Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m so sorry.”

Harry hummed, turning to his right and meeting Hermione’s gaze. The witch was huddled at his side, blue flames dancing around her in an effort to keep the cold out. Her eyes looked at him remorsefully as she shuddered a bit, nodding slightly at the pouch that rested against his chest, barely noticeable.

“I’m so sorry,” She continued, sighing deeply. “I should’ve aimed better, or used another hex, or maybe if I would’ve gone upstairs with you—”

“—Hermione,” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. His hand reached up to the pouch, as if to assure himself that the broken pieces of his wand were still safe. “It’s not your fault. You got us out of there alive. It was an accident.”

“You’re angry, though,” Hermione stated, smiling bitterly at him.

“Not at you.” He answered immediately. “It’s because of you I’m alive. My wand—”

His words choked in his throat and he found himself unable to finish his sentence. Hermione, although still looking somewhat regretful, had a hopeful glint on her eyes as she nodded, slowly setting her head upon his shoulder.

Time seemed to pass slowly as the cold started to set in and the sunlight stopped crashing against the tent, plunging it into an encompassing darkness that was only broken by the tiny dots of lights that the blue flames provided. Harry turned to look at his companion; Hermione’s face was half hidden in darkness, and her mane of hair was about the only thing he could discern in the blue light. She had stayed very still against him, almost as if she was afraid that one movement would set him off and send him away.

He cleared his throat, his right arm quickly enveloping her and pulling her frame closer as his head dropped to lean against her.

“I’ll take first watch,” Harry murmured, feeling her nod against his cheek. His arm squeezed her one more time and, giving into his impulse, he leaned down and pressed a kiss at the top of her head.

He got up quickly after that, grabbing her wand and walking heavy steps to the opening of the tent. He stopped just before exiting, looking back at the witch sitting in the bunk bed.

“You should get some sleep. It’ll be a long night.”

Hermione chuckled softly, nodding. “I’ll take over in few hours, then…but wake me up if anything happens.”

Harry nodded and stepped outside into the biting cold while snatching a floating jar.

The Forest of Dean was quiet at night.

Too quiet for his comfort, but it was better than jumping at every single noise like it was a Death Eater approaching. The owls hooting were the most prominent sound aside from the crunch and movements of leaves, but both of those things seemed to have an almost muted sound and quickly became background noise for his ears.

Harry shivered, wrapping the blanket more tightly around his shoulders as he gazed around the dark, barely even able to look at the silhouettes of the trees surrounding their campsite. The jar sat at his feet, blue flame dancing elegantly inside the glass container and giving him just enough heat to stave off the worst the cold, but the light of it was barely able to cast a small glow upon his battered boots.

He sighed, bored out of his mind but also unable to concentrate in anything more but the forest around him, and decided to take a more direct approach to his turn of watch. Harry abandoned his seat, shaking out the snowflakes that had settled on his coat, and set out to walk the perimeter of the enchantments that Hermione had carefully put around their campsite. Her wand was firmly on his hand, fingers caressing the ridges as his eyes strained to look for any movements beyond the darkened trees.

The flicker of the blue flame was the only thing that signaled him where the tent was as he walked further and further away, and he idly wondered if a lumos spell would be too much of a giveaway of his position in case of an attack.

He stopped and glanced down at the wand. He hadn’t used it before and was not accustomed to it, but the wood felt warm to the touch and not at all resisting him unlike previous attempts with other wands. Glancing back and realizing that he had gotten so far away that the blue fire was almost indiscernible, Harry decided to check on his compatibility.

A quick lumos proved quite easy. A cutting curse or two towards a stump swelled his confidence at the size and depth of the gash, and a transfiguration of a tree branch into a broom assured him that, in the event of a fight, this wand was more than capable of working with him.

He started to walk back, satisfied that all seemed well in the little piece of land that they had commandeered for themselves, staring at Hermione’s wand as his curiosity stirred in his mind.

I wonder...

Harry blew out a breath, giving a quick glance to the blue flame and was satisfied to see it more clearly now, still dancing slowly in its glass and with no indication that anything had messed with it or the tent barely visible behind it. He shook out his arms, suddenly feeling nervous, and decided to try the spell that had become muscle memory for him.

“Expecto Patronum,” He whispered, eyebrows rising as a mist quickly left the tip of the wand, materializing in the familiar stag that was now staring at him.

Prongs tilted his head, leaning in to sniff at the wand in his hand.

“Mine broke,” Harry said, feeling the need to explain, even if it felt weird speaking to what was essentially a spell. “But this one’s good for now, yeah?”

Prongs snorted as if agreeing with him before his head shot up, ears concentrating on something on the far right. Before the black haired wizard could do anything, his patronus ran away, jumping across the trees before glancing back at him, waiting.

Harry took two steps forward before faltering, looking back at the shape of the tent, debating on whether it was wise to wake up Hermione and have her come with—

“No,” He murmured to himself, resuming his path and lightly jogging to catch up with Prongs, who had already started to leap away. “She’s brilliant, but if Prongs is sensing trouble, it’s better she’s not there. She’s muggleborn…if they capture her…”

He was still justifying his decision when he reached the stag patronus, now completely still and glancing towards a fallen tree. There was nothing extraordinary about it: covered in moss and broken in some places, it appeared to be old but sturdy.

Before he could question anything, Prongs dissolved quickly and left his caster standing in darkness. Harry scoffed, lighting up the tip of the wand and glancing around before shaking his head, starting to walk back as he tried to remember which direction he had taken to reach this place.

“Leaving so soon?”

His feet stopped and he whirled around, wand immediately pointing at a sitting figure in the fallen tree. The glow of the lumos blinded him to the stranger’s face, but his voice…he would recognized it everywhere. He glanced around, spying a couple of branches in the ground, and carelessly lighted them on fire.

With the warm glow of his improvise fire, Harry stopped dropped his wand arm and came face to face with Albus Dumbledore himself.

“I believe we should talk,” The elder wizard continued, his voice in the same soft, condescending tone that used to calm Harry and that he now hated.

It took the black haired wizard three steps before he was standing right before Dumbledore—or whoever he was—with Hermione’s wand pointed right at his neck.

“In which place were the headquarters of the Order located in two years ago?”

Albus sighed. "Harry—"

Hermione’s wand dug into the older man’s neck while Harry repeated the question slowly, teeth grinding and hand trembling.

Albus lifted both his hands in a surrendering motion. “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius’ home. We need to talk, Harry.”

“In my Third Year, what spell did you use to stop me from splattering all over the Quidditch field when dementors attacked?”

The other wizard’s mouth twitched downwards, as if slightly offended by the wording of the question, but ultimately answered without hesitation. “Arresto Momentum. Harry—”

“Who killed you?”

Harry looked at the former Headmaster after uttering the question, still digging the wand on Dumbledore’s neck and daring him to answer and prove that somehow he was talking to the same Headmaster that he watched fall to his death a year ago.

“Severus Snape,” Dumbledore answered, hand pushing the wand away from his neck. “Stop the interrogation, Harry. You know it’s me.”

“You’re dead, that’s what I know,” The black haired wizard retorted, but lowered his wand and stepped back. “What did you use to look like him? Polyjuice?”

“We need to talk,” Dumbledore stated, ignoring the other’s jabs and taking a seat in the fallen tree once more. “I am here to help, seeing as you and Miss Granger have found yourselves in a complicated situation.”

Though he was not at all sold into this manifestation of Dumbledore, Harry somehow felt no danger coming from whoever was sitting in front of him. The older man looked relaxed, if not for the way his eyes tightened at the corners and his soft smile was laced with sadness, but he had no weapon in sight and his sitting position was completely vulnerable. Harry could very well curse him and send him into an early grave—again?

“We’re handling it,” Danger or not, Harry was not stupid enough to expose the exact situation that he and Hermione found themselves in, and he was suddenly regretting not going to get her before following Prongs.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” Albus answered easily. “After all, you are here because of me.”

Harry snorted humorlessly. “I know. Bold of you to assume I’d listen to you, Headmaster.”

Albus ignored the sarcasm dripping from the young wizards voice, sighing. “If you just listen to me and trust me, you can get out of here and continue your mission, Harry. I can protect you.”

“The real Albus Dumbledore is dead,” Harry stated. “And even if were to somehow be him in reality, I’m in no mood for riddles and games. You left me a mission that is impossible to complete with all the half arsed information you’ve given me.”

Albus scoffed slightly. “You didn’t need to burden yourself with everything before the time was right, Harry. Besides, you’re a strong and capable wizard. You and I both know you can find the answers you seek if you just pay close attention to what has already been laid out for you.”

“See? This is what I mean! You should’ve just told me everything from the beginning, and maybe then Hermione and I wouldn’t be traveling blind and would actually be close to accomplishing something!” Harry exclaimed.

“You have accomplished plenty,” Albus argued. “And you have found a horcrux, have you not?”

“Sheer luck apparently, since it’s the only one we’ve found so far,” Harry said, frowning deeply. “And no way to destroy it! Are you going to tell me how or is that one of the things I can find if I pay attention?”

Albus nodded. “You already know how to, you just haven’t realized it yet, Harry.”

“You could just tell me.”

“I could.”

There was a pause, and when it became clear that Dumbledore would not say anything more, Harry scoffed and shook his head, leaning against a tree.

“I could tip the scales to my favor in this war if you just told me, you know? Everything would be so much easier if you just…”

Harry, frustrated, left the tree and started to pace, his anger quickly focusing on Dumbledore and the incredible burden that the Headmaster placed on his shoulders, along the fact that he was failing spectacularly at it with each day that passed with no plan and no way to kill horcruxes.

The black haired wizard laughed humorlessly, giving the Headmaster a bitter look. “With how much you’re refusing to help, one would think you want me dead.”

It had been a spur of the moment thought that had crossed his filter without much consideration, but Harry stopped cold at the way Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to widen a fraction before regaining his usual soft expression. Before his remark could become a point of contention between them, Harry became aware of a presence just beyond the trees on the far left. He turned, and was welcomed by the soft glow of a patronus as its made its way over to him.

The doe was calm, completely ignoring the older wizard as it stopped right in front of the black haired man. For a moment, the only thing that moved were its ears, scanning the quiet woods. Harry stared, tilting his head in confusion and startled when the doe walked past him.

“Follow the doe, Harry,” Dumbledore ordered.

The younger wizard hesitated, throwing an untrusting look at the patronus, unfamiliar with the caster. He turned back, a reply on his mouth, but his eyes found nothing more than a lonely fallen tree and the smoke of what used to be his improvised fire. There were no signs of Dumbledore, or anything to indicate that he had ever been there.

Behind him, the doe stopped and scratched the ground, and Harry sighed and started to follow the soft, blue glow.

The doe took him to a small, frozen lake. It was nothing extraordinary—Harry thought it was pretentious to even call it a lake with its small size—but it was surrounded by such dense bushes and strong trees that he silently wondered about the last time somebody had visited it, if ever.

The doe stopped right in the middle of the lake, leaning down to look through the frozen water, and then returned its gaze towards the wizard. Harry, glancing once more around them and feeling somewhat protected by the flora, stepped into the slippery surface. His worn out boots were barely able to help him walk without falling, but he eventually reached the place where the patronus waited with no more than three almost incidents.

The moment he stepped next to it, the doe dissolved in the same way Prongs had, and he was left alone in a part of the forest that not even the owls visited, since their cries were missing and even the wind seemed to fall silent.

Harry kneeled down on the cold, wiping the thin layer of snow from the ice and glanced down, finding darkened water and something shiny on the floor—

He paused, eyes straining and face almost touching the ice. With the stillness of the water and the way it was shining through it, Harry was able to discern the shape of a very familiar weapon resting just on top of the rocks at the bottom.

The wizard got up franticly, slashing through the ice with a few cutting curses and quickly lifting the chunks of ice and throwing them away without looking, hissing at the way the freezing water burned his skin. He checked the bottom of the lake again, fearing that he had hallucinated, but the sword was still where it had been moments before: leaning against the rocks, waiting.

Harry began to strip quickly, as if his speed would do anything against the biting cold that seemed to penetrate his bones. He threw his clothes far away, along with his glasses and Hermione’s wand, and hesitated for a moment before diving head first inside the frozen lake.

The freezing water made his muscles seize and contract, his skin burning as he swam downwards. His eyes were blurring, both from the water splashing against them and the absence of his glasses, but he was able to swim in the right direction: the glow of the sword was growing stronger.

His arm reached out, blindly grasping at water and waiting to feel the cool metal of the sword—

Something tightened around his neck.

Harry gasped, feeling the chain of the locket digging into his neck and pulling upwards. His scar was next: it pulsed, and he was vaguely aware of high pitched screams that somehow came from him but were not his own. His hands fought with the chain, trying to grab it, but it was so strong it seemed to be fused with his skin as it continued to drag him away. His feet flailed and his vision blurred even more, one of his hands continuing to try and grip the chain while the other waved at the water, looking for the locket itself. He coughed, his mouth filling with water while the corners of his eyes stared to black out.

Just as his legs had stopped working, Harry felt arms winding around his torso. He was moving—being dragged upwards, but the pressure of the locket was still the same. He broke out of the water, barely aware of a voice that called to him, but his hands kept grasping at the chain on his neck while he coughed.

It seemed like an eternity before he was free of the locket. Foreign hands ripped it from his neck and Harry gasped, gulping down air and rubbing against his raw neck.

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice graced his ears. With his eyes still somewhat blurry, he looked up to find her staring down at him. Her hair was dripping wet, pressing against her face in a careless way while she spoke to him franticly.

“Harry, are you okay?” She exclaimed, hands lightly tapping his cheeks. “Answer me—”

“I’m—” He gasped. “I’m fine…the locket, it was drowning me…”

The witch nodded. “I took it off. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Harry found himself shaking his head, now being able to breathe easier. A part of his neck burned—most likely from whatever damaged the locket had done—and he was feeling colder by the second.

“No, no, I’m—I’m fine, Hermione.”

“Good, okay,” She nodded, and her eyes suddenly narrowed. She got up, walking towards where his things had been thrown off, and returned with them on her arms. She dumped them on him, and Harry had barely time to catch them before her sharp voice addressed him.

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“W-what?” He stuttered, searching the tangled mess of fabrics for his pants. Suddenly, he became all too aware of how naked he was in front of her, and his cheeks were the first thing to heat up.

“I told you to wake me up if anything happened!” Hermione continued, frustration, anger and a sliver of fear dripping from her voice. “What the hell were you thinking, coming in here alone?! If I hadn’t heard you splashing around, you would be at the bottom of the lake, Harry!”

“You heard me?” He asked, ignoring his pain and embarrassment for the moment. “How?”

The bushy haired witch scoffed. “Are you even listening to me?! You almost drowned!”

“I know, I know!” The wizard answered quickly. “We’re so far from our camp, Hermione! Did you follow the doe?”

Hermione’s expression changed from angry and fearful to confused and concerned. She stared at the wizard in front of her, still on the ground and now half dressed in wet clothes. He stared expectantly at her as he continued to dress slowly.

“What are you talking about?” She answered, kneeling right in front of him and taking his face on her hands, moving it from side to side, as if searching gashes or bruises. “The tent is just past those trees, Harry. I heard the water splashing and you were gone.”

Harry shook his head, ready to contradict her, but as soon as she tilted his head to the right, he could see that she was right: in between two trees, a small path had appeared that lead to the tent they had set up while the blue flame still burned powerfully inside the jar.

“What were you even doing in there?” Hermione asked briskly, leaving his face alone and seemingly satisfied that there was no obvious damage to his head.

“The sword,” Harry answered, deciding to ignore her previous statement. “The sword of Gryffindor—it’s in the lake, Hermione. I tried to grab it and then this bloody thing tried to choke me.”

The witch nodded, looked back at the hole in the ice from which she had pulled him from, and stood up.

“Stay here. I mean it.” She snapped, and began taking off her clothes.

Harry quickly adverted his gaze at the first glimpse of her bra and exposed skin, and focused on dressing and drying himself while he listened to the splash of water indicating that Hermione had jumped inside the lake.

“Merlin’s pants, Harry, the basilisk! You killed the basilisk with the sword!”

Hermione’s outburst had come out of nowhere. After returning from the lake, cold but dry and still confused at the events that had taken place, both of them had sat at the table and admired the sword. It looked out of place compared to everything else in the tent: too shiny and sharp and new looking, but it was the first spark of hope that they had in weeks.

“I remember,” He answered, a corner of his lips lifting. “I was there. That’s why I wanted it. Maybe it’ll help us or something.”

Hermione’s face was happier than he had seen it in quite some time as she nodded, tugging a heavy book towards her and lifting it, showing the small letters to him.

“It will, Harry. You see…this is goblin made. They absorb only what makes it more powerful!”

He felt there was something very obvious that she already know, but for the life of him—be it that her brain always worked faster than his, or that his thoughts were still on Dumbledore and the doe—he couldn’t quite connect the dots.

“You think it might help us destroy horcruxes?” He asked, shrugging. “It’s sharp, for sure, but…”

“Oh, it will destroy horcruxes,” Hermione stated, sounding so sure that he believed it for a moment. “You killed a basilisk with this, Harry. A basilisk.”

He nodded, her attitude becoming infectious, and he briefly remembered the battle that seemed so far away in time, back when he was twelve. The Chamber of Secrets, saving Ginny, meeting Voldemort’s past ghost, destroying his first horcrux without realizing it—

“The venom,” He whispered, and when he met her eyes he knew she had reached the same conclusion. “I used it to kill the diary but I killed the basilisk with the sword, if it absorbs things—”

“—it must’ve absorbed the basilisk’s venom,” Hermione finished the thought, looking as giddy as she had ever looked when confronted by a solved problem. “It’s the thing that’s going to help us destroy horcruxes.”

Without the locket’s looming presence over them, Harry found that he and Hermione had fallen into a nice rhythm. Although their evenings still consisted of trying to theorize where the other horcruxes were—and coming up short besides Hogwarts, which Hermione was still skeptical about—their first victory in the hunt had lifted their spirit so much that they resolved to fix the tent before leaving the forest.

“It’s not going to take much,” Hermione had sated, nodding at the cracks in the middle beam and the rips of the fabric walls. “Any little storm is going to blow us over.”

“There’s a town nearby, we can put on some normal fabric and enchant it,” Harry answered. “And another grocery run wouldn’t hurt.”

“We should leave the forest tomorrow,” The witch continued. “We’ll get our supplies and fix everything elsewhere. We’ve been here too long, it’s dangerous.”

“I think we can take a couple more days and fix the tent before moving,” He countered. “We’ve only been here like, what, two days?”

“Feels like more,” Hermione frowned and looked down at her watch, but her frowned only worsened.

She brought the watch closer to her face, tapping it softly and then more insistently. Harry watched curiously as she took it off, placing it on the surface of the table.

“Out of battery?”

“It’s still on, just…” She sounded uncertain. “Frozen, I guess.”

Her digital watch looked completely normal, except for the fact that the time was not advancing. It was stuck firmly at 15:45:08, which was curious: he was sure that was around the same time that they arrived at the Forest of Dean a couple od days ago.

“Maybe something happened to it when you struck the locket,” Harry offered, hesitant.

He wasn’t completely sure what had happened when Hermione dealt with the horcrux. She had sent him inside the tent, and though he had tried to resist, the injury of his neck and the shivers that traveled his spine had weakened him enough that he had followed her orders without much complain. He had laid down on the bed, fighting and losing against exhaustion, but he’d heard her worried and fearful voice before darkness enveloped him.

Hermione hadn’t talked about it. He’d brought up the subject after waking up, but she had shut him down, only mentioning that the locket had shrieked before she struck it, and that a black mist had left it after it was over. Still…he could see the way her eyes had watered as she answered, and he was sure she was keeping something from him.

“You said something came out of it, right? Maybe it touched your watch.”

