JK Rowling and whatever other appropriate affiliates obviously own the rights to 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 past chapters to catch all the pesky lingering errors that I can no longer see: Amelia_Davies_Writes, GalaxyNightangale – 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.

Chapter Fourteen

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as the small noises from Harry began to get louder. She must have dozed off at some point while sitting beside him. The book she had been holding fell from her lap to the floor as she reached out to grab Harry's hand. He was twitching in his bed muttering 'no' over and over.

"Harry," she said gently as she took his hand and stroked the hair from his damp face.

"No – No I dropped it," he muttered as he began to stir more aggressively. "I dropped it!"

"Harry, it's okay – we're safe," Hermione whispered to him as she held his hand firmly. "Harry, it's alright – you're alright."

Harry's eyes flashed open and he stared around the tent in confusion as he twisted away from her touch until his eyes locked onto hers and she could visibly see the tension fall from his face.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Hey," she said quietly, as a gentle smile pulled at her lips as she looked at him. Cautiously she reached out to brush his hair from his face and then knelt down next to his bed, bringing them closer to eye level. "We're safe, Harry."

"We got away?" His eyes never left her face as he spoke, and she could feel his hand grasping hers in return now.

"Yes," she replied steadily as she held his gaze. "I managed to apparate us away. Harry, are you feeling okay?"

Harry frowned at her question, not at Hermione, but at the words that he did not know how to answer.

"I don't know," he said slowly as he averted his eyes to the ceiling before taking a breath and forcing himself to look at her again. "How am I supposed to even answer that?"

His voice broke slightly as he spoke, his throat no doubt sore from all the screaming the day before. She could see the sweat clinging to his body as sat there and his face grew exhausted.

"I was almost useless, Hermione," Harry said quietly, frustration and pain visible in his eyes. "He was in my head, he had nearly complete control – I couldn't do anything."

Hermione watched as Harry let out a tight sigh and ran his hand through his hair. She knew that he was upset, not just about what had happened with Bathilda but with what had happened with Voldemort. That'd he'd been vulnerable and open to such an attack.

"I wouldn't have been able to get out of there without you," Harry said quietly, turning to look at her once more. "I saw things, Hermione. When he was in my head – I saw my parents die. I saw that night, the whole thing, clearly as if it were happening before my eyes and I was there. I was Voldemort."

Hermione gripped his hand tightly as Harry quieted. Her eyes searching his face as she tried to figure out what to say. Shit, she thought to herself in frustration. How am I supposed to comfort him? He just watched his family die in front of him – we need to talk about finding a way to practice occlumency again – but obviously now's not the time. She decided to wait on bringing up occlumency as she did not want to come across as scolding him, and instead she settled on moving closer to him and resting her elbow on the edge of his bed to prop up her head.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," she spoke sincerely as she continued to carefully watch his face. Her heart was twisting into a painful ball as she examined his exhaustion and sadness. Why is it, she thought, that Harry always has to suffer so much?

"It's fine," Harry said as he cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly as if to blink away the memories. "It sounds weird – perhaps a bit disturbing, but I'm glad I got to see them. I'm glad I got to see that night. I think it's better to know."

He paused briefly as Hermione nodded her head in understanding before his eyes brightened and he began speaking with more urgency.

"You Know Who wanted that picture, Hermione – the one of that thief. He was excited about finding it. He's been looking for him, but I don't know why – I wasn't able to tell from what I saw. He was absolutely fucking livid that we got away – and Bathilda wasn't Bathilda," his brow furrowed a fraction now as he recalled the events of the cottage. "It was Nagini, somehow she was inside her body – I – I don't know if Bathilda is dead or if they somehow made a copy of her, but Nagini poured out of Bathilda's neck the second I took my eyes off her. Bathilda's body just crumpled to the ground – it was as if she was wearing a Bathilda suit. I – I've never seen anything like it."

"She was dead," Hermione grimaced as she spoke. She had been planning to wait to tell Harry until later, but it seemed like now was as good of a time as any. "I was looking around the main floor after I cast my shield charm. I went to the kitchens and everything there was spoiled. Bathilda must have been dead for some time for things to be that rancid. The smell was worse by the pantry door so – so – so I opened it."

Hermione stuttered on her words and clutched Harry's hand tightly before she continued. The image of what she had seen in that pantry was going to haunt her dreams forever and she knew it. It was etched into the back of her mind and made her shudder to recall it.

