While it only lasted two seconds, if that, the apparation had been too much for Harry. As they stumbled out of the suffocation, liberated, Harry's eyes rolled back and he slumped against Hermione, out cold. She gasped, lowering him carefully to the ground, not strong enough to support him. She stayed low, making sure that they were fully covered by the cloak, before checking their surroundings.
Unlike how the street had been during Halloween, it was completely deserted. There was a hint of a chill that put Hermione immediately on edge. She knew it well enough to know it was not the natural chill of a November night, but that dementors were in the area. With Harry already desperately weak from his internal injuries, dementors could well and truly finish him off.
As Hermione's gaze moved to the space where Bathilda's house should be, the Fidelius charm accepted her as a knower of the secret and the house grew into being. She could see the blue door.
"If I just turn up, she might hex me," Hermione said to herself. She checked the street again, then raised her wand. She brushed her left hand over Harry's pale face, running a finger over his lips, filling her mind with the touch of his lips on her skin. The warmth of his embrace, the scent of him, earthy and grounded, like petrichor. She could see his expressive eyes, bright with mirth, smoldering with desire.
She was about to send Bathilda a patronus when she saw a hint of movement down the end of the street. She held her breath, the darkness shifting, where she knew the Potter ruin to be. It was too dark to make out what was down there, but it was silent and moving. And she could feel the chill.
Dementors were patrolling the scene of Harry's famous escape.
Hermione let out a breath. If dementors were there, it was likely Death Eaters were as well. Perhaps they expected Harry to show up again. She sighed, relieved that Bathilda's house was still protected by the Fidelius.
"Come on, Harry. Let's get you to your gran."
Harry stirred a little at the mention of his name. His eyelids fluttered a little, but he didn't wake. His breath wheezed. She took off his glasses, putting them in her pocket. Then she took both wands, the one still gripped in his hand and the one he had stashed in his belt. Then she stood over him, raising her own wand.
"Moblicorpus," she muttered. Harry floated up his head lolling to one side, arms limp under him as he rose up to her hip. She brought her arm over him, pulling him to her side, appearing as his she was carrying him under her arm impossibly. She was sure that her feet were visible under the cloak, but Harry was at least fully covered. Careful to be quiet, she crossed the road, making her way to Bathilda's house. She opened the gate, her exhaustion now catching up with her now her adrenaline was wearing off.
Inching her way as quietly as she could, Hermione made her way to the front door. Holding her breath, she extended a hand out from the folds of the cloak and grabbed the knocker, striking the door hard. She winced at the sound, hoping it didn't carry to where the dementors were patrolling.
Harry stirred again at the sound, his mouth opening to breathe, his face pinched as it was clearly hard for him to breathe.
"Not long… Harry…" She whispered to him.
There was a soft click and the door opened. Unlike last time, Bathilda didn't call out. She opened the door to a crack, as she did. She was just as small as Hermione remembered.
"Who goes there invisible?" Her wavery voice asked, then she gave a soft gasp. "Harry, my dear boy… have you returned to old Bathilda?"
She opened the door a little wider. To Hermione's surprise, the old woman looked a lot healthier than she had been the week previously. Her hair was tidy, appearing a little thicker, her scalp no longer visible. Her eyes appeared bluer, clearer, not as cloudy. She was dressed in a grey knitted cardigan, wrapped tightly around her as she braved the cold.
"It's me, Bathilda, Hermione Granger," Hermione said quietly, her breath puffing in the chill. "I was with Harry when we-."
"Oh, Hermione… my dear. Come in."
Bathilda scuttled off at once, retreating back into the hallway, opening to door to allow Hermione entrance. She did so at once, taking care to move Harry through the doorway. As they passed through the threshold, Hermione could feel the slight change in the air, as if she could sense the many charms and curses that Bathilda had etched into the defenses of her home.
"Are you in, my dear?" Bathilda asked her, clearly unable to see that she had entered properly.
"Y-yes, sorry, I should have said."
Bathilda shut the door and there was a flash around the doorframe as the protections sealed. It was clear to see that the defenses were very powerful. Hermione had seen for herself when Harry fell afoul of them when he broke the Taboo.
"Where is Harry? Is he not with you?" Bathilda asked, her voice immediately worried.
"He's right here, Bathilda, but he's really badly hurt," Hermione said and pulled the cloak off them, revealing Harry's limp, unconscious form.
Bathilda gasped horribly, rushing over at once, nearly climbing up her books in her desperation to see him. At the sound of her horror, Hermione's eyes began to dew up. The reality of what they had just escaped hit her. Bathilda's small, gnarled hands grasped Harry's limp wrist.
"We… we were in fight-."
"Explain to me later, my dear. It was wise of you to bring him here. Nowhere is safe." She let go of Harry's wrist and rushed to the sitting room. "Come, I shall clear the table. It is not ideal, but I'm sure Harry won't mind. I have healing remedies in the kitchen."
