Hermione isn't quite sure how to describe it, but time isn't natural here.

Time rippled like a river disappearing beneath the earth - in the sense you know it's been a long journey, but as soon as a day vanished beneath the surface, it's like it was almost erased.

Or perhaps time is better described as a Muggle Lava Lamp; each day, it's shaken up and tipped over. Some moments feel like they drop past quickly, and some linger, taking forever as they inch toward the end of their day.

If not for Hermione's watch, she'd think they would be absolutely buggered when it came to charting the length of it all, but even her watch can only tell her the number of days that have lapsed, but she doesn't really believe it or remember it.

She tries to write in a journal about her time, thinking that perhaps others would be curious. She's allowed, by this realm, to write experiences or how she's feeling or what they ate for dinner, but any mention of days and how long it's been always mysteriously smudges or is wetted by water droplets and vanishes. So, as she reads back through it, she couldn't tell you heads or tails if Seamus catching their first rabbit happened ten days ago or just one, her own mind equally as untrustworthy when it comes to tracking the such.

It's all just a blur, a Celtic knot of threads of time interweaving within each other, so much so that sometimes, Hermione isn't sure if something that just happened is actually happening right then, or if it's happening in the past and the future and is just appearing in her mind somewhere else.

It bothers her far more than it bothers Seamus.

"Well, didn't you expect something like this?" He asks, unruffled.

Yes, but also 'no'.

It's moments like this that it's so clear that, if Hermione placed any belief in the idea of secondary houses, she'd be a Ravenclaw, eager and greedy to unravel this mystery. Seamus would be a Hufflepuff, taking each day unbothered , enjoying the ride.

Maybe it would be better, she thinks, because she wouldn't be so frazzled and discombobulated whenever she has the sense that time has passed in a non-linear manner.

She is able to unclench from all her previous worries, though. For the first time ever…they just simply have time on their side, and that's the only way she can think to really describe it.

There was so much that was external forces that shed in the waking of their days here. Things that Hermione couldn't do anything about or didn't need to babysit, like Harry's future or Ron's grades. She didn't have to worry about her parent's interference, the opinions of Witch Weekly, putting on a good impression for Seamus' family. She didn't have to remind herself to spend time with Lavender and Parvati, carve out room for Seamus, and find some time with Harry and Ron too. She didn't have to bargain amongst herself if she should go here or go there or pick one but not the other. She didn't need to worry about homework or papers or studying.

All that was asked of them was to wait.

XXX

Some time, early on, they came to the conclusion that they were alone. If the signatures on the rock wall were anything to go by, it seemed besides Nathair, it was decades between entries.

"You'd think the Afterlife would be more populous," Hermione chuckled to herself, "Or is it only Irish folks who go here?"

"Couldn't say," Seamus shrugged, but walked up to the smoke, pressing his hand against it. It always vibrated a bit, more sentient than not, "But I think we've gone the back way. The rest of the dead are probably over that."

They didn't waste their time worrying if they were dead or not. That seemed like an unnecessary concern. Besides, even if they were, death in the Wizarding World seemed much more…negotiable than not.

Their absolute loneliness was a solace.

It allowed them to build out their spaces, and leave things scattered outside the tent without fear of someone walking off with it.

As they started to set things up, they found traces that they were not the first to camp there. They unearthed things dug in the dirt from eons ago.

"I think we're at least in the right place," Hermione said, turning over a totem, a carved bit of wood from what she theorized was the Anglo-Saxon times.

In this place, without war or worry or concern, Hermione met a different Seamus. One that was unbothered by the stress of life. And in turn, Seamus met a different Hermione, one that wasn't a warrior in a never-ending war, but just a seventeen-year-old girl.

For people like them, this was like the best relationship litmus test that Hermione could have summoned. They were a team in strife, sure, but how were they at ease? How were they when they would reach that hopeful time in which Voldemort was gone for good and there was no more fighting to be done? How would they manage themselves without that drama?

Very well, actually.

Enough that while she was here, Hermione wasn't thinking of Hogwarts.

She was thinking of that time beyond, with Seamus.

She found herself thinking about the rest of her years, the ones she hadn't allowed herself to even dream about, always too scared they may not make it past the year.

XXX

At an indistinguishable point in time (Hermione has accepted this is how it is), they realize that Seamus' fire magic is back.

Well, sort of.

