The best way to keep the mind from dwelling on grief was to keep busy. Harry had ample experience of the fact. Doing things kept the mind distracted, prevented wayward thoughts from deep-diving into the dark depths of depression, or at least, that had been the experience before when Harry had things he could do. He had no studies to keep his mind active, no quidditch to occupy his time, nothing other than to keep watch, eat and sleep. Only one of those activities really came close to keeping him from thinking about the bleak void in his heart and the issue was there wasn't any food to eat.

So instead he returned to his old ways. He turned a little obsessive about keeping their living space in order. Harry was actually very fastidious when it came to tidiness, a little unbelievable for anyone who had seen the state of his bedroom at Privet Drive. During his muggle childhood however, when he couldn't get away with any act of rebellion, he had been a very diligent house keeper.

He worked around the house with a fervour in an empty attempt to gain any positive feedback from his unloving family. Completing his chores never earned him a lick of gratitude, only to be spared being shouted at, grabbed by the ear and thrown into his cupboard for being an undeserving brat. Cleaning the kitchen to a high standard, scrubbing the floors, bleaching the bathroom and eventually even cooking the meals meant he could get away with food, school and what little playtime he could even do by himself without any toys.

In his loneliness and grief, he regressed into his conditioned ways to occupy his mind. After Harry had levitated the grief-stricken form of his single friend onto her bunk, Harry did the only thing he could do. He cleaned. He was without the stock of cleaning products and tools that his aunt kept the cupboard under the sink stocked with. He had magic, but no real knowledge of household spells other than Scourify. While effective, it didn't polish. The small counters in the tent kitchen didn't gleam with that satisfying sheen after thorough buffing with the shammy.

He soon ran out of things to do. Slowing down, his guilt returned in full force and he miserably attempted to sleep. When the tears came as he played over the hurtful things Ron had said, when he turned the pain inward into himself, he left the tent with his cloak and wand but not before pulling on as many layers as he could.

Under one of the trees, he found enough shelter from the rain. He let loose his anger and his self-loathing, silencing himself as he shouted silent abuse into the dark, wet night. His catharsis turned physical when he slammed his fists into the tree, the bark breaking the skin. The pain was no distraction, not when the horcrux was amplifying his internal turmoil.

By the time Hermione found him, he had exhausted himself and was locked away in the cage of his emotions, any shred of confidence in tatters as he slipped fully into depression.

She rescued him from himself.

If she had been curious about the immaculate state of their tent, she never mentioned it. After comforting him and making sure he wasn't suffering from self-induced hypothermia, she went about packing away their things, preparing to move camp. Once feeling returned to his fingers and toes, he helped.

Moving in tandem with each other, they silently and efficiently cleared up their belongings and then packed up the tent, storing it, with everything else, inside Hermione's beaded bag. They didn't need to speak. Years of friendship in a library had made them rather good at communicating with looks alone. Harry's keen perception at knowing how to predict what someone needed before they asked for it made him particularly good at picking up what Hermione wanted him to do. If anyone had to tell him to do something, he felt it as a failure that he hadn't done his job well enough. A behaviour that still haunted him from his abusive childhood.

"It's risky to apparate somewhere blind again. I don't want to risk a splinching."

"No… agreed," Harry tried to not think of the grisly injury Ron received, or just Ron at all. Both topics weren't pleasant for him to dwell on. Instead, he wracked his brain for somewhere he had been that could serve as a good place to camp. He had never joined the Dursleys whenever they went on holiday, instead he had been put with Mrs Figg and the cats. The only time he really spent away from Privet Drive was when Uncle Vernon dragged them around the country, trying to evade Harry's Hogwarts letters.

"Um… I know of somewhere but it is really remote. As in it's literally a hut in the middle of the sea." He said. "It doesn't exactly solve our supplies issue."

Hermione gave him a curious look. She didn't press him for details. He was relieved. He didn't fancy having to explain why his relatives were so desperate in preventing him from learning about magic.

"We… really should prioritise getting some food and supplies. Do… you know of anywhere we could try? In Surrey?" Weary with fatigue and grief, it took Harry a moment to register why she had asked him. He had grown up in Surrey.

"Not really. I never really left the town and anywhere I've been is likely under watch," he said. "However… it is the last place they would think I would go. It's pretty densely populated though."

"We have Polyjuice potion. We could disguise ourselves as muggles and… do a little shopping." Harry stared at her. She threw her hands up at him. "What? We can blend in. You've spent long enough around muggles to not stand out like a sore thumb in public."

