As much as Hermione protested, Harry didn't let her duel at all for almost a week, and when they did their daily exercises, he would constantly keep an eye on her to make sure she didn't try to overexert herself.

"Harry, I'm fine, really. Dittany takes a few days off an injury - you know that," she argued as she rolled her shoulder to prove it during one of their breaks in their morning workout. "See?"

"Then why did Ron have to wait a week to Apparate?"

"He was splinched! I was just-"

"Mauled."

"I wasn't mauled, Harry."

"You didn't see yourself, Hermione." He handed her a bottle of water. "How are your scars?"

"Well, erm, not much better, honestly. I thought they would have faded a little, but… I don't think they are." She rubbed the spot subconsciously over her cardigan. "Honestly, it's just nice to have most of my mobility back. I don't know how much longer I could have stood having to keep it bandaged. And at least I can use it."

"I still don't want you overexerting yourself, okay? And don't say you won't, because I know you will without realizing it." Hermione just huffed and drank her water for a few seconds. "Can we take a break tonight?"

Hermione wanted to argue, as she always did when Harry put off their researching or studying or dueling, but he'd been doing most of the work while Hermione was injured as far as dueling went, so she figured he might need a break as much as she should take one. Even with her arm working again, she was surprised at how quickly she had lost stamina from not using it like she was used to.

"Sure," she caved.

That night, when Hermione came out of the shower, Harry had put a couple of the blankets and pillows on the floor, a jarred flame in the middle, with a couple decks of cards set out. She put her clothes in the bag and sat down cross-legged next to him. "What's all this?"

"Fancy a game of Go Fish?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Go Fish?" she laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah, that's… kind of the only card game I know how to play. Well, that and Solitaire. I'm great at Solitaire," Harry said dismissively as he started dealing the cards.

They played silently for a few rounds while Hermione tried to find the best way to bring up what she wanted to ask. Then, finally, "Do you have any twos? Also… is this really the only two-player game you know?"

"Go fish." Hermione drew. "And yeah, it is. Dudley, er, didn't really do much with me once we started to get older, once he got his own friends and became brainwashed from what my aunt and uncle thought of me."

"But you're blood," Hermione huffed. "It doesn't make sense. Why would they… how could they think that any of this is your fault? Have any fives?"

Harry handed over a couple cards. "Petunia was jealous of Mum, I think. She'd never admit it, but she hated how their parents fawned over Mum once she got her letter and Petunia was kind of pushed to the side. Of course, I don't know how true that is, but I imagine that's how she felt."

"But that doesn't give her any right to take it out on you. It's just disgusting, making you sleep under the stairs for eleven years. Any threes?"

"Go fish. Honestly, my bedroom was the least evil part. The whole withholding food as punishment was a little over the top."

Hermione's cards hit the floor. "They what?! Harry, you're joking."

"I'm not."

"Your parents would be absolutely furious if they knew-"

"Well, they don't, do they?"

Hermione looked down. "I'm sorry, Harry, I just… I'm surprised you're still alive."

"So am I. And in this decent of a mental state, which is saying something, considering."

"Neither of us are in the best place right now, okay? Don't think you're alone."

"It's not the same though, Hermione." Harry put his cards down, too, sighing. "Everyone acts like they know what I've been through, but they don't. You've had a family that loves you your whole life, who makes you think you deserve anything worthwhile. That's why I was so excited to go to Hogwarts. Forget the magic; it gave me a reason to leave. I didn't have friends before you and Ron. I didn't go anywhere. I had so many nightmares the first couple months that I would wake up and none of this would have been real and I'd be in that shitty cupboard still stuck with them. I hated everything about that life, Hermione. I… I dreaded going there every single summer because they treated me like shit no matter how old I was. Even when they gave me a room, I couldn't leave it. And Dumbledore of all people kept sending me back. Why couldn't I just stay with Ron over the summer? Why couldn't I stay with you? Why couldn't I have stayed at Hogwarts? They made exceptions for me for just about everything else - what would the big deal have been?"

