A/N: Happy Reading.

Runaway Thoughts

One hour, maybe. Sixty minutes, about. Three thousand six hundred seconds, give or take a few. Thirty minutes to find it, twenty-nine to get back to the surface, and one or two allotted for anything else. I liked having that extra padding, even if it was just barely enough to take a deep breath. One minute could be the difference between finding the horcrux and leaving empty-handed. Or between the gillyweed wearing off too soon or too late. Hell, it could be the difference between life and death. One hour seemed like a lot of time when I put it that way. It might've even been enough if I knew exactly where the horcrux was. Or what it looked like. Or, you know, what to do after I've found it. Ha, who am I kidding? Right then, three thousand six hundred seconds just looked like three thousand six hundred chances to cock things up.

Time. I realized a while ago that the four letter word was really all I had to my name. It was just ticking away and I could either make good use of it now or let the future crash into me like a brick wall. "Management is the name of the game," I could hear Hermione saying in that scholarly tone of hers. I knew what it meant but I was doing it wrong somehow. It seemed like everyone knew the rules except me because what I did with my time was for the world to know and for me to read about later in some poorly written article by some greasy half-wit journalist.

I ran my fingers through my messy mop of hair before propping my head up with a palm and getting back to tiredly scanning through the feather-thin pages in front of me. I was looking for even a vague reference to something longer-lasting than gillyweed. I mean, there had to be something. The Book of Items for Magical Uses was a big bloody book for Merlin's sake; so big, in fact, that I could go as far as calling it a tomb. You would think a book like that would be useful but it was proving to be nothing but a mildly decorative paperweight. Some of the pages were missing and the rest were fragile around the edges. Page two, the Table of Contents, was gone and, as if it wasn't bad enough, some of the index pages were also AWOL. Had the book been in alphabetical order or some rational organization, I wouldn't have spent most of my time trying to figure out which category I was browsing or what dragon talons and sun-dried leeks had in common. A legible handwriting would've been nice too.

"Blimey." I groaned into my hands, tilting my head back a bit. Reading wasn't a pastime of mine. Neither was being bored to tears. What I wouldn't do right then for Neville and his endless knowledge of Herbology.

Two consecutive doses of gillyweed was the obvious solution but there wouldn't be much I could do if Death Eaters or something of the like rushed us while I was still, er… fishy, for lack of a better word. Hermione could get away without me. In fact, I'll insist on it. I'll strap a portkey to her arm myself if I had to. I chuckled at the thought, knowing that she'd find her way back and blast everything within a two-mile radius to bits. Including me.

Could I really out swim hundreds of dark wizards, I wondered. Even though I considered myself a fairly decent swimmer I doubt I'd get two strokes out before being hit with a million hexes all at once. If I did manage to get away I'd end up floating in the North Sea with no wand, no horcrux, and no way back to camp. I'd be captured if the dementors or dehydration didn't do me in first. In retrospect, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if I could skip the imminent and painful torture sessions I'll endure the second I'm dragged into Voldemort's secret lair, codenamed the Nest. The way I see it, I'll get a free pass to one of his inner circle meetings, complete with masked higher-ups and anyone else allowed to attend, where they'll decide the exact nature of my death. If they're stupid enough not to disguise their voices, I'll probably recognize a few and note the names. I'd stay alive for as long as possible and learn all I could, if I had any choice in the matter. I might be able to whisper to some hostages through the bars of my cell for company and, who knows, maybe I'll even tell them everything before helping them escape and dying in the process. So long as Herms doesn't try something stupid, like rescuing me, she can continue looking for the horcruxes and kill him off without ever having to witness the carnage a big battle would promise. She'd be a hero and I'd be dead. Everyone wins.

I'll admit that the whole story was a bit farfetched but at a time like that it was hard to not think of every worst-case scenario that could, and probably would, happen. It was based on a dream that was planted in my head but what else did we really have to go off? A few hunches? Mysterious notes? Wild goose chases? Rumors? This bet was as good as any.

I must've sat in that position for a while because there was a dull throb in my neck and the cold was starting to get to me. By then, I had exhausted any loophole I could think of. I tapped my quill on the table absentmindedly, letting the vibrations travel up my fingertips. With my free hand, I idly turned a page in the book I stopped reading ages ago to keep up appearances in case she was watching me. My mind eventually wandered again and I couldn't help but think that pockets in my trousers could conceal a Plan B, whatever that was. I reckon I could fit a broom in there.

My tapping stilled.

