Chapter XVIII: A Hearth of Tree Trunks and Time

AN: Hi, folks. Yes, another chapter written in a somewhat timely fashion, it's incredible. I've decided from now on that all chapters will have a hard cap of 6k words. No more than that if I can help it. This doesn't mean I'm truncating the story, it's just to get updates out more frequently and to get a better handle on the story's pace. Typing 8-12k words per chapter is just too much for consistent uploads so hopefully, this will help speed things up a bit. As I said, the end is in sight now, we're moving into the final 'act' of the story now. Prepare for big things...

The silent forest echoed with the sound of bark rupturing with a thunderous crack. Splinters of wood collided and were lost amongst a carpet of leaves.

A wand slashed through the cool morning air and a beam of light skewered the dawn, leaving a trail of steam rising from nothing. The wand slashed again and a dagger of ice embedded into a log, followed by a second, third, fourth, and fifth. The ice melted and seeped into the gaps between the wood, only to freeze again. The log creaked and cracked as its insides were forced apart by the expanding ice.

The wand flicked and in a moment, the forest floor exploded as leaves flew into the air and became solid rock. With another flick, the hail of stone leaves swarmed a nearby tree trunk, reducing the bark to a pulp as the deadly projectiles shattered against it.

Not yet satisfied, the caster wrenched his arm forward and the remnant of a fallen tree leapt through the undergrowth, arcing through the air, only to stop before it hit the ground. A small twist of the wrist had the tree rapidly returning and Harry stepped out of the way to avoid it. The mighty oak collided with the rocky wall behind him with a deafening crash and rolled to its rest at his heels.

Finally, Harry breathed and sat on the fallen tree trunk. His magic felt different this morning which took a minute to get used to. It was like he was using the wrong hand. His leg ached from the weight of supporting his body, the angry cut along his thigh still not entirely healed. It was a lucky hex from a stray Death Eater. Hermione was worried it may never heal properly, but even if it did, it would just be another scar to add to the dozen he'd collected over his life. Harry considered himself lucky that he still had a leg.

This brook had been so peaceful when he first found it. Abandoned, even of animals - which eased his conscience considerably - in the furthest edge of the forest. He didn't know how far sound usually travelled in a forest, so he had erected a silencing ward around the area, so as not to disturb Hermione's rest. Their tent was only over the hill and she needed her sleep.

The sun was rising high over the canopy. The chill of morning dew slowly receded into the shadows. Conceding that his training was over, Harry removed the wards around him and allowed the sounds of the forest to meet his ears once again. The chirping song of birds, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the subtle trickle of water in the nearby stream. It was a peaceful moment and Harry allowed the cold air to sting his lungs.

He spent a few minutes simply sitting and watching the world pass him by, but his senses never dulled. Every broken twig summoned his gaze and a twitch from his wand hand. Harry wouldn't say that the mood was relaxed, but it was certainly nicer than direct danger. It wasn't fear or anger or concern. It was quiet and that was enough.

Eventually, hunger won the war between staying and returning to the real world. Harry crested the hill around a small crag and quickly found his way back into the safety of Hermione's wards. The tent they had chosen was one on loan from the Weasleys, small and unassuming on the outside, large and homely on the inside. It wasn't as established as their base in the Shrieking Shack, but it was a nice change from the abandoned building's dingy walls and cavernous insides.

Hermione was waiting for him, sitting by the entrance with a book in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in the other, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Harry tried not to eye the cup of tea with too much envy as the November chill seeped into his skin.

"Good morning," he called. Hermione looked up from her book and smiled politely.

"It's nearly ten o'clock. I was about to come looking for you."

Harry sat beside her, placing the wand down beside him and wiping his brow.

"Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yes, actually." She slotted a paper bookmark between the pages and carefully closed her book. "How about you?"

Harry merely smiled but didn't answer. Instead, he stared between the trees surrounding them, as far as he could see. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had been somewhere where so little happened. He could sit for days here and achieve nothing. No one would find them. No one would look for them. It was like a world lost to time.

"Why are we here, Hermione?"

Her hand gripped his shoulder and her thumb stroked his skin.

"Because you need to rest," she explained softly. "To get away from it all, just for a bit. We both do."