"Bathilda's – well, her – her innards were stuffed in the pantry, Harry. It was like someone had skinned her and her carcass was just left there – but it had gone rotten. There were flies everywhere – there had been a spell cast on the door a while ago to keep things at bay, but it was poorly done and I think it was starting to weaken and that's why the house smelled so rank."

She forced the rest of the words out of her mouth quickly as images of Bathilda's rotting flesh floated through her mind. The flies, the flies had been everywhere – there had been maggots too, crawling out of her red and black rotted flesh. The worst part had been that her face was still visible – or what was left of it. The empty eye sockets and remains of her mouth and nose. Hermione's stomach rolled over as she clenched her jaw, willing herself not to throw up. She'd become acquainted with death over the last few years – and specifically the last few months – but not like this. Never like this. This was a different level of sadistic, disturbing and heartless methods displayed by Voldemort and his followers.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry said gruffly as he forced himself to sit up in bed against his pillows and he pulled her up from her knees and into his chest.

She sat on the edge of his bunk and laid her head on his chest as he held her. His sweater was damp on her face from his sweat, but she didn't care – she felt dirtied by the images in her mind anyways and she knew that she would be scrubbing herself viciously in the shower later to try and rid herself of the rank smell and disturbing scene. She took a few deep breaths and tried to rid her mind of the images of Bathilda's rotting and skinless body from her mind. She wasn't crying, her eyes were not even remotely wet – but they had been widening in disbelief and slight shock as she had been recalling what she found to Harry.

She closed her eyes tightly now, and clutched Harry's sweater with her hand. Fuck, she thought as she continued to empty her mind and clear her thoughts. This is what Voldemort and his followers are willing to do. Skin an old woman and leave her corpse in her own pantry. Hermione had little doubt that the old woman was probably alive when it happened, and this made her stomach lurch once more. How do we fight people willing to do this – willing to commit such horrendous and despicable acts. She turned her face further into Harry's sweater as she felt detachment wash over her. This was another thing that she would need to deal with later, on her own time. For now, though, she needed to stay focused and be there for Harry.

"How long was I out?" Harry asked gently when her breathing had evened out, in hopes of trying to bring the conversation around to something slightly less terrible. Which seemed a daunting task given the situation they had been in only moments ago.

Hours," Hermione spoke softly before she pulled herself from his chest to sit back and look at him. She handed him his glasses from the nightstand but her hand remained on his chest, tightly gripping his sweater between her fingers as if she was worried he would slip away from her grasp. "It's early morning now."

Harry nodded as he put his glasses on and his eyes searched over her face, looking for traces of the disturbed and shocked expression she'd had a moment ago when she recounted finding Bathilda. But Hermione looked more in control now – she'd obviously packaged those feelings up and pushed them aside.

"The Horcrux was stuck to you, I had to use a severing charm to get it off of you," Hermione said quietly as she finally released his sweater and pointed to the spot on his chest where the Horcrux had been. "I used some dittany so hopefully it doesn't scar – but there could still be a mark there after it heals. Dark magic is different – like the werewolf scars, so it may not work. I fixed your glasses – they were cracked in the attack. I thought it would be a good idea to have some spares so I made some duplicates and charmed them to keep them protected, they're in the purse in case we need them."

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said gently as he reached up to grab the hand that hovered above his chest and then held it tightly in his lap. He didn't even bother looking at the place where Hermione had pointed. He knew that she would have done everything that she could to fix the burn, whatever remained was going to be what it was going to be. As for the glasses he wasn't surprised – it wasn't the first time that they'd broken in a battle and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. But making spares was a good idea, during their training they'd been practicing odd spells and charms and Hermione had already mastered a simple Gemino spell. Of course she would think to create spares just in case.

"Your arm was broken from Nagini – I healed it – and thankfully her bite didn't pierce your skin. I figure we should probably look into a way to improve the physical integrity of the shield charm to better protect against physical attacks," Hermione said as she looked away from Harry and nervously started to fiddle with the hem of her sweater with her free hand.

"What is it?" Harry asked her as he sat up straighter. He knew her antics, and he knew that she was holding something back from him as she slowly revealed more and more details of last night. "What happened, Hermione?"

"Your wand, Harry," she spoke so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

Harry's face went blank, and Hermione could see the tension in his jaw as she glanced back up at him. Her expression pained as the next words fell from his lips.

"What of my wand?"