It's also the only thing he can do. He can't cast spells like Hermione can.

But his hands, his palms, are warm. Almost hot. It's enough to be noticeable, something different.

Hermione is thrilled by this turn because it means to her that his magic isn't absolutely gone, but perhaps shuttered or hidden.

Seamus is more dubious.

"This is a highly magical place," He muttered, "I'd be shocked if a Muggle passed through here unable to do anything."

Hermione understood…he was trying to set himself up for what he assumed would be a disappointment .

But to her, it means he has magic, and this place is just easing that dial up enough for the very most base of his magic to be seen.

The rest, by that logic, must have been pushed down, so far that even the most magical of the Hogwarts Staff couldn't find it, but it means it's still there.

She will be an optimist.

One of them has to be.

XXX

The weather here was perfect.

It's strange to call it that, a phrase too easily thrown around, but it is.

Never too hot, never too cold.

It never rained, stormed, or threatened their existence.

The grass outside their tent is perfect, soft enough for napping.

The water in the stream is perfect.

The animals they catch are perfect.

Their time is unmatched by any experience that either of them has ever had.

Not to sound like a broken record, but it is perfect and there is simply no other word for it.

"It's meant to be heaven, right?" Seamus said, having pulled a couch outside, lounging on it, a book half-read resting on his stomach, "I sure would hope it is."

XXX

Hermione does what Hermione does on vacation, but that hasn't changed.

First, she reads through all of her textbooks, straight to the end.

Then, she does the homework assignments in the back of the chapters.

Then she writes papers on it; she doesn't want to return behind. If she could come back ahead of the game, she'd be even more thrilled.

When she asks Seamus to give her paper topics, that's when he takes her textbooks away.

He will allow Hermione, with a hint of humor, to rope him into studying, but that is simply too far.

He knows that arguing will fall on deaf ears; this is Hermione's version of relaxation!

He reads the textbooks at his own pace. He does homework too when he's a bit bored. He doesn't hate the idea of being prepared for their eventual return, but he knows he needs more coaching than he can glean alone from these textbooks.

At night, their 'night' - according to the watch - sometimes, Hermione will help him. Tutor him, in a sense, though it's more for her own enjoyment. They found a potion cookbook, for potions at the level of a Ministry Official - and they spend their time practicing those, just to see if they can. All their ingredients are at their disposal; if it's not immediately found within reach of their camp, they only have to walk a little bit to find it, this world provides whatever is necessary, in a way that would be alarming if it wasn't…perfect (Hermione is beginning to lose sense of what that word really means).

And they duel.

Well, Hermione duels magicked people, hobbled from pots and pans and brooms. When it's Seamus' turn, he yells the spells at her, and it's a good practice , having to rely on someone else and cast it within the time before her opponent fires something back at her.

It's a good way to get exercise and to keep their minds sharp. They fear not postmarking the land with stray hexes exploding, because outside of the space their tent occupies, everything is back the way it was when they found it by the next morning, time standing still, if both of them weren't fully aware that it was passing, as oddly as it was.

Hermione's even started him on Arithmancy and Ancient Rune lessons, two subjects he's always been pants in.

He does amuse himself by imagining returning a scholarly prodigy, just to see the look on everyone's faces.

Well, with enough time here…perhaps.

On the other end of it, Seamus teaches Hermione Celtic. It thrills him to teach her his mother tongue, and he's a quick study. He also likes knowing something she doesn't, but not in an arrogant way, in a way that makes him feel useful still .

He always feels a thrill down his spine when she stumbles over the unfamiliar way she has to twist her mouth, but each time she repeats it, it's better and better.

He'll make a fluent speaker of her yet.

The one academic endeavor that Hermione dives into that Seamus is very interested in is their research.

She lays it on the ground next to what Nathair has been gathering. He's collected, in the same way that Hermione has, a list of magical outbursts in the hospital, paired with age and information about patients he can glean.

There are actual results, though Hermione tiredly reminds Seamus not to get too excited. Hogwarts is a pitifully small pool of subjects, and they could just have stumbled upon an unlucky coincidence.

