his, blush and look to the ground when he complimented her, and he often saw her looking at him out of the corner of his eye while he read. When she let him crawl onto her bunk and sit with her while she was not feeling well, he took a risk and decided to run his thumb over her knee after she rested her legs across his – trusting her to object if she didn't want the contact. But she didn't object. When she took his hand during the meteor shower, his confidence in her feeling the same grew even further. It was impossible not to notice how the air got thicker around them, how time seemed to slow down and how her pulse quickened.

So, when they had successfully tested the shield spell, he was so ecstatic that he couldn't stop himself from drawing her into a tight hug. He'd felt her heart racing as he held her, saw the blush creep over her face, the look in her eyes while she stared at him – and then he was certain, he knew that she felt it too. He was going to kiss her out in the snow if she let him, but he saw the panic rise in her face when her mind registered what was happening and she chickened out and ran back to the tent.

Harry had stood in the snow for several minutes thinking, wondering what to do, how to proceed. Every time that happened previously, he had spared her nerves and pulled his face into a calm and typical expression before looking at her again. He gave her room because he didn't want to push her. But today… well today, he wanted to confirm his suspicions. He wanted to know, he wanted her to acknowledge the situation that had developed between them and he wanted to see if she would accept an advance. He would never push her into anything uncomfortable, and he would never make her do anything she didn't want to – but he wanted to see if she would acknowledge what was going on between them. So, he resolved to go back to the tent exactly as he was – to show her his emotions in full, to show her what he wanted.

During dinner she had been adorable, nervous and flustered and he thoroughly enjoyed the butterbeer and treacle tart she had placed out for them. When she abandoned ship for the second time that day to take the dishes to the counter, he could see the tension in her shoulders and feel the inner battle she was clearly waging. So, he decided to see what would happen if he pushed once more, gently, while still giving her room to escape if she wanted too. If she ran away again, he would drop it until this mess of a war was over.

But she didn't run – she stayed. As he had approached her, closing the distance between them his heart was pounding and his body was rigid with nervousness. When he asked her if she wanted him to stop, the tension was palpable and he felt his heart was hanging in the balance, he didn't know if he would be able to handle it if she rejected him. He'd respect it, but a small part of him would feel like it had been snuffed out. When he heard her say "no" – he couldn't close the distance between them quick enough. She tasted like hope, like a cool drink on a hot summer day.

He moved slowly against her first, afraid to startle her away, afraid to push her too far and make her uncomfortable, terrified that this unreal dream would vanish before him. He wanted her to be sure. But the second he heard her moan, any nerves he'd been feeling faded away, pushed to the back of his mind quickly and their kiss escalated. It had been… well, it had been like nothing he had ever felt. His kisses with Ginny had never felt like this, his kiss with Cho was a joke in comparison. Honestly, he didn't even think he could count that kiss with Cho as a kiss anymore. This was heated, desperate, passionate, like gasping for air after being held underwater. He needed her, wanted her, had to be closer and wanted to soak every inch of her into him.

Then without thinking, he ran his thumb under her shirt and over her scar – the second he felt it, his mind skipped, and he jerked his hand. Not because of the texture, not because he cared about them – no – no, it was nothing like that. His hand jerked because he felt a pang in his heart as he touched it and he knew he had just made a mistake. He'd felt her start to flinch the second his thumb grazed it and momentarily he thought if he moved his hand away quick enough, he would be able to do some damage control. But she'd flinched hard and pulled away so fast that he knew it was a lost cause. Instead she left his lips feeling lost and hungry while his mind chastised his action.

And then to top it all off she apologized to him first. She fucking apologized to me, he raged as he paced in the kitchen back and forth along the counter. When I was the one who fucked up and made a mistake!

She had nothing to apologize for, nothing. He was the one who got caught up in the moment, caught up in the feel of her body against his, the heat between them and the intensity of their kiss. He was the one who had touched her without thinking, without considering how it would make her feel. I'm lucky she didn't have a full-blown panic attack, he thought bitterly as he thumped back into his kitchen chair and thought about how she had reacted. He'd been concerned about Hermione since the day the injury happened. She had healed well and was stronger than ever – but wounds are more than physical. And based on the high-necked sweaters she continued to wear day and night he didn't doubt that she still struggled with her appearance and acceptance of the scars. Not that he ever expected her to parade them around – but she took exceptional care in ensuring that they were always hidden.

