A noise stirred Harry from sleep. Vaguely, he knew he ought to go see what it was, but his body ached too badly to move. When did sleep start to hurt so much? Just as he started to drift back off, a hoarse "no" echoed through the halls. He reached for his glasses in a daze. Whoever was shouting in the building this early in the morning was about to have something to shout about, he thought. With his glasses finally in place, the room around him came into focus. The purple walls and bright white duvet startled him. This was certainly not his flat. A terrified shriek he hadn't heard since Malfoy Manor finally slammed him back to reality. A pit formed in his stomach as he recalled the previous day. The duel, the small too cheery home, the late-night terrifying confidential. Hermione.
"Hermione!" he shouted, clawing his way out of the bed, wand readied as he crossed the hall. His horcrux habits were snapping easily back into place. When he tried the door, it was firmly locked with both muggle and magic locks. It took three tries before he finally broke all the various charms. She continued to mutter and thrash as he entered the room. Once he realized there was no physical threat and was relieved that it was a nightmare plaguing her instead of an attack, his wand rolled from his fingers and across the floor. The sheets tangled around her as she fought her own mind. At first, the shake he gave her was gentle but quickly became desperate when she wouldn't wake. He dodged an elbow before restraining her hands and shouting again for her to wake up.
When she ultimately did wake, it wasn't to full awareness. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, staring straight through him. Still in the throes of the nightmare, Hermione bucked and rolled until her knee connected with her attacker's side. The blow caused him to release her hands, giving her full range of motion again. An elbow clipped his eye and caused stars to shoot across his vision. Before he could recover and restrain her again, she planted a foot in his stomach and shoved, throwing him from the bed to the floor and causing him to land awkwardly on his shoulder.
As he struggled to catch his breath, a weight landed on his chest, pinning his arms to the ground. Her face swam in his vision as her hands wrapped around his throat. He clawed desperately at her wrists but it was futile. She clearly held the advantage. She knew what she was doing, taking down an attacker larger than her.
"Hermione!" He wheezed. "It's me, it's Harry. You're safe!" The ceiling faded as he struggled to breathe. Black spots speckled his vision, and a sharp gasp filled the room before sweet oxygen flooded his burning lungs again. After several deep breaths, he pushed himself into a seated position. The room wasn't terribly large, but when he finally spotted Hermione, she was backed into a corner as far from him as she could be. The sight of her, huddled and shaking on the floor, broke his heart.
The cool, solid wall at her back helped ground her to reality and calm her racing heart. Cold, numbing disbelief filled her as she stared at her own hands trying to understand what happened.
"I knew I was dangerous," she whispered, "but I didn't realize I was that dangerous. I never thought I would- that I could-" She swallowed the sentence hard, not able to admit to what she had almost done.
"Hey," he rasped despite his best effort to clear his voice. "You're not dangerous -" He moved to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she pressed herself tighter to the wall away from him.
"Don't!" she shouted in a wild panic. When her eyes met his, there was pleading desperation in them. "Don't come near me. I don't want to hurt you again."
"Hermione, it was an accide-"
"Look at your face!" It was all she could stare at. His sweet, kind face, now marred by her. An angry red spot encircled his right eye, swelling nearly closing it completely. At his throat was the perfect outline of her hands, angry and accusing. The way he cradled his left arm tight against his torso told her she'd probably bruised his shoulder, possibly dislocated it. It made her sick and disgusted with herself.
"There are things I can do, things I have done." Her throat bobbed. "I knew I was capable of hurting people, have hurt people, but I just never imagined I'd hurt you. Merlin, if I'd had a knife." Her hands shook again as she imagined how much worse it could have been for him.
Hermione dropped her head to the wall with a thud. As he searched the words to comfort her, a large blossom of blood stained the creme wall behind her. He noticed then the drops of blood across the carpet around her. Her blood. "You're hurt. Your shoulder-"
"My shoulder?" She scoffed incredulously. "I nearly strangled you and you're worried about my damn shoulder?"
"Hermione, you didn't mean to!" His voice was surprisingly exasperated. As he attempted to move towards her again, she flinched away and tucked herself tighter into the corner. "You were having a nightmare," he tried consolingly.
A humorless laugh came from her, a startling sound to hear. "You're not that thick, Harry. I nearly strangled you. I hurt my best friend, my only friend. I could have killed you."
"I could have stopped you."
"Could you've?" They stared at each other in challenge for a long moment, because honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. She wasn't the same Hermione he had grown up with. The icy look in her normally bright, warm eyes was evidence enough of that.
"I'm a different person now, Harry. You'll have to be more careful around me." And then she slipped into the bathroom, shutting herself in and leaving Harry still sitting on the bedroom floor.
The sound of running water came, and Harry determined he should tend to his own injuries. When he did find a mirror in the hall bath, he couldn't help but wince. The handprints at his throat were already bruising.