Hermione awkwardly moved Harry ahead of her. He drifted gently in the air as she took extra care to not cause him any more damage. Up ahead, she could see Bathilda's books flying off the table, assembling themselves into more towers to join the many others. As Hermione joined her, she noticed that the room appeared more comfortable. There were more candles lit and there were small touches, such as cushions on the chairs, fresh flowers in a vase on the mantlepiece.
Bathilda took one of the cushions from the chair and placed it on the table.
"Here, my dear." She patted the cushion, "rest his head here… quickly now. I can hear the bleed in his lungs from here and I'm as deaf as a tree stump."
Hermione raised her wand, lifting Harry upwards and then gently lowered him down.
"Marvellous control, Hermione dear. You have a talent for charms, I see." Bathilda praised her as she brought her wand over Harry. "It has been some years since I have had to use healing magic, but rest assured, some spells are difficult to forget. Even for an old bat like me."
Confident that Harry was now in safe hands, Hermione pulled her coat off and draped it over the back of one of the chairs, placing Harry's cloak over it. She then took off her bag, putting it on the table. As she did, she remembered with a pang that they had wanted to see Bathilda before Harry was injured.
She had a horcrux in her bag! Not just any, but the lost diadem!
That can wait. Harry is the priority.
Bathilda's mouth started to form words, but she didn't speak. The incantations for whatever she was doing were far longer and more complex than the usual magic Hermione and Harry were used to. A golden mist ebbed out of her wand, moving out over Harry, expanding until it hung above him, sparkling, taking form. Hermione watched, awed by the unknown branch of magic, having never seen such healing spells in person.
The golden mist took the form of Harry's body and then certain areas began to solidify, brightening as they did. His chest was the worse, then there was a patch at the back of his head. Then dark lines spread through the figure, branching out, like tree roots. Last, a black lightning strike materialised on the figure's head.
Bathilda shot Hermione a look, her eyes sharp.
"Harry was cursed with the Cruciatus?"
Hermione then realised what they were looking at. The black lines had to be Harry's nervous system, showing the curse damage left from the Cruciatus. The black mark on his head was his scar. A curse scar.
"Y-yes, twice."
Bathilda dismissed the figure with a sharp flick. "There is no reprieve from the pain of the Cruciatus, no potion nor charm can ease its effects." She looked back over to Hermione. "Were you cursed, my dear?"
She nodded. "Yes, but it wasn't for long and… I think the witch wasn't as proficient with the curse as the wizard who cursed Harry."
"It matters not who cast it, my dear. Pain is pain," her voice was gentle. "The effects will pass. Warmth and sleep are the best remedies."
She turned back to Harry and touched his chest. "I will need to remove his garments to fix his injuries," she glanced over at Hermione, "I would rather not vanish his clothes, not when he looks so dashing in them."
Hermione flushed a little and drew towards her. Between them, they managed to remove Harry's coat. It was horrible how limp and motionless he was, his only response a twitch of his eyelid.
Peeling off his layers, they came to his blue shirt last. It was patched with blood. Hermione drew in a sharp breath.
Why didn't he say how hurt he was!?
They pulled it off over his head. Hermione's hands were over her mouth when she saw the dark purple bruises and the bloodied marks where the impacts he suffered broke his skin. The worst was the injury on his left side.
"Had Harry been a muggle, this damage would have been a lot worse," Bathilda said as they laid Harry back down. "Magic fortifies us physically. It is why we live far longer than muggles. But even so, we are not invulnerable. As these injuries were sustained not from magic, repairing and healing will not be a problem. Damage from curses, on the other hand."
Her finger traced over his scar. "They never truly heal…"
"It hurts him," Hermione said quietly, "but… it is his story to tell. Harry is very private."
"As well he should be," Bathilda said, "this poor boy deserves his privacy as much as anyone else. Now… my dear, I will set his breaks while he is unconscious and then we can talk about what happened. First, though… why don't you take your things upstairs? I think it will be best for Harry to rest here for the night, and you too… you appear to have endured quite the ordeal."
Hermione had a strong suspicion that Bathilda was telling her to go so she didn't have to witness her hurting Harry, even if it was to heal him. Even so, Hermione knew that Harry was safe now. She gathered up her coat, the cloak, then Harry's clothes and her bag. Before leaving, she looked back at Harry, seeing that Bathilda had moved his arms to lay at his sides, his face angled upwards so his airways were clear.
"Let's clear out your lungs first, my poor one," Bathilda said softly, her back turned on Hermione as she focused on her charge. Reminded of how Madame Pomfrey got around her patients, Hermione chose to leave Bathilda to it.
She made it to the rickety staircase, hugging hers and Harry's clothes to herself as she made her way to the bedroom of Gellert Grindelwald. Reaching the hallway, she pushed through into the bedroom and was greeted by a bed with new bedcovers, clean, plump and cosy. Her eyes filled with tears as she understood. Bathilda had been getting ready for her and Harry to come back. All the little changes in the house had been for them.