Hermione took a deep breath, pulling her knees to her chest, listening.

"Every single person in my family is dead, Hermione. You'll never understand that. Your parents may not know you, but you know they're alive and safe. You know where they are. I have no one. And when Siruis died, Dumbledore kept going on about how he knew how I felt when he didn't. There's no one that knows how I feel right now, and I just have to accept that it's part of my life."

"Harry…"

"And all I get is pity. All I ever get is pity. People feel so fucking sorry for me and none of it's genuine. I know it's not because no one ever does anything about it. You can tell me all you want how terrible of a life I had, but that's all you can do. No one's offering me any kind of solution. 'Sorry your parents are dead.' 'Sorry you live with people who don't give two shits about you.' 'Sorry you knew nothing about your parents.' You told me more about my parents than anyone else, Hermione. 'Sorry we're not going to help you face a murderer as an eleven-year-old. Our vines and keys and chess and potions will be enough to stop the most powerful wizard in the world.'" Harry stood up, his breathing getting more shallow the angrier he got. "'Sorry we can't warn you that you're in danger of a giant snake because we think that all the messages on the wall are fake.' 'Sorry no one knew the truth that your godfather was innocent even though truth serums exist.' 'Sorry we can't find a loophole around you participating in this tournament that might kill you.' 'Sorry you had to see Cedric get murdered in front of you.' 'Sorry no one believes your story.' 'Sorry no one can tell you what's going on in your head.' 'Sorry you had to risk your life for a fake locket and watch a professor that's hated you for six years kill the only person who's made you feel like you're worth anything.' 'Sorry that no one has any answers or clues on what fucking horcruxes are!'" Harry kicked the leg of the bunk bed so hard he was sure he probably broke a toe, but he didn't care. He didn't care about the pillow he flung across the tent, nor anything it hit.

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she listened, as she took it all in, the truth about his feelings he'd been keeping from her. This was how he felt when he was alone, when no one was watching. This is what he'd been holding in for the past however many years he realized that he wasn't being treated the same way.

"You don't deserve any of this, Harry," she whispered.

"The world's got a funny way of showing it."

Hermione swallowed. He felt like he deserved everything he'd gotten. That somewhere, he'd done something he needed to be punished for. Like it was his fault for just being born. If he hadn't, none of this would have happened. Which meant he definitely thought he didn't deserve her. Or love, at all, probably. That thought was what broke the dam for Hermione's tears as they streamed down her cheek. She wanted to tell him she did love him. That she loved him so much and she needed him nearly as much as she needed air. That without him, she wouldn't have even survived the troll attack. And that maybe, deep down, she felt like she was still trying to pay him back for that by doing so much to help him.

But right now, he looked broken, exhausted, hopeless. And she knew she probably did, too. This hunt wasn't easy; their lives hadn't been easy the past few years, but she also felt incredibly honored that she was getting to see this. He'd chosen to trust her with his raw emotions, his anger, the risk that all of this would scare her away. But she wasn't scared at all.

"You have every right to feel that way, Harry," she continued. "You absolutely have every right." Harry looked over at her like he'd never heard those words before in his life, and he flopped down onto the bed, his shoulders dropping as his chest heaved with shallow breaths.

"But?" He looked at her expectantly.

"But nothing. You're allowed to be angry. Nothing in your life has been fair and there's going to come a time when you get sick of it."

"And what happens then?"

"I can't answer that for you, Harry." She stood slowly and sat down next to him on the bed, sliding her fingers through his and squeezing his hand. He, in return, leaned his head on her shoulder, burying his face into her neck. She almost expected him to cry, but he didn't. He eventually hugged her back, his hands sliding up the back of her shirt on their own accord, which made her gasp a little. But he didn't take it any further, and when the warmth of his hands made her shiver, he held her closer, just enjoying the skin contact until his breathing slowed and he started pressing slow kisses to her neck and jaw. She let out a shuddering breath, swallowing hard. "Harry…"

He pulled away, but she then realized that wasn't what she wanted. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not trying anything else, I just…"

"It's okay. I… I like it."