"It was broken in the attack, Harry – I'm so sorry – I tried to repair it, I've got all the pieces, but I wasn't able to do it. I think it might have been me – when I cast that blasting charm and it destroyed the house – I – I must have hit it. Harry, I'm so sorry!" She looked at him desperately and winced as his brow furrowed and he shut his eyes.

She could hear his sharp intake of breath as he processed the information and she felt her heart sink with guilt. She couldn't even imagine losing her wand and what it must feel like to find out you've lost your connection to magic, your ability to cast spells. Her chest was tight with anxiety, she knew it was very likely her fault that Harry was now wandless, and it was killing her. She clenched her jaw nervously and squeezed his hand until he opened his eyes again – they were clear and calm.

"It's okay," he said firmly as he looked at her directly. There was not a single trace of anger or blame on his face.

"Harry, I –" but Harry cut her off before she could even finish her sentence.

"You don't know for sure if you broke it, Hermione," he said calmly as he squeezed her hand in return. "Nagini could have hit it, I could have fallen on it – I couldn't see what was going on. Either way it doesn't matter. It was an accident and we'll deal with it. Thank you though – for trying to fix it and keeping the pieces."

Hermione nodded solemnly and kept her jaw clenched. She would feel guilty regardless of whether or not Harry blamed her.

"We'll just have to share your wand until we come up with something."

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said softly as her eyes glazed over.

"I know," Harry said as he pushed himself off his pillows and leaned toward her. "I am too but it's okay, Hermione – I promise. It's fine – we'll figure it out."

Hermione's lips twitched at his words and a faint blush crept over her face as he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the temple.

"I'm going to go shower though," he said with a small laugh. "I'm thoroughly disgusting."

Hermione stood and helped Harry from the bed then she watched as he walked toward the bathroom with clean clothes in hand. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched him go. This evening had been another that was simply too much – but the truth was, it was all too much and it was starting to make her wonder if she would be able to take it. Once she heard the shower turn on, she sat back down on his bunk and dropped her head into her hands and allowed silent tears to fall from her eyes as she listened to the water run.

She wasn't even sure what it was she was crying about – whether it was for Bathilda, the realization that Voldemort and his followers were capable of actions far worse than she thought, that they had almost died yet again, that Harry had been so quick to forgive her for possibly breaking his wand, or that she worried that he might actually be upset with her for it and not tell her. Her heart still ached at the thought of losing him, and she knew that it was just the compounded stress of everything and the lingering effects of no sleep.

It's for everything that's happened, she thought as the tears streamed soundlessly from her eyes.

After five minutes she steeled her face and wiped the tears from her eyes on her sleeve. Then she forced herself up from the bed to go and make breakfast. Her heart felt lighter, like she had allowed herself to empty her body of the emotions and turmoil that constantly seemed to fill it and she refocused her mind to the task at hand. She still needed to show Harry the book that she had snagged from Bathilda's house before Nagini had revealed herself and they still needed to discuss their occlumency practice.

Harry exited the bathroom just moments after she had everything prepared and set on the table. They sat and ate their porridge, berries and tea. Harry rested his knees gently against hers under the table and she smiled at him as he talked about how he figured out how to modify their duelling and exercises now that they only had one wand while he was in the shower. Then, to her surprise, he said they needed to meditate more and add more occlumency practice to their routine to try and prevent what happened from happening again. He smiled at her as he dropped more berries on his plate and nudged her knee gently with his own before taking a sip of tea. Her heart raced at the contact and she felt herself smile more genuinely.

Yes, she thought peacefully as she watched him eat with purpose and continue to talk about his new plans. This is worth fighting for, and we are going to be just fine.

After breakfast Hermione pulled the copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore out from her purse and showed it to Harry. She explained that she had taken it from the living room of Bathilda's house after Harry had gone upstairs. The book had a note from Rita Skeeter in it, her familiar acid-green spiky writing leaving them both with annoyed scowls on their faces. Rita was such a bitch. The book had clearly never been opened before, evident by its stiff spine.

They abandoned their seats at the kitchen table to go and sit on the transfigured love seat to look through the book together. They were both caught by surprise when they realized that the man from Harry's vision and in the photo from Bathilda's house was Gellert Grindelwald. They worked their way through the book, learning that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory. That he had returned to Godric's Hollow to care for his sister and brother after his mother's death, that Dumbledore's sister was apparently frail and ill but possibly a squib being kept locked up, and that Grindelwald was Bathilda's great-nephew.