But, here's what they glean, summarized on a separate sheet of paper:

Muggleborns are least likely to have a magical outburst prior to the age of three (not surprising) The most likely sub-set to have magical outbursts at a young age are students with siblings who are also magical. As logic follows, eldest children or only children reported magic far older, except for those who had a stay-at-home wizarding parent. Eldest or only children with neither magical parents at home or their muggle parent as the homemaker reported incidents far later There was no correlation to the intensity of the outburst, just that it is very strongly tied to emotion. As a sub-note, there does not seem to be one emotion to trigger. Though fear came up frequently as the driving factor, those subjects just seem to talk the most. There were plenty of stories of happiness or sadness triggering the first moment. A very rare few reported showing magic too young to truly grasp the concept of emotion, such as under three months old. Those tended to be witches and wizards with extensive magical families, both siblings and long lineages of grandparents, uncles, or cousins.

That part was particularly disheartening to Hermione, who didn't want to admit that maybe those Slytherins were right.

"Well, don't fret," Seamus said, rubbing his chin and frowning, "If magic just came from purebloods, there wouldn't be Muggle-borns. Plus, it's just showing that they were in contact with magic frequently, as a lot of these stories show that their magical family was present and frequent in their early lives."

"Magical proximity…oh, Seamus, that's genius!" Hermione lunged for Nathair's book , "Go through again , we need to make another data set - those born in Wizarding hospitals vs those who were not! Let's ignore the Muggle-borns for a moment , I have a feeling that we're on the cusp of a few things, all threatening to unravel but very different."

Their data was exactly to Hermione's hunch. Those born in magically dense places, such as Wizarding hospitals, skewed - on average - showing their magic younger than those born at home or in magically droughted areas, such as small communities or Muggle London.

It wasn't a huge percentage, but it was enough for Hermoine to find it significant.

"I hesitate to throw out absolutes," Hermione began cautiously, "But my preliminary thesis on this data would be…" She tilted her head, "That, in a sense, having magic present to a child at a younger age more likely guarantees that they present their magic sooner."

"Okay, sure," Seamus could get behind that, "But do you think that explains the deciding factor on who is magic and who isn't?"

"No, because one way or another, they do have magic. Whether or not Neville showed his magic right away or when he did, it didn't matter. He always had it…" She tapped her quill in frustration, "I feel like I'm not looking at it quite right. I need a different set of eyes."

"Never thought you'd wish Terry was with us, huh?" Seamus teased.

"That damn Ravenclaw. He was right…bugger it all," Hermione cursed, shaking her head.

"So…we've at least proven that, when it comes to wains, the first child will take a while, but the rest…generally…will show younger and younger?"

"Yes, though, perhaps any mother with a lot of kids could have told us tha t," She laughed , " I do think there is an algorithm, some arithmetic that could be brute forced , that may be helpful. You know, so you could figure out based on your first child when your others ought to show , and when to be concerned."

"See, it's not a total loss!"

Hermione snapped her studies close, "I never said that. I just don't know if I'm going to crack it like this," She said, somewhat frustrated, "But maybe I will. Maybe I just need to think a bit more about it. Maybe it'll come to me in a dream. Maybe we just need more data."

"Maybe we'll get a whole afterlife worth once we make it through," Seamus suggested, grinning widely, "Wouldn't that be something."

Hermione cast her gaze to the gathering smoke, still pressing against the barrier, "Yeah. Wouldn't it."

XXX

Each day, other than inching farther on books or texts or homework, they also explored each other.

With permission, Seamus took .

Of course, respectfully, always.

But, now that he was given explicit instructions, Hermione was given a taste of how much he truly was, at the core, an average sixteen-year-old boy.

There were many times when she'd catch him watching her.

She'd long stopped asking if he was having naughty thoughts; the answer was always 'yes' with a mischievous grin.

Whether or not he did anything with those thoughts was another matter, and not as frequent (though , still daily, at the minimum).

Sometimes, when Hermione dared, she would ask him to articulate those thoughts.

Whenever he spoke, it always made her shiver, like he was tying his desires in another language, something that made her blood simmer at the thought of it and her heart race. He'd slip up behind her while she was trying to wash dishes, pressing her against the counter, whispering in her ear his most sinful fantasies, one of his hands gripping her waist, the other grasping the counter in front of them.

It always left her aching, wanting more.

One of the earliest times was after their realization that they were utterly alone. Since then, with the sun warm enough to make them sweat (but not enough to sunburn), Seamus had taken to wearing only his sports shorts around outside, nude from the stomach up.

Hermione stubbornly insisted on being fully covered, until one day almost all her clothes were strung up on the line.