“No,” She shook her head. “It was nowhere near me. Nothing really happened, but…”

Harry stilled his movements as if afraid he was going to spook her, desperately wanting to know what had transpired when she had faced the locket. There was worry in his eyes, and he knew she must’ve seen it, because her reluctance left her shoulders and she leaned forward as if she was telling him a secret.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange,” She started. “But I think there’s something off with the forest.”

Harry tilted his head, confused. “How so?”

“Have you not noticed how odd the atmosphere is? How weird and abnormal the sounds are?”

“It’s very quiet, yeah, but we are in the middle of nowhere, basically.”

Hermione shook her head. “Yes, but it’s still too quiet and lonely and it shouldn’t be. I apparated us into an area that is designed for campers because I didn’t dare go anywhere else lest we end up lost or in trouble. Nobody has stepped foot close to us in all the days we’ve been here. We should’ve run into a few muggles by now. There should’ve been something to trip the enchantments, at least.”

Harry nodded slowly, not being able to counter against her arguments. He had felt that the forest was odd, and though he had initially labeled it as his paranoia and stress, if Hermione felt it too perhaps he wasn’t as wrong as he thought he was.

“Remember what I told you when you pulled me out of the lake?”

At her nod, he continued. “I…I wasn’t lying, and I wasn’t delirious. I swear, Hermione, that I left the tent and walked away far enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear me. I have no idea how you found me, much less how the bloody hell I ended up so close to camp. The lake wasn’t near it.”

Under normal circumstances, the bushy haired with would already be dismissing his apparently impossible interpretation, but her gut feeling had given her enough doubt that he was listening to Harry with only a minimal amount of skepticism.

He decided to seize his opportunity.

“I also saw…” Harry hesitated, wondering if perhaps this would be too unthinkable for her to believe, but he carried on. “I saw Dumbledore, I think.”

Before she could say anything, Harry interrupted, his words spilling from his mouth fast. “I tried to see if your wand would be compatible with me if I had to fight and I conjured a patronus really easily, but then it walked away and I followed it and when I arrived Dumbledore was just…there. He said hi and we talked and he wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know and so I said that he might as well want me dead and I think he did want that—”

“—you talked to him?”

“Yeah,” He murmured. “It was weird, and I know it’s not him because he’s dead and gone and buried, but…there was something about him.”

His confession hang heavily in the air, and for a moment the wizard was afraid that perhaps Hermione thought he finally had succumbed to madness, but the witch nodded slowly and sighed.

“I saw my parents last night,” Hermione whispered, something fearful on her voice, as if saying the words would make them true. “When I—when you left and went to the tent, I…well, I wanted to get it over with, so I tried to destroy the horcrux but it became almost...alive, I guess. It was talking to me, and then it transformed into my parents and then you and Ron and other people appeared and started telling me how much of a failure I was, how I’d get you killed—”

“Hermione—” He tried to interfered, to assure her that the only reason he was still standing was because of her, but she continued to speak.

“—It was horrible, and they just wouldn’t stop…but then my parents were there…and they looked real, not like the dark mist of the horcrux, but like real flesh and blood and they talked to me, Harry. I was able to slash the locket because they were distracting me from its magic.”

“That’s…” Harry cleared his throat.

“Oh, have we finally gone mad?” She asked, exasperated, her hands passing through her face once before she spoke again. “Maybe we just need better portions of food? Or more sleep?”

“I don’t think food and sleep and going to fix that,” He nodded at her watch, still frozen in time. “Besides…I don’t know. The forest…”

Hermione sighed heavily, understanding his deeper meaning. “I know…it was nice seeing my parents, though, even if they were a fragment of my imagination. I miss them.”

“I’m sure they miss you too,” Harry offered in an attempt to lift the heavy atmosphere that had descended upon them. “Maybe we can pay them a visit after we leave. A quick check in under the Cloak, just to see how they’re doing?”

The bushy haired with smiled at him gratefully, but it was tainted by sadness as she answered. “They’re not in Britain anymore, Harry. I…I sent them away to Australia. Who knows what Death Eaters would’ve done to them if they got caught? They’re safer away.”

“Hermione…” Harry whispered, shocked. “You—you should’ve gone with them.”

He’d always known that she went far and beyond for him and her principles, but to hear her speak of the sacrifice she had made just to follow him on his failing mission…

“You should’ve gone with them,” He repeated, leaving his seat and pacing in front of the table. He felt her eyes following his movements. “You’d be better away from this mess. Why didn’t you follow them?”

Hermione scoffed, leaving her seat. "I wasn't going to leave you—"

“—you should have,” Harry answered, his voice sounding desperate and frustrated at the same time, and he couldn’t stop the way his voice rose. “For fuck’s sake, Hermione, you’d be better off in Australia with your parents instead of in the middle of this god dammed forest—you’d be safe!”

He had clearly escalated the tone of the conversation because Hermione raised her voice to match his, her eyes indignant and concerned as she answered.

“I wouldn’t be safe anywhere! At least here I’m fighting! Do you really think they will stop after taking the Ministry, when there are so many muggleborns out there?!”

He knew she was right, she almost always was, but every single negative and insecure thought he’d had up until now spilled from him in a rush. Every frustration and fear and concern that had plagued him in the cold nights was now at the front of his mind.

“It would have given you time!” Harry exclaimed. “I could have defeated him and you wouldn’t have been anywhere close to this mess! You didn’t—you shouldn’t have to send your parents away, this is not your war, Hermione!”

“I made it my war when I decided to be here, with you!” She answered strongly. “And yes, I miss my parents, but I will be damned if I let some noseless prick tear everything apart when I could be doing something to stop it.”

Harry shook his head, his anger tamped out by sheer fear and concern. “You could leave. Just Apparate out of here—go to Australia and search for your parents. Get out of here while you still can, Hermione, please.”

His voice had ended up sounding desperate enough that Hermione stopped and looked at him, no longer defensive. He stared back at her, eyes urging her to listen, but whatever small hope that he had that the witch would leave for safety died when she sat back down at the table. She signaled him back, and when he was firmly sitting down in front of her again, addressed him.

“I’m going to say this and I need you to get it through your thick skull,” She murmured, voice impossibly soft. “I’m here because I want to be here, and I will stay, okay? No matter the consequences. I am not leaving you, Harry.”

There was still a spark of defiance that wished to argue against her, but he found himself relieved at her assurance. As much as he wanted her safe and away from this war, he was honest enough to admit that she was one of the things getting her through it.

“Thank you…for staying” Harry whispered, and though he wanted to say more, he was unable to.

“Somebody has to keep you alive,” She answered, a teasing glint on her eyes.

She was doing so much more than that; her mere presence was the only thing that stood between him and a constant state of catatonic despair. Her knowledge was imperative, of course, but he had long realized that her companionship was the thing that he truly craved.

He was suddenly seized with the impulse of telling her exactly that, but the words weren’t coming to him and his previous energy had run out, replaced by exhaustion and relief and a small bundle of fear for the unknown of the future. He reached out, grabbing one of her hands in both of his and squeezed, holding her gaze and hoping that somehow everything he wanted to say was contained in that small gesture.

A part of him thought he succeeded because Hermione smiled at him beautifully while leaving her seat. She rounded the table and tapped his shoulders, leaning her head against the back of his.

“We should go to sleep. We’ll go on a supply run in the morning.” Her words were muffled against his hair, making his shiver slightly.

With one last squeeze to his shoulders, the bushy haired witch retreated into her room at the other side of the tent. Harry stayed there, seated, until he could no longer hear her footsteps rummaging around her space, and then decided to follow her. As he laid down on his bunk, still on his day clothes, he couldn’t help but think that this was the lightest he’d felt since he fled Number 4, Privet Drive.

“I guess we’re not mad after all.”

Harry’s remark went unanswered. Hermione was most likely doing the same thing as him: gazing confusedly at the sight that welcomed them the moment they stepped outside the tent.

The forest seemed unrecognizable from before. Where yesterday there had been piles upon piles of frozen, fallen leaves all over the ground now stood dry ground with few patches of green grass here and there. The cold that had stilled their bones was no longer there, replaced by a warm air that enveloped them softly as the sun shined brightly over their camping space.

The biggest change of it all was the fact that their tent was now pitched close to an unknown lake. This one was entirely too big to have been the same one that had housed the sword days before, and its waters were cleared and fresher.

Harry glanced quickly at his side, and if the changes in the forest weren’t completely mind-bending, perhaps he’d found humor in the flabbergasted expression that was currently on display in the witch’s face. She stayed still, eyes flickering between the lakes and the tress and the blue sky, as if she’d find answers there, before repeating the cycle.

“This is impossible,” Hermione said, voice stilted. “This—this was not where we were.”

“And yet here we are,” Harry answered, hesitant. “So, we are not going insane—what the bloody hell is going on?”

“It has to be the forest,” The witch stated. “It has to be. There’s—We were right, there is something going on here.”

“Magic, you think?”

Hermione frowned, turning to look at him. “I mean, that would explain it, but this place has never been featured in any book about naturally magical places I’ve read. Only a handful of forests are known to be magical, the Forbidden Forest for one.”

Harry scratched his head. “What are the odds that you just haven’t found a book that mentions the…Forest of Dean, was it?”

“I supposed that could be it…though I have read many books on the subject…”

While Hermione was muttering to herself, the black haired wizard looked around, still baffled by the change of scenery.  He wanted to attribute the lightness of the place to the sun, but even in days past it had never been quite…warm.

“Harry, look!”

Her voice pulled him out of his thought. His gaze followed her fingers, pointing at something colorful in the distance, and before he could question the importance of it he became aware of what it was. In the distance, just beyond a canopy of trees, was what appeared to be a camping tent not unlike their own, but older. It wasn’t completely pitched, barely holding onto its shape, but it looked somewhat like their own tent except more worn down without any signs of anyone occupying it.

When they approached, both of them found themselves relieved and wary of the fact that there was also an assortment of canned food inside the barren tent. The cans looked old and were dusty, but sealed and—according to the expiration date—still eatable. Even with the unfamiliar origin of the supplies, Harry refused to look a gift horse in the mouth, and started to gather whatever cans he could.

By the time they made it back to their tent, with food and fabric to fix it, the surprise at the appearance of the supplies had lifted and was instead replaced by a sense of dread.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Hermione wondered out loud, enchanting the cut up pieces of fabric to their tent, blocking any holes and tears she could find. “We said we’d go on a supply run and leave, and suddenly these things appear out of thin air?”

Harry had to concede the point. “You don’t think there’s somebody listening to us, right? The enchantments are good?”

“They’re are completely fine. I put new ones up yesterday, and they haven’t been triggered at all by magic or other things. Not so much as a bird has crossed into our space.”

Her wariness was contagious, but justified. He blew out a breath, scanning their surroundings to see if perhaps there was something amiss, but the forest was still quiet and sunny and calm.

“I don’t like this,” Harry said, turning to look at his companion. Though there was no fear, his voice was tinted with uncertainty. “It’s great we got these things, but…”

“We should leave,” Hermione answered him. “As soon as I’m done here, we should leave.”

As if personally offended by the notion, the forest seemed to come alive. The sun receded, blocked by clouds that seemed to come out of nowhere, and the wind picked up, now as cold as it had once been. Their tent was struggling with the current by the time the heavy droplets of rain started to fall one after the other, and Harry and Hermione had to seek shelter inside the fabric walls.

With their clothes and hair slightly wet, they both turned to look at each other in surprise before the bushy haired witch cleared her throat.

“Do you mind taking care of breakfast?” Hermione asked him absentmindedly, already grabbing her purse and putting her whole arm inside, rummaging through it. “I need—I need to do research.”

Harry nodded without fuss, and began searching the cans for something remotely resembling a tasty, full meal.

The rain hadn’t let up even after breakfast. It continued to pour down heavily upon their tent, but the wind had calmed down enormously with only a gust of air here and there. Hermione had spent close to three hours pouring over every single book that had so much as a mention of naturally magical places, but her frown had made it clear that she hadn’t found anything on the Forest of Dean.

Harry tried to distract himself by going over every single note and book they had to help in their horcrux hunt, but he was honest enough to admit that his mind was solely focused on Hogwarts as a hiding place, and hadn’t let him think of another place. He decided to approach the subject with Hermione again in the future—when a creepy forest wasn’t dangling over their heads.

It was incredible that Hermione kept reading the same books over and over while already knowing that there was nothing to help them with their forest problem. Most of the makeshift library that she had taken with her purse was made up of books of combat spells, some on healing, others on dark magic that could perhaps have mentions of horcruxes, and a few rune ones. There was nothing that mentioned magical places, be it natural or manmade, and though Harry had a feeling that Hermione had come to that same conclusion mere minutes into her research, he was also aware that defaulting into research mode was her coping mechanism.

When it was almost time for dinner and the bushy haired witch hadn’t moved from her spot in a couple of hours, Harry decided that he’d had enough.

“Hermione, give it a rest,” He called out, filling two plates with the beans and rice pudding he had taken from the newly stocked canned inventory, and a couple of wild mushrooms they had been rationing.

The witch shook her head, but quickly realized he had his back turned away from her. “I’m sure I missed something—”

“—I’m sure you didn’t,” Harry interrupted, turning towards here with the plates and setting them on the table, gesturing at her to come closer. “You’ve been reading those all day. If there was anything remotely helpful, you would’ve already found it.”

The witch frowned but did as she was asked, sitting down in front of him. “I don’t like not having answers.”

The wizard couldn’t help but smile at how normal she sounded, as if she was talking about a test or a quiz back at Hogwarts. “I know.”

“I don’t like this place.”

“Me neither, but it could be worse?”

“How so?”

Harry hesitated, trying to find the words to explain himself properly. “Well, it’s odd, this whole forest, but…I don’t know. I think I’m more uncomfortable with the fact that we don’t know what’s causing the changes than I am scared of the forest. I don’t feel it’s that dangerous.”

He looked at her and watch her slowly nod, taking the information in.

“It’s like with the Dumbledore impersonator,” The wizard continued. “I knew it wasn’t him but I didn’t feel threatened, just…surprised. I’m guessing the same thing happened with your parents. He, whoever he was, wasn’t really dangerous…”

“…unless you count the fact that he wanted you dead?”

Harry sighed. “You caught that?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course I did—but we were a little distracted when you said it. I was trying to think of a way to bring it up, to be honest.”

“There really isn’t much to say—”

“—did he actually tell you that?”

The wizard shook his head, shrugging. “Not in those words, but he might as well have.”

“But did he give any indication that you were right?”

“What does it matter? It wasn’t even him, Hermione, it was this bloody forest.”

He had come off more frustrated that he’d like, and Hermione looked ready to question him again but ultimately decided against him, falling into deep thought as they continued to eat in a heavy silence. They finished their meal slowly, and just as he was about to leave the table and take his plate to the sink, she spoke again.

“If you see him again, will you tell me?”

He frowned, but remembering the tension he had unwillingly attracted before, nodded and tried to smile. “Miss him, do you?”

She shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Sure, I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Text

They decided to try and leave the forest in the morning. Hermione didn’t say a word as she enchanted the ten back into its traveling size, and Harry could understand the small fraction of superstition that had made her keep quiet as they prepared to leave. He, too, decided to swallow his words, and a part of him found amusement at the fact that they were trying to keep a forest from listening in.

Leaving wouldn’t be quite as easy as arriving, though. When they were packed and ready and hand their hands intertwined, Hermione stopped just before turning in place. The wizard didn’t even have time to question her before he felt something rough and moist wrap around his ankle.

It was a tree root, covered in moss and wet dirt, grabbing him tightly. A similar one had wrapped itself around Hermione’s ankle, and was presumably the reason why she had stopped right before apparating away.

The witch huffed, angrily kicking her feet, but the root seemed impossibly flexible, following her movements with ease. Her wand came out next.

“Relashio!” Hermione exclaimed, watching as the spell collided with the top of the root. The effect should’ve been immediate, but the tight grip on her ankle barely faltered before it settled again, wounding even tighter around her.

The bushy haired witch scoffed, and Harry saw as whatever leftover trace of wariness vanished to make way for indignation.

“What do you want?” She asked through gritted teeth, looking to the surrounding trees. It would be funny, the way she was speaking to them, if Harry wasn’t half-sure that they were alive. “Let us go!”

Harry felt the root on his ankle tighten even more, and he winced. “Bloody trees, they don’t want us to leave.”

"We need to—"

The ground was suddenly pulled from under them. Hermione screamed in surprise while his own limbs flayed, trying hopelessly to hold onto anything other than air. The roots dangled them upside down for a moment.

“Stop!”

Harry turned towards Hermione, dangling to his right side, and watched as the roots pulled her purse from her hand, rummaging inside it and pulling out the folded tent. It was thrown on the ground, right where it had been before it was packed, and it exploded in a swirling mass of fabric before pitching itself correctly.

As the tent finished setting itself up, both of them were suddenly thrown into the ground right in front of it. Harry groaned as he felt Hermione’s body collide with him, but the moist ground was enough to soften their landing. Hermione’s purse landed on the ground next to them, and he became aware of the way the roots were now receding, falling away and back to their respective trees.

“I guess we could stay a few more days.” He stated, voice light with humor.

Hermione groaned, sliding off from him. “Do you find this funny?”

“A little,” Harry coughed, sitting up. “Of all the things that we’d find on our hunt, living tress were not on my list.”

“Not living, just…”

“Magical?”

Hermione nodded, defeated, and let out a heavy sighed as she stayed laying on the ground, turning to look at him. “I suppose we can take a few more days to figure out our next step. We still don’t know where the horcruxes are.”

“I still think there is one or more inside Hogwarts,” He stated, but knew that his arguments were not truly facts but a feeling. “There has to be.”

“You don’t know that, Harry.”

“But it makes sense,” Harry argued, exactly like he had several times before, hoping for a different outcome. “You know Hogwarts is important to—”

His words choked on his throat as a burning sensation exploded on his head. He groaned loudly, hands coming up to cradle at the now searing scar on his forehead.

Gregorovitch.

I don’t have it! It was stolen many years ago!

Do not lie to me.

His body constricted, and though a part of him wanted to try and block the intrusion, he also knew that this information was invaluable. This time, however, it felt different, more painful and uncontrolled than ever before, as if his constant refusal to block Voldemort had resulted in a stronger and more dangerous connection. Hands came up to his face, pulling his own away, as he groaned again, eyes shut in pain.

What you seek is no longer with me—let us be!

I do not like your tone, Gregorovitch. Give it to me.

I am not in possession of it! Search for the boy!

“Harry,” Hermione’s frantic voice cut through the conversation. “Come back.”

The boy?

Yes! The thief who stole it years ago!

Something started to interfere with his pain. His scar stopped throbbing, and though it still felt warmer than normal, it was no longer scalding, and there was a soft pressure upon it. His eyes opened, blurry and confused, but his gaze was blocked by what he recognized as Hermione’s jumper and her hair, falling all over his face.

"Hermio—"

“Are you okay?” She stopped whatever she had been doing, leaning down to look at him, but Harry gasped as the pain returned again with more force, along with the icy voice that haunted his mind.

It will not do to have you lie to me, Gregorovitch.

I am not, I swear. Look for the boy. Perhaps you shall find what you long for.

Very well.

“Do—” Harry spoke through gritted teeth. “Do it again!”

“Harry—”

“Please!”

His desperation worked. Hermione’s arms wound around him, one across his torso and the other around his neck, propping his head up from the ground. In response, his own arms searched for her, holding onto her jumper tightly as the pain from his scar started to recede again.

It felt like hours as they stayed there on the humid ground, afraid of moving, waiting until his connection with Voldemort was no longer flaring. He knew it was over when he could finally open his eyes and his scar no longer felt like it was peeling from his skin.

“Harry?”