He scratched at his chin. She did have a point. Why hadn't they thought of this before?

Because Ron would stand out like a sore thumb. He doesn't know how to act in muggle surroundings.

"I suppose that could work," Harry said, sharing a look with her, "I know somewhere fairly isolated where we could apparate and then walk into the town under the cloak."

"Getting some hairs shouldn't be too hard," Hermione said, shifting some leaves with her boot toe as she plotted. "Then we would have about an hour to get supplies."

"Why haven't we thought of this before?" Harry voiced his question then.

"I have… I just…" Hermione continued to shift the leaves, looking awkward. "Didn't think it worth the risk before now. I have the money I took out from my Building Society account. It's not going to last us forever though."

"Right, how much do you have?"

"Around a thousand."

"A thousand!" Harry burst out. "What do you think we're going to buy? Champagne and caviar?"

Hermione cracked a smile at that. "I just emptied out the whole account and closed it. It's my savings."

"Right, well, just as well as you don't pull out a wad of fifty pound notes…"

"Harry, I do know how to blend in. Being a muggleborn has some benefits." Hermione said, her voice verging on exasperation. He found the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile.

"We should go now. There's no point in waiting around."

Taking the initiative, she stepped up to him and took his arm. He blinked at her boldness and brought the cloak around them. It covered them a lot better than it had done now that there were just the two of them.

His heart gave a pang. The talk had distracted him. The act of doing something productive had soothed the pain. He understood Hermione's eagerness to get going. She too was determined to distract herself from the loss they had sustained. They had to keep going onwards.

So Harry did something he thought he never would have to do. He filled his mind with memories of a particular alleyway that he knew was very deserted and quiet. He had used it many times when hiding from Dudley and his gang when they played Harry Hunting. Holding the location in his mind, Harry twisted on the spot and took Hermione to a spot behind Little Whinging Primary School.

Stumbling out of apparation, the pair emerged in Little Whinging in a dingy dark space, nearly colliding with the bins. They both checked themselves for any missing body parts, but Harry's apparation had been a success. He straightened, checking that they were completely concealed by the Cloak, and hooked his arm through Hermione's arm.

"There's a Tesco about five minutes away. If we walk through the park, we should come across some muggles to use." He kept his voice as quiet as he could while making sure Hermione could hear him. He looked around at their surroundings, his mouth settling into a grim line. He didn't have any fond memories of the place, having to hide behind bins to avoid a beating.

He was determined to leave and walked them out of the alleyway. Hermione kept in step with him. She rummaged in her bag and summoned up the flask of Polyjuice Potion.

They emerged on the street and Harry froze, his memories locking his legs in place. He glanced over to where the entrance of the school was. He could hear the faint sound of playtime, the distant din of lots of children playing, screaming and shouting.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked him.

"Little Whinging," he whispered, "that… is where I went to school." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. He saw Hermione's eyes go wide as she realised that she was seeing part of Harry's secretive childhood. "This way. There's a footpath that goes up to the park."

He led her down the pavement, glad that it was mid-morning and so there weren't many people about. He grimaced as they moved into Magnolia Crescent. During the summer before fifth year, he had spent much of his time roaming up and down those streets, trying to distract himself from the events of the month before. His gaze fell on the corner where he and Dudley had been attacked by dementors.

"This is where those dementors caught up with me and my cousin," Harry said under his breath.

"Right here?" Hermione asked him, startled, "in the middle of a muggle street?"

"Yep. Right in the open. I had to carry him all the way back to Privet Drive… which is back that way," he said, gesturing behind them. "I used to come this way a lot. I guess they thought I would be alone and waited to ambush me. Never did find out how Umbridge planned it."

Hermione's face darkened at the mention of the woman. Her arm shifted in his as they continued down the pavement.

Coming up to the park, they were rewarded with a smattering of people to choose from as their disguises. There was one woman close by, waiting with her dog as he did his business against some shrubs at the edge of the recreation field. Casting a muffliato to disguise the sounds of their approach, they sneakily plucked a hair from the woman's pony tail. They let out breaths of relief when the woman didn't react at all. Carrying on towards the children's play area, they spotted a young father watching his two kids play on the swings, keeping an eye on them. Harry pinched a hair from his head, causing the man to bring a hand up and rub at the spot. They quickly left before he noticed them.

Soon enough, Harry brought them to the car park of the supermarket. They found a concealed spot out of view and prepared the cups of Polyjuice Potion. They dropped the hairs into their doses, watching the sludge-like potion shift and warp. Harry's was a deep vermillion blue whereas Hermione's was bright orange.