"No wonder she had reacted so intensely," he muttered to himself. The bruises would have to heal over the next few hours even with charms, but he at least hid them with a glamour, hoping to alleviate her guilt. The swelling around his eye was a little more work, mostly because he couldn't remember the charm for inflammation and had to run through a few different ones before getting it right. A mild pain relief charm took care of his shoulder and stomach without any other trouble. And like that, he was practically good as new.
In the light of day, the kitchen was glaringly bright. Had they really discussed Dark Marks and torture in this pale yellow room? It was a stark contrast, and Harry had to wonder a bit more at how Hermione had come to occupy such a place. Needing to keep busy, he ransacked the pantry for a can of coffee. He had learned quickly during their years at Hogwarts better than to attempt any actual conversation with her before a morning cup or two. Harry rather liked his limbs attached precisely where they were, particularly his head.
Hermione stared at the blood for a long moment, thankful it was her own and not Harry's. With a sweep of her arm, the blood vanished completely. If only she could cleanse her mind and conscience as easily. If only things could ever be easy on them.
The smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee assaulted her once she stepped into the hall. She had forgotten how much she missed Harry's cooking. It was the one thing he always insisted on during their hunt for the horcruxes. He always made a proper breakfast for them, the only good thing to ever come from growing up in the Dursley house: his skill in the kitchen.
When she breezed into the kitchen, the only evidence of the morning's incident was the way her eyes searched his throat and face for the marks she knew should be there. Harry was determined to sidestep the entire thing, slowly sipping coffee from the yellow mugs he found in the cabinets. She detested those damn mugs, considered banishing all of them when she took up residence. How anyone could stomach drinking something out of a cup that color was beyond her. Instead, she filled a cup that had been drying on a rag by the sink. The mug was simple, white with the crest for Queen Mary University of London. Her parents' alma mater. Where they had met. Her tiny piece of them.
As she filled the mug brimming, Harry stepped behind her and ghosted a finger next to the ragged red mark on her shoulder. The wound had opened back up as he suspected.
"Wish you'd let Mungo's look at that."
She continued making her coffee, concentrating on stirring the sugar in instead of the whisper of his finger against her skin. "It's fine. It'll heal on its own."
"Not if it keeps opening back up. It's gonna scar."
She couldn't contain a chuckle at that. Because scars really should be her greatest concern, shouldn't they? "Yeah, not like I haven't any of those."
His fingers trailed over another larger scar that ran across the top of her other shoulder. There were more, less severe ones he took note of, and more still he was sure he couldn't see.
"How'd you get this one?" he finally asked.
Her brow furrowed as she spun, trying to get a better look. It was a normal enough scar. Linear, fading, likely from a knife. "Not really sure," she finally admitted. "I don't remember that one. If I had to guess, I'd say combat games. Maybe a demonstration."
Harry couldn't help but recoil. How could she just forget where a scar came from, particularly one like that? A scar that calloused indicated a wound that either healed naturally or a cursed blade was involved. He wasn't sure which option was worse. Yet she couldn't recall. Absently stroking the mark, he wondered what other scars she received would make this one so forgettable.
"At least let me reseal it and cast a pain reliever," he offered. "Didn't quite get to that last night."
She sighed, "If you must."
When the pain relief charm hit her, Hermione instantly slumped against the counter bracing herself. The charm took away pains she hadn't even realized were still ailing her. Her jammed wrist and split knuckles. An old knee dislocation. The fracture in her arm. The burn on her leg that still smarted if she turned too fast. The dull headache that had become so normal, she felt lightheaded without it. Harry steadied her waist as she swayed with relief.
"What's wrong? Do you have another injury?" he questioned, turning her toward him trying to examine her. He was sure the laceration had been her only injury from the duel. She leaned heavily against the counter for a moment, relishing the feeling of health she had obviously not realized she was missing.
"I forgot how wonderful magic healing was," she breathed, still a little woozy.
"Forgot?"
Their eyes met for a moment, and she realized what she had revealed. Instead of elaborating, she slipped out of his reach and determinedly didn't answer his question choosing instead to cradle the coffee mug to her chest and drop ungracefully into her chair from the night before. A plate levitated towards her from the stove before settling on the table. She had only intended on the coffee, but when the fragrance of the meal surrounded her, she greedily tucked in. And Harry was happy to have one less thing to fight her on.
The pair lapsed into an unsettling silence. Forks and knives scraped plates, but no other sound filled the kitchen. What was an appropriate breakfast conversation for a situation like this? Separated for five years only to be thrown back together on the run after everything had changed. "How's work?" just didn't seem to cut it. But then Hermione realized that she didn't even know what he did anymore, what he'd been doing the past few years.
"Merlin, I am a horrible friend," she announced, causing Harry to pause with his fork half raised to his mouth. "I never even asked how you've been. What you were doing before I crash-landed into your life again."
"Well, I was doing a bit of Christmas shopping."