Hermione’s voice was muffled, her breath coming into contact with his forehead, and he finally realized that she had been kissing his scar all this time. A different type of warm presented itself on his cheeks, but it was tamped down by the exhaustion that followed.

“I’m fine,” He murmured, still holding onto her jumper. “I’m fine.”

Silence answered him, but Hermione dropped one last kiss on his scar and hugged him tightly before separating, looking down at him.

“You need to stop letting him in,” Her voice concerned and stern. “You can’t keep doing it, Harry, it’s hurting you!”

The wizard nodded, too tired to fight and aware that she was right: his connection with Voldemort had clearly just turned too dangerous to even try and pry information from it.

“And we’ll go to Hogwarts,” Hermione continued, ignoring his surprised look. “In a few days—if we cannot think of another place to look first. It’s too dangerous…going there will be our last resource, alright?”

He did nothing more than nod, surrendering himself to the fatigue.

He regained consciousness in the evening, just before the sun disappeared in the horizon. His body ached everywhere, making it harder than usual to leave his bunk and wander to the principal room in the tent in which Hermione currently was perched on a chair. There was an open book on her lap that was promptly shut when she became aware of his presence.

It took about five full minutes of him assuring her that he was fine, just tired, before she let off her questions. Though he was slightly irritated with being scrutinized, he was also touched and grateful for her obvious care.

“I’m not going to drop dead, Hermione,” Harry stated, looking at her before searching the cupboard for anything quick to make. He was starving.

“You say that as if you didn’t pass out just a couple of hours before,” She answered off-handedly, walking towards him and leaning against the sink.

The black haired wizard chuckled, trying to keep a light atmosphere, refusing to acknowledge what had happened. “It’s not going to happen again. I’ll be careful.”

Though she seemed to be taken his words seriously, Harry could still feel her eyes on him as he dumped the canned beef on a pan and stirred it.

“I just worry about you,” Hermione murmured.

“I know,” He stated, voice soft as he shot her a smile. “But I think it’s my turn worry about you. You look awful.”

“I always knew you were a charmer.”

“I’m serious,” Harry smirked, but sobered up quickly. His hand reached out, fingertips caressing skin just beneath her eyes. “You need to get more sleep.”

Hermione shrugged, dismissive. “I feel fine. I should be saying that to you.”

“I’ve passed out two times since we’ve been here, my sleep is just fine,” He argued, serving the food on two plates. “You’ve been looking after me enough, it’s my turn. Get some rest after this.”

"But—"

“—tomorrow,” Harry intercepted, pushing the plate of food on her hand. “Whatever it is, we can worry about it tomorrow. Let’s just…let’s just take tonight off from everything, alright?”

Hermione sighed, but there was relief behind her eyes. “Tomorrow, then.”

He had managed to make Hermione back off from anything horcrux or forest related, but he had been unaware of the fact that there was nothing else to do inside the tent. They had spent so many hours pouring over every book and piece of information they had, living and breathing horcruxes and theories and spells to use in the war that there had been no space for anything fun.

Harry understood; it’d be unnecessary and somewhat disrespectful to have carried items foreign to their mission when it was a time sensitive issue, but he so wished they had something else to do. Anything.

“I didn’t even bring Hogwarts: A History,” Hermione said, as if reading his thoughts.

Harry hummed, missing Grimmauld Place even more. Even dark and old, it had a variety of nooks and crannies that one could get lost into. “You only brought academic books, then?”

“And the Tales of Beedle the Bard. I figured it was important, since Dumbledore left it for me, but I can’t understand why.”

He didn’t even know what those stories were about. Hermione had already read the book about five times by this point, and though she was convinced there was something there, Harry hadn’t bothered to even read the cover of it. Tonight, with all the horcrux research banned until the morning, he decided to change that.

“Can I borrow it?”

“You want to read it?”

Harry scoffed playfully. “Don’t sound so surprised, Hermione. I can read and I do find it entertaining…sometimes. Besides, what else am I supposed to do?”

The witch rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting. “You’re the one who insisted on resting.”

“And I stand by it, but…it’s sort of boring, isn’t it?”

“When we’re stuck in the middle of a forest that won’t let us leave, yes.”

“You think if we asked it’d give us something to do?”

Hermione laughed, her first real laugh in quite some time. “Do you hear yourself?”

The wizard shrugged, smiling. “It gave us some food and stuff to fix the tent! Maybe it will give us something to cure our boredom.”

His non-direct request was answered immediately. A sharp gust of wind suddenly blew across their camping site, making the fabric walls shiver and tumble while the cold swept in easily. It couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds before it stopped, leaving behind a mess of papers, books and plates thrown into the ground.

“Bloody hell,” Harry grumbled, patting his jumper and getting rid of the small number of snowflakes that had made their way inside.

“That’s what you get from asking a forest to entertain you,” Hermione chuckled.

Their radio had also fallen, taking a tumble and ending up in the middle of the tent. It switched stations, encountering nothing but static for the first few tries until it landed on a soft, acoustic song whose volume was slowly taking over the tent.

“There it is, our entertainment,” Harry joked.

“Listening to music is not that entertaining, Harry.”

“Then let’s do more,” He said, leaving his seat, suddenly feeling restless. “Let’s sing.”

Hermione smiled at him fondly, shaking her head. “We don’t know the words.”

“We can learn them, or…” Harry shrugged, thinking quickly. “We can dance.”

That was the suggestion that picked her interest. She tilted her head, considering it, but he gave her no time to over think. The wizard walked over, grabbing her hand and pulling her up, swaying stiffly, unused to the movements. Hermione laughed, mirroring him but with a smoother technique.

It was so ridiculous, being inside the tent with the wind blowing outside and the weight of the world on his shoulders, deciding to dance badly with his best friend, but it made him feel so…lighthearted. The movements washed away the stress and concern that lurked inside his mind, replacing them with nothing but amusement at the way he and Hermione twirled.

They were so uncoordinated—two bodies moving without a specific order, just vaguely following the unknown song as they stepped away and came back together without letting go of each other. The song took a seat in the back of his brain as Harry decided to focus on the witch on his arms: it seemed that dancing, too, had taken away her stress. Though the bags under her eyes were still pronounced, her face had none of the hardness that had manifested just moments before.

Eyes closed and grin wide, Hermione enveloped his waist in a rib-crushing hug that made her lean her head against his chest. He reciprocated, arms coming down just beneath her shoulders and head leaning against her, becoming aware of the dwindling chords of the song. The swayed slowly as it the last seconds of it played, becoming still in their embrace as the radio found static again.

“This was nice,” Hermione’s voice, muffled against his jumper, echoed in the tent.

Harry hummed, tightening his arms around her. “Now you’re glad we took a break, aren’t you?”

The witch huffed, but he could hear the laughter beneath her voice. “I didn’t know you liked to gloat.”

“Not gloat, just…reaffirm how right I was.”

Hermione stepped away, glaring playfully at him, but whatever retort had been on the tip of her tongue died as she slipped backwards. He followed, gripping her arms and trying to pull her upwards to break her fall, and they both stumbled into the ground and into each other.

Harry realized they were in a very compromising—though not uncomfortable per se—when he became aware that their faces were but barely a breath from each other. Hermione’s hands had ended up on his back, tangled in the fabric of his jumper while his hands quickly held onto her waist and her left leg. His cheeks burned suddenly, but he was somewhat relieved to find that she mirrored his own expression as her gaze broke from his.

He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away when it became clear she was now comfortably resting on the ground.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, clearing his throat nervously at the way his voice broke.

“It’s fine,” Hermione quickly reassured him, pink tint still on her cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

It was awkward as they got up and dusted themselves, avoiding each other’s eyes. Harry looked around, slightly wincing at the mess that the wind had left behind, and wondered if the witch in front of him would let it sit until the morning.

Hermione’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and he turned around to face her, watching as she held up Dumbledore’s old copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard and nodded to the opening of the tent.

“Let’s go,” Though she was still somewhat blushing and her smile radiated nervousness, the witch’s eyes met his unflinchingly. “I’m about to show you that the most cozy way of reading is by a bonefire.”

“Right now?”

“Are you tired yet?”

Harry shook his head, smiling and walking over to the entrance of the tent. “Not really.”

The bonefire they built was small, but it was hot enough to melt the ice beneath it and keep them more than warm. They had transfigured a couple of chairs from fallen branches, and though they had come out looking not quite formidable, they were strong and comfortable enough.

Harry sat there, staring at the flickering fire and leaning against Hermione’s side, her arm resting against his shoulders and her hand absentmindedly threading through his hair slowly. She had started doing that the moment his body had collided with hers, and he had decided to stay very still as to not interrupt the action. He liked it. Too much.

Hermione had started reading out loud to him when it became clear that his limited vision was made worse by the light of the fire. Since then, he had spent his time either watching the fire or the trees surrounding them, trying to imagine how the stories were playing out.

There had been nothing of importance until she reached a certain story labeled The Tale of the Three Brothers.

“…stood before them. The figure was the enraged spirit of Death, cheated of his due. Death cunningly pretended to congratulate them and proceeded to award them with gifts of their own choosing…”

 His peripheral vision picked up movement. Harry tensed, hand tightening around Hermione’s wand as he moved his head to the right slowly, not wanting to alert the witch at his side yet. His eyes searched, finding rustling bushes that parted to welcome four mysterious figures.

The first three were normal looking men, though with strange robes, but it was the fourth figure that gave the wizard pause. Covered in a black robe that blended with the darkness, it floated from the ground as it addressed the first three men, waving a skeletal hand.

“Hermione, look,” Harry whispered slowly, wand-free hand lightly tapping her thigh.

He felt her stir and move, and then promptly tense as her eyes came into contact with the bizarre sighting.

The four figures stopped when they were right in Harry and Hermione’s view, a few feet from the bonefire but close enough to be illuminated by its soft, flickering light, which now gave better visibility of their unexpected guests.

The three men were almost see-through, just like the ghosts at Hogwarts were, and their robes were centuries old and appeared expensive. They presented similar features, and by the way they stood together, Harry wondered if they were related. The fourth figure was…well, it was quite obviously a skeleton wrapped in a worn-down black robe, and though there was nothing special about the figure as a whole, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as it turned to look at him.

The four arrivals stood still, entering a staring contest with the wizard and witch that were still sitting down on their transfigured chairs, confusion and wariness swimming on their eyes. Time passed slowly, neither person moving nor even breathing too loudly, but nothing changes. The figures stayed still, looking at them.

“Odd…” Hermione murmured, frown deep on her face when Harry turned to look at her.

“What?”

“Well,” The bushy haired witch bit her lip, drawing the book closer to her face before showing it to him. “What do you see?”

Harry leaned closer and followed her finger on the page. She was pointing at an illustration of the story, in the right page. In it, the three brothers stood on the bridge, looking over at Death.

“Wait,” He gasped softly, head turning to look at the four figures and then turning back to the book, repeating the movements two times more. “Are they…?”

“The resemblance is uncanny,” Hermione answered, voice now thoroughly confused, but also curious. “But they’re just…standing there.”

Harry tilted his head, staring back at the figures. Neither of them had move, not since stepping out of the forest and into clear view, standing completely still as if…waiting.

“Hermione, read again,”

“Why—”

“Just do it,” He said urgently.

The witch huffed softly, but followed his request. “The eldest brother, a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence…”

Both of them startled when the taller of the men, out of nowhere, seemed to jump as if electrified and faced the figure that they had identified as Death; the man waved his arms, and though there was no sound coming out of him, his mouth opened and closed in a quick manner Death did nothing but nod, and called forth a branch of a nearby tree, fashioning a wand out of it and delivering it into the hands on the waiting man.

Hermione cleared her throat and continued the narration, voice slightly trembling. “The second brother, an arrogant man, chose to humiliate death further and asked for the power to recall the deceased from the grave…”

The second one—the shorter out of them, and the only one with a full beard—stepped up to Death and showed it his empty palm, head held high and smugly waiting. Death nodded, simpering as it grabbed a rock and twirled it in its fingers, finally depositing on the man’s hand. Harry’s eyes stayed glued to the figures while his hand stayed tight around Hermione’s wand.

“The third and youngest brother, who was the most humble and wise, did not trust Death and asked for something to enable him to go forth without Death being able to follow. A reluctant Death, most unwillingly…”

Death paused, tilting its head as it stared at the youngest brother—though Death had no eyes, Harry got the distinct feeling that it was glaring at the man—before nodding slowly, ripping a piece off of his black robe and delivering it reluctantly.

Harry continued to watch as the figures played out Hermione’s narration of the story, the three men celebrating mutely and walking around, never leaving the wizard and witch’s sight. Death simply walked backwards, getting lost in the darkness beyond the trees.

“…taken by his conscience and the lust of the wand’s power, the eldest brother boasted of this wand gifted by Death and his own invincibility. That very night, an unknown murderous wizard…”

Another figure crept from behind the trees, covered head to toe in a dark green robe. The eldest brother—after passing out and laying down on the floor, hand wrapped around the wand—didn’t even stir as his killer grabbed hold of his hair as leverage before slitting his throat. Harry winced softly, but kept watching as the killer stole the wand and looked over his shoulder before disappeared beyond the trees. Death came back into scene then, giddily reaching for the body of the brother, carrying it away to the darkness.

“…The middle brother returned to his home where he lied alone. Turning the stone thrice in his hand, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him, much to his delight…”

Harry watched as the middle brother rejoiced when a woman appeared out of thin air. She was even more see-through than the men, but her energy was sadder. She floated in place, eyes lost and unfocused as her lover signaled and spoke to her to no avail. The man, his movements changing from happy to erratic, quickly searched his surroundings and settled on a thin root on the floor. Yanking it, he slipped it around his neck, and when it was secured, the root pulled upwards sharply. The brother flailed for a moment before hanging limply, the stone falling from his hand. Death came back once more, grabbing onto the noose and dragging the second brother away.

“…Death searched for the youngest brother as years passed but never succeeded…”

The youngest brother walked around in circles, ageing more with each step while the cloak was firmly set around his shoulders. After one lap, a small child materialized at his side, holding onto his hand and following the man as he walked yet another time around the invisible circle he was following. Three more laps, and the child had grown into a young adult while the brother had aged even more.

“…It was only when the third brother reached a great age that he took off the cloak and gave it to his son. Greeting Death as an old friend, they departed this life as equals.”

Harry watched as they stopped, and the older man finally took off his cloak, draping it around his son’s shoulders. Death appeared then, finally meeting with the last of the brothers, and put its arm around the man, steering him into the same direction in which he had taken the other men.

As the figures vanished, the cloak slipped to the ground and joined the stone and the wand, and the forest went back to its previous calm. With the bonefire still flickering and the stars above them, it seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“Did you see that?”

Harry turned back towards Hermione, finding her the book still opened in her hands. Her voice was devoid of any fear or suspicion but heavy with curiosity and awe. The witch grinned down at him, abandoning her seat and gesturing to the place which the figures had occupied just moments before.

“Did you see it? The—they were here! They were acting the story out, as if it was a play! I was reading and they were following it—” Hermione laughed, baffled but happy, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at her emotion.

“I did see it,” He nodded, leaving his seat and stretching, walking towards forwards towards the place where the three brother had appeared. “It was…I mean, it was odd as hell, but it was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Hermione asked, raising he eyebrows at him, as if in disbelief that her excitement wasn’t shared by the wizard. “Harry, they acted the story out! They—well, I don’t know what they were—but they came here and acted while I read! Do you think if I read another, the characters would appear just like these ones?”

“Maybe you can check with the forest,” Harry answered teasingly, smiling at her obvious happiness.

“Perhaps I will—can you imagine? Oh, if it weren’t for the fact that it won’t let us leave, this place would be perfect.”

He shook his head fondly as she continued to talk about the play—as she had now deemed it—while he looked around the place that the figures had used for their depiction of the tale. The light was limited to the flicker of the flames, and though it looked like nothing foreign to the forest had stayed, he quickly encountered the three objects that the brothers had asked for.

The wand was a quite clearly a stick taken from a random tree, but it was molded in the way that it was mostly straight and with several bumps on its body. There was no spark of magic coming from when his fingers came into contact with it, but Harry could appreciate the effort of the forest in creating a prop for the little play. The next was the stone; smooth on all its side and as black as the surrounding darkness, it was shaped with sharp angles and as small as a fingertip. The cloak was slightly different; it was made from what appeared to be fabric of a tent, not unlike the one that he and Hermione had harvested for parts a day ago. The odd thing about it was that it had a pattern of see-through lines going up and down, never touching but close enough to make them appear erratic.

Harry frowned, his eyes on the cloak as he gathered the objects, but Hermione’s question interrupted his thoughts.

“Those are still here?” She asked, coming closer and taking a look at the objects in his hands. “I thought they’d vanish like the characters.”

“Maybe it’s our turn to act it out,” He offered, the tone of his voice making it clear he was joking. “You take the wand and I’ll take the cloak.”

Hermione chuckled, ready to answer him, but a yawn broke through her mouth.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Harry stated, softly bumping into her shoulder.

“Tomorrow, definitely,” Hermione answered, and both of them entered the tent just as the moon took its place in the highest peak of the sky.

The forest’s newly discovered ability of putting on a play for them was exactly the thing that finally made Hermione focus on anything else but the horcrux hunt. She had done research early in the morning, right after breakfast, but neither of them had discovered anything new and so she had taken the Tales of Beedle the Bard and sought out to repeat the event from last night.

Harry had followed her out, taking a seat on their transfigured chairs and with a book on his lap. He had also taken the radio and the objects from the brother’s tale with him, fiddling with them every time the ink on the book started to blur too much for comfort. He had taken a page out of Hermione’s book, reading and rereading, trying to make himself see something that clearly wasn’t there.

At the moment, though, the book was opened and forgotten on his lap while his eyes were firmly set on Hermione. The bushy haired witch was standing, the children’s book firmly grasped in her hands as she red out loud. Her eyes were flittering between the words on the page and the figures in front of her, following the story along and acting it out with the same heart as the ones before.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She radiated happiness in a way only she could—curiosity and awe firmly shining on her eyes and her voice trembling with her excitement, barely able to keep her smile from the words. She looked lighter that he had seen her since—well, since Dumbledore had fallen from the Astronomy Tower and showed everyone just how serious this conflict was.

Harry sighed, trying to return to his research, but his eyes quickly found her again, finding hers. Hermione smiled at him before returning to her narration, the characters now entering what appeared to be quite the conflict. His stare stayed on the witch, not caring discovery as he admired the way the sunlight shined on the tangles of her hair.

She looked beautiful.

Hermione would probably deny it if he said it to her face—days spent on the run, with a spotty shower and an unstable diet had taken a toll on them, but there was something about her in this moment, so free and uncaring, that he could almost forget about the dangers that were waiting for them outside the Forest of Dean.

That was a sobering thought, and with his cheeks warm and a smile on his face—her excitement was contagious—he turned back to the book, his hands absentmindedly playing with the prop wand that had been left behind last night. He traced the roughness of the surface, feeling the bumps and ridges along its body.

Suddenly, a sharp pain cut through his scar. He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes and hoping that Hermione was still occupied with the book and the figures. He took a shaky breath, holding onto whatever weak defenses he had mustered back when Snape had tried to teach him some semblance of Occlumency. The pain was hot and prickled over his scar, but it stopped after only a few moments. Harry had either gotten better at protecting his mind, or Voldemort had gotten over his rage pretty quickly.

He touched his scar after making sure his best friend was still distracted, and looked down at the wand, desperate for anything to take his mind off of the way his forehead still throbbed softly. It hadn’t changed appearance since yesterday: still with the same ridges and bumps and rough texture, although it had now gotten rid of the moisture from before.

