Before joining Hermione to scrutinise the double bed that took up most of the room, Harry looked around the space. The curtains weren't drawn, making him feel a little exposed, and there was a vase with fresh flowers on the small table beside the bed. It was odd considering the general air of abandonment that the rest of the house had. It was as if Bathilda was hopeful that she would have guests. Unlike every other room they had seen, there were none of Bathilda's stacks of books. In fact, the bookcase across the room was completely empty.

There was a single armoire, large and austere in appearance, matching the carved headboard of the bed. He drew up to Hermione's side then, pushing a hand down on the bed to test its sturdiness. It would certainly be more comfortable than the camp beds they had been using while on the run. He glanced across at Hermione, seeing her flushed cheeks, then drew out his wand, lighting the candles around the room.

"She… must have assumed that we're… um…together," Harry said as he returned to her side, rubbing the back of his neck.

He checked the blankets, not too fussed at the faint smell of mildew that was coming off them. They had been camping for days. Damp was a common smell for them. He suspected that they didn't smell any better. He glanced over at her.

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"No, Harry, don't be ridiculous," Hermione said at once. "We can share the bed. We've been practically in each others' pockets for the last few days."

She put her handbag on the bed, looking over at him. He was watching her, hovering, his fingers tracing over the quilted top blanket. Opening the bag, she reached for their rucksacks where they kept their essentials so they were within easy reach. She put hers on the bed, then pulled out Harry's, putting it on the bed beside hers. Her eyes flicked up, giving him a look that almost dared him to question it. Harry sighed and grabbed his bag.

As he opened it and went to find his washbag, he stopped and looked up at the bed. His face warmed as he realised that they wouldn't just be sharing the bed but the blankets as well. He glanced across at Hermione, a little puzzled as to why she wasn't more concerned by sharing such close quarters with him. As pulled out one of the shirts he used as pyjamas, he froze as he realised… maybe Hermione wasn't bothered because she wanted to share the bed with him.

The thought triggered a chain reaction of feelings through him. He glanced over at her, his heart starting to race. She raised her head, meeting his gaze. There was a glitter in her eyes that made his heart quicken.

"Do… do you mind if I use the bathroom first?" She asked. Harry mutely shook his head and she went off with her washbag. He watched her leave, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was feeling.

He walked over to the window. It looked out onto the darkened back garden that he suspected was just as overgrown as the front. He closed the curtains, wondering about the runes that Bathilda had activated. He had to trust that the historian knew what she was doing. Wryly, he thought that they were likely more trustworthy as she had cast them when she had been younger and a bit more with it. That being said, she had been a lot more lucid than he expected. Off her rocker, certainly, but he had a feeling that she had been barmy before she started to go a little senile.

His heart warmed as he thought of the old woman. Her kindness and tenderness touched him deeply. While they might not have learned anything about the Sword, he had at least found another connection in the world where he felt so desperately alone. Things did not feel as desolate as they had done, not now they had found an ally who could help them puzzle out the riddles that they had been left with.

He moved back to his bag and rummaged inside, taking out his own washbag. He thought back on the look Hermione had given him. What had she been thinking about to make her look at him like that?

He froze. Could it be? Did Hermione think of him in that way? Was that why she wanted to share the bed with him?

"Oh bloody hell," Harry muttered to himself, quickly checking his nether regions for a traitorous bulge. His heart rate kicked up a notch to a violent gallop as he realised that he was about to share a bed with a girl. Not just any girl, but Hermione…

She was the one person in the world who he trusted to see him at his most vulnerable. There could have been no one else that he would have been comfortable with seeing him as he was earlier, crying his heart out when he allowed himself to grieve. No one. Not Ginny, nor Ron. Only Hermione could have held him like that with no judgment or awkwardness.

Had their relationship always been so close? Did Ron have a reason to be jealous of them? Harry turned around and sat down on the end of the bed, his eyes darting around as he thought rapidly. He could hear the words that Ron spat at Hermione, replaying in his mind.

"I get it. You choose him."

Harry's guilt had torn him apart at the thought that he had come between his best friends and forced Hermione to make a choice between them. He had felt as if he had destroyed their chance of happiness and he blamed himself for Hermione's heartbreak. But now, as he thought over how they had been together since Ron had left, they had never been closer. Any bickering was in jest and Harry worked hard on not losing his temper with her as she didn't deserve it. In return, Hermione was determined that they work more as a team in tandem with each other. He thought that she needed the contact to help heal her heartbreak, needed his comfort to recover, but maybe it had been something else. Maybe there was something more between them. Something much deeper than friendship.

The door clicked open and Hermione crept through, spotting Harry perched on the bed, holding his shirt still. Harry looked up at her, heart pounding in his chest.

"Well, the toilet works," Hermione told him, "but be careful with the tap. It has a mind of its own."