"Interesting. I wonder what determines the colour…" Hermione mused aloud. Harry didn't answer, knocking back his potion. He doubled over as the unpleasant sensation of having his body altered took his breath away. Hermione was gasping next to him as she did the same. He turned to watch her change but as he did, his eyesight blurred behind his glasses. He took them off his face, disorientated as his vision turned perfect. Hermione's hair flattened and darkened. Her nose turned sharper, eyes turning so dark, they were almost black. Harry tugged the cloak off them and straightened, checking his clothes. He slyly took out his wand and made some quick adjustments to his jeans which were now too short for him.

He stepped out into the carpark, a little nervous at being in the open, but no one looked back at him or even paid him any attention. Hermione joined him.

"So are we going to do this properly?" Harry asked her, pointing over to where the shopping trolleys were parked up outside the entrance. "Get a trolley and all that."

"A trolley?" She followed his point. "Do you want to get that much?"

"It makes sense to get as much as we can without looking suspicious. Though… we don't have a fridge."

"Hmm… that's a good point. We might have to use some stasis charms to keep things from going off," she said, then grimaced. "Ah… no magic until we can't be seen. We… should also use different names."

"Uh… how about our middle names?" Harry suggested.

"Do you want me to call you 'James'?" Hermione asked him, a little tentatively. He gave a shrug.

"I don't mind. It's my middle name after all."

"Alright then. You… do know my middle name, don't you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course, I do, Jean."

'Jean' and 'James' then strode over to get a trolley. They were met by an immediate obstacle. Harry scowled at the chains locking them together.

"Ah damn, you don't happen to have a pound coin, do you Her- Jean?" He asked, turning, tapping at the lock. Hermione grimaced, understanding the issue at once.

"No… no I don't."

Quickly looking around, Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve and tapped the trolley.

"Alohomora."

The lock popped free and Harry slid the chain out, giving Hermione a sheepish look. She pursed her lips but didn't say anything. So much for 'no magic'.

If someone had told Harry a day ago that he would be shopping in Tesco with Hermione Granger, he would have told them to ease up on the firewhiskey. He had to draw up as much as he could about his muggle life to keep him from standing out. Thankfully, he often had been sent to the shop to pick up groceries for the Dursleys. He would keep back the odd change and save up. Until he was discovered, that was. After that, he had been forced to turn out his pockets when he returned.

"We should have written a list," Hermione hissed at him as they stopped by the potatoes.

"Probably. We'll know for next time," Harry said back.

The ache in Harry's chest was starting to ebb away as he was thoroughly distracted. His thoughts went towards his own culinary skills which he already had suspected were a little more advanced than Hermione's, though he had been clueless with the fish they had caught before. Filleting a fish hadn't really come up in what few lessons he had with Petunia Dursley. She taught him enough so he didn't chop off his own fingers or burn himself too terribly. Plus the Dursleys relied on the microwave just as much as they did on their little manservant.

Wary of how little time they had with the Polyjuice Potion, Harry did the best he could as he picked up items from the shelves. Hermione bobbed her head along to the odd question he asked about her preferences, but they kept the conversation limited to prevent themselves from saying something outlandish while in the presence of so many muggles. Hermione then joined in with one-word questions, raising an eyebrow at him whenever he responded with 'I don't mind'. Apparently, that answer was not good enough. He was expected to make a decision.

When it came to the tills, they both became suddenly very nervous. Harry took over unloading their items, shooting her anxious glances. He hadn't considered this next part.

"Good morning," the lady at the till greeted him warmly, "do you need help with bagging?"

"No, I'm – we're fine thanks," he said, face warming as he went to bag up. He was fumbling with everything, nervous about being caught out. Hermione came to help him.

"That all comes to £65.30," the lady addressed Harry. He froze. He didn't have the money. Hermione gave a gasp and then threw on a nervous laugh.

"Ah yes. I'm paying," she said, reaching in her bag, trying to not be suspicious as she dug into a bag that was a lot larger inside than it looked. Harry wished they had thought ahead and taken the money out before. She handed over the notes, her own face flaming now. Harry put the bags into the trolley, disguising his face.

The lady frowned a little at Harry, but said nothing as she took the money and handed Hermione the receipt.

"Goodbye." Hermione said to the woman, but Harry was already pushing the trolley away, eager to leave.

"What's wrong? Did someone recognise you?" Hermione asked him urgently as he hurried to the exit.