Stumbling to the bed to deposit the load in her arms, Hermione dropped to her knees and dissolved into tears. She didn't even know what she was crying over. Bathilda's renewed hope, triggered by Harry's return to her life, the relief and fear over everything that had happened in Hogwarts… or just life in general.
Flashes of the last few hours flickered in her mind.
With a loud thunk, Harry slammed into the ground. She tried to not notice, tried to keep in step with the two dueling her, but she could see Harry on the ground, writhing, spasming as if he was being electrocuted. But then his arm came up and she heard his shout as he disarmed his attacker, Crabbe.
Wearing his crooked grin, Harry recklessly pitched himself off the stairs in a perfect Quidditch manoeuvre, soaring off with his Invisibility Cloak fluttering behind him. She rushed to the balustrade to watch. He was a blur, black and silver. As the spells shot at him, she and Neville responded in kind.
Harry flicked her a grin as they searched the Room of Requirement.
Harry's screamed as he was tortured by Snape
Harry advanced on Alecto, his eyes burning with his magic, rage incarnate.
Harry coughed weakly…
Harry was unconscious, on the table, chest black and blue…
Harry.
Fingers like claws, Hermione was digging into her scalp, her tears hot as she relived Harry in danger. Each moment hurt, stung, worst than anything she had felt before.
When did this happen? When did she focus so intently on him? She could recall every aspect of him from memory. And when she did, her emotions surged and her heart felt like it was three times bigger.
Brilliant, they called her. Smartest witch of her age, Harry called her. But in that moment, kneeling at the end of the bed, she felt incredibly stupid. Her hands dropped from her face, wet with tears.
"I've fallen in love with Harry Potter," she whispered to herself. The snapshots of their ordeal in the last few hours then melted away as she thought of their intimate moments. They were light the beams of sunlight piercing through the leaves and branches of a dense forest, glimmers of hope beyond the curtain. They were the proof that it was all worth it, every injury suffered, every second of heartache, all worth the light at the end of the journey where they would be together, always.
Planting her damp hands on the edge of the bed, Hermione knew that she needed to get back to her Harry. She plucked his essentials from his belongings, his glasses, his wand, his pouch and his cloak. She cleaned his shirt and brought it too, knowing that he would be embarrassed in his shirtless state in front of Bathilda. Wiping her tears away, she then cleaned her own clothes, freshening them with scorgify charms and warming charms, removing every drop of sweat of battle from her garments. Every trace of Hogwarts left on her clothes. The tremours left by the short blast of the Cruciatus still shook her hands, but she was relatively unharmed from the battle.
With a heart full of hope, Hermione left the room, stepping out into the hallway and head back downstairs to where her beloved, her partner in all things, waited for her.
She stilled at the bottom step when she heard his low voice from the room beyond. He was awake. Navigating around the piles of books, she rushed back into the sitting room, tearing across the space to reach the table.
"...lucky I only fell as far as I did," he was saying, "had I fallen all the way to the bottom floor, that would have been the end of me."
"Rather the opposite, in fact," Bathilda responded, her voice reproachful, "There is a safety measure, a cushioning charm, should any student take a fall."
"Oh…"
"It isn't common knowledge, of course, otherwise the Grand Staircase would be thick with falling students…"
Striding into the dining room, Hermione was met with the sight of Harry laying back on the table, now with his shoes and socks off, his toes twitching a little. Bathilda stood with her back to Hermione, her wand raised. Harry sat up, hearing Hermione's approach, and earned himself a reprimand.
"Lie still," Bathilda told him firmly. Harry settled back down. She approached the table and Harry came fully into sight. Bathilda had bound his ribs in bandages, hiding the bruises from view. He looked very uncomfortable, his fingers fiddling at his side as Bathilda cast more charms, adding her healing spells to his bandages. He turned his head at once when Hermione appeared and his tired face split into an enormous grin.
She halted in her step, caught in the undimmed joy that shone from his brilliant green eyes. Pulled towards him by the magnetism of their bond, she came to his side at once. She placed his things beside him. He glanced over, his grin broadening as he saw she brought him back his shirt.
"There we are," Bathilda said softly, backing from Harry to admire her handiwork. "You'll be as fit as a fiddle after a good night's rest, which from the looks of things, you both sorely need. You can both tell me all about it in the morning over a pot of tea and some breakfast."
"Th-thank you," Harry turned his shining eyes to Bathilda and reached up a hand towards her. The look on his face changed, a line creasing between his brows, a question forming in the emerald depths. A question fuelled by a longing that only a lonely orphan would have.
"I… I don't know… what else to say. I owe you so much."
"Hush, dear boy, you do not owe me a thing." Bathilda took his hand in both of hers, patting it. "Though, I would appreciate it if you take better care of yourself."
"I'll… try," his voice was quiet, his throat working as he looked up at Bathilda. She patted his hand again.