Harry numbly got to his feet and grabbed his washbag before his thoughts ended up leaving him with a very visible sign of what he was thinking about. He somehow expected that Hermione would notice if he had an erection. Moving past Hermione, eager to not look at her and give away his feelings, he headed out into the dark hallway. He squinted as he made his way to the bathroom.

He closed the door and locked it, breathing heavily. He took his glasses off and set them down on the sink. Tentatively, he turned on the tap, about to wash his face, until he saw the bandage on his hand. He frowned at it, taking out his wand.

"Evanesco."

He winced as the wound was exposed to the air. He ran it under the water, cleaned it, then went to wash his face. He cleaned away the remains of his tears. He dried his face and looked up into the mirror, a little shocked by his appearance. His eyes were still red-rimmed and his eyelids were a little puffy from where he had been crying. The cold water soothed the swelling a little, but it was obvious that he had been grieving.

His eyes were drawn to the hair that was growing around his mouth and his chin. He frowned and took out the razor from his washbag that the Delacours had given him for his birthday. He went to shave, but then stopped. He ran a finger over the stubble. He looked different, older.

He put the razor back in the bag and went to brush his teeth instead. He performed a few cleaning charms. They were no replacement for a proper shower, but he didn't want to smell dreadful when sharing a bed with someone. When he went to use the toilet, he looked down, seeing that he was partially hard. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"This has gotten complicated fast," he said to himself. He used the toilet and washed his hands afterwards, nearly covering himself in water as the tap suddenly gushed out a violent jet of water. He saw what Hermione had meant about the tap having a mind of its own.

He carried his toiletries back with him to the bedroom, cautiously opening the door. Hermione was standing at the bed, now already dressed in her pyjamas, holding a small bottle that he recognised. Dittany. Her eyes went at once to his uncovered hand.

"Let me see it," she ordered at once. Harry came over to her, putting his washbag down, before presenting his injured hand. She took his hand in hers. She drew out the dropper and carefully added the dittany to his self-inflicted wound.

"I hope you thought it through before you bound yourself to a blood feud," Hermione said as she sealed the cut. Harry winced as it hissed and steamed. "It's a binding magical contract. You have to follow it through at the cost of your own life." She drew away once the wound was healed. Harry looked at it. It had left a thin, dark pink line down his hand. A permanent mark.

"I know," he assured her, "and I did." Hermione regarded him, sighing out her nose. She walked over to the bedside table, taking her wand. She conjured up a cup and filled it with water.

She pulled back the blankets, casting a few charms to freshen them up. Harry eyed her as she moved to get under the covers, bringing a book with her as she sat up against the pillows. Harry awkwardly carried his bag over to his side of the bed, his heart racing. He was stalling. He hadn't thought to undress while Hermione was using the bathroom and now he had to undress with her present. He could leave and undress, but then he'd hurt Hermione's feelings for not thinking that he didn't trust her.

And why was he so shy? Hermione had seen him without his shirt on before. She had even seen him in just his pants before. It wasn't that he was necessarily prudish. Having shared a living space with four other boys for years, he had to lose his shyness quickly or otherwise be picked on.

Hermione opened her book. Harry eyed the cover. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. He gave a soft laugh, catching Hermione's attention. She looked over at him questioningly.

"A bit of light reading before bed then?" He remarked, nodding at the book. He saw her smile and felt a surge of warmth. Why did it feel so good to make Hermione smile and laugh?

"I need to do something to distract me from how I'm currently a guest in the home of the most famous historian in wizarding Britain," she said casually. "And in a bed that likely hasn't been slept in for decades."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, about that, how is it?" He asked her. She shrugged.

"It's better than the camp beds."

"That's a relief then." He turned, swallowing, and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Hermione as he went to undress. He pulled off his shoes and socks, removed his mokeskin pouch, placing it on the bedside table with his wand, then tugged off all his jumpers. He was oblivious to Hermione's sly glances. He pulled his shirt off, leaning over to grab his other shirt and pulled it on. It was one of the more threadbare cast-offs that he inherited from Dudley and was still baggy. He stood up and pulled off his jeans, stripping down to his boxers. He hadn't the foresight of packing bottoms. They were stowed in the tent that was packed up and shrunken down in Hermione's bag. Face aflame, he pulled the covers back on his side.

He rolled over, back to Hermione, as he removed his glasses and took up his wand, copying Hermione by conjuring a cup and filling it with water using an aguamenti charm. He had a drink, very conscious of the sound of Hermione turning the pages of her book. He refilled his cup and rolled back. He then grew aware of the warmth he could feel coming from Hermione. He looked down at their legs, seeing how close the mounds of their bodies were to each other.

He edged downwards so his head was on the pillow and inhaled the scent of the old bed linen. He was glad Hermione had freshened them up. He was far from fussy, having lived much of his life inside a cupboard with ratty blankets and a threadbare mattress, but it was a relief to not be sleeping in mould and dust.