You know that feeling when you think you've done, said, or in my case, thought something before? Déjà vu, I think it's called? Yeah, it hit me like a freight train. My thoughts went astray but I didn't bother to reel them in. They were slippery, slimy, and hard to get a hold of anyway. I looked on in disinterest as they escaped my badly woven net of reality and began swimming in warmer, friendlier waters. It wasn't long before they got caught again, this time earning themselves a one way ticket on the S.S. Memory L. The words on the pages began to blur. I yawned, stretched my arms, and then allowed myself to slump forward in my chair.

"Happy Christmas." she said, holding out a box. The words came out so fast that they reached my ears as a jumble of syllables. I wasn't paying attention and they caught me off guard.

"For me?" I almost asked before realizing how ridiculous it would sound. Of course it's for me unless she was talking to the tree we were leaning against. A whirlpool of feelings began pulling me under. Disbelief, definitely. Shock? Awe? Oddly misplaced hesitance? Yes, yes, and yes. But there was something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. It was right at the tip of my tongue but I was beyond words. I must have looked it because she continued.

"I know it's late but I thought it would lighten the mood a little."

An explanation. A blush. An uneasy smile. That feeling in my chest was knocking against my ribs like mallets on a xylophone; so hard I was sure she would hear its desperate melody. I needed to do or say something but I had no idea what it was. She was staring at me and the expectant look in her chocolate-brown eyes which was not making things any easier. The whirlpool was strong and I was barely keeping my head above water.

"Is this why you disappeared when we were at Godric's?"

There were hundreds of ways to ruin this moment and I just happened to stumble upon one. It happened so often lately that I'm starting to think I'm some sort of expert. Her smile slackened at the question. The light in her eyes dulled as she nodded. I promptly shut my mouth. It was if she knew what I was supposed to say and was disappointed at what came out instead. I went with it, unsure of what else to do.

"Figures." I said, laughing, bloody laughing like a sodding wanker. Score: Stupidity 1, Harry, 0.

I took the gift from her and tried to channel the astonishment from early but found that I couldn't. I nearly crushed the folded piece of cardboard I held; it was so fragile. The paper was red with golden snitches zooming about it. One caught my eye and I couldn't resist turning the box in my hands to follow its graceful flight. The box was small and haphazardly wrapped as if she did it when I wasn't looking. It brought a smile to my face and almost, almost, made me forget that I ought to be saying something rather important. I shook it near my ear and heard what sounded like something thick and solid moving about. "How'd you fit a broom in there?"

My words weren't all that funny but she laughed anyway. It was quick and dry like she was desperately looking for something else to feel besides whatever was eating her up. She smiled so wide that it crinkled the corners of her mouth. I've never seen something so fake and was prepared to just say a simple thank you so we could both be out of our misery. I opened my mouth but she spoke before I could.

"It's not a broom, silly. I didn't know what you wanted so I-"

I kissed her then, tired of all the unnecessary excuses that came out her pretty lips when they were unoccupied. If anything, I was the one that owed her one. Was I honestly that, I don't know, difficult that she had to follow everything she did with a thought-out explanation?

I placed a hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer. Her lips were soft enough that they made me forget how fucked we were. They had a way of reminding me of how I felt at Hogwarts huddled under the covers during a thunderstorm: warm even though it was freezing and the sky was falling around me. Actually, now that think about it, that's how she made me feel all the time.

I wrapped her up in a crushing hug. We fit so neatly together and as clichéd as it sounds I didn't want to ever let her go. She nestled against me. I closed my eyes and I tried to stretch this moment to make it last a millennium.

It was a pocket-sized book entitled 15 Tips Every Quidditch Player Can Count On. I must've read it at least fifteen times.

I was smiling goofily as I flipped through the memories in my head one by one. Our first time sleeping in the same bed. Our confusion-induced quarrels. Our secret spot on that beach that will always be remembered for the toe-curling things that happened there in the light of the rising sun. It was like looking at a photo album so full that the cover couldn't close, with polaroids and film strips spilling everywhere. Flickering 24-hour drive thru movies and reruns of insignificant yet unforgettable moments played at the back of my mind. Snippets of chaste touches. Steamy nights after. Desire so hot it burned. I couldn't find the pause button. I didn't want to.

One scene in particular kept coming back to me like it was carved on my retina. It was her sitting on the beach, swinging her legs over the edge of a cliff and smiling, looking like she could take on the world. Icy water and a twenty-feet drop awaited her if she slipped but she looked like she couldn't care less. I was the scared one, the one demanding that she take my hand and follow me back to dry land. I like that she wasn't the type of girl to wait about for her knight in shinning armor. Odds are, the dragon would be slayed and she would be long gone before he could even get on his white horse.