Unsurely, she had come out with a textbook, wearing just a pair of Pajama shorts and her bra. She had stared at herself in the mirror a long time; Seamus hadn't seen her like this, in broad daylight, since before the Ministry Battle, and to say she was changed was an understatement.

In case she ever wanted to forget, the scar that ran down her stomach would be a constant reminder, a curse following her wherever she went.

It was healed now, as healed as it would ever be.

She came out wordlessly, trying to ignore how much more comfortable this was as she eased herself onto a blanket in the grass. She stayed on her stomach for a long time before it became uncomfortable and she rolled over, instinctively going to hide herself when Seamus glanced up.

He swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the scar, "Does it hurt?"

"Only if I forget my potions," She said with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry," He exhaled, "I should have…I could have…"

"Sorry nothing," Hermione insisted, "He's gone now, isn't he? And that's thanks to you."

His lips curled in a strange way , still bothered.

Seamus dropped his book , coming to lay next to her. He raised a hand , so warm to the touch, dropping it cautiously on her flesh , waiting for her to push it away.

"Feel that?" He asked, tracing a line up her scar.

She nodded; it was a strange feeling, like when your foot fell asleep, however. But the warmth of his hand…a sigh escaped her lips.

Seamus froze. If he'd been going about this with absolute innocence, she could almost see the moment when it switched over to something decidedly more…naughty.

His fingers slid up her stomach, inching toward her bra.

"How does that feel?"

"Good," Hermione whispered, "It always itches, but your hands…soothe it…" She admitted quietly. Very deliberately, Seamus began rubbing small circles at the edges of her scar.

The massage was heavenly. It was everything Hermione never knew she was missing. Yet as good as it felt, the undertone of this action couldn't be understated. There was something undeniably sensual about this, perhaps that it was so intimate Hermione couldn't imagine anyone but a lover doing so.

Even though Seamus was helping, they both knew where it was heading.

Emboldened by her sighs of pleasure, Seamus pushed up her bra, using his other hand to unclasp it behind her back.

"Sea-," She started to protest, aware all at once they were outside and he didn't seem to intend to bring her inside.

"No one's here," He reminded, fingers tracing the seam of the scar, tongue finding her chest, "And I know it's the only time I'll get you to do this," He added with a chuckle.

"Something outside?"

"Uh-huh," He nodded, shifting his body so he was half laying on top of her, though holding himself up by the bottom of his arms.

Everything about Seamus was warm; his hands, his stomach, his tongue…it was enough to make her feel like a breath on her skin would nearly burn her, but at the same time, what an addictive burn it might be.

Seamus' lips tasted the inside of his mouth, hand still under her bra. When he had her limbs relax, his fingers started downward.

"Can I take them off?"

"What do you…want to do?" Hermione asked breathlessly, eyes wide. Anxious, but not scared.

"Just a taste," Seamus replied, but it almost sounded like begging, "Please, Luv?"

Hermione swallowed, nodding, her fingers knotting in his hair as he eased her underwear off her legs. His hand snaked between her legs.

"It's so…warm…" Hermione breathed, exhaling shakily as he used his palm to lightly push her thighs apart .

"Mhh…" Seamus nodded, and his lips started downward again.

"Wha…what are you doing?" Hermione asked, eyes wide, trying to struggle up to look at him.

"You've gotten your turn, now it's mine," Seamus said simply , and she thought maybe he'd stop at her breasts again, but he continued down. His mouth was on her before she could find words to stop him.

"Sea…sea!" She choked , her first exhale a nervous shake of her head, the second a feeling of something like lightning striking through her.

"I can stop, but I'll be upset," Seamus said, grinning, looking up at her through her legs. The image of him down there, in broad daylight, made her whole body flush.

"You can keep going," She decided after a moment. It had felt good. Seamus grinned, breathing as he paused. His breath was like a fire. If she wasn't already sweating, he'd have her redder than a tomato.

His fingers gripped her thighs, holding them apart. She caught the way one of his hands pressed his fingers into her flesh, being so careful not to break the skin. She had the faintest thought that he must have gotten this far with Lavender because he seemed to know what he was doing. It didn't make her jealous, if anything, she made a mental note to thank her roommate for teaching him so well.

Within seconds she'd unwound, twitching on the soft grass, staring at the perfectly blue sky, as Seamus wiped his jaw with the back of his hand.