What am I going to do? He'd dropped his head back into his hands again, elbows now resting on his knees.

He needed to apologize to her, he needed to explain to her that he didn't care about her scars – he didn't care how she looked. He had only just finally kissed her… and he did not want to ruin it because he had screwed up. He needed to explain how he felt to her, he needed her to know that he was there for her, always, and that the scars didn't matter. He wanted her. He wanted to know what could happen between them.

He knew the conversation would be difficult. Honestly, he wouldn't be shocked if she stayed in the bathroom all night. He couldn't imagine what was going through her head – and if she did come out, she would probably try to dismiss it and avoid talking about it. He'd considered this, but he needed to talk about it. They needed to talk about it. They couldn't live together in a tent hunting Horcruxes and walking on eggshells around each other. They needed to have the communication lines open, trust each other and work together. If Hermione never wanted to touch him again going forward – fine, he could deal with that. It would be painful, but he would manage. But he was absolutely not willing to sacrifice and hurt their relationship over this. After everything they had been through together this was not going to ruin their incredible dynamic. He needed to ensure she wouldn't be worrying that he might be disgusted by her scars – which was absurd.

He finally heard the water shut off as his mind settled on his course of action. I'm not a fucking coward, he thought with determination. I will not fuck this up further, I will fix this.

He stood quickly and walked to the sink, grabbing the kettle, filling it with water and tapping it quickly with his wand to get it boiling. He reached in the cupboard and grabbed two clean mugs, throwing tea bags in them and then dumped the magically boiled water into each cup. He added one milk and two sugars to Hermione's before adding a single sugar to his own. He had the mugs settled on the table and he was seated in his chair, back straight and determined when he heard the bathroom door open.

-x-x-

Hermione stepped out of the steaming room and walked on trembling legs toward the kitchen. She wasn't sure what to expect, how Harry would be behaving, if he would be still in the kitchen or if he'd be out somewhere else. She honestly had no idea how to behave. She kept her eyes on the floor until she approached the table to see Harry stand up from his normal chair. Two steaming mugs of tea sat in the middle – she felt her heart thump painfully and noticed that he looked determined and slightly desperate.

"The shower is free," she spoke quietly as her eyes flittered around Harry's. She didn't know where to look, she was nervous, and she felt her wand hand tremble. She grabbed the hem of her sweater gently, running the fabric between her thumb and finger to try and calm her nerves.

"Hermione," Harry's voice was soft but firm and called her eyes back to his with force. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched you like that without asking first."

"Harry – it's fine, it's not a big deal I-" she responded quickly waving her hand to dismiss him but he cut her off.

"No, it's not fine. Nothing about it was fine Hermione," he was looking at her intently and had walked around the table to stand several feet in front of her. "I know that you're uncomfortable with your scars, I know they make you self-conscious – I wasn't thinking. I was so caught up in – in whatever this is that has been going on between us that I didn't think. I didn't think about how touching you might make you feel."

Hermione hadn't looked away from Harry, she was still snared by his gaze, but she flinched slightly as Harry mentioned her scars. She tried to dismiss the conversation, she didn't want to hear excuses – she'd felt him flinch, she didn't want to talk about this. She didn't know what it was that she wanted but she didn't want to talk.

"Harry it's fine, really, I don't want to talk about this," she had wrapped her arms around herself, defensively covering her chest.

"But I do Hermione," he stood his ground firmly in front of her, ensuring that he gave her plenty of space. "I'm not going to let what happened ruin our relationship, I'm not going to let this sit and fester – I want you to know that I don't care about your scars."

Hermione snorted, scuffing the tent floor with one socked foot before turning her eyes to the ground.

"I don't," he said firmly, and she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her. "Do you think I'll ever forget what you looked like lying in the muddy grass Hermione. The image of you torn open haunts my dreams – I'll never un-see it. It fucking killed me to see you like that. I thought I was going to lose you."

