What came next was a lingering goodnight kiss before their heads hit their pillows and sleep took them both.
The golden light of the morning ebbed down the wall opposite the windows slowly until the warm rays found their way to Hermione's face.
It was the pleasant warmth, more than the ambient light that woke her.
She was lying on her side, curled up slightly, and as she more fully returned to consciousness, she realized her feet were cold.
Frowning, she shifted and discovered the culprit. Somewhere in the night, Harry had bunched the covers around himself, cocooning his legs and leaving her half uncovered. She pinched the comforter between her feet and gave a little tug.
Harry stirred at the movement, letting out a slow yawn.
"Mmmmorning." He yawned. She felt him stretch on the bed behind her.
"Morning, love… You stole the covers, thief." She said playfully.
Only then did she notice the pleasant weight of his hand on her hip. She might not have realized at all if he hadn't given a sleepy squeeze, accidentally tickling her.
"Not stealing." Harry murmured, still half asleep. "Jus' borrowing… indefinitely."
She smiled and kept tugging on the covers with her feet.
"That's what theft is, Harry James." She said easily.
"You'd know, right?" He asked with a sleepy chuckle.
Hermione scoffed lightly. "And what precisely is that supposed to mean?"
"Comes with the territory, I suppose." He exhaled, shifting closer to her. "I am in bed with the mastermind behind the Great Jersey Heist of '93."
She laughed heartily at that.
He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss just behind her ear. His hand was still resting lightly on her hip, thumb brushing absently against the fabric of her nightshirt. It was easy, natural, familiar.
And yet—
As he stirred more fully awake, Harry became uncomfortably aware of his situation.
The dull haze of sleep cleared, and in its place came the very unfortunate realization that his body had its own plans for the morning.
He swallowed, keeping still.
It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd woken up like this. And he knew Hermione wouldn't make a big deal out of it. But after the weekend they'd just had—mourning, memorials, grief—this definitely wasn't how he wanted to start the morning.
Think of something else.
Quidditch drills. Chess openings. The way Snape used to glare at him in Potions.
It was working. He'd managed to hold a perfectly normal conversation.
And then—
Hermione rubbed her feet together beneath the blankets. "Still a bit chilly," she mused.
Harry seized the first escape route available.
Thinking fast, he replied, "Well, you've got covers now… Sorry 'bout that."
"It's ok, love."
Before he could stop her, before he could warn her, she wiggled backward under the covers, instinctively seeking his warmth until she was pressed firmly against him.
"Oh bloody hell." He thought to himself, as he felt heat rising in his face.
She stilled for a moment, then he felt her tense slightly.
He shifted himself backwards a few inches.
"…Harry." Her voice was still sleepy and light, but carried a hint of knowing curiosity as well.
"…was that?"
Harry wished for a moment that the mattress would swallow him up.
There was no sense in denying it.
He covered his face with his hands and groaned. "Yeah... Sorry."
Hermione bit her lip, holding back laughter. Not at him—never at him—but at his distress.
"You realize this is normal, right?"
She was a saint, not chuckling at him, but he could hear the smile in her voice.
"Yes, I know that." His voice was muffled by his hands. "I was doing brilliantly at keeping it to myself, actually. Until you had to go and wiggle."
Hermione rolled onto her back and looked at him, her eyes softening slightly. "You know," she mused, brushing her fingers along his hand, "you once told me I was cute when I was flustered."
Harry groaned dramatically, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "And now you're using my own words against me."
"Of course I am," she teased, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
"I promise, it's not a big deal."
"I know," he sighed. "It's just… It's not how I planned on starting the morning."
Hermione smirked. "You had a plan?"
Harry groaned again. "No, but if I did, it definitely wouldn't have involved this conversation."
She laughed again—then, much to his horror, wiggled again on purpose, just to tease him.
"Hermione!"
"What?" She grinned up at him. "It's your fault for being so warm. Maybe next time don't go stealing all the covers."