"You can do that whenever you want," Hermione laughed, the sheer endorphin rush almost overwhelming in how full it had made her feel.

"Don't say things you don't mean, Luv," Seamus said, scooting up next to her, "Otherwise I'll have yeh naked all the time."

Hermione rolled over, "Do you want me to-,"

"No," Seamus kinked his fingers in her hair, "That was just about you. Besides I…may have finished early…hearin' you get off…"

"Mhh…" Hermione trailed his fingers over his cheek, sleepy. The sun, the warmth, and the way her levels were easing down were lulling her into a quiet nap-like feeling, "Remind me to repay the favor soon."

Seamus let her curl into his chest, laying out, and he kissed her crown, "Sounds like heaven."

XXX

From there, Hermione's own curiosities and readiness only grew. She could feel that she was ready to continue all the way , but she was very certain of the right place at the right time. She didn't just shout out at dinner, 'Hey, Seamus, I think I'd like to have sex.'

Not that he'd say 'no', but she needed it to be right .

Some time later, they'd dragged all the pillows to one of the alcoves and set a fire in a little fireplace, just to add something different to their time. They were swapping first-year stories tonight. Their first three years they'd orbited around each other as strangers and they were eager to share the memories that the other had missed.

"-No, I singed all my hair off with the rum. The feather was my eyebrows," Seamus corrected Hermione as she tried to count back on all the things he'd fried in his first year, most of which was himself. Not to the point of injury, always cosmetic.

"Yes, yes," Hermione clapped her hands together , "Do you remember that spell? Where'd you even get it?"

"Dil, of course," Seamus rolled his eyes, laying back, hands underneath his head, staring up at the canopy, the fabric dotted with glimmering stars and golden vines. He snorted, "I shoulda known that Mam would never let Dil teach me a spell that would help an eleven-year-old get drunk."

"Seems to be quite the joke. Ron's brothers did the same to him, that's how we met. He was trying to turn Scabbers yellow…" She frowned, '"However, perhaps it didn't work because Scabbers wasn't really a rat but a man…"

"Urgh, don't remind me," Seamus shuddered, "We had to sleep in the same room as that perv for three years!"

"Well, I think he was a rat the whole time."

"Doesn't matter," Seamus gagged.

"So you don't think that the spell works?"

"The rat one?"

"No," Hermione laughed, "I don't care about turning rats yellow. That one is silly anyway. I mean the rum one…" She bit her lip, "I think I could go for a bit of rum…"

Seamus lifted his head, "Really?" He asked, "Don't take you for a drinker…"

"I am an adult now, and it's not a school night," Hermione said very matter-of-factly, "I'm curious. The spell?" She prompted, "Unless you don't remember-,"

"Of course I bloody remember! Do you know how long I spent perfecting it prior to our first year?" Seamus covered his face, "Mam must have caught me saying it in front of the bathroom mirror a hundred times. All for me to blast my hair right off my head and only make a weak tea. Eye of rabbit, harp string hum, turn this water into rum. "

Hermione nodded, "Yes, yes, that was it." She jumped up, grabbed a kraft, and went out to the stream. She murmured it in her head, turning the words around on her tongue as she filled the pitcher, and the words tasted magical. It felt like witchcraft at its finest, when people used home-grown melodies and rhymes to make their own spells, instead of the rigidity of Hogwarts. She had a feeling this spell was more about the intention over the way you waved the wand or the words.

Back in the tent, she pointed her wand at the kraft, clearing her throat, "Eye or rabbit, harp string hum, turn this water into rum!"

"Well, it sounds much better when you say it," Seamus said, dragging himself up and peering inside of the kraft. He made a choked sound , "Great cor; I think you've bloody done it!"

"Not just tea?" Hermione asked, placing her wand beside her as she lifted it and sniffed. The waft of it hit the back of her throat and she coughed, "No, that's rum. It's not weak either."

Seamus grabbed a small cup and dunked it in, drinking it in one go , "Blimey, it does work! If it had, I guess I don't know what I would have done as an 11-year-old. Probably tried to impress Lavender with it. I'm sure it would have been confiscated quickly."

Hermione poured herself a glass and took a sip.

"Oh, c'mon," Seamus teased, "You're not going to get drunk by taking baby sips."

"I want to enjoy my success," Hermione fired back , but took a bigger drink, "At least we'll have this if we get bored again."