The book contained a rather shocking letter allegedly written by Dumbledore to Grindelwald which made them both uncomfortable. Then Rita recounted how after two months of friendship Dumbledore and Grindelwald parted ways until they met again for their legendary duel. Rita had noted that their falling out may have been due to Dumbledore's sister's death, and they also learned that Aberforth, Dumbledore's brother, had fought with him at the funeral.

When they finally finished reading the book it was well past noon and Harry had a deep scowl that ran across his face. Hermione's chest tightened nervously – this was a lot to ask Harry to take. He had held Dumbledore in the highest esteem and now this book was burning every opinion that he'd had of the man to the ground. It had been difficult to read, difficult to swallow and it painted Dumbledore in a light that made even Hermione's brow crease similarly to Harry's.

"Harry," she said cautiously, as she gauged the expression on his face. "I know that the book isn't pleasant – but you have to remember that this is Rita Skeeter's writing."

"Yeah," Harry said in a clipped tone. "Except that we both read that letter from Dumbledore to Grindelwald. That's hardly Rita's writing."

"I know," Hermione spoke softly as she tried to choose her next words carefully. She could tell that Harry's confidence in Dumbledore had been shaken by what they read and she would be lying if she said that her own wasn't. "I know Bathilda thought that it was all just talk but, 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan – it was his justification. It was carved at the top of Nurmengard."

"What's Nurmengard?" Harry asked, his eyes still glued to the book in front of them.

"It was the prison that Grindelwald created to house his enemies – to imprison those who stood opposed to him," she answered, watching the side of his face as she spoke. "Dumbledore imprisoned Grindelwald there himself once he defeated him. I know that this looks bad Harry, but it seems like they only knew each other for a short while. It's awful that Dumbledore's ideas may have helped Grindelwald rise to power but–"

"But what?" Harry asked her tightly. He didn't yell and he wasn't angry, instead he just looked blank and lost, and somehow that was worse. She knew that it wasn't directed at her, but her chest tightened just the same.

"But they were young, Harry," she started softly before he cut her off again.

"So are we," his voice was eerily light as he spoke, and she knew that this was cutting him deeper than he would ever say. "We're young, Hermione – we're the same age as he was and we're fighting against the dark arts."

"I know," Hermione took a breath to steady her voice as Harry looked up at her. His eyes held a sadness that made her heart ache. "His mother had just died, he was alone–"

"He wasn't alone, he had his sister and brother," Harry cut in again. "We've lost people too, Hermione."

"Harry, I'm not trying to defend Dumbledore's actions," Hermione said tightly, unable to stop her voice from rising as she grabbed the book, closed it firmly and tossed it on the footstool next to them. "I wasn't there – I can't say what was going through his head at the time he befriended Grindelwald. I don't know if he meant to help or just helped inadvertently – I'm just saying that there is more to the story than what was written by Rita Skeeter in this stupid book. You know as well as I do how she twists words and facts and only uses the information that paints the picture that she wants. Maybe – maybe Dumbledore fucked up, maybe he made a mistake – maybe it took losing his sister for him to realize that he'd been an ass. I don't know Harry, because I wasn't there. I just don't think that we should jump to any conclusions from a book written by that bitch."

Harry was sitting quietly staring at her with slightly widened eyes as she continued to rant, and her voice grew louder.

"I know how much you respected him, Harry – I can't even begin to wrap my head around how hard it must be for you to read this. For you to find out that he may not have been who you thought he was. But Harry, he cared for you, he loved you, he spent every year that we knew him fighting against You Know Who and believing that muggles and muggle-borns are worthy. People make mistakes Harry, people change. Maybe he was someone different when he was young – but we know who he was at the end, what he fought for, what he believed in – and isn't that what matters?"

Harry sighed and dropped his head into his hands for a moment before lifting it and running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.

"Yes," he groaned out in pained frustration. "But if I ever get the chance to speak to his portrait, I'm going to ask him – and he better give me some answers. Every day that goes by I feel more and more like I didn't know him. That he didn't actually prepare me – that he kept things from me and intentionally withheld details that would have been helpful to know."

"Yeah," Hermione snorted gently in agreement. "Yes, you're right. He certainly had a way of being secretive when it would have been much more helpful to just tell us what the hell was going on."

Harry sighed again and forced himself up from the couch to start walking toward the kitchen.

"Do you want some lunch?" he asked over his shoulder as he reached for Hermione's beaded bag on the table. "My body feels dead and I think we should split that last butterbeer."