Harry exhaled sharply and dropped his head onto her shoulder in defeat.
"You love me," she said, taking his hand from around her waist and kissing it.
"…Yeah," he admitted, letting his arm tighten around her waist again. "I really do."
She smiled, snuggling back into his embrace. "Good. Now hold me, I'm still cold."
Harry huffed a laugh, finally relaxing. And this time, when she curled into him, he simply held her close—awkward mornings and all.
—X—X—X—
Later that morning, they made the very short drive to Hogsmeade and parked near the train station.
Harry sighed heavily as Hermione parked the truck.
"What's on your mind, love?" She asked, seeing the stress in his shoulders.
"This is it, isn't it?" He asked. "First time we're out and about on the magic side of things."
"Yeah…" she replied, uncertain. "At least it's just Hogsmeade though, and not Diagon or something. Plus, it's after the morning rush." She tried to reassure him.
"True." He admitted. "Can't just slink away from society forever, I suppose. Gotta face it eventually."
She gave him an uncertain smile.
"Sorry, I don't want to spoil the morning." He said more cheerfully. "Madam Rosmerta knows us well enough. Maybe she won't make a big deal of us."
They got out of the truck and walked hand-in-hand to The Three Broomsticks for a spot of breakfast.
Aside from a few turning heads followed by some shocked faces, they drew surprisingly little attention. As they approached, the scents of the pub wafted to them. The house butterbeer recipe had a unique scent that brought them both back to third year, and they could tell there were hash browns on the grill.
A little bell rang as they opened the door to the pub, and they made their way to a small booth near the bar. A moment later, Madam Rosmerta bustled over to them and froze in her tracks when she looked up at them.
"Hi, Madam Rosmerta." Harry greeted the witch. His tone was warm but wary. He wasn't sure what to expect.
It took her brain a moment to catch up. She blinked a few times, then finally spoke.
"Well!" She said, beaming at them with a familiar smile. "If it isn't undesirables number one and two!" She chuckled warmly. "I wasn't sure you two would ever darken my door again."
Harry and Hermione smiled weakly as Rosmerta thought for a moment. Her warm smile faded into something else, something more serious and concerned. "But I'm very glad you've made it back here."
They both let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"We're glad to be back, Rosmerta." Hermione said as she reached across the table to take Harry's hand.
Rosmerta didn't miss that detail. "Well, that's a new development, eh?" She grinned, dropping her eyes to their joined hands on the table and giving them a wink."
"Pretty new, yeah." Harry fought off a blush.
"Well good for you two." She replied easily. "What can I get you?"
—
Hermione ordered coffee with cream and sugar, while Harry had a mug of English Breakfast tea. They enjoyed some time to talk about changes she'd noticed in her magic in the week they'd been on the move.
They also made a plan to contact Charles to get a message out to Shack. Harry wanted to see about getting proper muggle identification.
They both had a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and fried ham before they paid and went on their way to pick up some outerwear for use on some of their future stops.
"So where's this next stop of ours, and what do you think we might need?" Harry asked as they walked down High Street toward most of the shops in the village.
"Well, it's up on Skye. It's a bit remote, and I don't think we'll be able to get the truck close like we did at that tower last week."
"It shouldn't surprise you to hear I've never been up that way." Harry reminded her.
"Right, sorry." She gripped his hand for a moment. "The islands are rugged and rural… And while the truck could get us anywhere we need to go, the next spot is in a place I don't think they allow vehicles. Some kind of protected natural area."
"I'm starting to see why we're here." Harry grinned.
They pushed open a heavy oak door to a shop called Sprintwitches Sporting Needs. A brass bell chimed overhead, ringing longer than could be explained by just the door. The shop is narrow but nearly bursting with gear, racks of broomsticks, enchanted boots, and weatherproof cloaks. The counter with the till was glass and contained all manner of trinkets from knives to wand holsters, and a coiled rope atop the counter coiled and moved like a lazy snake.