"That is all I can ask for," she said, then let go of his hands. "I have some blood replenishing potion. Rather necessary for someone of my age. I will fetch a bottle for you. That should get some colour back into your cheeks." She then rushed off to the kitchen, giving a small sniff as she did.
Hermione then leaned over to Harry, bringing his attention back to her. He smiled sadly at her. She noticed, with great relief, that he was breathing a lot more easily and there was no wet rattle.
"I think I got off lightly with the telling off," he said quietly, then his eyes searched her face. He reached up, fingers brushing against her cheek, as he went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "How are you? The…" he swallowed, "the curse still hurting you?"
"Not as much," she said, taking his hand in hers, "how… about you?"
"A little," he said honestly, "Snape certainly didn't hold back. I bet… he's been wanting to do that since first year."
Bathilda returned, clutching a squat little bottle full of a milky liquid.
"Ugh… I hate taking potions," Harry moaned, head dropping back on the cushion.
"Don't be such a baby," Hermione chided him, causing his mouth to quirk up. She leaned over, sticking her elbows on the table and supported her chin on her fingers, staring at Harry, who rolled his eyes, giving a laugh.
"Gee, thanks for the sympathy," he said, then caught Bathilda's smile as she poured out some of the potion into a small metal cup. He groaned, taking it. He raised his head a little so he could drink it and then gulped it down.
"Well done," Bathilda said, taking the cup from him. "Now stay still and let the potion work."
At her order, Harry dropped his head back on the cushion. He was looking around, his eyes always darting about. Hermione peered at him.
"Why didn't you tell me how badly you were hurt?" She demanded. Harry gave a feeble laugh.
"I didn't know," he said, looking over at her. "Not until I was coughing up blood. Yeah, it hurt crashing like that, but… didn't expect this."
"I saw it, Harry," she cracked out, snatching his hand. "I saw you… you fall and then I heard…" She swallowed as the memory stabbed into her thoughts, the memory of Harry's hoarse screams. "You were in so much pain… and I couldn't…"
"Shush," Harry brought his other hand over to hold hers. "I'm right here. I'm okay." She stared into his eyes, those brilliant, beautiful eyes. The feeling inside her was all the more stronger, she knew, really knew, as she held that gaze, that she was in love.
Love. It was a new thing, a new experience, but when she looked into Harry's beautiful green eyes, she wasn't scared of the unknown. She felt hope. She wanted to kiss him, hug him, embrace him. Because she loved him. It was love.
Bathilda moved to Harry, diverting both of their attention. Hermione stilled her emotions, for the moment.
"Let us get you up, my boy… nice and slow." Hermione noticed the colour started to return to Harry's face. Dramatically, in fact, when red spots blazing on his cheeks, deeply embarrassed. He sat up, wincing a little, putting a hand to his left side.
He looked down at the pile of his belongings that Hermione had brought down for him and he took his shirt. Tentatively, he pulled it over his head.
Bathilda picked up his glasses and repaired them with a tap of her wand. She handed them over to Harry. He smiled his thanks and returned them to his face.
Then his eyes flashed with intense fury and he bowed his head down, groaning, pained. Hermione rushed over at once, alarmed, and saw his scar darken. Bathilda, believing him still injured, brought her wand over. Hermione shook her head at the little woman.
"It's his scar," she told her quickly, then moved in front of Harry, placing her hands on his shoulders. He gripped the edge of the table tightly. His jaw was clenched as he rode out the pain.
"Don't let him in, Harry," she whispered to him, "stay with us… come on…" His hands snapped up and took hers, seizing them tightly. His eyes screwed shut.
Bathilda approached, her eyes wide, and waved her wand. A gust of the golden, sparkling mist that she had cast earlier swept over Harry's head, swirling around his forehead, where a dark shadow seeped into the centre, cutting out a lightning-shape in the middle over where Harry's scar was.
"He… he's furious… and he's… thinking about…"
"No Harry, you need to block him," Hermione insisted, terrified, "if he finds you…"
"I need to know…" He said, then let out a cry.
"Oh, my boy… what is wrong?" Bathilda asked, alarmed, fretting.
"He is thinking about me," Harry's voice was tight, strained, "he doesn't know how we got into the castle and he… is impressed. He's not angry at me, he's angry at… Snape." Horrified, Hermione and Bathilda both stared at Harry as he trembled. "He… ah!" Harry's hands both slapped onto his scar. "No…"
"Harry, listen… sweetheart, that's enough…" Hermione pleaded, coming close to him, bringing her arms around him carefully to not hurt him. "Come back."
He suddenly gasped as if he had been holding his breath and he dropped his hands. Hermione carefully brought her hands up to his face and angled his head back. He opened his eyes and met her gaze.
"I think he felt me," he said quietly, "it cut off… it… never cuts off like that." Hermione's gaze travelled to his forehead. Sure enough, his scar was back to the usual pink.
"Your scar is a source of Dark magic," Bathilda said, "I do not know how but it is still cursed."
Harry's gaze settled onto the old historian, widening. "A… source?"