"You do?" Harry looked into her eyes, then down to her lips, his eyes fluttering closed as she reached up to play with the hair on the back of his head. It would be so much softer with some proper conditioner, but then again, so would hers.

"Mmhmm. A-A lot." This close, his eyes were stunning. Her entire body was thrumming with want, both physical and emotional. And when he finally kissed her lips, an involuntary whine left her throat and she pulled away, a blush covering her cheeks. "Sorry." She still hadn't gotten used to the fact that Harry had been pulling all kinds of noises from her she hadn't even known she was capable of making, much less him hearing. But he just smiled, shook his head, and pulled her in for another.

The nights started getting longer after that, when their after dinner cuddling turned into talking, and it didn't take very long for Hermione to realize she probably now knew things about Harry that no one knew besides him.

While they were building a house out of cards, he told her when he was little, he wanted to be a police officer when he grew up so that he could arrest the Dursleys for being mean to him.

As she was brushing her teeth, he told her that he used to lay outside the front window in the flower bed on hot summer days and listen to the news while enjoying the sun.

He always tried to climb onto the roof from the fence in the back. He'd appeared on the roof at school once while running from Dudley, and he always wanted to do it at home, but never could make it.

He stole books from the school library one time, a couple years before he started at Hogwarts, and reckoned they were probably still in his cupboard, under the pillow.

The cake she'd made him for his fourteenth birthday was the best one out of all of them.

He'd trained Hedwig to poop on Uncle Vernon's car every time she was let out.

He hated the smell of grapefruit.

He really did like Crookshanks.

He never learned how to ride a bike.

He used to write stories about being a superhero.

He'd been impressed with her from the first spell he ever saw her do.

He almost didn't forgive Ron in fourth year, even after he apologized.

He stole Dudley's toys when he was home alone and Dudley never even noticed.

He almost threw up before the Sorting Ceremony because of all the candy he ate on the train.

The first time he remembered thinking about kissing her was when she came down the stairs at the Yule Ball. (She blushed at that one.)

He loved her laugh.

He'd spent most of the summer before sixth year riding around on trains to take his mind off of things.

He thought her Patronus was adorable.

Everyone always thought his favorite color was red, but it was actually green.

His favorite holiday was Christmas.

He'd always wanted to travel to France.

He liked tall buildings.

Wolves were his favorite animal. "Normal ones," he clarified. "Not werewolves."

And Hermione began to catch herself easily falling asleep with her head on his chest to just the sound of his voice as he talked, never realizing how comforting it was. Nor how she could quickly get used to him wrapping her curls around his fingers or stroking her hair gently while she drifted off.

"Are you ever going to get tired of me telling you things about myself?" he asked about a week later as his fingers ghosted over her shoulder.

"Probably not," Hermione admitted. "I like your voice."

"You're the first person who's told me that, you know."

"Well, I'd hope so. I think I'm the only one who's gotten to listen to it this much." She wrapped her arm tighter around his stomach and tangled their legs together. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

"Do I have a choice? I'm kind of trapped."

"Do you want me to let you go?"

"No."

"It's just a log, Hermione. It's already dead." Harry was frustrated after this had been going on for half an hour one morning. She'd start, then change her mind, refusing to point her wand at it. "If you don't want to do it-"

"I do!"

"Then do it! You're not going to have this much time to contemplate when your life's at stake!"

"Well, I'm sorry Dark magic comes so easily to you, Harry!"

Harry huffed trying not to get offended at the (alarmingly, now that she mentioned it) true statement, crossing his arms over his chest. "What about without your wand, then? Just the spell."

Her wand fell into the snow and she sighed. "Sectumsempra."

"There. Not so hard, was it?"

"No. I've said it before."

"Look, you're not going to feel anything when you cast it. You'll be fine. I'm wearing the locket, remember?"

He could have sworn he heard her muttering something under her breath about how he wasn't the best example of not being affected by spells like that, but he brushed it off. He didn't understand her reservation - it was just a spell. It was just a log.