Lanterns hung from the rafters, and flickering warm light danced shadows over a bin labeled "Cursed? Or Just Stubborn?"—where misbehaving boots occasionally kick at passersby. Behind the counter, the burly shopkeeper leaned on a workbench cluttered with half-mended gear, raising a bushy eyebrow at them.
"Ah, if it isnae the Chosen One an' his clever lass," he grumbled. "Ye here tae buy or just tae gawk?"
Harry and Hermione looked at each other and grinned.
"Looking to buy, actually." Hermione answered.
"Aye, ye've come tae the right place, then. Name's Dougal MacFarlane. Whit're ye after the day?" The large man stood straight and crossed his arms. If it hadn't been for his warm smile, he'd have been a rather intimidating figure.
Harry chimed in. "Well, we're going for a bit of a hike. Not sure what sort of weather to expect. We've got a tent but no hiking gear. It would be great if you could help us sort out what we need."
"Aye, a hike, eh? Aye, ye'll want tae be ready fer all sorts o' weather, that's fer sure." Dougal stroked his wild beard and turned to walk deeper into the shop, nearly tripping on another one of those slithering ropes.
A few small skylights allowed dusty beams of the morning's light in, and the scent of fresh cloth, shoe leather, and the fresh cut wood of the new brooms on the wall filled their senses.
"We've had a bit o' sunshine, but ye never know when a good ol' downpour's comin' in. No bother though, I've got just the thing. Ye'll need some sturdy boots, weatherproof cloaks, an' a rucksack wi' a charm for keepin' yer gear dry."
As he rattled off suggestions, he was pointing at various items on the walls throughout the shop. At a glance the place was a mess, but there was clearly an organizational structure present because Dougal seemed to know exactly where everything was.
"A self-heatin' blanket wouldn't go amiss, neither. Ye'll be thankin' me when ye're cosy by the fire instead o' shiverin' in the cold!"
"That's very helpful, Dougal, thank you," Hermione answered once Dougal finally paused in his tour of the shop. "We've got a good tent. it's more the hike itself we're worried about. Good boots and a good cloak would be great. Can you point us towards that?"
"Aye, now yer talkin' sense, lass! Right, let's see… fer boots, I've got these Mossfoot Boots—light as a feather but grip tighter than a— well, never ye wee sprogs mind what…"
Dougal paused for a moment to remember what he had been talking about. "Anyhow, they cannae slip, won't squeak, an' if ye step in a bog, they'll keep yer feet dry. Or—if ye're wantin' somethin' a bit fancier—I've got a pair that walk themselves uphill if ye're feelin' lazy." He chuckled. "Bit cheeky, but they'll get ye where ye're goin'."
Dougal was quite the character indeed. Hermione faked a sneeze to conceal a chuckle before he continued.
"As fer cloaks, this here's the Ever-Warm Cloak—keeps ye dry, adjusts tae the weather, an'—best part—shakes off mud by itself. No more trippin' into the pub lookin' like a drowned rat. So, what's catchin' yer fancy?"
Harry thought for a moment, remembering the winter. Long walks in the wilderness, in varying degrees of heat, cold, rain, and snow. There wasn't much he wouldn't have given for gear like that while they were on the hunt.
"Both of those sound perfect." Harry answered while Hermione nodded in agreement.
"A right steady head on yer shoulders, lad. A fine choice, that is. Ye won't regret it. Aye, let's get ye sorted."
The burly man turned and grabbed two cloaks and two pairs of boots from the shelf, and one jumped clear out of his hands, clattering to the floor and flopping like a fish out of water.
"Ach, behave yerself, ye wee git—" Dougal muttered a charm under his breath and the boot went still.
They made it back to the counter and Dougal produced a bag from behind the counter.
"Hang on," Hermione interrupted. "Are you sure you got us the right sizes?"
The man's weathered face turned sharply to her and he scoffed.