"Indeed, there is no other explanation," she said gravely, "I do not understand what just happened to you, but my charm registers the damage as Dark magic. It appears your scar has not healed, not fully, but curse scars are not my area of expertise." She regarded him sadly. "And your scar is utterly unique, my boy."
Harry nodded glumly, "I suppose it does make sense." He then brought his hand up to his mouth, stifling a yawn.
"We shall talk more tomorrow," Bathilda said gently, then she turned over to Hermione, "make yourselves comfortable. I started to make things a little more comfortable for you both, ready for Christmas, but you surprised me early."
"I… hope it's no trouble," Hermione mumbled, face flushing. Bathilda cackled.
"Trouble? I couldn't ask for more delightful guests."
"Really? You do realise that we are wanted criminals," Harry asked her, a little baffled.
"Oh, my dear, you are so young," Bathilda patted him fondly on the leg, "what makes you think I am an innocent old lady?" Then she tipped him a wink, bustling away, giving her cackle. "Now off to bed, the pair of you. And no copulation. Not unless you want to reopen your injuries."
She carried the potion back into the kitchen, leaving two very embarrassed teenagers in her wake. Harry thawed out first.
"Did… did she just tell us to not have sex?"
Hermione sighed. "Yes, Harry. I do believe that just happened." She held out a hand to him. "Come on, bedtime. Doctor's orders."
He put his hand in hers and slipped off the table. He turned snatching up his wand, and smiled.
"Time for bed," he agreed.
Screams echoed all around, reverberating through the air, pitched high, completely out of control, shrieking so loudly that it hurt. The horror of it drilled into his chest, through bone, skin, muscle, right into his heart where there was just pain. Pure pain.
And there was no escape. Nothing he could do, only listen. He couldn't move. He didn't even know where he was, drifting, a wraith, observing the scene without any means to stop what was happening.
She stopped screaming, but it wasn't a relief. Her crumpled form, her body motionless, tore him asunder. Standing over her, robed in black silk, her tormentor laughed. He knew that laugh. It wasn't the high, cold laugh of his parents' murderer. It was deeper, younger, but just as cold. Merciless. Brutal.
He threw back his head, hair as black as night flicking back from his face. His skin was flawless, brows dark, mouth now set in a humourless line.
"Harry… please…" Her voice was faint, broken. Slowly she raised her head, her hair lank and limp, her face streaked with tears and blood. Her eyes were half-closed, lidded with pain, her lips trembling.
He laughed again, his deep, scarlet eyes flashing.
"Harry cannot help you, sweetheart," he sneered, pointing his wand down again to the girl at his feet. "But know that he is watching… aren't you? Harry?"
He jerked his head around, staring at where Harry was drifting formless, and he saw that face. The full grotesque horror… his own face, with the eyes of his mortal foe.
"Harry, please come back to me!" Hermione cried, jumping forwards, grasping the robes of her tormentor. He hissed, kicking her back from him.
"Filthy mudblood!" He growled. "Learn your place! CRUCIO!"
The screaming started again. He couldn't take it, no more… it was too much… please… stop…
Harry!
Wake up!
Hands were gripping his shoulders, he could feel them, the fingers digging in. But he was formless, a helpless observer…
Her screams…
Harry, it's not real! Wake up!
It was enough this time. He gasped, shuddering as he pulled himself completely from the nightmare. He became immediately aware that he was sitting up, supported by another who was gripping him. Drained from the horror that his subconscious created for him, he slumped forwards.
He clung to her, his fingers gripping her pyjama blouse, screwing his eyes up tight as he willed himself to forget the nightmare. Tears squeezed from her eyes and he sucked in harsh breaths.
"Shush… I'm here," Hermione said softly, "I'm okay…" Her hands moved from his shoulders and cupped his cheeks, angling his head back gently. Harry sniffed and opened his eyes.
There was no darkness waiting for him, no possessed version of himself, no screams. There was soft daylight filtering in through pale blue curtains. The face taking up most of his vision wasn't wretched, covered in sweat, blood and tears. Her face was clean, soft, her cheeks slightly pink, her eyes wide and gentle. So caring, so concerned. She ran her hand down through his hair.
"Your scar… was it…?"
"No…" Harry cleared his throat, "no it was all me." He took a deep breath and stilled as he realised his ribs no longer hurt when he breathed. He gently moved back from Hermione, studying the bandages wrapped around his torso. He ran his fingers over them, marvelling at the absence of any discomfort.
"Wow, Bathilda really knows her stuff," he said and at the thought, he looked up at Hermione, his mouth falling open. He looked around the room, reminding himself where they were and why they were there. He dropped back onto the bed, settling against the new bed and pillows. Hermione smiled softly down at him as he stared up at the ceiling. He gave a breathy laugh.
"So… all that mental stuff really happened last night, then? Breaking into Hogwarts, destroying the locket…"
"Speaking to Ginny…" Hermione said. Harry grimaced and looked down at her.
"And Neville and Luna."