"I'm going to try this again when we get home," Seamus was bubbling, but then deflated, "I mean, if I…" He'd forgotten for a moment why Hermione had done it, not him. Instead of promising they'd manage to get his magic back, Hermione nudged his shoulder with hers.

"So," Hermione said, changing the subject, "The feather incident…your eyebrows…what else am I missing?"

They continued talking , drinking the rum slowly, though refilled the kraft more than once. Soon enough, Hermione got the fuzzy, floaty feeling she'd read about.

"Tell me about…these rings…" Hermione had Seamus' palms in hers, twisting his hand to study the set he wore. Her fingers dragged across his knuckles. Seamus shivered, "What magic do they have?" Something about Seamus wearing all those rings was so…attractive to her, in ways she couldn't describe.

There was a jealousy there too…she was proud of the witch she was, but it always made her feel a bit empty that she was the first. No mothers or grandmothers to pass down a magical legacy like this, no heirloom pieces of untapped magic.

Seamus didn't know how good he had it.

"These two are the ones I always had on," Seamus said, tapping two circular rings that Hermione recalled seeing on each of his hands, "And the rest are…gifts from well-meanin' cousins."

He started taking them off, "From Van, a protection spell. And of course, I had to be a little shit and make sure it wasn't a contraceptive protection spell," He winked, "He didn't find it as funny as I did. And from Aiden, a True North spell, if I lose my way, to find it again. From Laoise, a confusion charm. From Aunt Aggie, a healin' spell. And even from Fergus, a 'get the fuck out of here' charm." He opened his hands and dropped them into Hermione's hand for her to examine them.

"Fascinating. And you can use them even as is?"

"I would imagine. It's not me that's wielding magic, it's those pieces of history that are magical, ya ken?" He said, "There's certainly magic that muggles could use if they stumbled upon it, thus the Ministry's strictness. And for once, I'm grateful."

"They have a certain magic to them, it's hard to describe," Hermione said, weighing them, "It's like I can almost smell it. It's…lovely…" She blinked, "It smells like home."

"Familial magic tends to make one feel that way," Seamus said quietly, "The strongest magic in the world is the lines of family."

Hermione swallowed, looking away, "Right."

"Hey, Luv," Seamus reached for her face, "You are not an island. You're Hermione Fucking Granger, no matter if you don't have a lineage behind you."

"I know, but," She felt a sense of sadness overcome her , "Imagine what I could be if I did? And I don't have that sort of magical protection behind me. I don't think I usually need it, but…I can't describe it. It just makes me…" She searched for her feelings , "Angry. At the universe."

"You know…" Seamus looked down, carefully sliding each ring back on his finger, "In Wizarding culture, when you marry someone, you're joining their family magic. That's why Purebloods are so stuffy about it…you're part of that stream of magick, your signature intertwining with theirs in a way that's indescribable for muggle bonding. And I'm not just saying this in the abstract sense that it's impossible that you wouldn't marry a wizard. I'm sayin' this…" He trailed off, red in the face.

"That I might…join the Finnegan family magic?" Hermione asked quietly.

"I don't want to panic yeh," Seamus whispered, "But you're an adult and I'm nearly one and I think I know enough about the world to know I don't want to bloody ever lose you. And to warn yeh that the second you graduate from Hogwarts and I get done with my stupid muggle school," He lifted his gaze, finding that Gryffindor courage - when Hermione didn't stop him- and giving a brazen, almost handsomely arrogant grin, "I'mma marry you, Hermione."

Hermione grasped Seamus, pulling him up into a searing kiss.

"That a yes?" He asked, grinning.

"You haven't asked me," Hermione argued, but she was laughing, " It's a mystery what I'll say…"

"Is it?" Seamus raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, completely. But I think, since I haven't run away in terror, it's probably a clue."

She never thought she'd be so eager at the prospect of getting married so young, but if she knew that she loved Seamus completely, what was the point in waiting? In putting it off when it had been shown time and time again that life was agonizingly short sometimes. It didn't mean that they had to have all their milestones shoved up together, it just meant - to Hermione - that they'd get to start their lives faster. Besides, by the time Seamus finished with his muggle school, if this magic trip was a bust, she'd be nearly 19 anyway, and by the time the wedding would happen, she may be closer to 21.

She read that it was usual for couples, in times of war, to marry young. She never thought she'd be so unbothered that she was headed to be a statistic.