It was essentially the same…but now, at broad daylight, Harry couldn’t help but feel as if he had seen it before, up close. Something about the bumps and the length of it that spoke to him. He’d never held a wand quite like it—though, to be fair he hadn’t held many foreign wands, except maybe for Hermione’s and Dumbledore’s once—

Dumbledore.

Harry startled and leaped out of his seat, his voice erratic as he called over to the witch. Hermione dropped her book, immediately taking out her wand and running over to him, meeting the wizard in the middle distance.

“I’ve seen this wand before,” He hurried to explain, showing her the fake wand. “I’ve—I’ve held it once.”

“The wand from the story?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at him as she dropped her guard.

Harry nodded quickly. “Yes. It was Dumbledore’s, Hermione. I held it once when we went to find the fake horcrux at the cave. He was in pain and he dropped it as I went to fill the shell with more potion. I gave it back to him—this is that wand.”

The bushy haired witch was already shaking her head, dismissive of his knowledge. “Harry, that’s impossible—”

“—it’s not,” He argued. “It’s—it felt odd to hold it, alright? Dumbledore told me it was normal to feel that with other’s wand but this was different. It felt…hungry.”

“What?”

“Hungry,” Harry added unhelpfully, trying to explain himself. “Like…like it was daring me to try and use it, asking if I was strong enough. Dumbledore’s wand is the wand from the eldest brother. Don’t you see? It makes perfect sense!”

Hermione scoffed softly, crossing her arms. “Even if that were remotely possible, it’s not necessarily provable or helpful. Dumbledore’s wand is buried with him, and is of no help to us.”

She sounded so sure as only Hermione could when exposed to a problem so outside the box, but he knew this time he was in the right. His dreams, the intrusions to his mind and Voldemort’s desperate search—all of those things made sense if one put the wand into the equation, and he told her so.

“Gregorovitch, Hermione,” Harry continued. “He’s a wandmaker, isn’t he? I saw him in my mind, saying that he didn’t have it, that it’d been stolen. This wand was in Gregorovitch’s hands before somebody took it, and now Voldemort is searching for it. He wants the most powerful wand to exist.”

He saw the way Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched, but by the way she didn’t immediately shut him down, he knew some of his explanation must’ve made at least some sense to her. He got ready to continue speaking, to try and connect other pieces of the puzzle they had been dealt, but a thunderous sound interrupted the conversation.

It happened too quickly. By the time he recognized that the sound meant the apparition of magical people, Hermione had already dragged him to the ground as the enchantments around them trembled. He turned to look towards the commotion, and was dismayed to find a group of rough-looking wizards, all dressed in worn-down robes and with sinister smiles on their faces as they shot spell after spell, weakening the wards.

“This’ll be so much easier if you turn yourself in for inspection, but we like a challenge!” One of them hollered as his companions laughed. “We’ll even give you a head start!”

Harry cursed under his breath, holding onto Hermione’s hand as she dragged him away and into the cover of trees, trying to put as much distance between them and the unknown group of wizards. Behind them, the enchantments cracked with a deafening sound, promptly replaced by the hoots, laughter and stomping feet of their pursuers that were quickly gaining ground.

Hermione stopped, giving him a quick look. He understood immediately and stayed still, waiting for her to turn around and apparate them out of there—

A spell flew by, hitting Hermione in her arm. Blood spurted from her forearm, making her cry out and drop her wand as she turned around to face their attackers. Harry responded quickly, grabbing her wand and answering in kind the spells they were throwing their way. He slashes a couple of cutting curses, a few reductos, and some jinxes to slow the unknown assailants down, but their number seemed to keep growing.

Harry backed up, grabbing onto Hermione’s non-injured arm, and dragged her away. They stumbled through the ground, avoiding flying curses and trying to avoid being cornered as the footsteps behind them grew closer and closer.

As they took a sharp turn through a pair of trees, the sound of wood crunching attracted their attention. Harry slowed down a bit, turning back and watching as the two trees intertwined their branches in a quick succession, cutting of the path to the pursuing wizards.

“I take back what I said,” Hermione tried to catch her breath, but still managed to speak coherently. “This place is perfect.”

The forest answered her compliment by moving the trees to their right, giving them an out as their attackers surrounded the trees and cut them down slowly. They stepped through the path, listening as it closed behind them but not daring to turn back while their feet ran as fast as they could.

Before they could make it far, the other half of the wizards found them and gave them no mercy. Harry dodged and sent back spells while keeping an eye on Hermione, fully well knowing that they were outmatched in numbers and wands, but the sight of the blood on her sleeve and the fear and on her eyes pushed him to see her to safety.

They ran and ran with the wizards at their heels and spells brushing against their clothes, but their energy was quickly depleting. They took more sharp turns in an attempt to confuse the wizards, but it seemed that the more they did it the more attackers they found, though the trees around them were doing their best to cut off their paths.

Another spell flew by and collided with the ground in front of them, and Harry felt his best friend’s hand slip from his. The dust and rubble that had been left behind blinded him for a moment, but he followed her scream and the thud of what seemed to be her body tumbling down a mound of dirt.

Harry cursed, looking down at her as he made his way down the descent. Hermione had managed to grab onto a root in the middle of her tumble, and though she was still a long way down, she had managed to avoid colliding with the think tree at the base. The black haired wizard allowed himself a second of relief before he started descending quickly, aware of the group of men that were closing in on the witch from the left.

His limbs flailed as he made his way down the unstable dirt, but his breath quickened in panic as he realized that the wizards were almost in reach of Hermione. She noticed it too, grabbing onto the root tightly but otherwise made no other movement. She had no wand and Harry was still far away enough that his spells might hit her. The witch shot him a quick look and shook her head at him just as the wizards finally arrived at snatched her up, holding and twisting her arm.

Harry cursed under his breath, but before he could even scream at the wizards, a root grabbed him from his waist and pulled back, away from the scene. His toes dragged through the ground as he tried to fight it off, eyes still looking at the way Hermione tried to fight off her attackers in vain.

“Bloody hell, let go of me,” He groused, punching the root. “They have her!”

The root continued to drag him away, and Harry stuck his toes in the ground and grabbed at a nearby tree, effectively pausing the movement. He hit the root again, one and two and three times, trying to dislodge himself.

“Fuck, let me go,” He begged, desperate now that he couldn’t see the wizards or Hermione. “They have her, I can’t leave her…please. I can’t lose her.”

The root trembled softly, as if undecided, but it must’ve heard the desperation in his voice because it receded slowly and unwillingly. He took off running, back to the place where Hermione had last seen and passing it by, listening to the teasing and hoots of the men that had taken her.

He knew that the moment he stepped into view he’d be outmatched, but Harry decided it was worth it. With several spells and jinxes on the tip of his tongue, he surprised the wizards and managed to take down at least five before he was cornered and defeated. He felt ropes appear on his hands, bounding them behind his back as a boot kicked him to the ground.

To his right, in the same position, Hermione laid. Her arm was still bleeding, but there was a new cut on her lip and a small bruise on her eyebrow. Her eyes were damp, and though afraid, they also sparked defiance and concern as she looked at the black haired wizard.

Harry tried to smile at her, trying to reassure her that they’d be fine—but even he didn’t know it, and he certainly couldn’t promise it…especially when the words Malfoy Manor left the mouth of the wizard that had bound him.

Chapter Text

The Forbidden Forest was quiet tonight.

It wouldn’t be long now. He’d been walking for a good fifteen minutes and the scenery around him had gotten denser and darker. Voldemort would be at the very center of the forest, gloating and waiting and with an avada kedavra ready at the first sight of the black haired wizard. It a matter of moments, everything would be over.

He hadn’t even said goodbye. By the time he’d witness Snape’s memory in the middle of Dumbledore’s office, the fight had resumed with vigor, violence and blood and any trace of his friends had been lost in the battlefield. His escape from the castle and into the forest didn’t offer any way to cross paths with anyone. He had lost sight of Neville, Luna, Ginny, Ron—

Hermione.

Harry winced, and his shoulders sagged as he stopped altogether. Hermione…oh, she was going to be so mad at him. He hadn’t had time to see her. She wouldn’t understand his decision and why he walking towards his certain death. She’d curse him out for not letting her help him find another way. He told himself he would prefer her anger over her grief. Hurting her was just an unfortunate casualty, and the last thing he wanted to do.

He sighed, passing his hands through his face and gathering his courage once more. This was no time for faltering—the people at his back, the ones fighting for their lives inside a besieged castle, were rallying behind his name. His life was well worth theirs. His hands dropped at his side and he took a deep breath, searching for the wand—the one he had taken from a fallen Death Eater—on the inside of his pocket. He’d die today, but only by Voldemort’s hand.  

The search for the wand also turned up something else: round and with very distinct ridges, Harry took out the Snitch that Dumbledore had bestowed upon him, staring at the engraved words and finding himself still confused about their meaning.

I open at the close.

He stood there, reading the words over and over for what felt like a lifetime, but a thunderous explosion cut through his attention. The chorus of screams and spells that followed reminded him that time was running out. Harry frowned, bringing the snitch to his lips and pressing them softly against metal in one last attempt to uncover the meaning. The snitch stayed the same.

“I need to die,” Harry whispered the words into the metal almost reverently, as if he himself didn’t quite believe them and needing to speak them to understand the weight of them, trying to reassure himself that it was the right choice.

It was tragically ironic—confessing his sacrifice to an object that represented one of the first times on his life in which he felt truly happy, and that now marked the start of the end of his life. He could almost laugh about it.

The snitch moved against his lips and he pulled back, watching as the ridges moved and twisted upon themselves until the top half of the ball opened slowly, revealing its insides. In the middle of it, cushioned in a piece of fabric, a stone laid perfectly still: with sharp angles and smooth, black surface, it reflected a fractured image of the black haired man.

His fingers grasped it, letting go of the snitch and depositing the stone on the palm of his hand and remembered that night on what seemed like forever ago, when Hermione had read a story and the forest had granted them a visual representation of it. He turned it over three times on his hand, smiling at the memory of the bushy haired witch and her sparkling eyes as the characters acted—

“Harry.”

The wizard looked up, startled, and came face to face with a young woman. Red hair, green eyes and a soft smile, he would recognize her anywhere because he had seen her before, adorning the pages of the photo albums that Hagrid had given him.

“Oh, you’ve grown so much, my darling,” Lily Potter spoke. Her figure was ghostly but not completely see-through, allowing him to discern the details of her face as her smile faltered and she walked close. “And you’ve been so, so brave.”

He couldn’t speak, his words trapped in his throat as his eyes refused to leave the sight of his mother as if afraid she’d vanish in the blink of an eyes. She, too, did the same—her eyes didn’t falter from him, taking everything in about him and committing it to memory. He reckoned he looked a fright—bloody, dirty and exhausted, but his mother gave no indication of being displeased with his appearance.

Another figure walked over and joined his mother, and Harry finally ripped his gaze from her and found the tall shape of James Potter. He had a lopsided smile on his face and his eyes sparkled behind his glasses, and Harry smiled slightly because he could finally see it. He looked every bit like his father.

“It’s almost over,” James stated, and his face radiated pride. “Just a few more steps, son. We are so proud of you.”

Harry felt his chest constrict, smiling at his parents. Though still angry at Dumbledore for his schemes, a part of him was grateful that the Headmaster had granted him one last courtesy before steering him to his untimely death.

“Does it hurt? Dying?” He asked quickly, feeling his eyes burning from unshed tears and trying to keep them in, trying to keep his bravery unshaken in his last moments.

“It’s quicker than falling asleep,” A new voice entered the conversation, soft and distinctive to his ear.

Harry turned to his right and the tears he had kept at bay flowed freely at the sight of his godfather. Sirius looked younger than ever, the lines on his face practically non-existent and his grin taking up half his face. His eyes stared at the young wizard in understanding, and Harry felt comforted by his answer. There would be no pain.

“And it will be quick. He wants it to be over.” This words were uttered in a calm voice with an undertone of roughness, as if the speaker had blown his voice by screaming for hours.

Remus Lupin was at his left, looking less shabby. His face was devoid of many of the scars that he used to have, and his posture was relaxed, missing all of the nervous energy he always seemed to carry.

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, but his feet didn’t step forward, keeping him grounded. He looked over at them, taking in their details, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly dismayed at their pride, looking at him as if he wasn’t the cause of their early demise.

“I never meant for you to die,” He spoke quickly, the words spilling from his mouth desperately. “Any of you. You shouldn’t have had to…Remus, your son—I’m sorry—”

“Harry,” Lupin interrupted him, voice calm and soft and sound so normal, as if he was correcting his school work. “You have no fault on this. I will never get to know him, and I’m sorry for that, but I hope he one day understands that I died trying to create a better world for him.”

“Sirius, I’m sorry,” Harry continued, addressing the other man, but his godfather did nothing more than wave him off. No explanation needed.

He had so much he wanted to tell them, all of them, but he didn’t know how to put it all into words. He’d never get a chance like this again, but time was running out. The edges of the sky were starting to lighten, and it wouldn’t be long before Voldemort ordered the last wave of attack in the castle. Hogwarts couldn’t take another hit, and neither could the students, but his confessions kept coming.

“I don’t want to die,” Harry whispered, carelessly wiping the tears that had traveled down his cheeks.

“And you shouldn’t have to,” Lily murmured, stepping forward. Her hands came up, cupping his cheeks. They were cold. “In another life…”

In another life he would have been a normal child with two parents, a jokester of a godfather and a loving uncle. The Dursleys would be but a footnote in his life, and his life at Hogwarts wouldn’t be plagued by death and uncertainty at the end of every year. In another life, his scar and his burden and the machinations of a Headmaster didn’t exist.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Harry confessed.

That was the root of his reluctance at the moment—he didn’t want to, but he was ready to die. He was ready to step into Voldemort’s view and take on the green spell with his head held high, but his friends—they’d never know what happened. They’d be blindsided by his death when Voldemort appeared to gloat and rejoice in victory at the feet of his corpse. Would that make them fight harder, or give up? Was he dooming them by sacrificing himself, or would his enemy respect the deal he had offered and leave them alone? Would his death truly decided the war, or was this plan flawed?

The ground beneath his feet trembled, and he was temporarily taken out of his despair as he looked down. Across the scattered leaves, several roots slithered along the ground and traveled outside of his range of vision. When he turned fully around, following their movements, his surprised almost made him drop the stone.

Before him, beneath an arch made of several trees that seemed to have come together and hugged each other with their branches, stood the tent. It was just as he remember that they left it, pitched and ready and with a burned out bonefire in front of it. Its marble-colored fabric stood out through all the darkness and beckoned him forward.

Harry checked the still lightening sky and jogged towards the tent, stone still tightly grasped in his hand and ghostly figures following his very steps. His boots crunched against the leaves and a layer of dust was disturbed when he pulled up the flap of the tent and stepped inside. The living room of it was still a mess—papers were dirty and scattered everywhere, but their oil lamp was still burning brightly, illuminating the whole room.

The wizard marched towards the table, free hand flinging papers and book off of the surface while searching for something. He could feel his parent’s eyes on the back of his head, confused but respectful, letting him make the most of his final moments.

Finally, after throwing off everything except for a burned down candle and an empty mug, Harry found the quill that Hermione used for notes. Another quick search, and the inkpot was discovered, half-full. He dropped down on his knees, turning over lonely pages in search of a blank one, but his desperation won. He grabbed a book and ripped a page off of it, mentally apologizing to Hermione, and sat down on the table.

The quill dragged through the page quickly, the words meshing together with urgency until the page was filled. He put down the quill, grabbing the mug and placing it in a corner of the paper to act as a paperweight as he left the table, stepping back and leaving the tent. From the corner of his eye, a root slithered along.

“Make sure she finds it,” Harry asked, addressing it.

He didn’t even want to question the validity of the tent and the roots that came alive. If Hermione was here with him, she’d undoubtedly be asking question after question and murmuring theory after theory. If he had more time and a less daunting destiny, perhaps he’d be bothered to be wary of the forest and amused at how he was speaking to it, but just as the stone, the roots had provided comfort and he hoped they’d somehow provide closure and an explanation to Hermione.

“Harry?” Lily asked, and he could hear concern on her voice.

“We lived there for weeks, Ron, Hermione and I,” Harry explained, turning to look at her before walking away from the tent and back into the rocky pathway that he had to follow to the center of the forest. “Then Ron left and it was just Hermione and I and she took us to the Forest of Dean, have you ever been there?”

He was surprised at the way his voice sounded so calm and almost light, as if he was talking about the grouchy weather, but Lupin played along.

“Once,” His former professor answered, falling into step right beside him. “I ran around on the full moon there, but Moony didn’t like it. I got the feeling he was afraid of it.”

“It’s alive,” Harry explained with confidence that he shouldn’t have. After all, he wasn’t quite sure how the forest worked, after all. “Or something like that. We got stuck there for days, it didn’t let us leave.”

“Kept you and Hermione trapped inside that tent, did it?” Sirius’ teasing voice called out.

Harry felt his face warm and he shot a look at his godfather, though he couldn’t help the way his lips lifted. “Sort of. It was odd when we first got there, but Hermione grew really fond of it when the trees started acting out stories.”

“Oh?”

The younger wizard shrugged, vaguely noticing the change in scenery as he traveled deeper into the forest. “Don’t ask me how, but it’s true. She read something out loud and then suddenly we had all these characters in front of us and acting. She was really excited about it.”

He could picture it: that last day in the tent, watching as Hermione stood with the book on her hands and awe in her eyes as the characters moved and signaled each other. He had stared at her so intently that he could even remember the shapes on the patterns of her jumper and the lazy bun she had thrown on top of her head after breakfast.

“Spent hours reading the bloody book just to see it acted out,” Harry continued fondly, shaking his head. “I think she wished she had taken Hogwarts: A History with her just to read it to the trees.”

Lily chuckled, but it sounded forced. “That sounds nice.”

“It was,” He answered.

The conversation paused as the five of them kept walking, the only sound being of Harry’s boots scraping against the moist ground. After a moment he stopped and stared intently towards a canopy of trees and bushes that were blocking his path. Beyond it, the laughter and whispers told him that he had reached his destination.

“Do you love her?”

Harry turned towards his mother, frowning at the clear notes of regrets and sadness in her voice. She was looking at him, smile gone and nothing but sorrow on her eyes. The wizard paused, swallowing, and became aware of the focused looks of the other three men.

“I…I think so, yeah, but…” He answered slowly, looking at Lily. “I…I’m out of time. I’ll never get to…”

Harry sighed heavily, fighting against the new wave of tears. He cleared his throat and frowned as his breath picked up, a sign of the anxiety pressing against his chest while his gaze turned to look at every figure that had accompanied him.

“Will you stay with me?” He asked, feeling so small all of the sudden, but the smiles he got in return were enough to give him one last bit of strength.

“Until the very end,” James stated strongly. “We’re a part of you, son.”

“We’re always with you, Harry,” Sirius said, winking at him.

The younger wizard nodded, and dropped to one knee. His free hand carved out a small hole at the foot of a large tree while his other deposited the stone inside. From the corner of his eye he watched the figures vanish while he covered the hole with dirt, burying the stone where none would ever find it.

Harry took a deep breath and grabbed his wand, slashing at the canopy of trees and walking through it. He was welcomed by jeers and sneers, but his eyes were very firmly set on the man—could he even call this monster as such?—waiting at the top of an incredibly big branch. Hagrid, on his knees, wept and shook his head, calling out to him before a witch hit him in the head and told him to be quiet.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort’s voice, icy and sinister, made his skin crawl but the black haired wizard held his head high, waiting.

He didn’t even feel the spell colliding with his chest.

Chapter Text

Harry shouldn’t be this nervous.

He was standing in front of the portrait that protected the professors’ quarters, having already been given a tour of the staff-exclusive areas of the castle before McGonagall let him roam free, telling him to drop by his room and ask Dobby for anything he needed.