Hermione suddenly gasped and sprung off the bed. The sudden movement had Harry bouncing up and down. He sat up, puzzled, until he saw Hermione snatching her beaded bag from the chair where she had put it the night before. He understood.
The biggest success of the evening had been the unexpected one. Hermione delved her hand into the bag, going up to her shoulder as she rummaged. Straightening, she pulled out the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw… if it was indeed real.
She returned to the bed, climbing over to Harry. On her face was a wide grin.
"If this really is a horcrux… then we only have two left," she said, her voice awed. "Harry…"
"I know," he said, and he extended a hand towards her, wanting to have a closer look. She handed it over. He studied it more closely than he had done in the Room of Requirement. It certainly appeared real. Unblemished, as it would be if Goblin-made. He ran his fingers over the gemstones, marveling at the way the diamonds sparkled. He looked up at Hermione.
"At least we can definitely rule out Hogwarts as a hiding place for a horcrux. It's unlikely that he would hide two in the same place," he said, then he frowned, "but then, why there? The other places had specific significance to him and his past, secrets that he thought no one else would know. Him having attended Hogwarts isn't exactly a massive secret."
Hermione didn't respond to his musings. Instead, she went to lay down beside him on her side of the bed. She supported her head with her hand, elbow propped on the pillow. He looked down at the engraving on the diadem. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.
"I suppose not very many people know about the Room of Requirement, but surely the fact that the place is crammed with other people's stuff, he should have figured that someone might happen across it eventually."
He concentrated on the metal under his fingertips, willing himself to sense beyond what he was touching. There was something. It wasn't a faint beating like he could feel from the locket, but there was a strange feeling, like nostalgia. It felt familiar, but he couldn't recall where he had felt it. He gave a 'hmm' and put it down between him and Hermione.
"Do you want to show it to Bathilda?" Hermione asked him, eyeing it. "Don't you think it might be a little cruel to show her potentially the most precious artefact of her House and then tell her that we have to destroy it?"
"I… don't know. I only said that I would show it to her so Luna wouldn't flip," he said, rubbing at the back of his head. "But then, if this is fake, we just end up ruining some jewellry and that's a waste.."
Hermione laughed. "Why are you worried about that? Are you thinking of wearing it yourself?"
He laughed then, his eyes flicking up to her. He picked it up again, wearing a sloppy grin, and he turned it around, setting it on his own head. He threw his hands up.
"What do you think?"
"I think you're a prat," Hermione said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "So? Getting any evil vibes?"
The diadem was heavy on his head, uncomfortable. He focused on the weight, trying to gauge anything from it. Something then pushed at his thoughts, a presence. His back went rigid and his hands gripped at the bedcovers at the intrusion. A voice then whispered, alien, cold.
You are mine…
"Ah!" Harry knocked it off his head. He threw himself off the bed, scrambling back in his desperation. His eyes were wide, his heart lurching in his chest.
"Harry! What is it?" Hermione gasped.
He kept fleeing until his back slammed into the wardrobe.
"It spoke to me."
Hermione reacted at once. She snatched the horcrux from the bed and rushed over to the bag, where she stuffed it back in and out of sight. Harry put his hand to his racing heart, heaving in great lungfuls. He rubbed at his scar with the other. It wasn't hurting him, but it itched, uncomfortable.
"Honestly, we need to stop wearing these things," Hermione said as she straightened. Harry met her gaze across the room and he shivered, bringing his arms around him. She rushed to him at once and hugged him, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Are you okay?"
"Not really," he said, bringing his arms around her, needing her warmth and comfort. "I think it's safe to say that it's the real thing though. It said… 'you are mine'."
Hermione said nothing for a moment, rubbing his back gently. She nestled her face into his neck, sighing.
"It was what the other one said to you," she said. Of course, she would remember.
"Yeah… looks like the bits of him want to possess me just as much as he does, only where he wants to take me to kill me… they… want to possess me," he said quietly. Hermione lifted her face, looking up at him. "It's what I dreamt. Being possessed… unable to stop what he makes me do… to you."
"Oh Harry," she leaned in and kissed him. He didn't care that their breaths were sour. He needed it. He gasped at the tenderness of her touch, the gentle, caring way her lips pressed on his. She drew back, studying his face, running a finger down from his brow to his chin.
"That will never happen," she said to him, "he will never take you from me." Her eyes blazed as she looked up into his and he brought his hands up to her face, his heart pounding. He went to kiss her, but she pulled back. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Morning breath," she said to him. He let out a low chuckle.
"That shouldn't be a problem," he said huskily, then pushed her over to the bed. She let out a gasp of surprise as they fell back, him on top of her. He brought his mouth down from her face, his hands moving down the arch of her back, and he kissed her skin. Hermione writhed under him.
"Oh…" She moaned as he slid his hands up under her blouse, touching her hot skin, as he brought his lips down to the dip between her breasts.