"Are ye doubtin' me now? These boots size themselves tae fit the wearer soon as ye pull 'em on. An' they're flexible too, even yer thickest socks won' make 'em too tight."
He leaned across the counter, and spoke quietly like he was sharing a secret. "But if they start walkin' off without ye, 'at's just 'cause they like tae keep busy."
"Right. Sorry." Hermione apologized.
"Ain't nothin' tae worry 'bout." Dougal assured her, finishing packing their order.
They paid for their shopping and made their way out of the shop, returning to High Street.
Making their way across the small village, they found their way into another shop. Dervish & Banges could not have been a further departure from the organized chaos of Sprintwitches.
The space was clean, and smelled of polished brass and old parchment. Shelves lined the walls, and were loaded up with all sorts of instruments, all very neatly organized and sparkling clean.
They easily recognized a few instruments—Omnioculars like the ones Harry had purchased in fourth year, sneakoscopes, advanced potions equipment, and many things they couldn't identify.
The metallic tang of the polished brass instruments was subtle but certainly noticeable in the little shop.
A slender, gray haired witch stood behind the counter, hunched over a device that looked like a large pocket watch with at least 6 dials on its face.
"Good mornin'! Welcome to Dervish and Bangles, just let me know if you need—" she trailed off as she looked up, her eyes flicking to Harry, then Hermione then back again.
She gingerly set down whatever she was repairing, stood up straight and met them properly.
Harry felt the witch's gaze linger for a moment on his forehead before shifting to Hermione as she blinked rapidly, as if confirming it was really them.
"Stars and stones," the woman breathed. "You're Harry Potter… And that means you must be that Granger girl." She paused, remembering. "Hermione, right?"
She paused, just a little too long, while Hermione nodded, then the woman cleared her throat.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to stare. Just surprised is all. Elaine Dervish, at your service. You're not here for school supplies anymore, I reckon. What are you after?"
"That's alright, I'm a little used to it." Harry began. "Might be the first time a stranger knew Hermione's name though…"
Hermione swallowed hard and gripped Harry's hand, and he noticed her tense. Being a recognizable figure was nothing new for Harry, but it was an uncomfortable development for Hermione.
"We're headed out for a spot of hillwalking, and perhaps wild camping." He explained.
"I see." Elaine's gaze drifted as she pondered what they might use.
"We already have a tent, boots, and cloaks." Hermione added.
"Good, good." She replied. "That's a great start."
"So do you have anything you think might help us out? We've got a bit of experience trekking, but aren't quite familiar with what might be available to make things easier."
"I bet you do," she winked at them, "I bet you do…"
She walked further into the shop and stopped at a section of wall that was sparsely populated, but contained a few items, and what looked like walking sticks.
"There's a few things here you may find useful while you're out in the wilds." She picked up a small circular trinket and opened it.
"This is a called a Truepath Compass. Anybody can find north with a quick four-point spell, but this will point you toward wherever you ask it to point you to, so long as the place has a name that you know and is not unplottable or otherwise concealed magically."
"I think that would prove quite useful." Hermione said. "We'll take it."
Harry nodded his agreement.
"Now, we do have another one." Elaine quickly added. "This is a Trailkeeper's Compass," she held up a pocket watch-like device.
"It has two buttons," Winnie explained. "'C' for compass and 'T' for trail. Press 'C' to use it as a standard compass. Press 'T' to retrace your steps since the last time 'C' was pressed."
"So this one is how we find our way back to the truck, eh?" Harry quipped, grinning at Hermione.
"Indeed, you will find your way back to anywhere with this." Elaine added.
"That one seems a little less useful than the last. I should be able to do a four-point spell." Hermione quietly told Harry.
"Maybe, but what happens if you end up exhausted again or something?" Harry replied with genuine concern, trying hard not to sound accusatory.
"I suppose you're right. Better safe, and all."
"We'll take that, too." Harry announced.
"So that's proper clothes and navigation knocked out." Hermione commented. "I think we're about set then, yeah?'