He knew exactly who was waiting at the other side of the door, probably with several books and notes around while hogging the table from everybody else. He could almost hear the scratch of her quill against the parchment, slow and confident, and maybe she was humming a tune under hear breath—

Harry shook his head. He was stalling.

Now, he shouldn’t be this nervous because this was Hermione…but he was nervous because it was Hermione.

He hadn’t seen her in about a month and a half, when he was sent to the godforsaken undercover mission and his boss decided that even a small note was too much of a threat to whatever secrecy he needed to have. He’d gotten into a screaming match with Robards over it. He hadn’t wanted to leave before telling her—as he so promised himself years ago—and told him as such in less kind words when the older Auror ordered him to take the portkey and leave. All thoughts of sensitive information and secrecy flew out the window, and Harry had debated physically going through his boss before the more experienced man grabbed his robes and shoved the portkey in his hands, activating it before the black haired wizard could even say another word.

His American counterparts were as uptight as Robards was on the secrecy aspect, and any letter he had tried to send was promptly intercepted and burned and he was left waiting and trying his best to finish the mission, wanting to get back across the pond and into his normal routine. By the time he had made it back, he had already sent Robards his resignation letter and wrote to McGonagall.

He absentmindedly smoothed down his jacket, trying to look more presentable, but he knew it was futile. He had seen himself in the mirror this morning: the beard he had grown out during the mission and that took up half his face made him look like a caveman, and if he hadn’t been late this morning—even with apparition on his side—he’d have taken some scissors to his face and tamed it before facing his favorite witch again.

His hand perched on the doorknob as he tried to settle his nerves one more time, feeling excitement blooming on his chest, and pushed the door open.

The professors’ lounge was as big as the houses’ common rooms, though with less of an explosion of house colors and more expose rock on the walls. There was a big window on the far right wall that provided natural light directly to the big sofa in the middle and the large coffee table perched just in front of it.

On the left, right against the wall, was a big, oak desk that looked sturdier that even the beds at the dormitories. It was large and had several drawers, and was currently being occupied by a very familiar woman.

Harry stopped, closing the door slowly as his eyes stayed on her figure. She was sitting with her back to the entrance, but he’d recognized that wild hair everywhere. It was pulled up in a quickly made bun, a few tendrils of hair escaping, and there were dark blue robes lazily hanging from the back of the chair that the witch occupied.

He stood there for what felt like minutes, taking her in before walking towards her slowly, aware that she hadn’t even paid attention to whom had entered the lounge.  He cleared his throat, and watched in amusement as the witch turned around, frown deep and ready to snap as her hand traveled to her wand perched at the corner of the table.

Harry showed his hands in surrender, and watched as his presence was processed: Hermione’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened as she took him in, and when she was positive he was present in flesh and blood, she sprinted from her seat and threw herself at him.

The wizard grunted and gritted his teeth, swallowing the painful groan as he felt her arms wound around his torso and dig into the bandages. He’d bite his tongue raw before telling her to let go, so he laughed and returned her hug with as much vigor as her, slouching to meet her height.

Hermione was talking a mile a minute, most likely flinging question after question at him, but her face was snuggly pressed against his shoulder, so he didn’t even try to decipher whatever it was she was murmuring. He focused on her body against his, having missed her warmth and her scent: oak, ink, and cinnamon.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione exclaimed, grin wide as she pulled back but stayed on his arms. Her hands traveled from his back and into his biceps, holding tightly, as if afraid he’d vanish.

Harry chuckled. “It’s normal for newly hired professors to get a tour of the facilities. Mine ended here.”

“Your—wait,” She narrowed her eyes before grinning widely. “You’re the new Defense professor!”

“Guilty,” He answered, groaning again when he received yet another strong hug. “Mind showing me to my room? McGonagall said you’d know.”

Hermione nodded against him quickly but was slow in letting go of him. She looked up, face morphing into something soft. “I missed you so much, Harry.”

“I missed you too,” The wizard murmured, the words somehow evoking less than what he felt when she was on her arms like this, but he thought stronger words were better left to be said anywhere else but in the open, public space they found themselves in.

“I can’t believe Robards allowed you to come and teach Defense, he’s usually very possessive about what his Aurors outside the Department,” Hermione continued, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him towards a portrait at the right side of the room. There was lion painted on it, staring straight ahead and still until the witch passed a hand through the top of his head and down his mane. The lion stirred, roaring softly as the portrait opened to reveal his sleeping quarters.

Harry followed her inside, taking note of his trunk perched on the bed as he answered, voice hesitant. “He didn’t allow me per se, I…I quit, and I sent a letter to McGonagall. I figured I could try my luck in here. Your excitement of this place rubbed off on me.”

The witch turned around, eyebrows raised. “Oh? But…”

“I don’t enjoy being an Auror anymore,” He blurted out, unable to contain that information to himself while shrugging uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze for the moment.

He never had actually enjoyed it, not in the way the others did. He held no affection for the badge or the responsibilities of an Auror, and though he respected his companions and their efforts in every case, a part of him never quite understood the love that they had for the job. They always talked about the missions reverently, recounting the events amidst laughter and drinks while showing off their scars of the conflicts smugly. He could never quite mask his bitterness at his fellow Aurors, at how care-free they were, speaking of death and battle like it was a game when most of them had only graduated after the war and had never seen a blood-soaked battlefield, not the way he and the Aurors decimated in the war had experienced.

So no, he never enjoyed it, but he was good at it, and that seemed to be everything in a world where he had stopped thinking about the future when his life was supposed to end at seventeen. The long days, wounds and weariness took a backseat on his mind…up until he ended up gravely hurt in the middle of a failed undercover operation a week ago, and felt himself regret ever putting on the dark red robes seven years ago.

Hermione, bless her, seemed to understand perfectly everything that went unsaid in his confession and smiled at him, nodding.

“The students are lucky to have you,” The witch stated, giving him an out and moving on from the previous topic. “If you’re anything like Fifth Year, you’ll probably be the best professor they’ve had in quite a while.”

Harry chuckled nervously, feeling his cheeks and neck heating up from her compliments and her eyes on him. “Those are big expectations.”

Hermione hummed, coming closer and stepping into his arms again. “You can more than meet them, Professor Potter.”

At the failure of his mouth to form words, the wizard did nothing but embrace her again, silently thanking himself for taking a step and leaving behind the violence and glory of the Aurors and trading it for quiet moments like this.

With a promise to meet for dinner and catch up on everything, Harry left the bushy haired witch to finish up her lessons and decided to take a stroll around the grounds. He had never witness Hogwarts as still as it was four weeks before the start of term: there was peace in the air, different from the type of quietness that he had come to dread every time he’d gone out on a mission, and the cold air rushed around him as his feet took him to the greenhouses at the very back of the castle.

Aware and curious of the sounds coming out the room, Harry stepped in quietly and was met by the amusing sight of Neville Longbottom cursing under his breath, his handles tightly gripping the moving vines that were coming out of a pot.

“Stop,” The blond man hissed. “I’m not cutting anything big from you, I just need one of your leaves!”

The vines, if it was possible, whined and shoved the wizard off successfully, retreating into their pot and forming a tight ball, protecting itself. Harry snorted, making his presence known as he walked over, dragging the other blonde wizard up by his arm.

“Still as smooth as ever, eh?” He teased.

Neville grunted, looking at him in happy confusion while bringing him in for a quick hug. “What are you doing here? Did something happen? Is everyone okay?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not here in Auror business, Nev. You’re looking at the new Defense professor.”

“Am I now?”

The black haired wizard shrugged. “A change of scenery would be good for me, and the Department….”

“They’re gits, aren’t they?” Neville supplied happily.

“Not all, but mostly, yes.” He chuckled. “You and Hermione always talk about how nice it is to teach here, and I figured if I didn’t completely arsed Dumbledore’s Army then maybe I could try my luck at teaching.”

“You’ll be great,” Neville stated, taking off the gloves he had been wearing and slinging them to one of the tables. “Hermione is going to lose her mind when she sees you, she’s been missing you like crazy.”

“I already saw her,” Harry answered, feeling his cheeks warm. “I don’t think she’d forgive me if I went around here without telling her. The only reason I’m not with her right now is because she told me to let her finish her papers before I distract her too much.”

The blond wizard laughed, clapping his former classmate on the shoulder and leading him out of the greenhouse. “She’s very serious about that, always finished everything before us other mortal professors even begin to plan our classes. Lunch? I think I need to catch up with you before Hermione steals all of your time.”

He shook his head, sighing dramatically but sending a smile to the other wizard. “I guess I could be bothered to speak with you for the moment, Merlin knows I could use a friend.”

“Good! Have you seen Dobby yet?” Neville asked, starting to step forward into the direction of the backdoor of the castle. “He might just be the person that missed you more than Hermione, maybe.”

Harry’s answered got lost in his throat as he gazed to his right, settling on the vast Forbidden Forest that seemed to expand beyond his eyesight. In the sunlight, the forest seemed calm and less eerie than he was used to, but there was still an unsettling atmosphere around it. Be it his own bias and dislike for its trees and the memories attached to it—I need to die—or the way the silence of it was abnormal for a piece of land in which many creatures lived, he tore his gaze from it and decided to forget it.

As he waved away Neville’s concerned gaze and followed him into the castle, Harry could not help but think that the forest was calling to him.

Dobby had been very excited when the wizard had stepped foot in the kitchens. Harry barely had time to open his arms before the elf was jumping on them, wailing happily and talking a mile a minute as the other elves looked on, frowning.

“Harry Potter, sir, is here!” Dobby exclaimed, letting go and sliding from his arms and into the ground, looking up at him with big, shiny eyes. “Is Harry Potter here to stay, sir?”

The black haired wizard chuckled and nodded, realizing that his elf friend was dressed in what looked like a shrunk student robe with the Gryffindor crest on it chest. He silently wondered which student had been unlucky enough to be raided for such an outfit.

“I am, for the term at least,” Harry answered.

“We came here to grab something for lunch,” Neville stated. “I need to get this man speaking before Hermione comes and holds him hostage.”

The former Auror threw him an annoyed, humoring look as Dobby gasped, throwing his hands in the air and grabbing at his ears for a moment, pulling down softly, looking bashful.

“Professor Grangy be very happy Harry Potter is here, yes! Dobby goes get her?”

“She already knows I’m here, Dobby, but thank you,” Harry waved him off. “As Neville say, we’re just here for lunch.”

He was aware of the stares he was getting from the other elves; though not particularly disdaining, he knew they didn’t like interruptions when working. By the way one of them was holding a huge spoon with trembling fingers while stirring and glaring at Dobby, he got the distinct impression he had interrupted his elfish friend in the middle of an important task.

“Let Dobby help!” The elf exclaimed. “I be putting a table here and then Harry Potter and friend can sit and tell Dobby what they’ve been doing and then Professor Grangy can come and—”

“Actually,” Harry interrupted softly, side eyeing the still silent and irritated elves. “I think it’s better if Neville and I take the food and eat somewhere else. You have to work, don’t you?”

“I can be very fast!”

“I know,” The black haired wizard nodded fondly. “But I don’t want to interrupt you like this. Why don’t you come by my quarters whenever you’re free? We can speak then, and I can even show you some of the new wacky socks I bought you.”

Dobby suddenly started wailing, shouting about how ‘generous of a wizard Harry Potter sir is, yes!’ while he walked around, putting together a picnic basket with more food than Harry thought was necessary for a simple lunch. Next to him, Neville disguised his chuckles by coughing, waiting patiently.

When the basket was deposited in his hands, Harry spared one last hug and smile at Dobby before retreating from the kitchens with the other professor, leaving behind the irritated glares and the still loud wails of his friend.

They ended up sitting in a metal bench that Neville had installed right at the far side of the greenhouse. It was sturdy and somewhat uncomfortable, but it provided an incredible view of the castle grounds while both wizards munched on their food. Between laughter and catching up on each other’s life, Harry didn’t feel the passing of time until he felt a force colliding with his back and arms wounding around his neck.

He spared a look towards Neville before his hand reached up, squeezing the witch’s in a silent greeting. She tightened her hug for only a moment, and then proceeded to walk around the bench and sit right next to him, reaching across his lap and into the basket to rummage for something.

“Are you finished?” Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Not quite, but I had a moment and saw you two having way too much fun without me. Disrespectful, really.”

Neville put up his hands in mock surrender. “I know you’ll steal him when you finish your classes, I was just making the most of our time together before I never see his messy hair again.”

The witch scoffed playfully. “You say that as if I’m going to hog him every day,”

“With the way you missed him you might as well do that. Did she tell you she spent a week whining at me when you left on that mission of yours?”

Harry snorted. “Only a week? I was gone for more than a month, Hermione, you wound me.”

“Well, I knew you’d never leave me in the dark about your mission unless you were forced to,” She answered, throwing a piece of the bread of her sandwich in Neville’s generally direction. “Besides, Robards was very understanding when I asked him nicely where you were, though he didn’t give me specifics. He glared at me but at least he answered.”

“He probably thinks I have awful taste in friends,” The black haired wizard stated, amused. “He hates Ron, and it’s likely you ended up on his bad side with your nice asking.”

“I honestly do not care,” She huffed before brightening. “Do you know how Ron is? I haven’t even had the time to write to him.”

Harry shrugged. “As good as usual, still at the joke shop, though he had a laughing fit when I dropped by and told him I resigned from the Department.”

“He laughed?”

“It’s Ron, he laughs at everything,” The former Auror answered easily. “Though I think on this he might have the right to laugh honestly, he was smarter than me and left that place in the middle of his first year. I should’ve listened to him when he told me to do so as well.”

Neville tilted his head. “He told you to resign?”

Harry nodded. “In less formal words. Something along the lines of ‘hunting dark wankers for the rest of my life is not the way I want to make it up to you for the whole leaving you alone thing’ and ‘you should run from this too when you can, mate, Merlin knows you’ve fought enough of this shit for life’. He was very wise, actually, and very smug when I finally did resign.”

Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder, smirking. “Still with the emotional range of a teaspoon but he has his moments. And for the record, I completely agree with him.”

“I know you do. And I also know he’ll take the mickey out of me when he finds out I’m here to teach Defense.”

“You should wait to tell him,” Hermione said. “He usually comes to visit me and Neville the first week of term to get some potion ingredients for the twins. You can prank him or something.”

Before he could tease her about her idea, a cat patronus leaped into the bench and sat upon the witches lap, opening its tiny mouth and reciting the words ‘Meet me in my office, Miss Granger, I require your help with this manner’ in the clear, crisp voice of Minerva McGonagall.

“Go,” Harry waved her apologetic smile off. “We’re still on for dinner?”

With a nod and a quick side hug, Hermione left the bench and promptly walked away, her figure vanishing inside the backdoor of the castle. Harry watched her go, staring until he could no longer see even a sliver of her hair before sighing and turning back to Neville, trying to remember where their own conversation had been left off before the interruption of the bushy haired witch.

“What?” He asked, confused at the way the blond haired wizard was staring at him.

“I’m just thinking Ron lied to me,” Neville answered, shrugging dismissively. “I should’ve known, the git.”

“What are you on about?”

“I sent him a letter asked him if you and Hermione were a thing,” The other wizard stated. “Because she was beside herself when you weren’t answering her letters and there were no note from you. I’m almost sure she must’ve hexed your boss into giving her information. Ron answered me and said that you guys weren’t seeing each other like that and Hermione was probably exaggerating, though he did say he was a bit worried.”

“We’re not a thing,” Harry blurted out, ignoring everything else on the speech. “We’ve never—we’re not a thing. She just missed me and I missed her, that’s all.”

“I missed you too and yet I’m not all over you like she is.”

“She’s a hugger,” The black haired wizard said, feeling defensive. “She likes hugs, and I do too. It’s not weird.”

“I never said it was, I just think it’s a bit…too friendly, you know?”

“It’s not. It’s perfectly friendly, we’re best friends.”

Harry inwardly cursed the way his voice almost broke into a whine during those last few words, as if he was a teenager with drama-filled relationships and not a twenty four year old man trying to have a conversation.

“Okay,” Neville stated, huffing playfully, but his voice softened and his eyes lost the teasing spark as he looked at the other wizard. “I guess I’m just wondering…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you guys not a thing? I don’t think Hermione would mind. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked you out herself, actually.”

Harry opened his mouth to rebuke him and change the subject, but the sincerity in the question made him pause. He sighed, avoiding the other’s eyes as his gaze roamed, once again finding itself embedded in the profile of the Forbidden Forest, taunting and huge and creepy.

He debated whether or not to answer the question, aware that his thoughts and feelings had been repressed deep inside for too long—though apparently more obvious than he’d like—and knowing that, even if he and Neville had only gotten closer in the last few years, the blond had a good ear for listening to anyone and was kind and honorable enough to not go running to anybody else with whatever he’d tell him.

The wizard cleared his throat, feeling the words bubbling in his chest and wishing for a way out, as they had ever since he arrived and Hermione had first thrown herself at him. It seemed that absence did make the heart grow fonder, or however the saying went.

“I…” Harry paused, frowning, trying to find the exact words to explain himself. “It’s not a good idea, honestly, it’s…”

Neville stared at him, sensing he wasn’t done, but the black haired wizard was growing frustrated by the second as he continued to struggle. It wasn’t a good a idea, but not because of Hermione: any bloke who’d get a date with her would be lucky, he knew that, it’s just the fact that if it was him…

“I’m not good for her,” He disclosed quickly, voice low. “It wouldn’t be good for her to…to be with me like that.”

He wasn’t a fool. He knew that her life had gotten increasingly more dangerous every passing year after he had met her, and one could argue that the danger was gone and dead and they could move on—except for the fact Hermione sometimes flinched if it was too dark and still and too quiet, and the scar of her chest was painful on the winter. He, also, had seen her rub at her wrist, right where he knew that the slur she hated was now marked as a scar on her skin.

Harry tensed, remembering the sound of her screaming, loud and soul crushing as Bellatrix laughed, and how limp she felt on his arms when Dobby had finally gotten them out of the clutches of their enemies. She had been tainted by the scent of blood and sweat and she hadn’t woken up for a full day, leaving him to pace and snap at whoever dared to talk to him while he was too busy worrying about her.

The wizard shook his head, willing away the painful memories, and turned towards Neville to be met with his dumbfounded look.

“I don’t understand,” The blond stated, curiously.

Harry nodded slowly. “I know, but I’m right…there’s no world in which Hermione dating me would end up happy. What we have…it’s enough. It has to be.”

Neville frowned at him, but his words had sounded so resolute that the blond didn’t pursue the matter further. Harry was grateful when his companion moved on quickly after that, perhaps realizing the tenseness of the black haired wizard’s shoulders, or how his engagement in the conversation was dulling by the second.

Harry nodded along as the Herbology professors prattled on, but his words didn’t quite reach his ears as he stared ahead, eyes focused on that damned forest again, wondering if he could ignore and avoid its existence now that he was close to it was again.

Hermione would surely huff at him if she knew he wasn’t paying the amount of attention that he usually did, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care.

They had met for dinner as promised, deciding to eat inside her quarters to have the privacy that would be otherwise impossible if they had decided to eat at the professors’ table in the Great Hall. With their robes thrown over the back of the sofa and their feet propped on the table, she had been speaking of her plans for the year and what had happened around Howgarts before he arrived, but the wizard couldn’t find it in himself to focus on her speech as he gazed at her.

His eyes had been glued to her form since he had taken a step, and he was sure that Hermione had realized and decided to not bring it up, but he couldn’t help it: his longing for the past month and a half had bled through his every interaction with her on this day, and as he absentmindedly bit onto whatever it was that he had grabbed from a plate, he continued to stare and at her and took her in.