Tears had started to form in her eyes, her vision wavered as she stared down at her thick fuzzy blue socks. She knew Harry had seen them, but he had still flinched when he touched her. She didn't want to hear this – she didn't want to talk about this. She didn't even know what this was.

"I've already seen them – I treated them, I had to pull the shredded bits of your shirt and jacket out of them. I saw what they looked like at their worst, I'll never forget it, and I still want you," Hermione twitched at this – but she shook her head as her shoulders began to tremble and Harry pushed forward, his voice rising slightly. "I don't care about what your scars look like. The only thing I care about is you, Hermione – and the fact that I'm a fucking idiot and didn't consider how you would react, how you would feel when I touched you. It's not like I haven't noticed that you've transfigured every shirt you own into a high neck sweater, I have no excuse for not thinking about it, I just got caught up in the moment. I only pulled my hand away because I realized my mistake and I felt you flinch – I knew I couldn't fix it. But I touched you because I wanted to."

At this Hermione's eyes shot up to Harry's as a single tear fell down her cheek. Harry was looking at her with a look of agony and Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest. He flinched because he was, concerned? Her mind reeled over his words and she found herself trying to wrap her head around the possibility that Harry hadn't flinched in disgust.

"You don't have to believe me Hermione – but I need you to know that I want you, I want to figure this out and I don't care about your scars."

A small sound escaped her lips that sounded like a suppressed sob and Harry stepped toward her slowly as Hermione continued to clutch herself. Her chest was constricting again – no, she thought, how could he want me.

"I don't – I don't know how you feel Hermione, I don't know what's been going through your head these last few weeks, but I feel like things have changed between us," he clenched his hands tightly at his sides and his nerves hit him as he approached the real crux of his speech. "And I know you've felt it too. I've seen it on your face… in how you look at me."

His voice dropped lower as he stepped only but a foot away from her now and Hermione dropped her eyes to stare into his chest, unable to breathe.

"If I'm wrong, or if you aren't comfortable with anything – if you don't want anything – that's okay Hermione," he tentatively reached a hand out to touch her shoulder and she could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. "I don't know what shifted between us. And I don't know what this means for us going forward – but I need you to know that I don't care about your scars Hermione. I just care about you and – and I want to see where this could go."

A sob broke through her lips and Harry barely heard the quiet words that escaped her.

"…I'm disgusting..."

Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and pulled her shoulder gently towards him, and she let her head fall on his chest. Her arms were still clutched to her own body and they were now pinned between them as he circled his arms tightly around her and rested his lips to the top of her head.

"Hermione," he breathed out in a hush. "You are not disgusting. They are not disgusting."

He felt her tremble slightly and her head shook gently against his chest. He pulled her tighter and leaned his lips down toward her ear.

"Hermione, you are perfect. You're – you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

She stiffened but stopped shaking her head against him and he heard her inhale quickly.

"You're just saying that," she whispered.

"No, I'm not," he pulled her tighter to his chest and breathed out a long low sigh. "I swear to you, I'm not just saying that. I know you don't believe me – not yet – but I'm not lying. And I'd like the opportunity to show you how little I care about them."

Hermione stood still against him, the last words he spoke were barely above a whisper and they made a chill run down her spine. Her stomach knotted, he'd spoken in that voice – the deep baritone that had made the heat in her core ignite earlier. She shivered against him, his words and his voice were convincing, they made her body respond and believe that he meant what he said.

She buried her face into his chest, breathing him in. It calmed her. His warmth and the tightness with which he held her made her feel safe. She trusted Harry implicitly, she always had, and she desperately wanted to believe him – it was difficult against the chant of how could he want me? that was circling at the back of her head – but she forced her mind to stick to logic, to facts. He had already seen them, she knew this, and he did touch her anyway. He had noticed the closeness between them and allowed it to grow while knowing she was mangled. He'd touched her, held her, and been close to her all the while knowing that she was hiding under her transfigured sweaters. She willed the voice in her head which kept claiming he must have forgotten how bad they were and was reminded when he touched them to shut the hell up and worked to clear her mind.