Harry nodded.
"Alright then, you two, I'll get these packaged up for you and meet you by the till." Elaine said as she gathered their shopping and made her way toward a back room.
They browsed the shop for a few minutes while Elaine was in back, taking in the sheer variety of items covering the walls.
Eventually, the older witch made her way back out into the shop and to the counter.
As Elaine set the last of the gear on the counter, Harry's gaze wandered to the shelves behind her. Among the neatly arranged instruments and enchanted compasses, a slender, three-legged stand caught his eye. A polished silver pendulum hung beside it, its delicate chain coiled neatly. A scrying set.
His stomach tightened. He hesitated, glancing at Hermione.
She was focused on her bag, rummaging for her coin pouch. But her shoulders were stiff, her jaw set—a quiet tension he recognized all too well.
Still… they had to find her parents eventually.
He cleared his throat. "That scrying set—how well does it work?"
Elaine followed his gaze, then looked back at him carefully. "'Tis not just a scrying set, but a named artifact. A pristine example of the craft, and very likely older than that school down the way. One of a handful of things in the store I haven't had a hand in creating or modifying."
Harry nodded slowly. He could almost feel Hermione's eyes on him now.
"Named artifact?" He prodded.
"Hecate's Torch." Elaine replied.
"Okay…" he replied. "What makes it better than a more basic option?"
"Power, potency, and precision." Elaine answered easily. "It is more sensitive than most, and can even circumvent some anti-scrying magic. It's also far more precise. It will work well with maps of nearly any scale."
"…We'll take it." His voice was steady, but he didn't miss the way Hermione shifted uncomfortably.
"Are you certain, Master Potter?" Elaine asked delicately. "It's a rather expensive option."
"You're telling me it's quality, though, right? Better than the ones we practice with in Divination class? "
Elaine nodded seriously. "Barely a comparison, really. I'll admit, some of the cost is due to its age and rarity, but you'll likely not find a better one."
"Right. Well, if it's the best, it's the one I want. I'm not bargain shopping on this one."
"A fine choice then, sir. Very fine indeed." Elaine replied as she used her wand to hover the device down from the top shelf behind the counter.
Hermione didn't argue with the purchase—but she also didn't say anything at all as Elaine took the scrying set into the back room.
Hermione produced her Gringott's coin purse from her bag. The one she'd received along with those letters about Harry's accounts.
She knew he was thinking forward to searching out her parents, and more often than not, thinking of them filled her with guilt and anxiety.
The guilt was going to be there for a while, but the sensation of Harry's arm around her shoulders helped ease her anxiety in the moment. Unconsciously, she had begun nibbling at her lip.
"It'll come in handy whenever you're ready, or whenever I'm able, if that comes first." Harry tried to reassure her.
Before she could respond, Elaine came back with a long, slender box of polished ebony with a golden torch inlaid on its center above a golden clasp.
Hermione eyed the box and let out a slow breath.
"Okay then," Elaine announced. "The Trailkeeper costs sixteen galleons, the Truepath is an even fifty, and Hecate's torch, being a rare artifact, is unfortunately quite a step up from there. That will set you back thirty-eight hundred."
Hermione's stomach twisted as Elaine casually named the price. Almost four thousand galleons. Her ears were suddenly ringing.
"Harry," she turned to face him, feeling guilty. "With that, we could nearly buy a house."
"We could." He said with an easy nod. "But that wouldn't help us find them."
She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again, unable to formulate an argument against that point.
"Thank you." Harry said to Elaine, as he took the coin purse out of Hermione's shocked hands. "I imagine you don't want a mountain of coins. How do we do this?"
"Of course, just set it here." Elaine pointed to a small shelf on the side of the till.
Harry did as instructed, and she pushed a few buttons on the device before the leather pouch glowed white for an instant.
"All set, then." Elaine said with a smile. "Thanks for stopping by, and stay safe out there. I'm sure all of this will come in quite handy."