Though she had taken her formal robes off and her shirt was untucked from her jeans and falling on one shoulders, she still looked as put together as always. There was fire on her eyes as she continued to speak, the same kind that he’d seen throughout all years of knowing her, but this time was contained: simmering and shiny, speaking to the way she had matured but still kept being as stubborn as ever. Her hair never gotten quite under control, but her ways of dealing with had changed because she had decided a year ago to keep it up in a bun for the foreseeable future.

He kept staring at her, memorizing any changes to her appearance that perhaps he had missed in the time he had been away, committing to memory the small crease that had started to appear on the edge of her eyes, and the way her nail polish was chipped at the ends, slightly tainted with ink.

“—and then I went on a date with a boggart,”

Harry startled, frowning and looking at her in confusion. “What?”

Hermione chuckled, reaching out to grab a handful of grapes. “So you were listening.”

The wizard blew out a breath, smiling at her as his head fell and leaned against the back of the couch, his body slipping down ward slightly. “Sorry, I got distracted a bit.”

“I know,” She answered, mimicking his pose and turning to look at him, chewing quickly through the grapes. “I cannot look too different from the last time you saw me for you to stare at me like that.”

“You don’t, I just missed you,” He stated, knowing that time was not the only reason for his staring. “And the last time we saw each other before this was so quick we barely had time to say hello. If you think about it, we haven’t seen each other for close to three months.”

“That’s a lot of time,” Hermione nodded.

Harry hummed and stayed silent for a couple of moments, eyes drinking her in before his mouth opened.

“I didn’t want to go,” He murmured.

Perhaps it was the quietness of her space, so welcoming and warm, or the fact that he knew that there was nobody inside the room apart from them—or anybody close to the space they found themselves in, for that matter—but his words were spoken, quickly and softly, and he felt a weight on his chest recede as he finally started to confess that very same explanation he had struggled with some hours before.

“Before I ever argued with Robards about not sending you a note, I got into a fight with him over the mission,” Harry continued, voice still soft and now aware that the witch was staring at him intensely, respectfully silent. “I didn’t like the odds of it. The information wasn’t very reliable and the orders were basically sending us in blind.”

He sighed, avoiding her gaze and turning it to the burning fire in the hearth. “It was a mess and it only got worse from then on but at least everything happened quickly, and then I got hurt and I was lying on a crumbling building bleeding out and…”

Harry released a breath, absentmindedly rubbing at his shirt, right where his bandages were hidden underneath. “The first thought I had there was that I was glad to be hurt because then Robards wouldn’t send me out again for a couple of weeks, and then I remembered you and how I didn’t tell you where I was going and I felt so horrible…I went and got myself hurt and you didn’t know.”

“Harry—”

“—I’m sorry,” He interjected, finally turning to look at her once more. Her expression had shifted from comfortable and relaxed to concerned. “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to break through everybody else and tell you where I was like I was supposed to do, like I promised you.”

He could still remember that day clearly: being dragged out of the Forbidden Forest as if he was a corpse, hearing gasps welcoming him as his professors and fellow students stopped cold at the entrance of the castle. Voldemort was speaking, and Harry had managed to half open his eyes, enough to look through the multitude before him; Hermione stood in front of it, and though he could barely recall her appearance due to his blurry vision, his ears remember the scream of grief that left her throat.

By the time the dust of battle had settled, Harry had made himself find her and promise her that he’d never leave without telling her, especially considering how dangerous of a job he was chasing after graduation. He had made a habit of sending her letter and notes, never leaving the Department without telling her extensively where he’d be and how much time it would take him, but Robards had made a liar out of him a month and a half ago—

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice cut through his mental rant, and as he focused back on her, he found the witch closer than before. She moved slowly, sighing and dropping her head on his shoulder as her hand reached out to his, squeezing it. “Harry, it’s okay.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue, but a quick squeeze from her hand stopped him. The witch stayed silent, leaning into him, and he decided to focus on her: the softness of her hair, brushing against his beard covered cheek; the warmth of her hand, now intertwining with his; her slow breath, crashing through the thin fabric of his shirt and into his collarbone.

“Thank you for keeping your promise all these years,” Hermione whispered after a moment, voice so low that if he wasn’t pressed against her he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. “I always worry about you, but the effort you put into communicating with me about your whereabouts in missions always helped. That said…I’m not upset at you at all, Harry. If I ever gave that impression, I’m so sorry. I suspected there was something forcing your silence, and I shouldn’t have been surprised—it had been years since you were in the Department, a mission requiring your secrecy was bound to come through. It’s okay. I was worried, of course, but never angry at you. I’m just glad you came back safe.”

Harry blew out a breath, suddenly feeling tired after the conversation, and he was barely able to murmur a thank you into her hair before he leaned his own head against her, staring at the flickering fire and feeling as her hand moved to his chest, rubbing it softly and in a circular motion as the edges of his eyes started to black out, drawing him into a deep sleep.

He had managed to avoid the Forbidden Forest up until the day before term began.

He had been working tirelessly over the last couple of weeks to catch up, knowing that every other professors had more time and experience than him to plan their classes, and had barely left the professors’ lounge unless it was for a meal before returning and grinding on his notebooks, drawing up projects and exams and topics for essays. Hermione kept him company even though she was done with her work, and had been an invaluable sounding board for his most crazy ideas about how to proceed with the teaching of certain spells.

Harry was sure that his path wouldn’t cross with the forest beyond the castle…right until one evening when Hermione strolled towards with a basket and a parchment with a list on it, asking him if he wanted to take a walk in the forest to search for certain plants and ingredients that Neville and the Potions professor needed for the term.

He had accepted without hesitation, only because it would mean a few hours with Hermione uninterrupted and unmarred by the work he needed to complete, so he dutifully followed her through the muddy path that led to the forest. The sky was a clear blue with darkened edges and the air was crisp and cold as they walked into the trees, waving goodbye as Hagrid shouted a salutation.

The trees welcomed them, the air wafting around them in a lazy manner as their shoes crunched along the fallen, dry leaves. The sunlight was bleeding in between the branches as he glanced around, unable to let go of the uncomfortable feeling that this forest awoke in him. There were no abnormal sounds; in fact, it was quite peaceful, as if the forest was asleep.

Hermione, at his side, was looking down at the list that had been provided for her. “They should be easy enough to find, the ingredients, though we are going to have to wander deep in the forest.”

Harry frowned. “How deep?”

“The very center, I believe, but we should be done before it gets dark,” She answered, her hand folding the list and putting it on the inside pocket of her robe, and turned to look at him. “Are you okay?”

The wizard figured that his discomfort was more obvious than he’d like, so he simply nodded and tried to get rid of the tenseness that had become present on his shoulders and his face. “Yes, I’m just…remembering the last time we were stuck in a forest. Quite odd, wasn’t it?”

They had returned once to the Forest of Dean, a few months after the end of the battle and right before Hermione had to go back to school. A normal Saturday, they had Apparated to the place where they knew their tent had been all those months ago, but they were welcomed by nothing more than leaves and fallen branches and welcoming roots slithering through their feet, no matter how hard they had tried to find their campsite. In the end, and with the sun falling beneath the horizon and no more close in their search, they left, each of them confused but sure that their time in the forest was in no way made up.

Even after all these years, Hermione would sometimes mention to him that she would go back solely based on her curiosity and need to understand the events that had taken place in between the trees, but she had never found anything to indicate that they had ever been there—except for the fact that the roots had become alive and welcomed her, and had done so every time she step foot in their soil.

Hermione smirked. “I don’t think we’ll ever stop describing that forest as odd, Harry. Doesn’t help that it apparently swallowed our tent.”

“Miss it much?”

“Perhaps,” She stated, shrugging. “It was old but very reliable, especially after we fixed it.”

Harry nodded slowly, chuckling. “Still…the bunks weren’t all that comfortable, were they?”

He listened as Hermione agreed with him, his eyes giving a quick look around the trees encompassing them. The branches and leaves had gotten denser now, the sunlight fighting for a way in to light the path before them, leaving dots upon dots of light from every angle. The currents of air were now missing, having been left outside of the dense forestation that covered them, and the peaceful noise had gotten even quieter.

Suddenly, he felt the witch’s hand close around his wrist, stopping him. He turned back, watching as she threw him a smile and knelt down, depositing the basket on the ground and taking out her wand. She slashed it slowly against a couple of funny-looking flowers, unbinding them from their stems. He waited as she picked them up, dropping them into the basket before righting herself again.

Before he could continue the conversation, something brushed against his toe. Looking down, he was welcomed by the sight of a thin root moving on the leather surface of his shoe, almost trembling, as if…excited.

“Hermione?” He called out, frowning down at the moving root.

“Is that…?” The witch asked, eyebrows raised and eyes shining in curiosity and confusion.

Suddenly, as if spurred by their confusion, two bigger roots shot towards them out of nowhere and wound around their waist. Harry cursed, searching for his wand, but was unable to get it quickly as the roots tightened. Hermione called out to him, but her voice got cut off as the roots pulled back sharply. They flew through the air, barely missing colliding with the thick bases of the trees around them as the roots maneuvered them to an unknown location.

It didn’t take more than a minute before the roots slowed down, dangling them on the air for just a moment before dropping the on the moist ground. Harry groaned, feeling Hermione’s weight suddenly appearing on top of him as his eyes tried focused. He could hear her breathing, ragged while she slipped off of him and sit up. He followed, and they found themselves staring at a very familiar and should be impossible sight.

In front of them, pitched as the day they left it seven years ago, was their tent. It looked worse for wear though: the places they had patched up had reopened again, and the marble color of the fabric somehow looked duller in the small amount of sunlight that was cutting through the trees. It stood there, unbothered by the air and the drop in temperature that seemed to be permanent in between the flora of the space, innocent-looking as both wizard and witch got up slowly.

He opened his mouth, but the words refused to come out as he walked slowly towards the tent. Memories of seven years ago flooded his mind—his quill dragged through the page of the book, meshing words together as he poured every single word he needed to tell her—and a part of him was relieved, now sure that he hadn’t lost his mind in this very same spot years ago. Another part of him, however, suddenly tensed as he watched Hermione enter the tent. He followed her, the chaotic estate of the principal room already familiar to him. His search had left it in even more disarray.

Hermione turned to him, the confusion on her eyes slowly being replaced by curiosity. “It’s been here? All this time?”

“I guess,” He offered hesitantly, all too aware that there was a letter to her sitting on the very top of the table.

He didn’t know exactly why he was so nervous about it: he had written it for her, after all, but it had been a last minute confession full of apologies and desperation. It somehow felt like too much, too vulnerable to be read in this reality where he was still breathing.

“But—” The witch blew out a breath, eyebrows turning down as she gazed around the room. “How? It wasn’t—It was nowhere near here, it shouldn’t be possible.”

“We seem to be saying that a lot when it comes to these trees,” He answered, voice low.

“Yes, but when we were in the Forest of Dean it was different. It was only one place!” She exclaimed. “And now our tent is here, on Hogwarts grounds?”

“Well…the Forbidden Forest is magical,” Harry stated, scratching the back of his head. “Maybe, I don’t know…it’s connected or something?”

Hermione frowned even deeper, but her lack of immediate refusal told him that she had also entertained the possibility of his words. She gazed around again, her eyes zeroing in on the table, and her head tilted to the side as she spied a page of a book sitting there, being kept still by a mug.

Harry realized the moment she became aware of his letter, and he froze, watching as she walked over to the table and sat down, staring at the page.

His ink had bled through it, slightly tainting the back of it, and his bigger, more chaotic handwritten had overridden the printed words and small illustrations. His letters pushed against each other, the lines short and quick and rapid, words connected by the drops of inks and barely there lines that had been made as his hand worked against time. The witch lifted it up and read it in silence, but he could see the way her shoulders tensed.

“Hermione,” He murmured, walking and stopping at her back.

“What is this?”

Her voice was soft but somewhat flat, her fingers gripping the paper tight enough to wrinkle it. She didn’t turn towards him, presumably still staring at his spilled words on the page, as if they’d disappear the moment she stopped staring.

“It’s…” Harry hesitated, though he knew it was futile: the witch already knew what it was, but her shock obliged her to question him. “It’s a letter for you. One I left seven years ago, when I...when I came here to die.”

His confession hung in the air heavily, and he inwardly cursed the silence of the forest that allowed him to listen to the witch’s sharp intake of breath. He didn’t dare to move, watching as she stayed completely still, still staring down.

He finally moved when she turned back towards him, eyes shining with barely contained tears as her hand gripped the page even tighter, almost balling it. Harry sighed heavily, sitting down on the bench right next to her with his back against the table, shoulder touching hers as he looked down at her.

“I…” He started whispering. “I hadn’t said goodbye. I was walking towards Voldemort and my death but the only thing I cared about was that I didn’t get to say goodbye to Lune, or Ron, or…or you, Hermione. I knew it’d hurt you to see me like a corpse, and that is the last thing I wanted but…I needed to.”

Hermione breathed in slowly, pushing back on her tears unsuccessfully as she stared at him, waiting. He cleared his throat, feeling it dry as he pushed through the words.

“I needed to die, and I was ready but you’d never understand—I didn’t want to leave you like that, and then—”

He stopped suddenly, clamping down his mouth and avoiding her gaze. He’d never told her about the four ghosts that followed him through the trees, the event too personal and hard to believe—so much that he sometimes wondered if, in his madness after accepting his death, he had conjured a vision to comfort him.

Looking at Hermione’s misty eyes, he decided to shred to whatever reluctance that was still fighting against him.

“I used the stone,” He confessed. “The one from the story. It’s real, and it showed—it showed me my parents and Sirius and Remus. We talked, and I was so…I hated having to leave you without seeing you again, you know? That was—that was probably the only reason why it took me so long to arrive to where he was waiting for me…I don’t know why, but I was thinking about you and how I left and then suddenly the tent was there. It appeared out of nowhere, and I thought this was my chance. It almost seemed too good to be true, but it seemed better than nothing, so I wrote you that and told the trees to make sure you find it. I guess they listened…though a bit late, eh?”

His joking tone fell flat as his words tapered off. The witch was still looking at him, tears now falling down her cheeks, but her expression was set in a mixture of fondness and sadness. Before he could say anything more, she leaned forward sharply and crashed into him, her arms wounding around his waist and squeezing lightly. In a moment he was able to feel his shirt becoming wet, right where her face was pressed against it.

Harry returned the hug, his embrace as strong as hers. “It’s okay, Hermione.”

She separated slightly, now leaning her forehead against his chest. “God, you—you should’ve been so scared, Harry.”

He hummed, dropping his head on hers. “I’m fine now.”

“But you almost weren’t,” Hermione whispered. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The wizard sighed. “I didn’t…I didn’t know how true it was. You said it yourself: it should’ve been impossible for the tent to end up here. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy. I myself thought I was going mad.”

The witch didn’t answer, still leaning against his chest, and he waited, aware that she had put his letter on the inside of her robes. It must’ve been quite a while that they sat there, embracing and in silence, because he threw one look at the slightly opened flap of the tent and realized that the previous sunlight had been replaced by a duller version of it, the shadows of the trees growing by the second.

“We’re going to be late,” He murmured, frowning as he felt her arms recede.

Hermione looked back, finding the say vision as him, got up quickly. Her hands rubbed away at her cheeks, right where her tears had dried and addressed him. “Oh, we didn’t even get to the middle of the list. We’re terrible at this.”

Harry chuckled softly and nodded. “In our defense, it not entirely our fault, is it? The forest has a mind of its own and its kind of an arse hole.”

“Don’t be rude, it likes us,” She answered cheekily, her previous bout of emotions forgotten for the moment. She reached out, grabbing onto her hands and pulling him up, softly dragging him towards the entrance.  “We have to hurry though, before it gets even darker.”

He decided to ignore the fact that her hand kept gripping his even after they were out of the tent, reveling on the way her thumb softly rubbed at his knuckles. The wizard shrugged, following her slowly through the canopy of trees, leaving behind their tent. “Maybe if we ask the roots will give us the ingredients.”

“How would it even know—”

In a perfect recreation of seven years ago, a gust of air came out of nowhere and slapped right into them. Harry hunched, drawing the witch into his arms as they waited, both their hairs getting even more messed up in light of the forest’s meddling. When it was over, both of them opened their eyes and stared at the messy pile of plants and flower at their feet.

“You were saying?”

“I love it,” Hermione answered, smiling as her wand levitated the new ingredients into the basket. “Do you think this one also makes characters to play stories?”

“You’re never getting over that, are you?” He asked fondly, waiting as the flowers and plants traveled slowly towards the basket.

“Of course not!”

The moment the last flower entered the basket and its lid shut off, Hermione turned towards him, grin now wide. Whatever she was about to say—be it another remark about how much she liked the forest, or how they should start to head back to the castle—was lost as another, stronger gust of wind crashed against them. Harry startled, digging his heels into the ground and grabbing the witch’s arm, protecting his face with free hand as he tried to wait out the forest’s tantrum.

It would’ve worked, if it weren’t for the root that slithered beneath his shoe and pulled it sharply, making his body weight fall backwards as the witch followed, both of them crashing against the muddy soil of the forest. He felt her tried to move, trying to get up from over him, but yet another root foiled that plan: it dragged itself over them, finding the ground on the other side of their bodies and digging in it. The further it dug, the tighter it roped around them, forcing Hermione to wiggle until she was pressed right against him, staring down at his face.

“You love it, huh?” He murmured, trying to ignore the heat that was building beneath his cheeks.

“Not when it’s behaving like this,” She grunted, trying to move, but her hands had ended up firmly against her sides as the root tightened a little bit more.

Harry swallowed, looking at everything but her as she cursed the trees under her breath. She was so, so close: her warm breath was felt by the skin of his chin, her moving lips barely a few centimeters away as she kept talking to herself. He, too, was aware of the compromising position in which they found themselves, and the way his heart stuttered uncontrollably. He hoped she couldn’t feel it, but perhaps it was useless to wish that: the roots kept tightening, now on the verge of being painful.

Suddenly, they stopped and stayed still, and both of them were left with only the quietness of the forest and the sound of their own ragged breathing as his eyes finally found hers.

“I guess we’ll really be late now,” He whispered, unable to look at anywhere but her, their noses barely touching each other.

Hermione sighed softly. “Maybe if we ask it’ll let us go?”

Despite being worded exactly like his previous request, the roots did nothing, staying as still as stone. He grumbled, testing the strength of them, but his fingers were only able to move so much and his arms were completely held together, one of them ending up around the witch’s waist while the other was underneath her body, pressed against his stomach.

He tried to think—where was his wand? What kind of spell could get them out there without injuring one of both of them? It was already dark, the starts starting to shine on the sky, they needed to get back to the castle—but it was impossible with her being this close this much time. He could feel his heart thundering even quicker, as if it was ready to beat out of his chest at any moment, and her scent had started to completely overtake his nose. He was getting tenser by the second, feeling his self-control slip through his fingers quicker than ever.

Harry wasn’t sure exactly what happened in the next few moments, but it ended up with both their lips meeting in the middle. They touched slowly, almost afraid, and he was sure he was trembling from desire and nervousness when he leaned in for more, finding her waiting eagerly. From then on, he got completely lost in her everything, vaguely aware of when the roots softened their hold and receded slowly. His arms, now able to move, took their spot around here, refusing to let go of her frame.

Hermione did the same, her hands roaming his neck and his hair unabashedly, nails softly scraping against his scalp and he groaned against her lips, reveling in the kiss that seemed to be lasting a lifetime and was now hungrier than ever, teeth scraping and biting as both of them got to know each other in a way they never had before.

When his lungs burned, he reluctantly separated sharply from her, gulping air as he gazed at her: her eyes were widely soft and unfocused, looking down at him as one of her hands reached up, caressing her lips in disbelief. His heart was still beating erratically, his own hands seemingly unable to stop touching her as they gripped her robes. He stared at her, committing to memory how she looked after such a kiss, but a sliver of panic started to set in.

“You two okay?”