Being with Seamus felt so natural that it was almost strange he'd even needed to confirm this future. In some way, she'd been under the impression that this was the path all along.

"I'd give you a family ring," Seamus said, brushing over the two ones he'd worn since third year, "But I imagine you'll make me keep it, just to be safe."

"Very much so," Hermione nodded, "I don't need a bauble to make this promise. If you don't ask right away after graduating, I'll drag you to the court, Seamus."

"Oh, Luv, if you keep talking like that…" Seamus groaned, the rum making him giggly and unserious.

Hermione leaned forward, twining her fingers in his hands. She held them up to the light, examining the way that the lantern refracted off the edges of his rings, wondering what they'd feel like inside of her. He always took them off whenever his hands went below her waistline, but she was teetering on tipsy and all of this talk of forever with Seamus was making her eager for what the rest of adulthood would bring them.

One of his heirloom rings was bulky, and though Seamus couldn't voice what it did, it just was said to have strong Finnegan protections attached to it, enough that when he'd been gifted it before his third year, his mother had told him that he ought to always keep it on.

And here Hermione was, halfway drunk (wait, not halfway, pretty much very drunk), wondering how it would feel if he got her off while wearing them.

She'd never felt so needy, but so…human. No, so much like a teenager.

"What will you do?" Hermione asked, blinking at Seamus as she pressed her thighs together to alleviate the need for friction, "Use your words, Seamus," She whispered.

His eyes were dark, "I'll make a dishonest woman out of you, and if anyone I knew cared about that, make sure you'd have to marry me with the dirty ways I want to corrupt you."

"Like what?" Hermione prodded, crawling, inch by inch, onto his lap, like she thought if she went too fast he might bolt and scatter. Or, she was eager to hear those words, those desires, pulled from his lips like a thread, and she wanted to hear it through.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, I can't…" Seamus' breath was ragged and heavy. He brushed his cheek against hers, a light stubble itching against her skin, a testament to the ongoing, endless numbered days they'd spent out here, "I can't . If I say the wrong thing, it'll ruin this and I don't know how to put into words what I'm feeling other than if I'm not inside you soon I'm going to-,"

Hermione cut him off with a kiss, grinding down on his hips, "I know, I know," She nodded, pressing her forehead to his face, "Please."

Seamus used one hand to grasp her hair, holding her steady, while his other hand tugged at her sleep shorts, pulling them down with such force that she heard the elastic of the stitching snap. Neither wanted to move apart, as though it would break the moment in two. Hermione's hands pressed up underneath his shirt, exposing his chest , fingers dancing across his skin. She could feel him flex, sucking in air, as his fingers pulled on her underwear.

"Protection-," He mumbled, as though his thoughts were underwater and he was struggling to breathe.

"I know," Hermione said, sure that she would have remembered herself if it went farther. Seamus was patting the ground for her wand, but Hermione brought Seamus in for a kiss, mumbling an incantation against his lips.

"Wandless magic, lass?" He pulled back, slightly stupefied.

"I've been reading that book Lav gave me," Hermione admitted, "And from a clinical and history standpoint, it's fascinating. Women's magic, in a sense. So lush and so…uncharted. There are spells that work best without wands, untethered in a sense. The wand just mucks it up, like that contraception spell, something handed down from mother to child and again and again and again and-," She licked her lips, chuckling, "I'm rambling. Sorry."

"No, Luv, you can tell me all about it," He insisted , " There's nothing I usually love more than to hear you get excited about something. But right now…" He rolled his hips into hers, rubbing against the thin fabric of her underwear. Hermione shivered, bracing herself against his chest.

Hermione's fingers fumbled on his buttons, but she was shaking. Not with nervousness, though that was present, but with anticipation.

"I can't…they're tricky…" She said, usually not one for defeat, but right now she needed this. She lifted her hips enough to allow Seamus to shove his pants down to his knees and kept herself aloft, expecting Seamus to rid her of the last bit of clothing between them, but instead, he pulled Hermione down, pushing her underwear aside.

"Oh, Luv-" He pulled Hermione down so she was hovering above him, brushing against her center. Hermione kissed him again, her words all rushing around her head like someone playing a thousand different instruments, unable to pick apart the melody to do more than weakly nod as she pressed herself against him, desperate to be closer.