Hermione grinned at Harry and got up to join him in the kitchen. They ate a small lunch and passed the last remaining bottle of butterbeer between the two of them. After eating Hermione then showered quickly, scrubbing herself thoroughly to remove any lingering smell of Bathilda's house from her body. She felt thoroughly disgusting from having sat so long in her clothes from the evening before and was glad that they spent the remainder of the night curled on the couch reading. The day had been exhausting and she could see that Harry was just as mentally taxed as she was from reading the book Rita had printed. They skipped dinner and opted for a light snack before they both went to bed. Feeling safe with the alarms that Hermione had set they decided that for tonight no watch would be required – they both needed rest after the events at Bathilda's and they knew it.

As Hermione walked into the room after washing her face in the bathroom, she saw Harry sitting at the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands. He raised his head as she approached and watched her as she placed her dirtied clothes into their small laundry basket and began to dim the lights in the tent. Wordlessly he rose from his bunk and walked toward her. Hermione had just turned down the blankets on her bed as he closed the distance between them, and she turned to ask him what he wanted – but he had circled his arms around her before she even had time to open her mouth.

He kissed her slowly, with care, and pulled her close to his body. It wasn't heated or desperate, and she understood his meaning. She leaned into him and let his tongue enter her mouth as she gripped his sweater tightly. Harry needed her. She had become his one and only constant in this war. He had lost so much – the close support of the Order, Ron, his wand, his faith in Dumbledore. She ran her hand up his chest to rest at the base of his neck before he pulled away slightly. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed, and his words came out as a whisper.

"Stay with me tonight?"

His words ghosted across her face and she could not help but shiver as her heart fluttered at his words. She knew that Harry was hurting right now, and it brought a warmth to her heart that she could not explain that he wanted her near him. She nodded against his forehead and allowed his hands to lead her to his bunk. They both crawled in, Harry nearest the tent wall and Hermione nearest the edge of the bunk as they usually were when they shared the bunk. Harry wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to his chest, nuzzling his nose into her neck as she closed her eyes and snuggled back into him. It crossed her mind fleetingly that it was now Christmas day and she was snuggled with Harry in his bed. She smiled softly as she nuzzled her head into his pillow.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said softly as she wriggled her foot gently against his.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Harry breathed against her neck as he squeezed her tightly in his arms.

-x-x-

The next morning, they ate a quick breakfast and dressed warmly before they went to start their modified training outside. Hermione was thankful that they began their training right away before her mind lingered too long on the warmth of sleeping in Harry's strong arms, his breath against her neck and the way that his touch made her heart flutter. Harry's modifications to their training routine included taking turns with the wand – the person who had it would fire leg lockers and stunners at the person without a wand while the person without the wand would dodge, duck and run to avoid being hit. They switched every 10 minutes and Hermione had to agree that completing this exercise was worth it and she was glad that they did not decide to forgo training now that Harry was without a wand. The exercise made them much more resourceful at evading spells; she started to realize how often she would allow herself to be potentially hit because she knew she could shield or deflect an oncoming spell. Without a wand, she was far more in tune with her movements, positioning and her surroundings as she knew that she needed to truly evade spells and not just block them.

They practiced this way for the better part of 2 hours before they both slumped down by the tent to take a breather and drink some water before they started on the next part of their modified training. This involved them each taking turns using Hermione's wand to blast more dangerous spells at some unsuspecting dead tree trunks. They then worked to improve their non-verbals and even tried to cast sectumsempra without words. Harry was able to get a single small scratch in one trunk while Hermione was able to get two. Then, Hermione put her wand away and they worked on wandless magic for over an hour. Hermione had been able to lift a leaf off the ground with a wordless and wandless wingardium leviosa, while Harry had been able to conjure a tiny small blue flame.

Hermione had no illusions that they would magically be able to cast defensive spells wordlessly or wandlessly on their first day and she laughed internally at her own pun. But she was pleasantly surprised that she had been able to make the leaf hover for several seconds before it dropped back to the ground, and that Harry had managed to light a small blue flame – even if it did sputter out after only a few moments. This exercise would take time, patience and discipline, but they both agreed that it was worth it and that they would continue to practice it even if they did find Harry a new wand, somehow.

After their experimentation with wandless and wordless magic they had a quick lunch, then completed their meditation and occlumency practice before moving on to their physical exercises. Hermione found it a bit difficult to keep her eyes off Harry as he completed push-up after push-up or as they jogged in several large circles around the tent. Over the past few months of completing their exercise routine Harry had really started to fill out. His frame was no longer lanky or scrawny like it had been for years – his broad shoulders were filled with new muscle, his arms and legs were strong and he had a healthy bulk to him.