They certainly did. Every day from the moment they left the Burrow until last week when Hermione had all but dragged him to this place - the Forest of Dean where she and her parents used to holiday - had been fraught with battle after battle. Everything they once took for granted, even surviving day to day, was now a fight that seemed to never end. Harry was sure he had nearly died more times in the past few months than he had in the last five years.

His body hated him for it but his mind was too tired to care. It took Hermione strong-arming him with all of her stern authority for him to even consider slowing down, let alone sitting out for a while.

"Riddle won't rest," Harry grumbled, "even if we do."

"I know," Hermione replied patiently, her eyes darting to his leg, "but you've been fighting constantly for months now."

"I'd rather be helping people on the front line than hiding away out here."

"You can't help people if you burn yourself out. This is war, Harry. Rest is a strategic necessity."

"And the reason why Ron isn't here with us?" Harry asked with a light smirk, to which Hermione replied with one of her own.

"I'd rather our supplies lasted longer than an afternoon." She patted his hand. "And you're much better company."

Harry breathed and made a show of looking around the brook they had made their camping site.

"Is this where you and your parents used to stay when you were little?"

"Not here, exactly. We'd usually rent a cottage and take the car out here for walks. I've never camped in the forest itself." Hermione's eyes shifted to the horizon and beyond, back through the years. The mood shifted to something sombre and Harry allowed her to reminisce in silence.

Hermione hadn't talked about her parents since the Burrow, but he could see it weighed on her. It saddened him to know that for once, she completely understood a part of him now, more than she ever should. At least it had been on her terms, but even then, it was a sacrifice she shouldn't have had to make.

Harry hoped that by returning to this place that meant so much to her, she could heal some of that wound. That was partially why he didn't want to come when she mentioned it. She deserved this time to herself. This place was hers, her memories, her time to mourn and come to terms with it all. He would only get in the way. He already was.

He sat on his heels and made to pour himself a drink when Hermione grabbed his arm tight. For a moment he thought she was hurt, but quickly he realised she wanted him to stay. So he did. With a sad smile, she lifted her blanket and revealed another mug of steaming tea, still warm and waiting for him. Graciously, Harry took a hungry sip and smiled as it tasted just how he liked it.

"It's lovely." He turned to look her in the eye, smiling from behind the rim. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Hermione smiled back and Harry took another sip as she rose to clean up her mug. That was when Harry noticed something.

"Hey, have you seen my wand?" he asked. "I put it down a second ago."

"It's inside," Hermione explained with amusement. "You've been using my wand."

Harry frowned. His eyes dropped to his side where he had placed the wand he'd been using since he had woken up that morning, the one he'd haphazardly grabbed in the dark as he stumbled out of the tent. A ten-inch vine wood instrument, with a core of dragon heartstring.

"Oh, so I have," he noted, his face blushing. Hermione stared at him curiously.

"You didn't notice?" she chuckled and Harry shrugged.

"Well, it was pitch black…"

Harry stopped talking as he realised his mistake. It wasn't long before Hermione's brain began putting pieces together and her amusement faded into concern.

"How long have you been training?"

Like a chagrined schoolboy, Harry stared at the ground, fiddling with his fingers as he refused to acknowledge the question. The truth was he didn't know. All he knew was that when he started, the moon was still in the sky. He kept practising long after the sun rose. He hadn't realised that he'd been using Hermione's wand. His mind was so far away, he'd hardly noticed daybreak.

A beleaguered sigh met his eyes and Harry's heart sank into his stomach. It would have hurt less if she shouted at him or hit him. Even disappointment would have been easier to swallow.

"Oh, Harry..."

The tired young man shook his head, giving up all pretence of pretending he was okay.

"I can't sleep." His fingers pulled at the hair on his temples as if trying to wrench the nightmares out of his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just-"

A warm weight pressed into his side and her arms wrapped around him.

"It's okay..."

Resistance wore out and Harry burrowed into her jumper.

"It just doesn't stop," he whispered. "Every night it... I want it to stop."

"I know…" Her hands brushed over his head, her fingers weaving through his hair. "We have dreamless sleep potions."

"No," Harry insisted half-heartedly, "those are only for when we need them."

"You can't sleep," Hermione's voice was hard and pleading. "You need them."