Seamus pulled her down, fingers gripping her hips with such carefulness but such tenseness that his knuckles were white.

"Bloody Merlin…" Seamus moaned, a shudder running through his body, making his fingers twitch, "You're so…wet."

Hermione felt herself blush at the way he said it, how dirty the idea was. She pressed her lips, expecting more pain, but found herself embarrassingly well-prepared. Seamus was waiting for her, holding himself still, though she could tell that he was desperate to move from the way that twitches jackrabbit through his body, causing minuscule movement of his legs or hips or fingers.

"I'm okay," Hermione said , " Better than okay," She amended, not wanting Seamus to think this was just 'ho-hum' , " You can move."

"Are you sure?"

"Please…" Hermione said, her fingers knotting in his shirt, using it as an anchor as he slowly began to trust upward, into her.

"Faster," Hermione whimpered, letting her head fall backward, eyes screwed shut as she focused on the sensation.

"You sure?"

"Seamus…just…yes…" Hermione nodded, and the next thing she knew, Seamus was picking her up and setting her down on her back, hooking her leg around his waist as he pushed into her, picking up his speed.

Hermione moaned into his mouth as he adjusted himself to hit a spot that she hadn't known existed before, something deep and velvety that made her whole body feel like it was on fire.

"Keep making those sounds and I won't last long," Seamus whispered next to her ear, "I promise my next performance will be more impressive but you just feel so good…so, so, so good…" His words devolved into a litany of half-whispers, mutterings into her hair. She could feel his rhythm break, pick up speed, and break again. As she caught his face, screwed shut with concentration, she realized what he was doing.

"Do you want to come?" She asked, the naughty word feeling strange on her lips, but Seamus inhaled hard, sucking in air through his teeth.

"Fucking hell, Hermione."

"Yes or no, Sea?"

"Of course, but I want you to finish too…" He trailed off, holding himself back again, catching his breath.

"Get me off after," Hermione kissed the underside of his jaw, "With your tongue again. Please." She grasped his shoulders, and it seemed all she needed to do was beg a little, because she felt Seamus go stiff on top of her before he pulled out, finishing as he fisted himself in his hand, spurting onto his stomach. Though she was sure her spell was impermeable, she wasn't upset that he was being careful.

He took just a moment to catch his breath, but Hermione was too.

So that's what sex was…well, she couldn't fault Lavender for being so eager to repeat it.

As she lay, dazed, she heard Seamus rustle next to her. He pulled himself up beside her, tearing down her underwear with such force that he did actually tear it apart, placing his mouth over her clit and flicking his tongue.

"You know the fantastic thing about birds?" Seamus asked as Hermione rolled through an orgasm not long after he'd begun with gusto.

"Hmm?"

"You can go again, and again, and again," He said, mouth lazily tracing letters against her quim, riding her through the orgasm and into another, "And give me just a little time and I - as a hotblooded young adult - am already half-way there again." He met Hermione's gaze, his teal green eyes as stormy as the sea, "I want to unravel you at least twice more tonight, Luv." When he spoke, his voice was husky, eager.

"That so?" Hermione asked, attempting to hold onto a little bit of cleverness or control , but honestly , her bones felt like they were made out of jelly and she was far too fallen down the rabbit's hole to be focusing on anything other than the burning inside of her.

Seamus pulled his fingers through her opening, and Hermione shifted her hips, needing friction. She bucked against Seamus' hand, inviting them in.

"Oh, I'll be insufferable now, trust me," He teased, "And we only have so much time…I'm making the most of it. I shudder to think about our future back at school; quickies in broom closets, havin' to suffer the teasing of our friends when we try to get time away, constant interruptions. It's a wonder anyone manages to feel sexy at all! We're blessed here, Luv, and I know it. "

Seamus crawled up, pulling off her shirt and his own, throwing both of them somewhere behind them in the tent. He shook off his pants, slotting his thigh between hers. Skin pressed to skin, hearts thudding against each other, as Seamus gave her a dirty, sensual, slow kiss.

She felt him harden against the inside of her thighs.

"Do you want to-," He began to ask. Hermione nodded, sore but interested, eager to learn all this new world had to offer the both of them.

He grasped Hermione's leg, maneuvering it so that he had the right angle to penetrate deeply, just like before.

Hermione felt her world come undone.

Seamus exposed galaxies right before her, existing on the backs of her eyelids, through the rest of the night and far into the morning.