Hermione sprung from him as if burned, and Harry got up sloppily, turning to look at the hulking form of Hagrid. The half giant was looking at them curiously, smiling and hoisting a bucket on his shoulders.

“Yes!” Hermione said, her voice a higher pitch than normal. “Yes, we’re fine. Just gathering potion ingredients, which we’ve already done.”

Harry nodded. “That’s right, just in time. It’s late, isn’t it?”

Hagrid nodded, looking from him to the witch and then back. “That it is. I supposed you’ll be heading back to the castle, eh?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione confirmed, grabbing the basket. “Good night, Hagrid!”

“Good night,” Harry murmured, flushed and avoiding the half-giant’s eyes as he followed after his companion in quick steps.

“Good night, you two! Make sure you come for cake next weekend!”

Both of them shouted an affirmative, and stayed quiet until they finally broke through the last of the trees and into the path that’d take them towards the castle. His heart still felt chaotic, feeling the weight of her gaze on him as he passed a hand through his hair, his cheeks still warm and the ghostly sensation of her lips upon his making his mind unravel.

“Harry.”

He turned towards her. She was standing there, having stopped just after breaking through the trees unlike him, who kept walking a few paces. Her eyes bore into his, a mix of disbelief and fondness and something he didn’t quite know how to name swirling in them. Her lips looked swollen and her robes had a thin layer of mud and dirt from their time spent on the ground.

Harry felt his breath quicken as a sudden, invisible force seemed to press against his chest. The blood rushed to his ears, blocking out whatever noise there was and muffling Hermione’s calls to him. He turned away from her, gripping at his shirt and feeling his eyes burn with tears that appeared out of nowhere but were now almost impossible to control.

“I—I need to go,” He said, voice breaking at the end and refusing to look at the witch as his feet started to run, feet slapping against the path as he made his way back to the castle.

Chapter Text

His feet crunched against the hard, moist, cold ground as he walked through the now familiar path that he had carved for himself the past week and a half. His eyes stared at the edge of the forest, dark and eerie at this time of night with the leaves swaying lazily against the current of freezing wind that cut through them. Harry took a deep breath, frowning deeply and with his hands balled into fists and hidden inside of his robes, his teeth grinding at the seemingly innocent atmosphere of the trees that had caused him so much grief for the past couple of days.

He stopped, turning his body towards the forest and glaring at it, eyes unblinking as a tree root slithered forward slowly. As the other days, it took a while to reach him, almost shy and scared when the end of it touched his shoe. Harry stood there, glaring down at it while the root kept moving slowly in front of him, once even tugging at his laces, but a quick huff and a shuffle of his feet stopped it, the root retreating on itself as if…hurt.

Harry scoffed to himself, watching as it disappeared behind the trees just like all the other past days when he had visited this same spot before, blending in the darkness and the dirt. He stood there for another long moment before checking his watch, groaning at the time. Barely eight. He had more than two hours to kill.

“Hey!”

He startled softly, turning around. Harry’s eyebrows rose and his jaw dropped slightly at the sight of none other than Ron Weasley himself walking towards him, his arms carrying two large, rectangular packages. The redhead stopped right in front of him, panting slightly from the weight he was carrying.

“You’re a hard man to find, mate,” Ron said, grinning. “Even Hermione couldn’t tell me where you were.”

He felt his shoulders tense slightly at the mention of the witch, but did his best to smile at his best friend. “I…I like to take walks before going to sleep.”

“Around here?” The redhead raised an eyebrow. “Not the prettiest place to watch, is it?”

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable. “It helps me think.”

“Sure,” Ron agreed, though the tone of his voice made it clear that he somehow knew that was something deeper going on. “Fancy coming back early? We could grab dinner and catch up. I’m dying to hear all about Professor Potter’s wonders on Hogwarts.”

Harry took a moment to answer, considering the request, though he knew he should decline. At this time of night, dinner at the Great Hall would already be over, and that meant that he’d have to take Ron into the Professor’s Lounge, which wasn’t possible—not when he knew that Hermione went to bed around ten.

“I’m not really hungry,” Harry answered hesitantly. “I could summon Dobby and ask him to bring something to you, and we could sit closer to the lake and talk there.”

It took several seconds before Ron scoffed and bent down, depositing his packages on the ground and straightening himself. His blue eyes glared at his best friend with confusion and disbelief shining on them. “Alright, what’s going on between you and Hermione?”

“Nothing,” Harry’s voice was quick and slightly panicked. “Nothing’s going on.”

“I’m a bit slow but not completely stupid, Harry,” Ron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “It only took three words from Hermione to know there’s something wrong with you two. So, what is it? Did you piss her off?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “No, just—it’s complicated, alright? We’re just…”

“Angry at each other?”

“We’re not angry,” Harry sighed heavily, passing a hand through his hair. “We’re…not speaking at the moment.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking what’s wrong,” Ron stated, raising both his eyebrows at his best friend. “Make it easy and tell me. We both know I’ll keep pushing until I know.”

“It’s…” Harry cleared his throat, ready to deny his friend the knowledge that he was seeking, but a part of him hesitated. These days had been filled with avoiding Hermione and her questioning eyes, taking shortcuts to his classroom and back and taking long walks around the grounds just to avoid being in the lounge at the same time as her.  He hadn’t even managed to rest in the nights, too anxious and worried about what she might say to him if they were too cross paths, and he was starting to feel it: he hadn’t even realized that Ron was closing in on him until he was shouting. His Auror training, if he wasn’t so tired and preoccupied, should’ve been able to pick on any change on his surroundings.

Any problem that he had was usually spoken with Hermione, no matter the secrecy or ridiculousness. What could he do when the same person he usually sought out was the same person that was at the root of his situation?

“It’s…” Ron said, spurring him on.

“We kissed,” Harry blurted out, shoulders slumping. “Last week. We were searching for ingredients on the forest and then those damned roots started pulling at us and we dropped to the ground…”

He started pacing, his hands coming together to fidget as his voice dropped, words coming out softly, as if scared. “We kissed there and…it was the best and worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Ron stared at him blankly for a moment before shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Okay, okay, go back—the roots did what?”

“They’re alive,” Harry explained quickly. “Sort of. They—they move and interact with Hermione and I. It was only supposed to be on the Forest of Dean, back when the war was going on. The forest…it was alive. We didn’t know how or why but it was, and then I came here to teach Defense and the roots of the Forbidden Forest started doing the same. When we went in there to gather ingredients, they decided to play with us and, well…”

“You snogged each other,” Ron supplied, nodding to himself as he scratched his chin. “Makes sense.”

“What? Did you not hear what I just said?” Harry hissed. “Hermione and I kissed, Ron!”

“You’ve said that,” The redhead answered. “I’m honestly more surprised about the roots thing. Is it really alive? Do you think you could show me? Maybe I can talk George into making small trees come alive as a new product—”

“Ron!” Harry snapped, interrupting the words of his friend. “We kissed.”

“So?” Ron scoffed. “Why do you look so spooked by that? Is she that bad of a kisser?”

“No,” Harry answered immediately, and he felt his cheeks growing warmer at the mere memory of that day in the dirt, his hands and hers roaming while both of their mouths made sure to taste every each of each other. “No, she’s—”

“—I don’t want to know,” Ron interjected quickly. “Just tell me how that is a bad thing?”

“Because it—” Harry clenched his jaw, stopping any other word from coming out of it as he stopped his pacing. His head was bent down, eyes focused solely on the ground as he answered. “I can’t—I can’t kiss her again.”

“Why?” Ron’s voice was beyond confused. “Did she not like it?”

“I—I don’t know, I left after…” Harry murmured, shrugging halfheartedly.

Ron spluttered. “You—you left?! No wonder she doesn’t want to talk to you! You kissed her and then you left?”

“I had to,” Harry argued, turning to look at him again. “I couldn’t—I can’t do that again, Ron. Kissing her…It shouldn’t have happened, it can’t happen again, but now…I don’t know what to do. She’s going to bring it up the moment we see each other again.”

“Of course she’s going to bring it up,” Ron stated incredulously. “You two kissed and then you left. Why did you even do that? Are you the one who’s a bad kisser or what?”

“Stop saying that, it’s not funny!” Harry snapped. “I—It was a mistake, alright! I shouldn’t have let it go that far! I should’ve stopped it as soon as I felt her lips on mine!”

“But you didn’t,” Ron interjected. “You went along with it, mate. If you didn’t want to, then why did you do it? Did you want to spare Hermione’s feelings instead of rejecting her outright?”

“Feelings?” Harry murmured faintly.

“The ones she has for you, idiot,” Ron groaning, passing a hand through his face. “I told you I’m not stupid. Everybody with eyes can see the way she looks at you.”

“I—“ Harry cleared his throat, taking a deep breath, feeling his heart rattling against his chest at the new information being provided to him. “I…I didn’t know…”

“Didn’t you? Or did you not want to see it?” Ron asked, his voice softer now, eyebrows furrowed as he searched his best friend’s eyes. “I understand if you didn’t want to hurt her, but Hermione is a big girl. She’d get over it. You should’ve talked to her—”

“—I did want it,” Harry interrupted, words spilling from this mouth quickly. “I…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I told you: it was the best and the worst thing I could’ve done.”

Ron stayed quiet for a moment, his previous understanding vanishing to make room for his earlier confusion. “I don’t understand. You wanted to kiss her, did that, and then…left? Why?”

“It can’t happen again,” Harry’s voice was now laced with frustration, his eyes widening and hands coming up to pull at his hair. “I can’t let it.”

“I really don’t understand,” Ron stated. “What was so wrong about it?”

Harry’s mouth opened, the fire in his eyes blazing as he prepared to explain himself. In a matter of a second, though, his energy seemed to stamp out: his shoulders slumped once more, a heavy sigh leaving his lips and his hands coming up to rub at his eyes. He was mumbling to himself, words incoherent to ears that were not his own, his thoughts jumbled.

How could he even begin to explain it? What words could he use? Ron wouldn’t understand—would he? Harry groaned, harshly rubbing his face and cursing the fact that the image of Hermione was burned behind his eyelids, reminding him of the one thing he stood to lose because of his lack of control.

It was a long, silent moment before he addressed his best friend again, voice hollow and determined as he delivered his words. “I’m not good for her. It can’t happen again. I need to find a way to just…get over it.”

“And you think Hermione will let it go, just like that?” Ron asked softly. “You know she won’t. She’s bloody stubborn, especially when it comes to you, mate.”

“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding her this past week?” Harry countered, the words leaving a bitter taste on his mouth at the admission of what he had been doing. “I haven’t figured out how to go about it without making a mess of things.”

“It’s already a mess, judging by the way you can’t even be in the same room as her. She knows you’re avoiding her, and taking extreme measures to do so,” Ron said, raising an eyebrow. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s so wrong about you two trading spit, fine, but you need to figure it out quickly. This…silence between you two can’t last for much longer.”

“I’m stubborn too,” Harry stated, gifting his friend what he thought was a smirk, but Ron’s eyes were unimpressed and serious.

“I know, that’s what’s worrying me. I’m starting to look like the sensible one between us three, and I don’t like it.” The redhead sighed. “It’ll be like Sixth Year all over again, but worse. You both are bloody grown, for Merlin’s sake.”

“It’s not the same,” Harry protested. “I didn’t know Snape had written the book, alright? But the spells were an incredible asset—”

“—This isn’t about the bloody book, mate,” Ron interjected. “It’s about getting you to stop being a coward and face Hermione, and either reject her or snog her again. Or whatever you want to do, just talk with her. She’s been seeking you out for days, it’s time you let her find you.”

Harry stayed quiet, avoiding the other’s eyes. He knew Ron was right. He knew, but the mere thought of facing Hermione and what they had done between the trees terrified him. He couldn’t let it happen again, but to tell her that—he didn’t even want to imagine the look on her face, or her reaction to his most likely incoherent explanation.

Would she avoid him afterwards? Would she pretend it never happen, and toss it to the back of her mind like a dark secret? Could he live with the memory of her lips on his, knowing that he’d never get to experience such a feeling again?

His mind’s questions came to screeching halt when he picked up Ron’s grumbling.

“You’re lucky I’m expected back at the Burrow,” Ron murmured, picking up the packages that had been sitting on the ground, forgotten in favor of the serious conversation. "If I wasn’t, I’d drag your arse to the castle and chuck you inside Hermione’s room before locking the door, but I’ll just have to trust you’ll fix this yourself.”

“I will,” Harry answered, though the waver on his voice was heard. “I—I want to.”

“Good, get going then,”

“Not right now,” Harry said, swallowing nervously. “I—I need to think.”

Ron groaned. “Your thinking is the thing that led you to avoid her for days, mate. Just go to her and improvise.”

“I can’t just do that,” Harry argued. “This is far too important to not have a plan.”

“She’s not an enemy, Harry,” Ron stated exasperatedly. “You don’t need a bloody plan to talk to her.”

“In this situation, I do,” Harry answered quickly, his voice desperate. “I promise I’ll talk to her, but…I just need to think it through, all right?”

Ron stared at him, frowning deeply and looking like he had a reply on the tip of his tongue, but whatever expression he had seen on the other wizard’s face was enough to stall his response. The redhead mumbled to himself for a moment before sighing and nodding slowly.

“Alright, alright,” Ron said. “I’ll back off…until next week.”

“Next week?”

“I’m coming back for more of this,” Ron explained, lifting the boxes slightly. “And I better not see you or Hermione avoiding each other again or I’ll hex both of you.”

“Intimidating, are you?” Harry asked, smiling softly.

“Taking a page out of her book,” Ron answered, clearing his throat. “So you’ll talk to her, then? Soon?”

“Soon,” Harry confirmed.

Silence stretch between them for only a brief moment before the redhead stole a quick look at his wrist watch, eyebrows raising at the time. “I need to go, mate. Make sure not to mess this up, alright?”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Harry watched as his best friend retreated with a wave and a grin, his steps carrying him towards the entrance to the grounds of the castle. His own gaze didn’t stray from the other’s figure until Ron was completely out of sight, his mind still on their previous conversation.

He knew he needed to speak to Hermione, he knew—and he now had a deadline, if Ron’s threat was a real one—but the fear that gripped him every time he thought about that conversation was enough to stop him on his tracks.  He had tried to speak to her, the night after the kiss. He had made it as far as knocking on her door before he was scrambling away, hiding inside his quarters and cursing his cowardice.

He was in the middle of a plan—it didn’t go farther than ‘search for Hermione and talk in a private place’, but he was making progress—when he became aware of a pressure on his right toe. His eyes looked down, his mood immediately soured by the sight of a root slithering around the lower part of his leg. He kicked at it, expecting the same response from the past few days, but the root tightened.

“Let go,” Harry grumbled at it, kicking his leg more aggressively, but it seemed to only make the root bolder. “This is all your fault.”

Perhaps it was the way he delivered his words, sharp and angry, or the trees had finally gotten tired of seeing him brood in the middle of the castle grounds, but he had no time to react before the root pulled at him. His body was snagged quickly, his back dragging across the dirt and deeper into the eerie forest, a noise of surprise ripping out of his throat.

He grunted at every sharp movement, the root dragging him left and right and avoiding the trunk of trees and any big boulders on his path while ignoring the curses and words from his mouth. His complaints got lost between the wind as his arms flailed, nails looking to dig into the ground and somehow stop his motion, but the dirt was too soft and moist to do anything more than taint his hands.

Eventually, after what seemed forever to him, and roots stopped dragging him and deposited him against a tree trunk. His back collided with the hardened wood, making him groan before he glared at the still moving root, who was now slithering towards his hand.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” Harry hiss, pulling his hand away and getting up on shaking legs, his hands coming up to feel the slight scratches that the twigs and leafs had left on his face. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Don’t kill the messenger, lad.”

It was only a second before Harry was turning back, wand on his hand and pointing at the new arrival. The moonlight was soft but enough to illuminate the man standing before him, an easy smile on his face as his familiar grey eyes swept across the other’s fighting stand.

“They were only trying to help me,” Sirius chuckled, waving goodbye at the root as it slithered away and back into the trees. “You refused to step a foot in here for days, so I had to get help.”

Harry’s breath hitched at the sight in front of him, eyebrows furrowing and hand slowly dropping his wand in shock. His mouth opened but no words came out, his eyes wide and unblinking as he looked at his deceased godfather, standing relaxed and unbothered.

“Are you not going to say hello?” Sirius clicked his tongue several times. “Where are you manners?”

“You’re dead,” Harry said numbly, shaking his head before rubbing his eyes roughly. “And I’m imagining things. Fucking great.”

“You’re right about one of those,” Sirius answered, stepping closer to him. “I am dead, but I can’t rest easy when you’re having trouble in paradise.”

Harry ignored him, turning around and allowing his eyes to sweep across his surroundings. Wherever the root had dragged him to, it was deep enough inside the forest that he was having trouble figuring out the exact path he should take to get out. Every tree looked the same around him: tall, sturdy, with dense leaves covering every inch of their branches. He was tempted to throw caution to the wind and just start walking in whatever direction he fancied, but the darkness of the night made him reconsider. He didn’t like the idea of getting lost, not at this time and not in this place.

“Harry,” Sirius’ voice, now less humorous. “Come here.”

A sigh left his mouth as Harry did as he was told, ready to tell the figure to keep quiet and let him think, but the sight that greeted him was different now. Sirius was still standing there, his previous easy-going attitude toned down just a fraction, his hands comfortably inside his pants pockets as he stood in front of the run down, familiar tent.

“Get in here,” Sirius grabbed the edge of the fabric, pulling it back and stepping inside as he continued to speak. “It’s cold.”

His godfather disappeared inside the tent, and as much as he disliked the idea of following him, the darkness around the trees had started to thicken somehow, making it impossible for the moonlight to light anything more than a few inches before his feet. Harry shook his head and rubbed his eyes again, fingers digging into the skin with more strength than before, but the tent was still there, and Sirius called out to him once more. He wasn’t dreaming…was he?

Harry stepped inside the tent, finding it in the same state that it had been a week ago when he and Hermione had come across it. Papers scattered and a layer of dust upon every surface, though Sirius looked at home sitting on the table, elbows resting against the surface while his fingers intertwined with each other, grey eyes following every movement of the younger man.

“So…” Sirius said, voice calm. “Anything you want to tell me?”

Harry shook his head, body stiff and voice low. “Not really. I’m not into the habit of speaking to imaginary people.”

“Again with this,” His godfather sighed, shaking his head. “You’re not imagining things, Harry.”

“You’re dead. How is that not imaginary?”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’m not here,” Sirius answered. “Of all the things that this forest has done, me being here is suddenly out of the realm of reality?”

Harry stayed quiet, eyes focusing on the wizard in front of him. Sirius looked…good. In fact, he looked exactly like the last time he had seen him, all those years ago inside this very forest: young and unbothered, though there was a spark behind his grey eyes, one that spoke of curiosity and exasperation.

“Bringing people back from the dead is a stretch, even for these trees,” Harry said quietly.

“I didn’t say I was back from the dead, I said I was here,” Sirius countered, smirking.

Harry huffed, crossing his arms while his eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing at the other man. “What is your point?”

“My point is that I’m trying to have a conversation with you about a certain witch that you ran away from, but you’re still too hung up on the fact of how I’m sitting across from you,” Sirius answered. “Never mind the fact that you are the reason I’m here.”

“How so?” Harry asked, incredulous. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Not right now, but years ago you did,” His godfather stated, leaning forward, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. “Remember the stone?”

Harry hummed, but otherwise chose to stay quiet and allow the older wizard to explain. Clearly he was the one with the upper hand in knowledge between the both of them.

“Well, as you already know, the stone could call people from the other side,” Sirius continued. “And there lies the answer to your question, lad.”