—X—X—X—
"You didn't have to do that," Hermione mumbled as they walked back across the village to the truck.
Harry eyed her suspiciously.
"I can't believe you would—"
"Is that why you think I did it?" He asked with a sideways glance. "Do you think I feel 'I have to'?"
She was silent for a while as they continued walking.
"Why then?" she asked.
Harry stopped walking and took a deep breath.
"Love, I know it was expensive, but I also don't think you're upset about the cost, are you?"
The look on her face told him he hit the nail on the head with that one.
"I know you're scared, and thinking about them makes you uncomfortable." He took her hand and squeezed it. "But barring a few last hurdles for us, that's the next thing we're going to deal with, right?"
She looked down and fidgeted with the hem of her coat.
"You're getting better—you can cast simple charms again—and that is going to keep improving." He noted a small upward curl to her lips at that.
"And then there's me. That bloody hole is all patched up, and I'm feeling better every day. The ache is still there, but they said it might take a couple months to totally go away, and as of today it's been what, two weeks?"
She nodded. "It's just… it's a lot, Harry. And what if—what if we use it, and—" she trailed off.
"And they aren't there to find?" He asked.
She grimaced and buried her face in his chest again, nodding.
"I know it's hard, not knowing if they're safe, and honestly, I can't imagine how incredibly scary the idea of finding them again must be for you… But I'll be right there with you for it."
He set his bag down and hugged her. "We'll get both of us right again, and we'll go to them. Plus, this is one more thing you can practice with. We can try it out as soon as you want to, and then we'll know, right?"
He felt her shoulders shake as he wrapped his arms around her.
"It might not be alright today, but it will be. I know it, love."
She sniffled against his coat and he smiled. When she looked up at him, her eyes were red, but she was smiling.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't need to thank me." he said with a grin, and kissed her forehead.
"I might disagree with you there…" she said, wiping her eyes. "But let's get going. If we leave soon we can get there by sundown."
"Sundown, eh?" He grinned. "Just be sure if I doze off on the way, you don't run us off the road, yeah?"
Two hours later, the truck hummed evenly over the road as they wound deeper into the hilly terrain of northern Scotland. The sky was gray and overcast, but there was plenty of light left in the day.
The drive had started out well, both of them quite enjoying just spending time together, unbothered by obligations aside from the ones they took upon themselves.
It was still a new routine, but it was their routine. Hermione doing the driving and picking a radio station, occasionally singing along to a song she knew while Harry simply enjoyed the light and easy mood that had developed in the truck.
Over the past week, Harry had found a few songs he enjoyed as well. He didn't fancy himself nearly as good a singer as Hermione, but nonetheless, they had fun singing along together as they traversed the rugged countryside.
Hermione kept her focus on the road, but when one of Harry's favorite tunes came on the radio and he didn't start singing along, she cast a quick glance his way.
He'd fallen asleep, head resting against his window and glasses off kilter. She smiled and noted him taking deep and steady breaths, sleeping quite soundly.
She only let herself glance away from the road for a few seconds at a time, but even then, she caught the crease between his brows—the faint trace of tension that hadn't quite left him, even in sleep.
She knew that look.
She turned her eyes back to the road, tapping her fingers absently against the steering wheel in time with the song on the radio. It was an older song. One she remembered her mother humming while she cooked Sunday roast, back before everything.
She let the rhythm of it fill the quiet part of herself she'd been guarding ever since the last time she saw her parents.
It was nice, if bittersweet.
Harry shifted, capturing her attention for a few short seconds. He mumbled something too quiet for her to make out. His fingers twitched, curling into a fist against his chest, as though he were guarding something, or trying to comfort himself.
Her fingers stilled against the wheel.
She'd seen him do that before—in the hospital, after they stopped the dreamless draughts, when he hadn't yet adjusted to the fact that he was still alive… and that she was there with him.