"I shouldn't have to. I should just…" He should just be better already. Why couldn't he be strong for her? Why was it always like this, Hermione forced to bury her pain to ease his own? It wasn't fair. He pushed her away, just enough to see her face. "I'm so sorry, we're in this beautiful place and I'm with you and I want to be happy and I'm just being miserable-"

"You're allowed to be miserable, Harry," she smiled and she looked so beautiful. For some reason it only made him feel worse. "I can take it."

"I don't want you to take it!" he shouted. Hermione looked unfazed but Harry immediately wished he could take it back. He took a deep breath to regain some composure. "You shouldn't have to. I'm trying... I'm trying my best... I'm just so tired."

"I know." With that, she rose to her feet, holding out her hand. "Come on. I'm going to give you dreamless sleep and you're going to rest now."

"No-"

"Yes," she said, her mind made up. "I insist. You'll feel better, I promise."

It was the truth, Harry knew it. It just felt wrong to accept it. He didn't want to need anyone's help, not when he could lie and say that he was fine. Not when so many others needed help. However, this was Hermione asking and, in the end, he could never say no to her.

Harry took her hand and allowed her to lead him inside the tent. He tucked himself into his cot and Hermione brought him a dreamless sleep potion, just as she said she would. Not five minutes after the potion passed his lips, Harry was fast asleep.

He awoke to the sound of a kettle softly whistling and opened his bleary eyes to the glow of morning light. There was a dry taste to his mouth, and his bones felt heavy, but his head was clear for the first time in weeks. His body felt refreshed and Harry quickly found himself standing on lighter feet.

With steady steps, he padded across the tent and entered the kitchen area - a large open space with a table and chairs laid atop a red carpet and a rustic stove, sink and countertop hugging the edges. Hermione was sitting in an armchair in the corner, tucked into a large book with a cup of tea sitting on a table beside her. Hearing his feet thudding across the floor, she looked up from her book and greeted him with a tender smile.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Good morning, yourself," Harry mumbled back. He clumsily landed in a chair, leaning against the table as the rest of his body woke up.

"Feel any better?"

"Yes, actually. Tons." He blinked, spying the glint in her stare. "Go on, say it."

Hermione sat a little taller in her chair, grinning with all the glee of a child.

"I told you so," she announced cheekily. Harry rolled his eyes at her, but truthfully he didn't mind losing to Hermione, especially when she treated him to her beautiful smile.

"Yes, you did," he smiled, stretching the stiff muscles in his face. "And I'm always glad for it."

Rather than gloat over him any longer, she responded with a gracious nod, though still looking very pleased with herself.

"So I'm thinking a quick walk around the forest while there's still light - not too far, your leg's still healing - and then dinner," she said as she passed him a still-warm mug of tea. "I've caught us some fish."

"You have?" Harry asked, remembering her many attempts to catch fish with the levitation charm. Hermione huffed, her arms planted on her hips.

"Yes, I have," she pouted. Harry shrugged.

"Clever girl." He took his steaming mug into his hand before she had the mind to take it back. "I'll cook. I need something to do."

"And then afterwards we'll discuss theories on the Horcruxes."

"Of course, dear."

And just like that, life was easy again.

It wasn't long before they were both bundled up in layers of thick clothing and walking side by side down the river, just the two of them. They didn't talk about much, mainly what Hermione had discovered from Rowena Ravenclaw's history. There were few leads to follow, although there was a diadem that continued to appear in her many accounts. It wasn't farfetched to assume that Riddle had taken an interest in that particular artefact. Finding it however would be a different matter entirely.

They didn't walk far, Harry's leg was still healing and they didn't want to hurt it with strenuous exercise. It forced Harry to take it slow for the next few days while the dittany solution worked into his wound. It was a slow process, even with the dittany speeding up the healing process, but there were still traces of dark magic that threatened to tear it open again, undoing any progress it made. Harry didn't know how to feel about it.

On the one hand, it meant he would be out of the fight for even longer than he anticipated and that fact itched in his head with every idle moment. On the other hand, it meant he had no choice but to embrace the calm all around him. The Forest of Dean was truly a beautiful place. It was nice that he had been given the time to appreciate it.

As the week continued, they quickly fell into a cycle. They would wake up, eat breakfast, research their leads, have lunch, walk around the forest to get some air, catch and cook supper then finally conduct more research before bed. Their routine rarely deviated except when they were low on food and had to sneak away to a nearby market.