"No… it's just… I realised that this is going to look really bizarre," he said under his breath. "What do muggles normally do with their shopping?"

She stared at him, then her eyes went wide. "Oh no! I didn't think of that! We don't have a car!"

They both looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was strange to hear himself laughing in a voice that wasn't his. He doubled over the handle as the laughter bubbled out of him, making him feel a little delirious.

"Shh… sh… people are looking at us," Hermione gasped out, taking over pushing the trolley. "We're just going to have to… hide with the trolley and hope no one notices us putting all this into my bag."

They were both giggling by the time they reached the concealed corner where they had taken the position. Harry used the invisibility cloak to cover them, but it wasn't perfect. They hurried, breaking one egg in the process, but eventually managed without causing a scene. Harry returned the trolley while Hermione watched on, her face pink with suppressed giggles. When he joined her, he threw the Cloak over them in case they started to transform back.

"We might as well disapparate here," Hermione said. "Shall we?" She offered him out her arm. He took it.

"You're in charge, boss."

With a crack, James and Jean were gone.

There was an unspoken rule. They would not mention The Argument or Ron's name. It weighed thickly around them, the absence. As they moved around each other in the tent, they were almost unconsciously trying to make the space appear more crowded than it was. Any snippets of conversation were inane, just general queries about where to put the box of cereal and which cupboard they would use as the fridge. Harry's sleep deprivation caught up with him and Hermione bullied him into getting some sleep. He valiantly tried to protest, but it wasn't a battle he was going to win, not when he was dead on his feet.

It was soon very cold as the chilly mists rolled in on their location. Hermione had brought them to a spot that she had visited as a child on a school trip, deep in the New Forest. Their numerous charms and protective spells didn't shield them from the unseasonal chill.

Hermione cast her bluebell flames in an effort to keep their living space comfortable.

They had eaten pretty much immediately when they stored away their goods. Harry took her completely by surprise when he got to work, gently guiding her out of the way as he began to cook. She didn't know why it was such a surprise to see that Harry knew how to cook. She knew some basics, but her mum and dad did pretty much all the cooking. When she was older, they expected her to do a little more around the house. Nothing too strenuous or unfair. Mostly just to tidy up after herself and help out when asked.

Watching Harry cooking made her feel suddenly very guilty. She had made assumptions about Harry's past without even meaning to. She thought his upbringing might have been lax (as he wasn't the most obedient and well-behaved student at Hogwarts) but now she realised that it had been incredibly strict. She knew he and his relatives didn't get along. What she had seen of his uncle and aunt showed her that he had every reason to not like them. They were incredibly unpleasant and treated Harry terribly. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that they had imposed unfair chores on him as a child and made him work around the house.

She had then realised how tidy the tent was. Had Harry cleaned up while she had slept?

Soon after Harry made them bacon sandwiches, he had been close to passing out. Hermione forced him into bed. She pointedly kept her back to him when he undressed, peeling off his many layers before he climbed into bed. He mumbled a 'good night' even though it was just past two in the afternoon. Hermione smiled at that.

Harry was snoring softly away in his bunk, rolled up in blankets that Hermione tucked around him once he was asleep. Harry was a restless sleeper, plagued by nightmares that had him tossing and turning. It had alarmed Hermione the first night that they had spent in Grimmauld Place after fleeing the wedding when Harry started to writhe in his sleep. She had been assured that it was normal for Harry, but it was anything but. Had he always suffered such terrible nightmares? They were a lot worse, she noticed, when he wore the horcrux and they had decided that it was cruel for him to wear it when asleep. She currently wore it, an icy weight around her neck that was impossible to ignore.

Now it was close to seven and Harry was still asleep. Rising from her position on her chair, she crept up to the bedroom. Harry was stilled rolled up in blankets. She forced herself to not look at the stripped bunk at the back of the bedroom. Nor the bag that Harry had put onto the bed that had what he had left behind stashed inside. A shaded part of the tent that lurked in the back of both their minds.

She kept her gaze fixed on Harry.

I get it. You choose him.

She let out a pained sigh as the words stabbed into her, vicous. As she did, Harry's snores suddenly stopped. He moved, then violently jerked as he fought to free himself from the blankets. He sat bolt upright suddenly, breathing heavily, his eyes wide as he looked around. His gaze latched onto Hermione at once and he sighed in relief.

"Merlin, Hermione, you didn't have to mummify me with blankets."

His voice was a little high-pitched. He stared at her, then rubbed at his face while his other hand searched for his glasses.