It hurt her heart to see that same restless tension in him, even in his sleep. That same furrowed brow, like some part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She knew he was open with her, and she was doing her best to do the same. They were both getting better at it. He'd let her in, shared so much of his fear and anxiety with her…
But there were still these small moments, these tiny glimpses, and flashes of a shadow he still carried with him. Perhaps of something he'd not yet shared with her.
She knew he'd tell her in his own time.
Her fingers resumed their rhythm on the steering wheel.
She thought back to when they'd entered the common room—the way he had frozen up for a moment. He'd told her, 'later'.
She didn't want to pry, and trusted him to come to her when he was able.
Reaching over—careful not to wake him—she brushed her fingertips lightly against his hand. Just enough to let him know that she was there with him, and that he was safe with her.
He half-stirred at the touch, and didn't wake, but he did respond. His fingers uncoiled and searched for hers slowly, eventually finding her hand and curling around it, holding gently.
Hermione's breath caught.
It was an instinct for him—nothing forced, nothing conscious. Just the quiet, unthinking, natural way he always reached for her, even in sleep.
She let him keep her hand and enjoyed the warmth of his as she turned her focus back to the road.
The song changed a few times as the road hummed by beneath them, leading them further into the wilderness of the northern isles.
For now, she'd let him rest.
Harry woke from his rest ten minutes before they reached their destination. They turned down a narrow road, barely wide enough for only their truck to drive down, and passed the last few buildings and signs of civilization before they reached their destination.
The sight of an empty car park took them by surprise. The location they were at was a well known and somewhat popular hiking destination, and they were expecting to see at least a few hikers out on the hills.
Hermione pulled in and shifted the truck into park before she shut off the engine.
They sat for a moment and looked around without moving from their seats before they noticed…
Nothing.
No sounds of wildlife, no boots on gravel, even the reliable winds of the island were calm.
There was only silence around them.
Pulling the keys from the ignition, Hermione murmured, "That's… odd."
Harry's eyes were still scanning the horizon, which wasn't far as they were nestled into a little valley. He frowned at the rolling hills. After talking to Hermione about their destination, he'd expected to see hikers or photographers enjoying the afternoon lighting and weather.
A truly unique landscape surrounded them. It didn't look real, the hills were too rounded, too smooth and seamless. They rose from the earth like ruins of an ancient world, smoothed over by an immense river over eons.
The hills were lush and green to a point that stretched belief to its limits, making the sky and distant rocky ridges feel dim and muted in comparison.
Rock formations jutted out at strange angles, as if designed by something intelligent—just not human.
Vibrant though the landscape was, it held only stillness… And not the peaceful kind.
Not precisely, anyway. The silence of the lush valley felt—eerie. It felt like the entire glen was holding its breath.
"Shall we, then?" He asked Hermione, speaking softly for no reason he could name.
"May as well." She replied in kind.
Harry's door cracked open first, and he stepped out of the truck and walked toward a signpost, realizing something wasn't quite right.
Hermione's door shut with a light thud, and she only took two paces before she stopped.
The sound of her footfalls bounced off the walls of the valley, returning to her slightly warped, and just… off.
She turned to Harry. "You hear that, right?"
"Yeah," he murmured, scanning the landscape. "I don't like it."
The strange valley they were in was unsettling, but not so much that either wanted to leave.
Harry led the way down a well trodden path between the too-smooth hills, leading them on a winding stroll until something else odd captured his attention.
Without thinking about it, they drifted apart.
Harry found himself drawn by curiosity to a broad, jagged tree off the trail to the left. It was strange because there were not many trees in the area. Grasslands, prairie, strange hills, and stranger rock formations, sure… but no trees.
Getting closer, he recognized it… or perhaps them. The odd tree was in fact three trees growing so close together that they'd nearly become one.
History of Magic and Divination had both mentioned them. Hawthorn, Blackthorn, and Rowan.
Harry frowned as he approached the trees. He hadn't noticed it at a distance, but standing close, he had a feeling he was being watched.
