Author's Note:

Part 2 was a lot more difficult to write. I tried to show how Hermione's mind was slipping back and forth between reality and memory. Between happiness and trauma. So this may seem to flip flop quite a bit. It may even be revised in the future. If there are any tips on this chapter I would really love to hear them

Disclaimer:

J.K Rowling owns all.

Love and War Chapter 12
Journeys Part 2

It radiated. With every step, every climb, Hermione felt the burning. The growing ache of her muscles, the lingering fire of dark magic scorching through her veins, the shrieking screams of her injuries; her mind struggled to fight past it and trek on. But she could not let the pain stop her, not now. Not with so much on the line.

George was worried. She was sure of that. His gaze lingered on her, concern present each time their eyes connected, silently begging her to take it easy. But she would not slow down. Not when they were still so far from freedom.

His freedom, she thought as she glanced across the field again, studying the path before them. The clearing, full of radiant beauty, was a gift bestowed to them by Merlin himself. It was a gift of danger, but it was perfect none the less. If they ran it, they could clear it in three minutes. They would only be visible for three minutes. Three minutes, and George would be safe.

"You think keeping quiet will save you?" Shutting her eyes, Hermione cursed the memories clouding her mind. That voice, that vicious hiss of tenderness, barreled through, reminding her of the horror that awaited them if they were caught. She could feel the hard floor beneath against her back, the long dark curls brushing against her face, the tip of a wand pressed against her neck.

With a shake of her head it was gone. The memory, which became so real each time, cleared from the blank canvas of her closed lips. It was so disorienting for Hermione. One moment she was in the lavish house, adorn with the dark riches of old pureblood wealth, and the next, she was free in the English wilderness. As Hermione glanced up, a twinkling lining the edge of her vision, feeling like this was just a pleasant hallucination midst the torture.

The green that surrounded her encased her in a cocoon of nature. It was all so freeing, so dream like. A happiness like no other felt before contrasted her fear, making her forget the past even existed. The soft mossy floor. The hard log she sat on. The streaming sunlight. And George.

Almost sighing aloud Hermione's focus finally landed on George. She watched the fluid movements of his casting. The shirt he had on early in the day was now tucked in the pack, exposing his similarly marred skin to the breezeless summer air. She took note of the gashes, but drove her attention to the muscles of his back. How they tensed and relaxed as he set up the protection wards. How his shoulders moved with the circulating of his wand. It was the most captivating sight, stirring the pit of her stomach with a melted desire.

Three minutes, she thought, but as she attempted to stand, her ankle protested. A sharp pain shot up her leg, sending her back down to reality and her seat. The only reason George seemed so reluctant to cross the field was because of her. Hermione felt completely beyond repair, and no matter how much she wanted George, he would not see past that. Especially if she kept hindering his safe return home. She was broken, and because of that, she was hindering their chances. His chances.

It was then that they heard it. The snap of the twigs. The rustle of the leaves. The deep grumbles of human life. Hermione's body froze, only her eyes snapping in the direction of the sound, but George, with his beater reflexes still sharp, was quicker. He lifted Hermione almost instantly, and moved to hide them both in a patch of thicker wilderness; the disillusion charm now securely in place.

They were both unsure of what was to happen, whether this would mean their doom. Hermione could feel the tremors of her body, panic rattling her senses. A fear for herself. A fear for George. This is it, she thought, as the thudding steps neared. With eyes shut tight, the conversation becoming more distinct, evil inched its way closer and closer.

"Elmar," the crunch of forest beneath heavy boots came to a halt, and Hermione bit her lip to keep from whimpering. "I doubt 'ey went this far."

"Even if that were the case," a swine sounding death eater spoke slowly, "we're the furthest out. LeStrange will do us in if we let 'em run. Young Malfoy got it easy compared to us."

A sickening feeling rose up her throat as her memories morphed. Hermione could picture it. Draco lying on the dark floor of the manor, blood spilling from his many cuts, his aunt hovering over him, wand aimed for another curse. An urge to turn back and aid their classmate and rescuer filled her mind, but was cut short.

You're gonna scream for me girly, it whispered, the husk of an animal lingering in the cold malice of the voice. Plunged back into the dark sitting room, she felt Fenrir's breath against her face, Draco's body lying limp next to her own. She swayed, feeling the tips of what felt like the sharpest knives digging into her side, carving a vile hate into her flesh. Suddenly everything got very dizzy. She could hardly stay conscious, the pain becoming too much, as the world was falling beneath her. The bile climbing up her throat become nearly impossible to keep down, but it all instantly vanished when George's hand landed on her forearm.

A sudden flutter of her lids, and Hermione found her gaze locked with George's. It was as if she was drawn to his unspoken request. The dark ocean whirled in his orbs begging her to drown, pulling her out of the confines of her mind and into his. A finger placed snugly against his smirking lips, punctuating the need for quiet, drew the horror out. She was sent back to her days in Hogwarts', hiding from Filch in an alcove as she returned from an after hour potions run. She almost smiled with him.

"I still don' think 'ey came out this far, and if 'ey did, 'ey got away." The two death eaters seemed to float around them as George's stare fixated on Hermione's, an intense emotional current floating between them. A subtle shake of his head and she knew what he was thinking.

They had to forget Draco was a spy. Maybe even forget about him entirely. He was after all just that, a spy. To put him in a harm's way, more so than he was, would be a death sentence. If his cover was blown, everything he worked for would have been for nothing. "How 'bout we 'ead back to that lake 'ere and wait?"