"No one will take you from me either," Harry breathed into her as he kissed her breasts. He started to undo the buttons of her blouse from the bottom. "Especially…" He kissed her. "Not." Kiss. "Stupid." Kiss. "Horcruxes." He undid the last button, exposing her breasts.
"We… we'll destroy them all…" Hermione breathed, "together."
Harry brought his lips over to her left nipple, the skin brushing over the sensitive skin, then he brought his teeth up and gave her a small nip, not hard. Hermione shuddered under him. He kissed the soft, pliant flesh, then ran his tongue over it. He then rested his head on her chest, listening to the strong, steady thud of her heart. His own was beating in time.
"Together," he said, then drew back from her, taking in her beauty. He gently ran his finger down the thin skin that cut down her chest. He bent over her, kissing her on the scar, planting each one lower and lower. Then he looked up at her.
"I suppose I should thank my saviour properly." He waited for the invitation, his hands holding her around the waist. She tilted her head down, looking flushed, eyes wild with want.
"If… anyone is getting a reward for last night, it's you…" She said, "you were… unreal." He pulled down her pyjama bottoms and knickers.
"I'm sure I can think of something," he said, pushing her legs apart. Hermione's giggle was a delightful, uplifting sound. When Harry brought his fingers up to rub the insides of her thighs, massaging the sensitive skin, her giggle turned into a moan. Harry grinned and moved in, using his hands to spread her.
"You… you feel so good…" Hermione gasped out as ran his tongue around her entrance, inhaling through his nostrils the scent of her. Her arousal was intoxicating, as was the knowledge that he was the cause. He was rock hard himself. He kept at it, fuelled by her soft moans and gasps, flicking his tongue once so often over her clitoris. When he did, Hermione let out a harsh gasp.
After a couple of minutes, Hermione's back fully arched and she let out a loud moan, her hands reaching for him as she came. He tasted it, thick and salty on his tongue, and drew back. He did as she did with his ejaculate, swallowing, while wiping at his mouth. He gave a laugh as he moved up to join her on the bed. Hermione rolled onto her side, her gaze smoldering.
"Your turn," she said, then pushed herself over to him, moving on top. "Don't worry, this time I'll be gentle."
He laughed again, recalling the time when she hadn't been gentle and tied him down to a rock. This time, she took care to not touch his torso, despite how much she enjoyed his stomach and his muscles. Like he had done with her, she went to undress him. As she pulled his boxers down, his fully erect member sprung out. She glanced at him, her playful smile tantalising. She lowered herself over him, her hands moving to touch the tops of his legs.
He threw his head back, his skin tingling at the touch. He bit on the inside of his mouth.
Was it supposed to be this way? How whenever she touched him intimately, it felt like the first time? How his body responded, his magic responded. He could feel it now, surging under his skin, so warm, so sustaining, coming alive as his body flushed with hormones.
Every touch meant something to him. To be touched. To have someone want to touch him. It overwhelmed his senses. The gentle strokes down to the inside of his thighs made him groan in his throat. No one had ever touched him like this before. Ginny never caressed him like this. Somehow, Hermione just knew how to touch him, how to make him feel pleasure. It was as if she could read him like one of her many books.
Her caring hands came to his testicles, touching them, so softly, so delicately.
"Your skin is so soft," she said quietly.
"And hairy."
"Hairy Potter."
He rolled his eyes, laughing. "There is a charm but I'm a little nervous using magic down there."
Hermione responded by kissing his tip, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine. "I can see why… so sensitive…"
She took him in her mouth and methodically worked. Harry knew the sounds he was making were embarrassing, but he couldn't help himself, moaning and gasping, his hands gripping at the bedsheets.
"You… are so incredible…" He panted out, "Ah!" She ran her teeth down his shaft as she moved to go up and down to finish him off. The climax had him near growling as she sucked hard. He came rapidly, breathing raggedly, as his orgasm rippled through his body in waves. The first wave intense, taking his breath away, the others tingling his body like a reverse Cruciatus, every nerve stimulated with pleasure not pain.
He stared up at the ceiling, dazed at the force of his orgasm. Hermione returned to the bed beside him, tracing a finger up his arm.
"Feeling better?" She asked him. He flopped his head to the side, squinting a little as she was blurred in his poor vision.
"Loads…" He glanced down at the bed and realised with a pang where they were and what bed they were laying upon. He laughed, feeling light-headed. "What is it with this bed ?"
Hermione bit her lip, the corner of her mouth quirked upwards.
"I think it's safe to say that we've thoroughly conquered it," she said, "and there's still time for you to claim your title as ' Defiler of a Dark Lord's Bedsheets' ." She put on a dramatic voice when she called back to his stupid joke that he cracked when they left Godric's Hollow the first time.
"Sorry to disappoint," he said, gazing at her, "' No copulation.' Remember?"
Hermione rolled onto her back, shaking with her laughter. "Oh no," she said, her voice pitched up, "how could I forget?"