This was her problem, and she knew it. She knew Harry, she trusted Harry and he wouldn't be holding her like this and speaking with that voice if he didn't mean it. She wanted to believe him – had to believe him, or at least give him the benefit of the doubt until proven wrong. She needed to deal with her low self-confidence regarding the scars on her own – this was her problem to resolve.

Her stomach knotted a little as she nuzzled her nose against him softly. She'd enjoyed the feel of Harry's body against hers – obviously. My moaning is a testament to that, she thought somewhat embarrassed. She'd never made those sounds before. She'd liked the way he tasted, the way he'd moved against her, and the way he'd held her and pressed into her. She too wanted to see where things would go – except that it scared her.

They were in the middle of a war, they had a huge responsibility to find Horcruxes and destroy them before Voldemort got stronger, before things got worse – and they had no idea where to start. They needed to be focused, they needed to practice and be prepared. She didn't think it was appropriate to explore a change in their relationship right now – no matter how badly she wanted to, or how right it felt. That was the whole reason why she had resolved to do nothing. This kiss, no matter how pleasant, was distracting. Anything more than snogging would be even more distracting – and they could not afford to be distracted. That would be irresponsible – and Hermione was nothing if not responsible.

Harry had stood holding her while her mind sifted through her thoughts, it was several minutes before she spoke again with a tremble in her voice.

"Harry I – I'm afraid," she breathed out against him, her voice but a mummer against his sweater. "I'm afraid of this – I don't want to lose what we have. I – I don't want to get distracted from our mission and what we need to do, but –"

The words caught in her throat and she trembled slightly against him. She knew what she wanted to say but her courage was faltering. Harry had just all but laid his heart out on the table to her – Don't be a coward she thought as she tried to settle her racing mind.

"I'm afraid that you won't actually want me if – if you saw it. I know what you said, and I know that you've seen them – I know that this is my problem and it's in my head – but I can't help it. I can't help but be terrified that you'd change your mind. W-when you touched me it – it made me panic," her voice shook again before she continued. "It brought everything back Harry, all of it, and I – I don't know how to be comfortable with it, or how to deal with it."

Cautiously she raised her head to look at him and he loosened his grip so he could pull back to see her face more clearly.

"Harry, I don't know how to do this. I don't know what this is – we're in the middle of a war – we need to focus but I – I," she looked at him desperately before speaking in a low whisper. "But I can't help but want you too."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest and his hands gripped her more firmly – she'd said that she wanted him too.

"I don't know how to process this Harry," she took a step back but gripped the front of his sweater gently with one hand. "Harry what happened was… it was intense I – I don't know if we can – I don't know if it is a good idea. Not that I don't want to, I do – I'm just not sure that we should – we need to focus and be responsible. We need to find these Horcruxes. I'm worried that if we do anything, anything other than what we have been it will be a distraction. And I clearly need to deal with these scars and with what happened. I don't want to fuck this up Harry."

Harry nodded slowly, he understood. It made his heart ache a little, but it was exactly what he was expecting. While he didn't know if they were destined to be with each other forever, he did know that he cared for her in a way that he had never cared about anyone previously – not even the way he thought he felt about Ginny.

"Hermione," he said gently, moving his thumb gently over her upper arm. "It's okay. I get it – things are all over the place right now."

She nodded slowly, still gripping him tight and searching his face.

"I don't want things to change between us," he looked at her intently and then gave her a small smile. "I'll be right here, always, whenever you need me – whenever or if ever you want me. I won't ever push for anything Hermione and I promise to give you space to deal with what you need to. But – I want you to know I…I would like to figure this out, to see where this goes. This, Hermione, is exactly why we're fighting. It's exactly why Remus and Tonks – and Fleur and Bill are together as they are even though we're at war. It makes them stronger – it gives them something to fight for… just something to think about."

Hermione's hand twitched slightly against his sweater and her eyes dropped. She hadn't thought of that. The only thing that had been running through her mind aside from her panic over her scars was the danger of her and Harry being too close while they were on a mission. She had never considered that allowing closeness could be seen as a benefit. She'd only ever considered the negative.

"Let's have some tea," Harry said gently as he pulled himself away and she let his sweater slip through her fingers. She felt cold again, without him near and watched as he backed up toward the table, giving her an encouraging smile.