He wasn't rippling in muscles and he hadn't transformed into some incredible and unbelievable version of himself – but he was fit, strong, and he held himself with more confidence than he had as a kid. That was the main difference, Harry had become comfortable in his own body. The once lanky, long bones and awkward movements now moved with a determination and purpose that he had lacked before. Harry had changed – there wasn't a hint of the insecurity and he'd morphed into a man who moved confidently in his own body right before her eyes.

And Hermione found it more distracting than she cared to admit.

It wasn't just the physical changes in Harry that she found her mind drifting to as they laid on the floor of the tent completing sit-ups as a pair – Harry's feet resting over hers as they alternated their crunches toward each other. It was the maturity that he now carried in the way that he spoke and the way that he thought. She always knew that Harry wasn't stupid, he was clever and intuitive – but he had always been a bit hot-headed when he was younger.

Now, after everything that had happened, he'd embraced his mature side and started to use his critical thinking skills. He exercised it and built on it like it was a tool, using it to his advantage. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head when she watched him read and speak. And the key difference between now and four months ago, was that now Harry paused and thought before he spoke.

As Hermione showered after dinner, washing off the sweat and grime from their exercises she still could not remove her thoughts from Harry. She knew she cared for him – and she knew that however she chose to define, or not define, whatever was happening between them made no difference.

Losing him would kill her just the same… and she could not escape the conclusion that she had drawn the night before while Harry had laid motionless in his bunk. Being together, accepting her feelings, accepting her fear of losing Harry – while terrifying – was worth fighting for. Harry had been right, it wouldn't make her weaker. If anything, it would make her stronger. As she ran her hands through her dark wet curls she knew that allowing herself to be with Harry would realistically motivate her to work harder and become stronger – it was exactly as Harry had said to her. He made her want to be better, to be more – just as much as she made him want to grow as well.

She stepped out of the shower and looked into the full-length mirror.

It had been a while since she had forced herself to stare at her scars and recite the list of things that she was grateful for when seeing her reflection. It had been a while since she had to force herself to smile at her marred skin. It had also been a while since she had really looked at her reflection. She, like Harry, was not the same person that she was four months ago. She traced her fingers over the scars that covered her chest gently as she examined her body – the scars were not the only thing that had changed. Like Harry, she had not undergone some miraculous bodily alteration. She hadn't become some voluptuous woman with shapely curves. Instead, she stood taller, straighter, and with more dignity than she could ever remember having. Her confidence was much more apparent in her stance.

She did have some curve to her waist, nothing extreme, but the presence of female hips was there. Her breasts had gotten somewhat larger, although they still nothing to write home about at a modest B cup. She knew she would always be on the smaller side based on her own mother's appearance – but frankly, their diet, lifestyle and intense physical exercise routines did not lend to having huge tits anyway.

She snorted at this as she looked over her legs and arms. This was where the largest physical change was. Hermione had always been petite and scrawny – she had never been an active person and she always preferred to stick with her books than run around outside with her peers. She'd never played sports either. Now though, since she was exercising intently with Harry and completing their duelling, she had real visible muscles. She looked fit, strong and capable. She found herself smiling as she pulled her loose-fitting charcoal long-sleeved shirt on and her faded denims. The shirt's collar hung so that her top scar was plainly visible, but she didn't even blink at it as her mind wandered back to Harry.

She wanted to tell him.

She wanted him to know how she felt – that she wanted him, that she wasn't afraid even though she was absolutely terrified. That she wanted to be with him. That he was right, that they were worth fighting for. She gripped the bottom hem of her sweater tightly between her fingers. Running the fabric between her thumb and index finger as she always did when she was nervous. She looked down at her dark purple fuzzy socks before tilting her head back up toward the ceiling. She wanted to give Harry what he wanted, not because she felt pressured and it wouldn't be any unrealistic promises that could not be kept. But instead, a relationship that was acknowledged and openly admitted – because she wanted it, and she wanted more with him both physically and emotionally.

Taking a breath, she opened the bathroom door and strolled out to the kitchen, her hand still firmly gripping the fabric of her shirt. Harry was standing by the kitchen counter, having just finished cleaning up the kitchen since she had made dinner tonight. He smiled at her as she approached, and she found herself blushing lightly as her heart started to race...