"Wait for what?" The cloaked figure, whose steps stopped right before their shrubbery, hissed. Hermione let out an audible swallow and she felt George's fingertips rub soothing circles on her skin, distracting her from the danger which loomed right over their heads.

"'Em to reach there," the disturbingly cheerful reply seemed bright and full life, a large contrast to the vile undertone of her words. "'Ey need water right? Why not wait at the one stop needed?"

"'Uppose you're right," said the obviously dimmer death eater, and just as quickly as they arrived, the two enemies left. Their steps thudded against the earth, vibrating through the dirt back in the direction they had come from. It was clear the protection wards were in full affect.

Still, George and Hermione remained hidden in the shrubs, waiting in silence. George's hand, moved up to cup Hermione's cheek, and instinctively her face nuzzled into his touch. The pad of his thumb stroked against her skin before she felt his lips press against her forehead. The comfort which she depended on left her breathless, even from such a simple action.

Moving closer to him, his arms pulled her into his chest and she relished in the embrace. Hermione sighed softly as his warmth rushed through her body. With her head tucked under his chin and his hand rubbing up and down the length of her back, she finally relaxed. Even as they hid in the bushes, the safety she felt in George's arms was like no other, but Hermione knew they had to get moving.

"George," she whispered, pulling herself back just enough to meet his gaze. "We have to make it across that field." He looked like he was about to object, but gave in with a nod.

"We would have to run," glancing down at her ankle, she knew what he was silently asking her, and she only nodded in response. Standing out of the bush timidly, Hermione slowly walked to the edge of the clearing.

Studying their path, she felt herself fill with nerves. The bright sun would prove the disillusion charm useless, breaking through the mirror like reflections the spell worked on. Taking a shaky breath and releasing it slowly, she prepared herself, knowing the pain in her ankle would near crippling as she ran.

"Whenever you're ready love," George's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him, and his face buried against her shoulder as whispered his encouragement. But Hermione knew what he longed to say. He hardly thought this was a good idea, but it was the only way, and they had to go. Now.

Feeling bold, she turned around in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their eyes met briefly, allowing them to communicate without words. I'll be fine, her cinnamon sprinkled onto the ocean, appeasing his concern. Gently, she raised herself on her toes, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek to convey an unsure emotion. One that required more time for examination, time they could not afford.

Abruptly breaking out of his embrace, Hermione bolted across the field running from what she longed for. George's fast steps chased her own not even a moment after, making the noise of her foot falls echo.

So you never forget what you are, Mudblood, The voice she refused to hear pummeled through her thoughts, attempting to hold her hostage in the cell she escaped. But Hermione pushed onward, reminding her of George's promise to never leave her side and she smiled despite the sting of the run. He would always follow her, she knew that now.

The air rushed past her ears as she moved across the meadow. The warm air finally building movement, even if it was propelled by her own. The thick heat filled her lungs, her breaths laboured in the run, as sweat dripped down her skin.

And the pain. Oh the pain. Her ankle was scorching. Each step that landed on the soft earth caused the joint shatter violently. Even though the throb mixed with the gentle burn of her side, slick with blood, her pace refused to waver. They had cleared the meadow and still Hermione kept running through the patch of trees, feeling George's worried gaze fixated on her form as he hurried after her.

I will never forget your smell kitten, the animal returned, attempting to trap her once more. The dark closed in, but Hermione pushed through passing the trees with the speed of a stag. She leaped over a fallen log, the shock of her landing causing shooting cracks upward, but Hermione did not stumble.

Suddenly, she felt George's hand on her shoulder, drawing her to a halt and it was then she noticed it. The breeze first, but then the sun. It was brighter as it beat down on them. The air seemed to clear from the humidity and the mountains were larger than she ever saw them before. They had passed the ring, behind them the forest disappeared entirely under the magic placed on the Malfoy grounds.

It's safe, she smiled before pulling out her wand, but George stilled her hand.

"Let me," He said, a soft chuckle lacing his tone before he added. "splinching isn't something I quite enjoy." His arm rested on her waist, supporting her weight, a wide smirk firmly on her lips, and then she felt it. The pull and twist, starting in her stomach, and they had not even apparated yet. Reaching up, her finger tips glided across his brow, gingerly brushing away the sweat. His eyes closed, seemingly relishing in the feel of her touch, and his lips curved upward in a sly grin. Her belly flipped with joy and she realized what it all meant.

She was not delusional. She was not dependent on the comfort of their shared experience. Sure, it was part of it, but there was more. A surprisingly empowering emotion. Hermione Granger fancied George Weasley.

"Let's go," she whispered, lifting herself onto the toes of her steady foot and pressing her lips to his cheek. His grin widen in response and with a crack they were gone. The twisting and pulling which she felt now was different and not as pleasant. Apparition, she knew, was guiding them to safety, but the assault of dizziness mixing with her own sublime nirvana was the final straw.

As she landed next to George, outside the familiar building, her body gave in. Her vision tunneled while the weight on her feet became too much to support. Darkness finally consumed her sight, and the falling feeling guided her down the tunnel.

"Hermione love," she barely registered the feel of George'e strong arms holding her up, but did hear his soft whispers. He sounded so isolated, as if she was stuck in the nightmare, and he was the freed to live in the dream of liberty. His pleas for help seemed to be created in her mind as the distance between them grew. The disorientation finally took over in a blackening confusion. He's safe now, was her last thought before it all went black.

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