Harry sat down lightly in his seat, ensuring that his feet were tucked neatly under his chair. There, he thought as he reached for his tea mug. I made the first move, I've confirmed that she feels it too, and now it's her decision how we go forth. I won't push anything else, I'll leave this to her.

Slowly she walked toward him to take her seat. True to his word, she noticed that his knees did not bump hers under the table – it feels empty, she noted. Harry reheated the tea mugs with his wand and fished a small bag of biscuits out of her purse before taking a bite of one himself.

They ate and drank their tea somewhat quietly, Hermione nibbling the biscuits and listening to Harry talk about how he thought he could work to extend his protection charm. She nodded her head and responded to the conversation, but the thoughts in the back of her mind churned on a different topic. She couldn't stop herself from mulling over the possibility that being with Harry and seeing what was between them, might - maybe not be a bad thing during these terrible times.

-x-x-

The next week passed rather uneventfully and their typical schedule was unchanged. Hermione and Harry resumed their exercise routine, read, researched, practiced spells, duelled, ate, slept, guarded the tent in turns and managed to increase their shielding spell time by 2 minutes each. Harry could now produce a full body mobile shield for 9 minutes and Hermione could manage 7 minutes before the hum disappeared and they were once again left vulnerable. Harry had been right, the stronger they became physically, the easier the shield was to produce as the shield seemed to be linked to their overall stamina. Hermione had suggested clearing their minds before casting it almost as a sort of meditation to ensure focus on the target and intent. That seemed to make the spell more potent – she noted that the dark purple became deeper the better their concentration was, and it contributed to its duration as well. They determined if they kept at it they should be able to continue to increase the duration of their shields and made a goal of each reaching over 10 minutes.

Outside, the snow continued to fall and gathered deeply around their tent. Seeing as it was the last weekend in November, they fully expected the weather to continue to get worse – so they opted to use more water-repelling charms and warming charms while they practiced outside, unwilling to sacrifice their training due to bad weather.

One thing that had changed, Hermione noted, was the touches and closeness between them – or rather, the lack thereof. Harry had not faltered on his promise to give her space. He no longer sat exactly right next to her while they had tea, and instead sat a friendly distance away. He didn't touch her lower back when he walked around her or reach to grab her hand while they spoke. No, Harry had consciously worked to ensure he kept his hands and feet to himself. He even stopped using the footstool so that Hermione could have the thing entirely to herself.

As the time went on though Hermione couldn't help but miss the contact. While she appreciated Harry giving her space and staying determinedly focused on their mission – she was actually finding it more distracting having to think about her actions and keep her hands to herself than it was to simply let herself be near him naturally. She found herself thinking that their closeness and previous behaviours had felt normal whereas this artificial distance between them was what felt off and strange. She didn't speak anything about it to Harry, but she mulled it over as each day passed. She missed his warmth, she missed feeling his laugh reverberate through her as he leaned against her. Their interactions were still warm and kind and her feelings were still obviously present, it was just as if someone had put up a barrier between them… and she found that she didn't really like it.

As they rounded to the second week Hermione started forcing herself to not only stare at her scarred reflection in the mirror when she went to shower but also to touch the scars gently. She repeated this process whenever she changed clothes as well. She had gotten used to tolerating the scars while she showered but she had never actually spent any time with them to accept them. After her excessive reaction to Harry's touch – she could no longer ignore the fact that she had not spent a sufficient enough time actually dealing with what happened and accepting her injuries, so she resolved to correct that regardless of whether or not anyone would ever see them. She forced herself not to frown when she looked at them – instead she forced her lips into a smile while reminding herself of the things that she liked about herself and the things that she was happy for. I'm glad I didn't die, was the first thought she conjured.

After that a string of others ran through her head and she found that day by day it was easier and easier to think of things. I'm happy I didn't lose any limbs. I'm happy that the scars run in between my breasts and not through them, that would have been much worse. I'm happy that there are no lingering dark magic effects. I'm happy that it wasn't my face. I'm happy that I can cover them if I want to. I'm thankful that I still have my magic. I'm glad that the redness and distortion held so close to the scars themselves and that it didn't span out to cover more of my skin, so it's just three distinct lines. I'm thankful that they healed and won't break open again. I'm happy that I'm physically fit and able to still move around without hindrance. I'm glad there is no permanent damage to my body that disadvantaged me.