"It's cold. I didn't want you to catch a chill."

"I think the last person who tucked me in like that was Madame Pomfrey and that was to keep me from getting out of bed," he said, giving a wry chuckle, "wh-what's the time and where's…"

He faltered. The brief flicker of humour that had appeared on his face was wiped away as his mind caught up with him. His hand flopped down onto the bed.

"It's nearly quarter past seven," she said quietly, knowing full well what he had been about to ask and why he now suddenly looked devastated. He pulled his arms around himself, closing his eyes, and sighed, nodding.

"Alright… I… should get up before I mess up my sleeping patterns," he said and put on his glasses. "I'm going to have a shower. Do you mind?"

"No… no of course not." She said quickly, retreating the moment Harry pulled the blankets off himself to get up. He was dressed only in a shirt and his boxers.

She studied the kitchen, her stomach giving a rumble as she thought about the food that they had acquired. Now that they had food, she almost didn't know what to do with it after days of foraging in the woods. Harry made an appearance, wearing his towel around his waist while he carried his washbag and some clothes.

"I'll make a start on dinner while you shower if you'd like?" She said as he passed her. He stopped.

"Oh, right. Sure. I'll give you a hand when I'm done."

"It's okay. You made lunch. We should… share out jobs."

"Good plan. How about… I clean up?"

"You cleaned up earlier too." Hermione pointed out. "Don't think I didn't notice." Harry's shoulders dropped at having been caught out.

"I wanted to keep busy," he admitted, "there wasn't much else to do." He rubbed at the back of his head, uncomfortable. "I suppose it's fair to share jobs. Like a modern couple."

His face went completely red as he realised what he said. His mouth fell open and he let out a choking sound. "I meant… because men traditionally don't do the cleaning and… it's a load of rubbish to expect you to have to do it because you're a girl and I don't think that way and this is coming out wrong. I'm going to shut up now."

He fled into the bathroom, leaving Hermione shell-shocked. Had Harry just called them a couple? She blinked several times.

He definitely said that.

I get it. You choose him.

The hate-filled words struck at her again as she stared at the space where Harry had been before fleeing in his embarrassment. Guilt cracked through her like a static charge, making her skin crawl. She pulled herself out of the chair, dragging herself to the kitchen. She could hear the shower running and she turned her head, looking at the bathroom door, thinking back on what Harry had said.

Unsure of what to make, Hermione rummaged through the cupboards, searching for inspiration. She settled on pasta and went to boil some water. Magic made cooking a lot more efficient, especially when she could set the water to boil with the wave of her wand. She still needed the stove to keep it hot, but magic saved a lot of time. While she planned what to have with the pasta, the door to the bathroom open and she wheeled around just in time to see Harry. He halted as she saw him. He gave a sheepish smile and came over, drying his shaggy black hair with his towel as he did. He dropped his washbag on the chair.

"What's on the menu, chef?"

"Pasta and… pasta."

"Sounds delicious. Are you sure I can't-."

"No, and get out. Read a book or something." She pushed him out of the kitchen and he staggered out. She noticed the scent of his shampoo and her face warmed.

While she went back to cooking, she could hear Harry in the living area, moving around. She sighed, shaking her head. She didn't know what he was up to but she left him to it. She used one of the pasta sauces Harry had picked up and mixed it in with the strained pasta. She went to fetch the bowls, freezing for a moment when she pulled out only two. She closed her eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath before letting it out. Her body stiffened with a new emotion in reaction to the absence.

She set the bowls down a little too harshly as she served up the pasta and carried them out. Harry, to her astonishment, was looking over a book, sat in his chair. Not just any book either.

"I do believe that's mine," she said sharply. He lowered 'Tales of Beedle the Bard'. "I don't want you to get pasta on it. It's a first edition."

"I'm not about to use it as a place matt," he said, then straightened when he saw the food. His eyes darted over the bowls, then he got up.

"Where are you going?"

"You didn't bring cutlery, but it's okay. I'll get it."

"Just summon them."

"Using magic for everything is lazy," he retorted as he headed into the kitchen. Hermione set their bowls down on the table, pinching her nose as his interference exasperated her. He was just trying to help, not interfere. He wasn't acting as if she was incapable. He returned, putting her cutlery down at her place.

He settled down in the seat opposite her and she watched him glance at the empty seat next to him. His jaw tensed. He pulled out his wand and filled up his glass with water.

"I thought using magic for everything is lazy," Hermione said at once. His eyes darted up, meeting Hermione's challenging stare. He didn't rise to it, instead, his eyes lit up with the ghost of something that she hadn't seen in a while.