However, Harry didn't mind the repetition quite so much as he had in the shack. He hadn't realised how much he missed something so normal. It reminded him of his time in Hogwarts, all the best parts. A routine to follow, something to do just for himself. It felt almost like a life of his own.

No, it was better than that, because it wasn't just his own. It was a life he shared with someone, with Hermione no less. Just the two of them, alone in a tent, in the middle of a picturesque forest. It was almost enough to make him forget the war entirely.

There were these little moments - whether it was handing Hermione her plate of dinner, seeing her eagerly watch him as he cooked, or noticing how the evening sun caught her hair as she read by the creek - that made him realise just how deeply he wanted a life like this.

Every day that passed in these woods served as a reminder of why he'd fallen for her. Everything felt so much simpler with her. No problem felt insurmountable, every moment ushered by in comfort. All the time in the world would've been worth nothing without her there to spend it with.

And then reality would catch up with him. He would look down to his notes and see the word 'Horcrux' jumping out at him, recall the memory of Riddle's face, hear the voices of all those people at the camp begging for news of their family, and the faint breeze that rustled the leaves would have him shivering as though it were an arctic wind.

"How's your leg?" Hermione asked one day as she applied new bandaging to his thigh. Harry tried not to wince as the dittany settled into his skin, days of healing transpiring over seconds, the sting of dark magic trying to resist it.

"Better," he nodded. "A few more days and it should be back to normal. "

"You promise you'll be more careful?" she said, staring at him with those brown doe eyes that demanded his attention. He smiled as she tightened a piece of fabric around his leg.

"I promise," he said dutifully, resisting a smirk.

"Good," she nodded, "Because next time, you'll be bandaging yourself."

"Ooh," he crooned, "but I like it when you tend to me."

For just a moment he caught a soft blush blossoming on her cheeks before she quickly turned away.

"You still need to learn how to do it." Her frown deepened as she carefully washed her hands. "For the next time, you go running off all by yourself."

It could have almost been a light jab, if not for the way she said it. Tired, resigned, strained. Harry felt his bluster fade away.

"I'm not gonna do that to you," he replied earnestly. "Or Ron. We're a team."

He heard her sigh from across the room. Her hair waved with the shake of her head.

"I want to believe you, Harry," she said wearily. "I really do."

"Then believe me."

She turned to look at him, a melancholy smile on her face.

"I want to, but I know you too well."

The mood never quite recovered after that. Harry was left reeling at the sudden turn, unsure what he did wrong, whether he had done anything wrong at all. Throughout supper, he had silently churned over Hermione's smile, one of fond defeat.

The next few words they shared were over empty plates after their small meal had come to a close. Hermione had silently dismissed herself to an armchair in the corner of the tent, reading the ancient tome of Rowena Ravenclaw's life. Not daring to disturb her, Harry quietly washed and dried the dishes, wasting time with as many small chores as he could. The dim candlelight, once cosy, felt suffocating, only exacerbating the silence.

"Have you heard anything from Ron or Angela?" he asked, dropping the question like a boulder into a frozen lake.

"Nothing," she replied, her eyes never leaving the words on the page.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Yes, Harry," she snapped.

He was half-tempted to leave it at that and simply go to bed, but then he would hardly be a Gryffindor if he did.

"You're upset with me." He announced it without any preamble, so plainly that not even she could ignore it. Her eyes finally tore away from the book in her lap and Harry felt his hair stand on end. "Please, just tell me why."

"I'm not upset with you," she sighed.

"Yes, you are."

"It's not-" She stopped, swallowing what she was about to say, staring into space. The book closed with a heavy thud and was carefully set aside. "I know you just want to get out of here already, back to the shack. Back to Ron and the others. We're only waiting on that leg before we go."

Harry hadn't the shame to deny it. Perhaps he could have done more to hide his fleeting moments of impatience but then again Hermione could always see through him no matter what he tried to hide. So that was what she meant when she said she knew him too well.

"That's different," he argued. "You know they need our help. So many people do, all the time and we can barely keep up as it is-"

"I know," Hermione snapped, before taking a calming breath, "I never said you're wrong for thinking it. We never would've had forever. I just… I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. I get it. It's just…" he sighed. His shoulders drooped. "I can't just stop."

"Why not? It's only been a week, Harry."

A week? He mentally counted the days backwards and found them to be correct. This warm haze of normalcy he had sunken into had played more tricks on him than he had thought.