Harry smiled at her, his heart surging at each one of her laughs, relishing in the sound. He let out a long breath, closing his eyes and rolling back, allowing himself to bask in his happiness. And no one, not Voldemort, not Ron, or Ginny, or Snape, or any Death Eater, not even Dumbledore, could take this moment from him. It was a moment that more than made up for all the pain and stress of the last twenty four hours.
After spending a glorious morning satisfying each others' needs, the couple managed to peel themselves off the bed. Harry made use of the bathroom first. He peeked curiously under his bandages, finding the bruises remarkably faded, though still present. The pain was completely gone. He had no idea what magic Bathilda used, but it was impressive, more impressive than Madame Pomfrey's standards.
He washed his face, brushed his teeth, did his business, then fussed a little at the mirror. His stubble was turning more into an actual attempt at a beard. He glanced over, seeing the bathtub, and smiled at the memory of his and Hermione's shared bath experience. He gathered his very limited supply of toiletries, stashing them away, and went to head back to the bedroom. Opening the door, he was confronted by a very small elderly witch who peered up at him.
"You are up rather early, Harry dear," she said. Harry blinked, then checked his watch.
"Bathilda, it's eleven o'clock, it's not early."
"Dear Merlin…" Bathilda gasped in surprise, "I suppose in that case I really should get a clock in this house."
"You… you don't have a clock? " Harry asked, baffled. "How do you know what the time is?"
"Oh, my dear boy, when you get to my age, you do all you can to forget about time. Well, when you and Hermione are ready, I suppose we should just go straight to lunch."
Harry staggered forwards, putting his hand on Bathilda's shoulder.
"W-wait, Bathilda…" He stopped her. She looked up at him, her blue eyes sharp, much sharper than they had been the week before. "You don't have to feed us. I'm better now, thanks to you. We can pack up and leave you in peace."
The little old lady moved up to him and gave him a firm poke in the stomach. He gave a little 'ow'.
"Do you think I'll let you leave after I saw the state you were in when Hermione levitated you in here? You're lucky to be alive, boy."
He flinched. Her harsh tone coupled with calling him 'boy' triggered his trauma. He looked away sharply, blinking rapidly. But Bathilda was a sharp old thing. She read his reaction and she cooed softly, moving up to him, taking his hands.
"You are a lot like your father. You can't stay still, can you? Forever restless," she smiled up at him, "but we all need to rest, Harry. Even young, spritely things like you. Rest and recover." She let go of his hands and reached up, as she did during the last visit. He crouched down and her hands touched his face.
"You are both safe here. Stay, recuperate, and learn ." She flicked his forehead, making a thunk sound. "Gryffindor you may be, but knowledge is power, my boy. And when it comes to knowledge, you are in the right place."
"I'm not the one you need to have this conversation with," Harry said, smiling, glancing over Bathilda to see the door of the bedroom opening. Hermione stepped out. "Hermione eats books for breakfast."
Bathilda's hands dropped from his face and she turned to Hermione. "I'm afraid it's too late for breakfast, my dear, but you are more than welcome to my library… though I'm afraid you will have to ask me about the sorting system. I ran out of shelving space, you see."
Harry brought his hand up to hide his smile. Hermione's expression was total delight. She let out a tiny squeal and rushed to Bathilda.
"Oh, professor, I'll be very careful and… and…"
Harry watched Hermione's bubbling excitement, her eyes lit up. Her words rolled towards him, unravelling, sounds disintegrating, as he stared at her. He felt it, warm, glowing inside him. He drew in a sharp breath, hands clenching, as he recognised the feeling. The one he was deprived of for so long and now, it was like his oxygen. And Harry knew about oxygen, with the muggle raising he had, he knew that she was the life-sustaining force.
It hit him then, standing in that hallway, holding his tattered washbag that was a discarded one from his uncle. It hit him that the feeling in his chest was love. He was in love. He let out a small gasp and put his hand to his chest, looking at Hermione, confirming it.
And he smiled, because how could it be anything else. How could his feelings for her be anything other than love? It didn't make sense, that he could feel so intensely towards her after a week, but it was what it was. Their circumstances weren't normal. He knew, with every cell in his body, that he was in love with Hermione Granger.
"...get yourselves ready and we'll have something to eat and you can both tell me what in Merlin's name you were up to."
Bathilda waved her hand as she bustled off down the stairs. Harry brought himself back into the here-and-now, his heart thundering in his ears. He looked over to his beloved and staggered over. Hermione smiled at him and planted a kiss on his cheek.
"You look handsome this morning, sweetheart." She breathed the word. Sweetheart. Harry wanted to kiss her but she moved, heading to the bathroom, leaving him reeling and thrumming as he stood.
When the bathroom door clicked shut, Harry let out a breath, then he said to himself.
"I've fallen in love with Hermione Granger."
AN: I've had a few reviews questioning Harry and Hermione's choices with spells. They used what they know. Now they know that their knowledge is pretty crap for war, they'll adapt. Let them grow as people before you judge them.