By the time December 5th rolled around Hermione was standing in front of the mirror thinking, I'm happy that I still look decent. And at that, she found herself smiling the first genuine smile she had made during this exercise – no longer having to force the smile to her face while she stared at the marks which covered her body. Perhaps she'd just become more accustomed to them, more used to them being there from staring at them intently over the last week and a bit – but she couldn't help but feel like they didn't look quite as bad anymore. She grinned at the foggy mirror and then reached for her long-sleeved dark charcoal grey sweater, it used to be a modest v-neck, but she had transfigured it to a turtleneck after the attack. She rolled the fabric through her fingers. She hated this long-sleeved shirt as a turtleneck, mostly because she wasn't a big fan of turtlenecks, but also because this shirt's fabric always seemed to itch her neck a little more than her other ones. She shrugged her plaid pajama pants on while she stared the long-sleeved charcoal sweater down, pausing her hand as she grabbed to put it on.

With a moment's hesitation she transfigured the sweater back to its original shape and threw it on, pausing only a moment when she caught her reflection in the mirror – you could see the top scar cut across the bottom of the v-shaped neck. Not by a large amount, but it was plainly visible. She quickly grabbed a hair clip and clipped her hair out of her face. She was tired of sleeping in turtlenecks and high-necked shirts – they were uncomfortable and always made her feel like she was being choked while she slept. She wanted to be comfortable. It was over 2 months since the attack, and frankly she thought, I'd like a night of sleep where I don't have dreams of being choked or smothered. She turned to the door before she could change her mind.

When she walked into the kitchen to have her nightly tea with Harry he looked up as he heard her approach – his eyes only just briefly registering her v-neck shirt. His eyes flicked to her chest, then up to her eyes and a look she couldn't quite decipher crossed his face. Her stomach rolled over nervously as she started to regret her decision and her dark grey socked feet slowed – immediately becoming self-conscious, her hand instinctively raising to grab the collar of her shirt. But then she realized that Harry was grinning at her – beaming would probably be a better way to describe it. His eyes were on hers, not her chest, and he didn't look away from them as he spoke.

"Made your tea," he said with happiness, she noted a slight edge of excitement in his voice.

Hermione took a breath and forced her hand to lower from where it hovered in front of her chest with fingers still outstretched mid grab, and then she made her feet keep walking. Harry's eyes remained on her face only.

"Thank you," her voice was a bit reserved with nervousness, but he saw her shoulders relax a fraction as she took her seat.

"Of course," he continued to grin at her but grabbed his own mug and took a sip. "So, I went through our supply list while you were in the shower."

Hermione smiled as she grabbed her own mug. Harry was probably the only person she would trust to properly update and catalogue their supply list and she was very pleased that he'd taken the initiative to look at it himself. Prior to Ron leaving she seemed to be the only one concerned with ensuring they had food and supplies. But now… well, now Harry was a very different person. They both were.

"Thanks, Harry, we're going to need to do another run again aren't we?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded at her.

"I figured as much, I've been keeping track of it mentally," she sighed as she held her mug tightly in her fingers. "I suppose we should do that before we leave this hillside. There is a small town just to the East. We can slip in tomorrow night before we leave and get supplies."

"That's what I was thinking as well," Harry had pulled out her map and spread it on the table. "If we pack up around midnight, we can walk there by 2 am and gather whatever we need."

They discussed through the plan and agreed they would leave the snowy hillside they'd come to three days ago tomorrow night. Hermione couldn't help the nervous tremble that overtook her hands as they continued to plan their approach – they would be breaking into a chain grocery store located in a small plaza at the edge of town. She sincerely hoped that her face didn't betray her and express the anxiety that she had over what happened last time they went to get supplies.

As she went to go take first watch Harry gently grabbed her arm. It was the first time he had touched her since they'd kissed two weeks ago, and her body responded desperately. She could feel her pulse racing as she looked into his eyes.