"Has it been that long?" he smiled nonchalantly. "Feels like we just got here."

"Feels like we've been here for years," Hermione said pointedly.

Harry glanced at her, feeling her eyes settle on him, waiting for his response. In the time that they had spoken, the distance between them had diminished, until Harry's hand was resting on her shoulder, her bushy hair tickling his fingers. He knew she wasn't talking about the tent.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Maybe we have."

The next day, the pair found themselves sitting around a tree trunk, the cool morning air doing little to warm the frigid air between them. Hermione was absorbed in a book, sipping from her steaming mug. Harry chose to sit in silence, staring at how the river ran by.

His fingers delved into his pocket, feeling the furry pouch inside, formulating a plan. One of the things he hadn't considered when they began preparing for a life on the run was money. Harry had managed to arrange for one of the Order to collect a small fortune on his behalf before Riddle had taken over the Ministry and made that nearly impossible, but it wasn't a permanent solution.

They mostly used their money for supplies out in the field, whenever they weren't at Mr Dalton's property or within the vicinity of Hogwarts. Along with this, Harry had been able to get a portion of it transferred to muggle currency, to better blend in. That was what the furry pouch in his pocket held, a stack of notes and coins hastily stuffed into a magically enlarged bag.

They were only supposed to use it in emergencies, but Harry knew there would be plenty for later. Right now, they both needed some cheering up.

"There's a supermarket nearby," he announced, breaking the silence between them. Hermione didn't make a sound. He hesitantly continued. "I'm thinking of going there sometime tomorrow, picking up the essentials. Like eggs, maybe. I haven't made an omelette in a while, thought I'd give it a try."

"I like my omelette with basil," she eventually said without looking away from the page. Harry's chest glowed with fondness.

"Looks like I'm getting basil, too," he smiled and Hermione shrewdly smiled back.

"Thank you."

"And if it goes wrong, then I hope you don't mind scrambled eggs," he chuckled.

"As long as there's basil, I'll be fine," Hermione grinned. "Do we have enough money?"

"We have plenty," he reassured her, "don't you worry. I'm also getting you a gift."

A pair of big brown eyes fixed towards him, evidently surprised.

"You don't have to-" she tried to argue but Harry refused.

"Yes, I do. I've been an arse recently. I know it can't make up for it by buying you stuff, but I'd like to try."

"Harry…" Hermione shook her head, closing her book, "please, you haven't-"

"Hermione." He gently took her clammy hands in his, staring into her eyes in a manner that pinned her to the spot. "I want to do this. Just relax. I'm taking care of everything tonight."

A light blush dusted her cheeks and Harry readjusted her scarf to cover them, a teasing smirk on his face as he did so. Hermione hastily returned to her book, although it didn't quite absorb her as it did before, judging from how often he would catch her eyes wandering toward him only to return to her page.

A quick trip to the market later, and after a long evening of preparing the most intricate meal of his life, Harry sat across from a thoroughly sated Hermione Granger, leaning back in her chair with a dazed expression. Her plate was empty to the point of cleanliness, her cutlery strewn lazily across her plate.

"Harry," she spoke in an almost drunken drawl.

"Hmm?" he replied as he finished off his last roast potato. Hermione's half-lidded eyes rolled to gaze at him.

"That was the best omelette I've ever eaten."

Harry couldn't contain his triumphant smile.

"You're welcome."

There was a loud scrape as Hermione settled further in her chair, visibly melting.

"Oh God, I can't move," she groaned. "I'm full."

Her host sighed dramatically. He stood up, picked up her empty plate and stacked it to be cleared away later. He leaned over her chair, staring face to face at the well-fed young woman who was struggling to stay awake.

"What am I gonna do with you?" he sighed endearingly.

"Make me another omelette, please?" she smiled pleadingly, her large brown eyes staring up at him like a puppy. At this, Harry cackled and dropped a kitchen towel on her face.

"Nice try."

Hermione clumsily swiped the towel away as Harry dropped their plates into the sink.

"Prat," she pouted.

"Excuse me," he exclaimed over the swish of water, "I made you a lovely supper."

"And now you've spoiled omelettes for me forever."

"Well, maybe if you learned to make one yourself…"

"As long as you promise to teach me." She paused for a moment. "And you extra promise not to laugh when I get it wrong."