"Touché," he said, then picked up his fork and began to eat.

They didn't speak much as they ate. Conversation didn't feel as natural as it used to be while they were skirting so determinedly around the elephant in the room. Harry, as always, was the first to finish. He always ate fast as if he thought it would be taken away from him. He had been that way since his first year at Hogwarts. He sat quietly, patiently waiting for Hermione to finish. She was done, she took his bowl and fork and, as agreed, went to wash up.

"I think I might have a hot chocolate. Did you want one too?" she called to him over her shoulder. Harry's face lit up.

"Did you just really ask me if I want chocolate? When have I ever turned down chocolate?"

"That's a yes, then?"

"It's an abso-bloody-lultely."

His enthusiasm set her heart jumping as she fixed them their drinks. Harry settled back down on the lounge chairs.

"It's just the instant stuff." Hermione said as she stirred the powder into the mugs of hot water. She finished up in the kitchen, making sure everything was in order, then carried their mugs into the living room. Harry had tucked a blanket around his legs and was leaning forwards, ready to take the mug from her. Her lip curled at how eager he was. He cradled the hot mug in his hands.

Hermione took her position in her chair and copied how Harry was clinging to the warm beverage. Their breath was now visible in the chilly tent. The bluebell flames flickered in the glasses around them, but it was still horribly cold.

"I wish I thought of some marshmallows," Hermione said after a while. She sipped at her drink. Harry gave a grimace. "What?"

He met her look. "I really don't like marshmallows."

Hermione couldn't help it. The laugh coughed out of her, taking her by surprise.

"You don't like marshmallows?" She repeated.

"It's not that I don't like them. I really don't like them. They're… gross," he shuddered, making Hermione laugh again.

"Marshmallows are gross? They're just… sweet."

" Too sweet and the texture… ergh. The way it sticks to your teeth and… and what is with the pink coloured ones? They don't even taste any different!"

"Okay. Next time we go shopping, I'll make sure to steer clear of the marshmallows as you apparently have a vendetta against them," Hermione said, grinning, hiding her face behind her mug.

"I know you're laughing at me," Harry said to her, his own mouth twitching at the humour. "It's like you and mushrooms…"

"Hating mushrooms makes perfect sense," she argued, "they taste bad, go slimy when you cook them, and the colour… who wants to eat something that's grey? "

"They're fine if you have them with garlic."

"Exactly! The only time they are palatable is when you smother the flavour with something else." She pointed out firmly. "Marshmallows on the other hand are perfectly fine on their own and they're amazing when you roast them over a fire."

"Oh great, horrible sickly white goo that's now boiling hot."

Hermione laughed again, unable to stop herself. "I can't believe you hate marshmallows this much."

"Someone has to. They get too much undeserving praise," he said and drank some more of his drink. "And putting them in hot chocolate! What is that all about? The sweet version of crotons in soup?"

"I happen to quite like marshmallows in hot chocolate," Hermione said.

"Well, I like mushrooms, so there," he said, and caught her eye, his mouth shooting up at the corner as he smiled. He gave a laugh then. This time, hearing his own laugh and not that of the man he disguised himself earlier, loosened the bands of grief and shame that were constantly tight around his chest.

They settled into silence, both sinking into their own thoughts as they took comfort from the warm, sweet beverage. The sound of the flickering flames was soothing as the warmth of Hermione's magic kept them as comfortable as it could. After a while, Hermione looked across at Harry, seeing him frowning at the flames, his expression dark and stormy.

"Harry?" Hermione dragged his attention up to her face.

"Hmm?"

"I… I've missed you," she said softly. "I've missed this." She caught the sudden guarded look on Harry's face. His mouth set into a firm line, muscle popping in his jaw as he looked down.

"What do you mean?"

"Just…" she said, giving him a sad smile, "I hope you stay."

Harry looked at her, the blue flames dancing in the reflection of his glasses. He then reached out to her, his hand brushing against hers, fingertips gently running down her skin.

"I'm not leaving you." He said quietly, echoing the words that Hermione told him that morning. "I'm staying by your side because, like you, there is nowhere I'd rather be."

Hermione let out a breath, tears now springing into her eyes, warmth burning now in her chest as if she had cast a bluebell flame within herself. She captured Harry's fingers in her own and held his hand. As her tear curled down her cheek, she thought to herself that she never wanted to let go.

They were a pair now. Stronger together than apart. Two parts becoming one. Like a couple.