"Hermione, we'll be okay," he was looking at her intently. "We're better prepared this time. Nothing is going to happen tomorrow night. I promise."

"I know," her voice was quiet and sounded unsure, so she added a firm nod to show her agreement.

Harry smiled and squeezed her arm firmly before he turned to go to his bunk. Hermione stood there for a moment before she realized that she was holding the upper arm that Harry had touched with her other hand. Shaking her head, she grabbed her winter jacket and went to stand outside the tent for her first watch. Her heart was racing, and her stomach was knotted. Harry's touch had done this, and the look that had been in his eyes when he promised that nothing would happen made her shiver. She sat on a small tree stump and cast a warming charm before curling into herself a bit. She was still nervous – she couldn't help it. But Harry was right. They were far better prepared if they were to be attacked and she felt confident that they would keep each other safe. She trusted Harry, she trusted her own abilities and she knew that they would be fine.

-x-x-

The next day passed like a blur. They'd gathered and packed early and spent the afternoon practicing some defensive and offensive magic. It helped calm Hermione's nerves as she waited for midnight – she was anxious to get this done and over with. When midnight finally arrived, they packed up the tent quickly and efficiently and began walking toward the town. Harry's estimate was almost bang on, they arrived at the plaza just before 2 am.

The plaza was deserted, and the fluffy snow fell heavily around them. When they got within 200 meters of the plaza they'd covered themselves with the invisibility cloak before proceeding through the empty parking lot and around to the back alleyway to enter the emergency exit door. They were both tense, and Hermione gripped the back of Harry's jacket tightly at the collar as he led them through the alley and then unlocked the door. It was quiet, calm and beautiful out – but Hermione knew better than to trust it. She knew better than to let her guard down. Not this time, she thought as they crept through the door.

They spent over an hour in the store, following the same routine they had the last time they got supplies. Gathering much-needed food, toiletries, soap, and necessities. Hermione grabbed extra of everything, filling every container she had and using her food storage spells so things would keep longer. She wanted to avoid having to make any more supply runs than necessary. Hermione tallied the cost of their items as they went, and they stopped at the cash register to deposit their money prior to leaving. As they crept through the back exit to return to the alley they both moved cautiously, slowly, and kept their eyes and ears open for any sign of movement – but nothing happened. They reached the outskirts of the parking lot and quickly removed the cloak. Hermione held Harry's shoulder as he crouched to put the cloak away in his bag. She'd immediately slipped her hand down the collar of his jacket before he had even bent over – you needed direct physical contact to side apparate and she would be damned if she wasn't prepared for a second attack. She didn't move an inch from him, and he could feel her leg next to his side as he tucked the cloak away. The second it was secured he gave her the signal.

"We're good," he said quickly, not even bothering to stand up. Hermione gripped his shoulder more tightly and apparated them away to a forest before he could even move a muscle.

The forest she brought them to was in central England, but still remote and deserted. They both breathed a sigh of relief as Hermione dropped her hand from his shoulder and stepped away from him to grab her purse and locate the tent. Hermione's skill with apparition had improved to the point that he hardly felt anything, they'd shown up exactly as they left the plaza, Harry crouched by Hermione's side. Standing slowly, he had to resist the urge he had to hug her and instead gave her a huge grin.

"See," he said as he touched the side of her arm once gently. "Nothing happened."

She grinned back at him, suppressing the urge to hug him as her stomach fluttered. Harry dropped his hand and slung his pack over his back and then her eyes narrowed as she started to turn her head.

"Harry do you hear-" she didn't finish her sentence, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she saw a flash from her peripherals. Knowing there wasn't time to grab Harry directly – what with their thick winter jackets – her mind quickly calculated, and she chose the next best option.

Hermione shoved Harry back with more force than he thought was physically possible. Someone so small could not possibly be that strong, he thought briefly as he fell backwards and the ground between them exploded.

He drew his wand and saw that Hermione already had hers out, she was crouched several feet away in front of him as she'd rolled backwards to dodge the explosion. Turning his head to the left he saw the shape of two wizards running towards them in the darkness and one creature that was hunched over and moving much more quickly than the rest.

Fuck.