"Teach you? Well, I suppose…" he sighed, affecting his best impression of Snape. "I expect a twelve-inch essay on the correct preparation method of omelettes by next week, Miss Granger."

The brunette rolled her eyes at him, biting her lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of her humour.

"Is this going to be revenge for all those times I pestered you to do your homework in school?"

"Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's LeviOmelette, not LeviomeLETTE."

That was too far for Hermione, who began to bellow an indignant laugh.

"Shut up! You're lucky I'm too full to get up and strangle you right now!" she warned with a red face.

"Oh, I'm very lucky," Harry drawled. He reached into a cabinet and produced a bottle of dark red liquid. Hermione's eyes widened as the bottle was waved in front of her. "Would you like some wine, my lady?"

"Yes, please."

A couple of round glasses were placed carefully on the table, gleaming in the candlelight.

"For the record, if I were going to spoil you," Harry noted as he got to work pulling out the cork, "I'd buy you the biggest library in the world."

"Go on…" Hermione leaned in and whispered, quietly enraptured.

"And I'd put your favourite armchair in it," he continued, pouring a healthy swig of wine into each glass, "right next to a roaring fireplace, with a little bed for Crookshanks too."

"And don't forget a Quidditch pitch," she teased, "just so you have a reason to visit."

"As long as you're there, Hermione," he smirked, "I'll always have a reason to visit."

"Oh," she crooned, "now you really are spoiling me."

The two lifted their glasses and gently clinked them together.

"Cheers," they spoke, their eyes locked together.

"To a lovely dinner," Hermione whispered. With that, they drank. It wasn't bad for cheap wine, though Harry didn't have a frame of reference. However, the warm glow in his chest was nothing compared to the heat he felt radiating off of Hermione. He felt his mind shifting into a total calm, the dim light gently highlighting Hermione's smooth skin and making her eyes glitter.

It was embarrassing how often his thoughts came back to her eyes, but they had a power over him that was hard to shake, like a spell of their own. For all the things he could do - he could resist a Veela's allure and even shake the Imperius curse - he was powerless to avoid her gaze. Clear, warm, and inviting.

Loving.

He hated to break the spell so soon, but as the evening wore on, he found his mood slowly sinking. There had been something that weighed on his mind ever since coming to the Forest of Dean, one that had rarely left him. All that time thinking about Hermione and her parents had reignited a longing he thought he had come to terms with. He had been debating whether to bring it up at all, but in the end, he knew he needed to at least broach the subject.

"What is it?" Hermione asked him when she finally noticed his mood.

Harry stared at her, inching towards the edge, trying to muster up the courage to get the words out. In the end, he had to remind himself that it was Hermione he was speaking to. She wouldn't think any less of him for it. She would never judge him. His council was safe with her.

"I want to go to Godric's Hollow."

An uneasy quiet settled over them, so quiet that they could hear the bustle of leaves outside. Harry felt himself withdraw, suddenly feeling very small.

"It's not far from here," he added. "We can make a day of it."

He was just about to admit defeat when he felt Hermione's hand grasp his, lacing their fingers together. Just that simple act made him feel all the more secure.

"Harry," she said softly. "He knows how important it is to you. It's an ambush waiting to happen."

"I know," he nodded, agreeing with everything that she had said, "but I have to go. It's something I've always meant to do. Before I die…" He shook his head, the words not quite sinking in. "I need to see them. And I can't do it without you."

The thought had occurred to him of going there himself, either sneaking out one night or simply venturing there without Hermione to help him. Both scenarios filled him with anxiety that made him realise the truth. He didn't know what he would find there, but whatever it was, he couldn't imagine facing it without Hermione.

The young woman stroked his knuckle with her thumb. Her face furrowed in deep contemplation. He saw the cogs turning in her head, undoubtedly thinking through everything that could go wrong, of which there was plenty.

"I'm not saying we can't do it," she murmured, "but we'll need to prepare. And if it turns south, we leave immediately."

"Of course," Harry agreed before she changed her mind.

Her chair creaked as she leaned forward. Harry felt her hair brush against his cheek and she drew him into a tight hug.

"Thank you for telling me," she whispered, her lips moving against his ear. Harry grabbed hold of her, pulling her in tight, feeling her warmth seep into him even as a sense of dread emerged in his heart.

It was decided. They were going to Godric's Hollow.