Christmas? She had forgotten about Christmas, didn't know what day it even was. Honestly, she probably would have even gotten the month wrong.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," she snorted, giving him a humorless laugh. "Hell of a present I've gotten you, having to go on the run again."
He gripped her hand painfully tight, stopping her before she could continue the tirade. "Don't. I got you back. I can't begin to tell you what that means to me."
She served him a doubtful look, but the conviction in his eyes made her think maybe he was happy to have her there regardless of the situation. Nutter.
"How are you though?" she continued, needing to break the moment. "You mentioned Healer training but you never said what you do now." Subconsciously, her eyes shift to his empty left hand before snapping back up to his face. His gaze was steady on her, something he never would have done five years ago. Harry had never been good with eye contact, but now, even a signature Hermione soul-boring look didn't cause him to flinch. The nervous boy she knew had grown into a confident-looking man. Five years was a long time.
"Honestly, I've been looking for you," he admitted, his gaze piercing through her. She shifted under his scrutiny and broke eye contact, sipping from her coffee. Hiding. "Rounded up a few stray Death Eaters along the way. Give a guest DADA lecture here and there."
The idea of him searching for her still wasn't a topic she was comfortable with, and she chose to focus on something she knew she didn't like. "Rounding up Death Eaters? Is that in an official capacity?"
Hermione spent a good portion of her time in the tent daydreaming about a future; not only hers but Harry's and Ron's. She crafted dreams of returning to Hogwarts to finish their last year carefree and unburdened, thought of going to gain masteries or perhaps immediately start a career at the Ministry. The one thing she had not thought up was Harry continuing to chase down Dark wizards. Hadn't he had enough of that? And now, sitting across from an Auror, even if it was Harry, set her on edge after all the things she had done, all the things she had revealed the night before.
"I work when I want to for the Ministry," he offered conspicuously, which did nothing to settle her anxiety. The eggs she'd eaten turned to stone in her stomach. "I'm starting to like this teaching thing, though."
The nerves ebbed a fraction, hearing that she had been right in her dreams of the future. Teaching had been one of those ideas she considered during those long nights on watch in frozen forests. "Well, well, well, Professor Potter." The title suited him well; she liked it. "Are you going to break the DADA curse?"
Harry barked out a laugh, nearly choking on his toast, but pointing at her with his bacon. "You know, they still can't get a teacher to stay more than a year, so I just might. Part of the reason I guest lecture so much. Dark Lord Vanquisher and Teen Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor five years running helps my popularity with the kids too," he added a little more hotly than intended. The titles were obviously a point of tension for him, but they did answer a question for Hermione. No one had been at home the night before, waiting for him to return.
Closing her eyes, Hermione imagined just what life would be like for Professor Potter. Cozy sweaters to ward off the Scottish chill. Impressive flowing professor's robes sweeping the halls as he greeted students. Sipping his tea in the evenings, grading papers he had promised he would return two days prior. Condoning the next generation of Marauders.
"A nice, quiet life," she muttered into her coffee. "You certainly have done more than enough to deserve it. I think teaching suits you well."
"After this is resolved, I might have to finally accept McGonagall's offer."
Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth as she worried it. After the years of heartache and pain he'd already endured, she couldn't take this from him. She couldn't take this opportunity away even though the thought made her want to vomit.
"Harry, I know I said you couldn't turn back now, but maybe I could just Obliviate myself-"
"Don't. I'm not leaving you and you most certainly aren't erasing yourself from my life. You're too important to me. I could never forget you." He winced slightly, realizing it implied she wasn't important enough for her parents to forget. "I mean… I could never let you make me forget you. You're a part of who I am."
His gaze trapped her where she sat. The deep green of his eyes mesmerized her as she processed the meaning of his words. While running for her life this time, Hermione hadn't allowed herself to think of an after. And now, sitting across from her best friend for the first time in over four years, she felt the overwhelming hopelessness he had felt during the horcrux hunt, why he hadn't thought of an after while chasing Voldemort. The prospect of a future that could be ripped away was a distraction, a hopeless one. The future was a luxury, one she wasn't sure she could afford.
"And the Weasleys?" she asked, clearing her throat. She needed him to stop looking at her the way he was, like he could see into the depths of her soul. Like he knew exactly what was happening in her head. "How are they?"
The rest of the morning was spent in idle chat as Harry caught her up on their friends' lives. The normalcy of it, the sound of his soothing voice, comforted her in a way she hadn't been for years. The room filled with his rich, warm voice as they continued eating a second helping of the eggs and bacon. When the grandfather clock chimed ten, Hermione decided she couldn't keep avoiding the work that was locked away in the study. The pain relief charm had faded, leaving her stiff as she lifted herself from the chair to pour a third cup of coffee.
"I should get to work. Make yourself at home. Surprisingly, the telly service is still connected. Phone and internet are disconnected though if they ever had it."
"Well, what can I do to help? I want to help you."
"Don't worry about it. Just settle in, make yourself at home as much as you can." And before he could stop her, she was around the corner slipping into an office.