I must've looked stupid. So stupid in fact that I wouldn't have been surprised to look to my right and see the object of these pleasantly intrusive thoughts holding back laughter and some equally stupid remark that would either have us both yelling or telling jokes for the rest of the night. I glimpsed at her from the corner of my eyes and was greeted with a different sight entirely. Her head was nodding and her eyelids fluttered closed every couple of seconds. She kept pulling them open despite their defiance. Her mouth hung open slightly and her lips were glistening. Mine were curling into my signature half-smile. I felt tempted to prod her with my quill but I let her be. She finally gave up after a few moments and let her head drop into her arms, mumbling something about just getting a five-minute nap. My smile withered and the hilarity of the situation fizzled out.

There I was enjoying the musings of my sleep-deprived mind while she was only worried about finishing whatever ridiculously ambitious list of goals she had for that day's research. It's funny how she somehow managed to make me feel both unnervingly blissful and gut-wrenchingly guilty at the same time.

I leaned over and saw that she was on page four hundred and fifty-two of whatever book she was reading which was amazing because I'm sure she took her time on every single word. Did I mention her being ridiculously ambitious? It should be her middle name, really. I don't think "Jean" suits her well anyway. In addition to the books around her, there were piles of Prophet articles neatly grouped together. My brow furrowed as I tried to make the distinction. Some seemed to be organized by event or month. Others seemed completely unrelated. I reached for the nearest stack and leafed through the clippings. They seemed to be all on Azkaban if the reoccurring and highlighted word was anything to go by.

Her braid was messy and her electric blue nail polish was chipped and faded. Her index finger was still poised below a line in the book. Although it was only eight, we've been going since the a.m. and if she felt as knackered as I did, an early night was well deserved. I spotted a slender piece of wood wedged between the pages of a closed book which I identified as the dragon heartstring cored, ten and three quarter inches length wand we now shared. My broken one hung in a pouch around my neck but I didn't linger on it. I scribbled the page number on a piece of parchment after I pulled out her wand. As an afterthought, I scribbled down the page number of the other book too.

I stood, stooped down, and lifted her upper body off the table, looping her arms around my neck. She muttered something I couldn't hear and nuzzled into the curve of my shoulder. Hot puffs of air tickled my skin and sent tremors down my spine.

"Upsie daisie." I whispered as I lifted her, folding my arms around her back. She rose gently and it wasn't that long of a distance. I tried not to jostle her too much as I made my way over to the bed. Long legs wrapped around my middle half way there. I nearly stumbled.

"I can walk, you know." She murmured against my ear, her lips cool and wet. I shivered.

"I know."

After resting her down, I found that she had no intention of letting me go. I didn't protest. The plan was set for the day after tomorrow. Sunday, I believe. It felt a little too soon considering that I only had the dream yesterday but Hermione Ridiculously-Ambitious Granger is amazingly fast and even more amazingly, well, amazing. She scoffed at the mere idea of sleeping on the ground another night and I couldn't blame her. I think I've still got odd kinks in my shoulders and a knot in my back that won't give. We spent enough time this week pondering what to do and frankly I couldn't give two shits either which way. It's not like I honestly slept anymore. I was lucky if I could just lay there listening to her snoring. So, we transfigured a new tent on the outskirts of a sleepy town. Wizarding, of course, just in case someone picked up on the random burst of magic. She salvaged whatever furnishings she could from the beaded bag. It wasn't much; two chairs, a desk, and a bed we had to enlarge to fit the both of us. There was just enough room that we didn't step on each other's toes.

The tent looked nothing the same but still managed to feel familiar. I think it's her. Even though she makes me want to bang my head against the wall sometimes, I've got to admit that she can make anywhere feel like home. During particularly infuriating sessions in the old tent I certainly felt like I was dying a million deaths so the thought wasn't completely out of nowhere. We honestly would have died twenty times over by now without her constant nagging. Blimey, I could hear her now like she was standing right next to me, yelling in my ear. The thought made me laugh out loud but I covered my mouth when I remembered she was sleeping.

It was quiet and I almost missed the omnipresent static that the old radio produced. I wondered if I could pass the time by counting to infinity.

My eyes kept wandering to the body next to me. I couldn't help it and I didn't know if I wanted to. It was the little things about her. They popped into my mind against my will and disrupted my steady stream of numbers. Her body heat was distracting. No, she was distracting. The way the blankets rose and fell with her chest. How her hair somehow managed to spill out on the pillow and frame her face. How her lips were slightly parted, showing off a hint of even teeth. The way her skin seemed to catch every beam from the gas lamps and reflect them ten times as bright until she was absolutely glowing. My face heated as if I was feeling something I shouldn't. As if she was watching me watching her and was experiencing this unexpected burst of something too. I don't know how she made me feel so…overwhelmed.