At the same time, Hermione had been drawn to a small stone circle on the other side of the path.
It wasn't flat like the one by the tower when Harry had to interrupt her ritual. It was smaller in diameter, and made of larger stones, standing upright, almost up to her knees.
They were ancient, but the placement was clearly intentional. Something else caught her attention after she surveyed the circle for a while.
The standing stones cast shadows in different directions.
She hesitated as she reached the stones, then held out a hand, and brushed her fingers gently over the weathered surface of one of the stones.
Her breath hitched.
The day was crisp, the overcast sky hiding the sun, but the stone wasn't cold. It wasn't warm either. It was just… there. She felt like something should be there, but wasn't.
It took a moment for her to feel it. The faint tingling on her fingertips, like the delicate hum of a spell cast ages ago, barely hanging on.
Meanwhile, Harry approached the trees that had him captivated somehow. He reached out to touch the rough tree and just before he did, a gentle twinge in his side gave him pause.
His stomach turned, and he recoiled from the gnarled bark before him.
A sensation he couldn't quite explain gave him the chilling feeling that if he stepped just a little bit closer, he might not come back.
A gust of wind rolled through the valley—but it wasn't quite wind.
Not exactly.
The grass didn't move or ripple in the breeze, but something shifted.
At the same instant, they both felt it.
The moment they had wandered too far from each other, the stillness of the idyllic glen around them changed. What had been odd and eerie seconds before was now oppressive.
Unwelcoming.
Without a cue, at the same instant, they turned toward each other and covered the space between them in a matter of seconds.
As soon as they were within arms reach of each other, the pressure in the air vanished.
The dissonant echoing of their feet crunching through the dirt and gravel path faded to the sound of normal footsteps, and an unnoticed subtle weight pressing against their ribs vanished.
Harry grabbed Hermione's hand. Tight.
"Ready to get back to the car?" He asked with barely a whisper.
She nodded sharply and they set out toward where they'd parked.
Walking close this time, the air felt warmer.
A breeze—real this time—stirred the long grass around them, carrying with it the scent of damp earth, wildflowers, and something else… something familiar.
Hermione inhaled and closed her eyes, slowing her steps. She recognized that scent.
Not from the glen. Not from anything tangible.
It smelled like home.
Harry felt it too. The chill that had crept slowly, deep into his bones was gone, replaced with a quiet warmth, like standing too close to a fire.
They both hesitated, turning toward each other at the same time, drawn by something just outside the realm of words.
Hermione swallowed. "Did you feel that?"
Harry nodded, reaching for her without needing to think. "Yeah."
Naturally, their hands found each other, and the moment they touched, a soft gust of wind twirled around them, circling the hills around them before it faded away into stillness.
It felt different then. Still, but not uncomfortable.
Welcoming.
It was as if the valley around them had finally settled. It felt content.
Hermione let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "I swear, sometimes it feels like the universe is trying to push us together."
Harry smirked, tugging her hand just enough to bring her a step closer. "Can't say I'm inclined to resist it."
For a moment, neither of them moved, caught between mystery and something sweeter. The moon was rising now, peeking over the hills and casting silver light over the valley, their world narrowing to just the two of them in this strange, ancient place.
Hermione exhaled, glancing once more at the darkened hills before tugging Harry toward the truck.
"That was odd," she murmured.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Which part?"
"All of it," she admitted, voice quiet. "The silence. The way it felt—wrong, until we found each other again."
Harry hesitated, but eventually nodded. "Yeah… I felt it too."
Neither of them said what they were both thinking… That the glen hadn't been trying to scare them off.
It had been drawing them closer.
Hermione exhaled slowly, tilting her head toward the truck. "Come on," she murmured. "Let's turn in for the night."
Harry squeezed her hand once before letting go, following her bacåk toward their little enchanted world inside the truck.
The unease was gone. The glen was silent once more.
But this time, it wasn't waiting.
The glen had gotten exactly what it wanted.
16