Hermione was a little blurry in his vision, but he could make out her eyes moving swiftly as she read. She chewed on her lip a little, which caught his attention. The way she was popping her bottom lip out, making it plump. He looked at the strand of hair that had fallen over her face, the dark beauty mark on the right side of her jaw. He never really noticed how delicate her features were, how perfect her nose was and how the way her jaw curved up to her ear in a flawless line. Her skin looked so smooth and soft, her cheeks pink.

She then noticed him staring and looked over at him.

"I know we've learnt a lot tonight, but we still have no means of destroying the horcrux."

Mentioning the locket, Hermione reached for the golden pendant that she wore still. She removed it, placing it on the bedside table. Harry gave a sigh.

"Maybe we can ask Bathilda about it tomorrow," he said, "she appears to know a lot about… well… everything."

"That… isn't a bad idea, but are you willing to share the knowledge of the horcruxes with her?"

Harry lay on his back, sighing, putting his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but if tonight's told us anything, it's that there is a lot that we don't know. The Deathly Hallows… I've had one in my bloody family for a thousand years and had no clue! Why wouldn't Dumbledore tell me something like that?"

"It is very strange," Hermione said, making him look over at her, "I can't think why he would only set you on the path to find out about them after his death. It's almost as if…"

"He was hiding something," Harry answered for her. She bit her lip again and nodded.

"I think it might have to do about Grindelwald. It's far too much of a coincidence that he used the symbol of the Deathly Hallows as his sign. And you heard what Bathilda said… she said that the Deathly Hallows have lead many wizards astray. Maybe… that's what happened to Grindelwald."

Harry stared up at the ceiling, thinking. He didn't know much about Gellert Grindelwald. His atrocities mostly impacted Europe during the 30s. Britain hadn't had much involvement with his war, not as far as he knew. Voldemort's campaign had eclipsed Grindelwald's by the time he was at large, his Death Eaters terrorising the country from the shadows. All he really knew was that Grindelwald slaughtered muggles and that it had been Dumbledore himself who defeated him.

"Maybe, but Mr Lovegood doesn't exactly strike me as a murderous fanatic."

"No," Hermione agreed, then she sighed. "I don't like it, but I think we're going to have to look into Grindelwald. He's connected to this. If we have a chance of working out why Dumbledore wanted you to know about the Hallows, now of all times, we need to know what he was hiding."

Harry nodded, agreeing. "Okay so tomorrow, we talk to Bathilda about how to destroy a horcrux and ask her about Grindelwald."

"No… we can't ask her about that," Hermione said, shaking her head, "Harry, we could really distress her if we tamper with her blocked memories. We have the book. I can… just read it. I'm certain that whatever secret Dumbledore was hiding, Rita managed to find it."

Harry's face twisted at the thought of reading what Rita had written. Hermione caught his look.

"I know it's less than ideal. I'll make a start on it tomorrow when we leave. Fingers crossed that we pick up something useful about the horcruxes," she said, then she gasped, "oh and we need to ask about the Founders' relics. Bathilda said that she was a Ravenclaw. I wonder if she knows about a relic associated with Rowena Ravenclaw." Harry smiled, remembering that it had been his idea in the first place to ask Bathilda about it.

"Good plan," he said.

"Hmm," Hermione smiled, then she closed her book. "Maybe… we should get some sleep? I bet you're tired after… declaring a blood feud." She shook her head at him. "I should be mad at you for doing something so brazen, but I can't fault the ingenuity." Harry flashed her a crooked grin.

"Guess where I read about them first."

Hermione looked across at him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. Then she laughed. Harry was caught off guard by it. It was a wonderful sound.

"Hogwarts: A History?" She asked him, deeply amused. Harry grinned.

"Bingo."

"Then I definitely shouldn't be mad at you seeing that it was my idea to make you read that book. I take it that it was the blood feuds between the goblins and the wizards that caught your attention."

"Hmmhm," Harry said, smiling at how well she knew her favourite book. "I had to research a bit more on the wording, but I thought it was pretty close to home. The fight to the death… that sort of thing." He waved a hand as if it was nothing that he had a mortal foe.

"No one is going to exactly blame you for seeking justice for crimes done against you and your family. Your cause fits the bill. Blood for blood."

"Well… we are on a quest to kill my mortal foe already. I just… made it official."

"No, you made it public," Hermione corrected, turning to look at him sharply. "There will be a record of the feud in the Ministry."

"I'm aware," Harry said, shooting her a wry smile, "Imagine the look on the face of the poor sod who finds it."

Hermione couldn't help but smile at that. Harry studied her face for a while and let out a breath. The events of the night were catching up with him. He was feeling increasingly more and more tired. It didn't help that it was actually very comfortable in the old bed with Hermione's warmth so close to him.