"And I know I'm the one that said I wanted to learn it, so don't even try to throw that one at me, either." She picked her wand back up, wiped the snow off it, and shakily pointed it at the log. "Can't we just practice the other ones?"

"You know those, Hermione. Are you nervous because you don't know what it does? Do you want me to do it first?"

Hermione took a moment to contemplate. "Sure."

Harry took Hermione's place in front of the log without a second thought. "Sectumsempra!" A loud crack tore through the trees as the log fell into what seemed to be hundreds of pieces, as if a razor had torn through every inch. Hermione jumped back a little, her eyes wide as she backed away. Her brain couldn't help but conjure up the image of a person being shredded like that, falling to the ground, bleeding out in front of her, and Harry being the one to cause that, to kill someone.

He already killed a werewolf. And no matter how much she told herself it wasn't a person, it was. She thought of Lupin in the forest four years ago, when Harry had shielded her with his own body against a werewolf rather than fight. He'd rather die than kill. Now, he'd rather kill than die, and for some reason, the fact that that was their reality now hit her like a brick wall. She fell to her knees, the cold seeping through her jeans quickly and making her shiver.

"Hermione?" Harry quickly rushed to her, but she held her hand out to stop him. She didn't need comfort; she needed to feel this, to process. Harry had been through so much more than she had, so it made sense for him to have hardened to this already, but the contrast of him telling her his favorite color the other day with him dishing out spells that could easily kill someone made her stomach roll with nausea. This was her friend. This was someone she loved. And maybe she'd gotten so caught up in their talks, in the domestic bliss of the night, in his arms, that she forgot she could lose him.

He'd killed for her.

She could do it for him. To protect him. To protect herself from the pain of losing him. She pushed herself up from the ground, taking a deep breath, and drying her wand on her jacket. It's just a log. It's just a log.

Making sure Harry was clear out of the way, she looked at the nearest tree: it was small, nothing that would hurt them if it toppled, but its innocence almost made her feel even worse. This tree hadn't even had a life yet and she was about to take it? Then she realized how ridiculous she sounded, feeling sorry for a tree. If she got this spell out of the way for the first time, maybe it would get easier.

"Sectumsempra!" The tiny tree split into about ten pieces and fell to the ground. Hermione bit her lip, trying not to cry. She didn't know why this was so hard for her; it was just a spell. It wasn't like she was hurting anyone. She wasn't even hurting the tree. But she didn't feel any different. She didn't feel heavy or hurt or angry, like she thought she might. Instead, she focused on trying to think of ways the spell could be useful. Maybe for firewood or chopping vegetables.

"I'm proud of you, Hermione."

That didn't make her feel any better. She just turned to Harry and buried her face in his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Harry didn't respond, only rubbing her back comfortingly. "I don't want you to be proud of me."

"I know. I don't either. But I'm proud of you for facing a fear, not necessarily what you did, okay?"

"It just feels so wrong."

"I didn't even know what it did when I used it on Malfoy," he admitted. "I… I don't think I could have ever forgiven myself if Snape hadn't come in to save him. So I just want you to know that it's not a spell I'd use lightly, okay?"

She sniffed, pulling away from him. "I know it's not. But it's still scary. I don't like it when you scare me."

"What about when I'm angry?" he asked as she rested her head on his chest again to listen to his heartbeat. That always calmed her down. And she could feel it as if it was pulsing through her body, too.

"That doesn't scare me, Harry. It's when I see you do things that no seventeen-year-old should know how to do. You say you have a connection to You Know Who, and when… when you use spells like that, I can't help but-"

"See him in me," Harry finished. Hermione's silence was answer enough. "Yeah. That scares me, too."

Hermione took the locket a lot after that, and Harry knew it was because she was worried the more Harry wore it, the easier it would be for him to give into his connection. He hadn't had any more visions in a while, and when he slept next to Hermione, his dreams were at least decent, if not good, or great when they got very inappropriate and he had to put some distance between them.