"I think I'm going to get some sleep," he told her, reaching for his wand. He extinguished most of the candles around the room save for the ones on their bedside tables. He returned his wand and went to lie on his side. He often slept on his right side, which had him facing Hermione. He found her laying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. He let out a breath as he looked at her and smiled, his heart giving a lurch at how close they were to each other.

She looked over to him, her lip worrying between her teeth and she rolled onto her side, facing him. Her eyes were wide as her gaze scanned his face. Then she edged closer. He could see how nervous she was, how scared too. Her nostrils were flaring a little where she was breathing heavily. He extracted a hand from the covers, the same hand that was marked by his blood oath. His attention fell on the strand of hair that he noticed earlier that was still trailing over her face. He caught the strand with his fingers and tucked it behind her ear. His gaze ran down the line of her jaw and then he felt it. The longing to touch her.

He ran his fingers down the contour of her jaw, her skin so very soft. Hermione drew in a sharp breath and his eyes met hers. His fingers ran downwards, following the nape of her neck. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, the fluttering that matched the erratic tattoo of his own heart.

He kept his hand on her neck, his fingers tangling in her curls. He moved closer to her.

"I can't… thank you enough, Hermione," he whispered to her. As he softly savoured her name, he saw her gaze intensify as she stared into his eyes. "I know it's selfish of me to want to stay here…"

"I want to stay too." Her voice was equally as hushed and soft. Her hand came out of the old quilted covers. Her fingers ran down the side of his face and goosebumps erupted all over him at the tenderness of her touch. "Have you seen how many books there are here?"

Harry breathed out a laugh. The strength of his affection towards Hermione grew and grew, turning into something that he had denied himself from feeling.

He didn't want to hold back. His reasons for denying his attraction towards Hermione no longer applied. Why should he care about Ron's feelings when he abandoned them? And Ginny? She wasn't with him on a perilous mission, in just as much mortal danger as he was. And truth be told, the closeness he felt towards Hermione, the camaraderie, the mutual respect… he never felt that with her. Ginny was funny, very pretty, brave, and a fire-cracker. But she wasn't Hermione. No one was like Hermione.

And she chose me.

"I'm with you… every step of the way." Her breath was warm on his face, scented with her toothpaste. His eyes were on her lips. His hand curled around her neck and he moved himself even closer so his head was on the very edge of his pillow. They were nose-to-nose. Her hand then moved from his face, her fingers now running through his hair. His toes curled at the touch and he softly moaned. He wasn't used to intimate contact and his body responded more because of it. He could feel his member now pressing against his boxers as he was now fully aroused.

Hermione huffed out a breath. He moved his right arm, his hand eager to capture her, to hold her, to be together. He brought his hand up to cup her face. Hermione's eyes took on misty, lusty look that sent his senses ablaze.

It was her initiative: her hand that pushed Harry's head towards her, her lips that claimed his. They held their breaths as they kissed for the first time, bodies uncoiling as they moved to come together. Harry's leg hooked around hers as his hands dived into her soft, wild curls. All thoughts were stilled as Hermione's lips captured his. The combination of the touch of her soft lips moving against his and the way her fingers were running across his scalp made him moan in his throat.

He parted his lips and hers meshed with his, pulling back only so they could breathe and then kiss again. He ran his hand around her face, filling as many senses as he could with the feel of her. He was now rock hard and high on desire. Never had he felt so alive.

Hermione drew away first. Harry saw the tears in her eyes and she held his face in her hands.

"This changes things a bit," she said, a little breathless. Harry gave an airy chuckle and then it really hit him. They had kissed. He had kissed Hermione and they were both acting like… it was nothing. They were laughing about it. There was no guilt or shame just… happiness. They made each other happy.

Harry reached for her and kissed her again. She responded in kind, letting out a sigh into his mouth that nearly made him lose his mind. This time, her tongue flickered into his mouth, making him excited that she knew was she was doing. He did the same, tasting her properly, crossing that line that took him from friend to someone else, someone more.

When Hermione sucked on his lip, he had to grip the bed covers as he nearly came there and then. He deepened the kiss, his hands now running down her back, feeling the cotton of her pyjama blouse and the heat of her skin. He kept his touches respectful, despite the throbbing in his balls. Then when Hermione's hands ran over his shoulders and down his back, he shuddered and sighed at how incredible it felt to have her touch him.

Their lips parted and they both rested their faces on their pillows, staring across at each other while still intertwined.

"This… just proves how brilliant Bathilda is," Harry said quietly. Hermione gave him a puzzled smile. "She knew that we were together before even we did."


AN: I know, I know... no sex. Just making out in an old decrepit bed.

Sorry for the shorter chapter. It made sense to cut it here and continue with the morning after next chapter.

Thanks for the follows, favourites and reviews!