But Hermione was getting better at accepting the fact that they should at least know how to use Dark magic, even if they didn't use it in practice. At least, that's what she was telling herself. They practiced those spells alone, Hermione because she was self conscious and Harry because he didn't want her to have to watch. He even managed to practice the Imperius Curse on a couple birds and rabbits when he got the chance, though he wouldn't dare tell Hermione.

They didn't talk about it, either. Hermione had begun making more potions, re-reading her books for the hundredth time just to pass the hours they weren't dueling. The boredom was settling back in, and they felt like they were going a little stir crazy with no new books, no new games, and Hermione still not being allowed to do a lot of physical activity at Harry's insistence. They'd built a card house as tall as the tent only to knock it down.

Even the locations were starting to look the same, and Harry wasn't certain that Hermione hadn't taken them back to some of their previous campsites, ones they hadn't been to in a while. They were out of hot chocolate, having forgotten to replicate one of the packets before they used it. And the weather was keeping them in the tent most of the day and night. And, though Harry tried to argue otherwise, they could only do so much snogging. The potions Hermione wanted to make were done and stored neatly in her bag. They were stuck until their trip to Godric's Hollow in about a week, if everything went according to plan.

"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked over dinner.

"A little. Not about danger, necessarily, just… how it's going to feel. Being there. It's stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid, Harry. Your life changed in that house. Of course you're going to be a little emotional about it even if you don't remember."

"I suppose." He pushed the food around on his plate a little. "What if I'm not?"

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If… if I'm not sad. If I go there and see everything and I don't care. What does that make me?"

Hermione looked at her plate. Harry had been talking a lot like this lately, as if his connection with Voldemort, and her bringing it up, caused him to shut the world off. And she knew he could tell she'd noticed, just in conversations like this, when the cold and the loneliness was starting to get to them and that feeling of worthlessness came back after weeks of no progress. It was like they needed big events to survive, to remember that life was going on, that people were dying while they were trying to help, that the days went on while they made no progress.

The adrenaline was gone, washed away with the blood on the snow, the broken logs, the fallen trees. And while the quiet nights were nice, the constant snowfall created a world outside the tent devoid of much noise at all. They'd gotten tired of the songs on the radio and hadn't listened to it in a while - Harry preferred to check the map for everyone at Hogwarts, and once a week, Arthur would send them the same message: safe.

"You're not going to feel nothing, Harry."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you love your parents even if you don't remember them."

Harry pushed his plate away. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it does." Hermione fully turned to face him. "You've been telling me the whole time that love is what's going to win this, right? How can you think that your love for your parents doesn't count?"

"You can't love someone you've never met, Hermione. Or don't remember."

"What about your Patronus memory? That's not even a real memory - you said it yourself. If a fake memory can create a Patronus, Harry, it can create love. Emotions. And what are you on about not feeling anything? You've been feeling a lot, expressing a lot."

"All I've been expressing is anger and frustration."

"And what's taking their place?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," Hermione repeated.

"That's right. I'm not happier, if that's what you're asking. It's like he's trying to weaken me. Or strengthen me… I don't know. I just don't get it. I don't know why I'm like this, Hermione. It's like the longer we're alone, the more…"

"The more what?"

"I should be happy, Hermione. I've got you, we're dueling and practicing and getting better. I'm getting to do things with you that every bloke my age would give an arm for, but I'm not happy."

"And you think I am?" Harry's head fell into his hands on the table. "Do you know what I'd love more than anything to be doing right now? Sitting in the library with you doing Divination homework and kissing you when you need a break. Or… walking through Hogsmeade, holding your hand. Drinking butterbeer, watching you play Quidditch and wearing your name on my chest." Harry almost smiled at that. "Yes, I'm happy that I have this with you, and I'd take it over not having anything, but… this is not what I want our relationship to be, Harry. Not at all."

"I want all of those things too, Hermione."

"We're all we've got right now. You're the only positive I can hold onto. Please don't take that from me."

He couldn't do anything except pull her onto his lap, and her face went into the crook of his neck, where things were safe and familiar. "No matter how I feel about myself, Hermione, that will never change the way I feel about you."