“Just get to the goddamned point,” Harry snapped, frustration leaking all over his words at the way the other wizard was dragging out his explanation. “How the bloody hell are you here?”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled, shrugging halfheartedly. “You buried the stone in the forest and that’s how I’m here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry argued. “I didn’t call you. I haven’t had the stone in my hands since I buried it, Sirius. What exactly are you saying? That the trees called you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Sirius chuckled. “The magic around here is something extraordinary.”

“Do you know how insane that sounds?”

“I know, I know, but it’s true! At least, that’s how it feels like,” His godfather exclaimed, grinning. “Don’t worry, I can’t follow you around or anything like that. That’s the reason why I had the forest search for you. I’m tired of seeing you brood.”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to counter that last statement, but his words got caught in his throat as he processed the previous words. His eyes narrowed even further, arms uncrossing and bracing against the bench he was sitting on while he leaned further into the table.

“How did you know I was brooding if you can’t follow me around?” He asked, voice low and suspicious.

“Relax,” Sirius answered lightly. “I can’t follow you but you’ve been walking next to the edge of the forest. I have eyes, and I know how to use them. It also didn’t take a genius to figure out what your problem was, considering what you and Hermione did the last time you were in here.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed instantly, his hard demeanor faltering for a moment as the memory of the kiss crashed against his mind. Sirius’ knowing grin and wink only served to embarrass him further, forcing him to clear his throat.

“Y—you saw that?” Harry asked faintly.

“Not everything, just enough to make sure you two were actually kissing,” Sirius whispered giddily. “Privacy is a right when it comes to romantic endeavors, and I wasn’t about to intrude, but it seemed you two enjoyed it.”

Harry groaned, passing a hand through his face. “Shut up.”

“I tell it like I see it,” Sirius laughed softly, though his next words were delivered with less humor and more concern. “Imagine my surprise when I saw you run away. You were desperate to get away from her.”

Harry didn’t answer, instead turning his head to the side in an effort to avoid his godfather’s questioning eyes. His own gaze landed on the floor, papers and book scattered across the surface and vaguely familiar to him. One of the books, bound in deep red leather, had been a favorite of Hermione to study back when they were on the run. He had heard countless facts about the history of it, and though he couldn’t quite recall what exactly it was about, he could vividly remember the way her eyes had shined as she explained every single thing about it to him—

“Hello?”

“What?” Harry murmured, turning back towards the other man.

“Stop getting distracted when I’m trying to help you,” Sirius huffed.

“You’re only telling me things I already know,” Harry grumbled. “And you’re not the first person to call me a coward today. Ron beat you to it.”

“Good,” His godfather answered. “Between the two of us, we may be able to help you get your head out of your arse.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Harry sighed heavily. “I really will, just…I just need more time. I need to think through what I’m going to say to her. I…don’t want to hurt her.”

“You don’t have to. You could just, I don’t know, snog her again,”

“That’s not an option.”

“Isn’t it?” Sirius wondered out loud, voice slightly confused. “Because I could’ve sworn you two looked very cozy in each other’s arms.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry murmured, body tensing. “It can’t happen again. It was a…mistake.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Sirius sighed and shook his head before his eyes focused directly on his godson’s, staring him down unflinchingly. “I can tell you don’t really believe that. What’s the real problem, lad?”

His question was met by an uncomfortable silence as Harry avoided the other’s gaze for the second time. He could feel his discomfort crawling beneath his skin and his heartbeat spiking. He glanced at the entrance of the tent, the fabric parted slightly to reveal the darkness and trees beyond it. Though he still had no idea where exactly he was, wandering around the forest now seemed like a better idea than sitting here and speaking with a vision of his godfather.

“Like I said, it was a mistake,” Harry eventually answered, voice soft and numb as he left his seat. “And now I have to figure out a way of telling Hermione that.”

His steps were slow and his attention was pulled between reaching the entrance of the tent and his future meeting with Hermione, silently asking himself if there was any way in which the conversation would end without heartbreak between them.

He was already stepping foot outside the tent when he was forcibly stopped. Roots ripped out of the ground in a fraction of a second, the dirt flying around as they took a hold of each other, branches tightening with one another and forming a gruesome-looking wall of natural wood that made it impossible for him to step further outside. Harry frowned and clenched his teeth, hands reaching out to push at the roots, but they were as solid as rocks.

“They’re not letting you out of here. Not until I say so, anyways.”

Harry cursed under his breath, turning around. The lack of moonlight had plunged the tent into darkness, though it was now kept at bay by the small lamp that had been lighted by the other man. “Let me go, Sirius.”

His godfather shook his head, mimicking him and leaving the table, coming to stand behind him. “I think you’ve ran away enough these past few days.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Harry murmured, hands searching for his wand, but every pocket he tapped was empty.

“Why did you leave that day?” Sirius asked, voice soft as he stepped even closer to the younger wizard, putting himself between him and the wall of roots. “You could’ve stayed and talked it through with her.”

“I didn’t—I couldn’t bear to reject her then and there,” Harry answered dully, walking backwards and away from the entrance, eyes following his godfather’s movements with tiredness.

“You say that like rejecting her is your only option,” Sirius murmured, raising an eyebrow. “You could’ve snogged her again.”

“I just told you I can’t do that.”

“You didn’t tell me why, though.”

“Because it’s a mistake,” Harry said, voice trembling as his heartbeat spiked again, rattling against his chest while his lungs sped up. “I don’t have feelings for her, not like that. I don’t want to hurt her. I’ve been avoiding her because rejecting her is what I need to do, but I know it’ll be painful.”

“Everybody with an ounce of brain can see that you’re lying, Harry,” Sirius argued, frowning deeply. “Why are you so intent on rejecting the thing that can bring you happiness?”

“I’m already happy,” Harry stated, though his voice was lacking the confidence necessary to put weight behind his words. “I don’t need…There’s no need to change anything.”

Sirius’ demeanor changed in a second. His voice no longer held the softness it had a moment before, and his eyes blazed in frustration and disbelief. The words came out of his mouth rapidly, cutting through the tension that had started to settle between him and his godson, echoing around the calm tent.

“I think you’re scared,” Sirius said, stalking closer to the younger wizard. “You ran with your tail between your legs and left her there because you’re scared.”

“No,” Harry denied, though his actions proved otherwise. He started walking backwards, trying to put distance between himself and the other wizard, managing nothing more than stumbling through the papers and books strewn all over the floor. His eyes didn’t stray from the grey ones that were currently staring him down, daring him to talk back.

“You are,” Sirius repeated. “I can tell. Stop lying to my face, Harry, I’m trying to help you.”

“There’s nothing to help with,” Harry answered, voice shaky.

His knees buckled as he hit one of the benches of the table, falling quickly into a seat. Sirius stopped right before him, forcing him to lean back against the table in an attempt to put whatever distance he could while trapped in a disadvantaged position like that. He breathed sharply, one of his hands traveling north and pulling at his tie, undoing it carelessly and unbuttoning his dress shirt in an attempt to help his struggling lungs.

“I’ll talk to her, and then everything will go back to normal,” Harry stated softly, nodding as if to reassure himself that his words were true.

Sirius shook his head, a disappointed glint shining on his face. “And then what? You move on and pretend that nothing happened?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, shrugging slowly, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the moisture gathering on the edges of them.

“That’s stupid, lad,” Sirius said, squatting in front of him as his eyes searched his. “You know that.”

“I can do it,” Harry murmured, taking a deep breath.

“What are you so afraid of?” Sirius asked sharply, his voice almost settling on a growl.

Harry groaned, pressing his hands against his face and speaking through them, words muffled. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Help me understand, because from where I am, it just looks like you’re afraid of living,” Sirius stated. He could almost hear the frown on his voice. “Where is all that courage you used to have?”

“Enough,” Harry hissed, pushing his godfather away and leaving his seat, pacing around the tent once more. He threw a look at the walls of roots, and perhaps they could sense his intentions, because they did nothing more than tighten around each other once more.

“Answer me,”

“Shut up,” Harry growled, shaking his head and passing a hand through his hair. “Just shut up, Sirius.”

Everything felt like too much all of the sudden. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he knew he was trapped inside and that his wand was gone, most likely lost after he was dragged through the forest carelessly, or the way Sirius just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone, but there was a pressure on his chest now. He was still struggling with his breathing, now more rapid and sharper, and he could hear his heartbeat thundering on his ears, almost drowning the words that his godfather was still spitting at him.

There was no other way out the tent, he knew that. The fabric, though worn, was still sturdy against his strength and would only be cut through with magic. The roots…there was no way he was going through them. Harry walked throughout the length of the tent, ignoring the small sleeping quarters, footsteps thundering as his eyes feverishly searched for a hole in the fabric, a small slit which he could pull, or anything sharp he could use to cut—but there was nothing.

A hand grasped his arms, forcibly turning him around even as he fought to resist. Sirius’ face appeared before him, deep frown still present, though the frustration in his grey eyes was now accompanied by concern. Harry ripped his arm free, eyes wide and feeling so high strung—

“Harry,” Sirius murmured, voice low but softer now, as if realizing the effect that his conversation was having on his godson. “Just tell me.”

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked suddenly, voice harsh. “You’re fucking dead.”

“And you’re alive!” Sirius exclaimed. “You are alive, Harry! You get to live and fall in love and get on with your life after everything! Why are you wasting that?!”

“I’m not!” Harry shouted, matching the other’s tone of voice. “How dare you—”

“—you’ve been a coward, and you know it!” Sirius interjected strongly, words spilling from his mouth, his patience seemingly gone. “You’ve been arguing with me every step of the way, and you’re not even being honest with yourself! You’re scared, you already know that, but you’re not doing anything about it! You could be happy with her—”

“I’ll ruin her!”

Harry’s words, louder and sharper that Sirius’, echoed thunderously across the tent and provoked an immediate changed in atmosphere. The frustrated, loud tension that had been increasing between him and the older wizard vanished in a second, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence that was marred by Sirius’ confused expression and silence, and by Harry’s ragged breathing and slumped shoulders.

“I’ll ruin her,” Harry whispered miserably, side stepping his godfather and taking the necessary steps to reach the table again, falling carelessly into the seat of it. His upper body fell forward, held only by the way his hands covered his face and his elbows leaned against his knees, hiding his face from view and muffling the groan that was currently traveling out of his throat.

He heard Sirius wander closer slowly, his feet shuffling and stepping over papers and books. “Harry…”

Harry sighed, his hands falling from his face and searching for the other wizard. Sirius was in front of him, kneeling again and with the same baffled expression from just moments before. “I’m not good for her, and I never will be.”

“That’s dumb, and wrong.”

“You know it’s true. You know it better than anyone else,” Harry whispered, laughing slightly, though it held no humor, sounding heavy and despondent. “How many times has she been on the edge of death because of me?”

“None of that was your fault,” Sirius argued strongly. “Those were dangerous times, Harry. It’s over now.”

“I’m a dangerous man to be around,” Harry answered           , clenching his jaw. “I won’t have her suffer for my happiness. I’m not that selfish.”

“Bold of you to assume that she’d suffer,” Sirius stated. “Besides, if all of this were somehow true, wouldn’t you have left her alone all those years ago?”

“We’ve never dated.”

“And you’ve never been apart for much time, either,” Sirius countered. “Dating or not, Hermione has been a part of your life since you stepped foot inside of Hogwarts. Presuming the fact that something bad might happen to her after entering a relationship with you is frankly stupid.”

“I won’t take that chance,” Harry said, words sounding stronger than they had been for the past several moments. “I can’t take that chance, Sirius. If something happens to her…”

“Nothing will happen,” His godfather answered, matching his tone of voice. “It’s all over now, Harry. You made it to the other side.”

“You didn’t,” Harry murmured, avoiding the other’s eyes.

“A lot of people didn’t,” Sirius shrugged, unbothered. “I have no regrets, except maybe dying in front of you. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“I shouldn’t have provoked it,” Harry scowled for a moment before sighing heavily, passing a hand through his face, his weariness more and more obvious with each passing second. “I can’t do the same thing to her.”

“You won’t—”

“I will,” Harry interjected, a sad smile appearing on his face. “It’s happened before, with you…Hell, at this point I’ve lost count of how many bodies I have trailing behind me. I refuse to let Hermione become that. She deserves better than a man cursed from birth.”

“Don’t say that,” Sirius growled, straightening up and looking down at him with narrowed eyes that had a mix of anger and pity shining on them. “You were the best thing to happen to James and Lily.”

“And where are they now?” Harry snapped. “Six feet underground, and so are you. If I had used that mirror, you’d still be alive.”

“Perhaps,” Sirius answered, crossing his arms. “Perhaps not. You can’t live on the what ifs, Harry. You cannot be sure that the outcome of that fight would’ve been different, and you are not the destructive force that you think you are.”

“You should listen to him.”

The new voice cut through the conversation immediately, making both men startle. Sirius turned his head to the side, eyebrows raising and a smile slowly growing on his face at the sight that welcomed him from the entrance of the tent. Harry was slower in his movements, a soft curse leaving his mouth at the familiar voice before he mimicked his godfather’s movements, his body tense and eyes seeking the ones he knew would be looking at him.

Chapter Text

She should be working. She had essays to grade and exams to tweak.

She stayed where she was.

Hermione sighed, her forehead resting against the glass of the window as her eyes strained to look into the distance. Right next to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, she could spy Ron’s figure—red hair visible even at night—standing right before what she assumed to be Harry.

Ron’s visit had provide a much needed distraction, even if he had asked her constantly what was the problem between her and their mutual best friend. She had said nothing, wanting the redhead to keep his nose out of it…but also because she wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was.

Harry had looked, for a lack of a better word, scared, the last time she had seen him. The memory was a bit foggy on her mind, full of ragged breathing, his lips on her and roaming hands, but she could distinctively remember the wide eyes and shocked expression on his face before he left her there.

She should’ve gone after him, but his leaving was so sudden and violent that it had taken her a minute to process it. By the time she got back to the Professors’ Lounge, the portrait to his quarters made it clear through a roar and a growl that visitors weren’t welcomed.

She had tried to speak to him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that…but Harry gotten incredibly good at avoiding being in the same room as her. It took her four days to accept the fact that he just didn’t want to see her, and it hurt. It had given way to some very vicious, very old insecurities and thoughts to plague her mind, and they only grew every time he eyes would find him, drinking him in before he inevitably realized she was there and made use of his Auror training to disappear.

Though she had said nothing to him, Ron had said goodbye to her and promised to speak to Harry on her behalf no matter how many times she tried to tell him not to. Still…Hermione couldn’t deny the fact that she hoped her redheaded best friend could make Harry speak to her. If he was going to reject her, if he regretted what they did, he should tell her…no matter how badly she knew it would hurt her.

Her eyes watched as Ron left, leaving the target of her thoughts alone. Harry stood there, seemingly deep in thought—at least she thought he was, but the distance from her window to the edge of the forest was enough to make her wish she had a magnifying glass—before a root slithered close. She straightened, pressing her face against the window as much as she could, ignoring the way it fogged up because of her breath, too engrossed on the change of events happening on the grounds of the castle.

Harry kicked at it, but the root didn’t let go—

It dragged him away.

Hermione startled, stumbling back from the window and sprinting to her desk, grasping her wand and running out of her quarters. She ignored the questions hurled at her from fellow professors, bursting out of the lounge and into the hallways of the castle.

She didn’t know how long it took her to reach the same spot that Harry had been in, but her lungs hurt from the effort and the cold had started to seep into her body, aided by the fact that she had forgotten to put on robes before leaving the castle. She breathe harshly, eyes firmly set on the marks on the ground that his body had left behind, the dirt soft and lose and spraying around.

The tip of her wand lighted up, illuminating her path as she entered the forest, eyes gazing around the innocent looking trees. Harry had tried, at some point, to stop the roots; there were diggings on the ground that were deeper and short lived, most likely from his hands as he attempted to grasp onto anything that would slow his body down, but it was quiet clear that he was unsuccessful.

She kept going, following the skid marks as best as she could with the limited light of her wand…right until they stopped completely in front of nothing.

Hermione frowned, looking at her surroundings, finding them completely normal. There were thick trees all around her, their branches swaying eerily due to the cold wind that was crashing against them, and there was nothing out of the ordinary with the ground or the few flowers that bloomed this deep inside the forest. There were no other marks that indicated where Harry had gone—or better said, where the roots had dragged him to—and the only sounds she could hear was the leaves moving against the air and a few, distant animal calls.

She walked back towards the end of the marks, scrutinizing them and casting a quick locating spell, but it revealed nothing to her. Frustrated, she gave a slight kick at the dirt in front of her, cursing the unknown magic that the forest seemed to have.

“Careful there.”

Hermione spun around, her wand pointing at the new, unfamiliar voice that had cut through her thoughts. She blinked against the glare of the lumos, trying to see beyond it and towards the figure of what she assumed to be a woman, based only on the voice.

“You can turn that off. I’m not here to hurt you.”

 Hermione hesitated for a moment before doing so, though not before putting more distance between herself and the new arrival. When the light of her wand extinguished, she was welcomed by the sight of a young woman. The moonlight was dim, but it still illuminated them enough for Hermione to discern the rich red color of the woman’s hair, along with very familiar green eyes that were sorely trained on her.

“You…” Hermione stuttered, almost dropping her wand in surprise as she realized exactly who this woman was. Harry had shown her a picture years ago, back when he was changing his photograph album to a bigger one.

Lily Potter smiled in relief, walking closer to her. “You know me?”

“I know of you,” Hermione answered slowly, lowering her wand, her suspicion growing by the second.

“I can say the same about you,” Lily answered, her smile intact as she took a seat on a thick root, hugging her knees and looking up at the younger witch. “Harry told me about you the last time I saw him.”

“The last time you…” Hermione trailed off, confusion now firmly tainting her voice.

It took her a moment to remember Harry’s confession the last time she had seen him: how he’d poured every regret and goodbye into a letter to her and instructed the trees to deliver it, and how his parents and Remus and Sirius had appeared before him after the stone had been in his hands.

She frowned, a million questions running through her mind as her eyes flickered towards the other woman’s hands, but her fingers were empty of anything except her wedding ring. Hermione checked the ground, squinting her eyes through the darkness, but there wasn’t a rock out of the ordinary.

The stone wasn’t here, as far as she could tell, and she certainly hadn’t used it herself. How was it that Lily Potter was sitting in front of her?

“You have questions,”

“Wouldn’t you?” Hermione countered before her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“Not at all,” Lily chuckled, tapping the root in which she was sitting, beckoning the other witch to take a seat. “I’d be same, if I was in your position. I can tell you’re drying to ask me.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, eyeing the surrounding trees and biting her lip. She hoped Harry was okay. Even if the way the roots dragged him away was sharp and somehow uncaring, a part of her had confidence in the fact that the trees wouldn’t hurt him…intentionally.

“He’s fine,” Lily said, voice soft and nodding at her side. “He…he has company. They’re talking at the moment.”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, surprised, and moved slowly until she could sit down on the hard surface.

The root they were currently sharing a seat with wasn’t that long, forcing them to sit right next to each other, shoulders touching. The thickness of it was more impressive, allowing her to comfortably drop her entire weight without wondering if the root would hold their combined weight. She mimicked the older witch, pulling her knees towards her and hugging them lazily, turning shyly and finding Lily’s amused, soft smile welcoming her.

“How are you here?” Hermione blurted out. “You’re, well…I know how the stone works, of course, but it’s not here, and even if it was, you wouldn’t be able to summon yourself. It isn’t how it works, based on everything I’ve read about it…although a children’s book might not the be the best source of information—”

“Hermione,” Lily interjected, her smile growing. “Breathe.”

“Sorry,” She answered, her cheeks flushing even harder than before.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re asking questions,” Lily stated. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t. It’s not every day that a deceased person appears before you in the middle of a forest.”

“It also isn’t the only time this forest has behaved oddly,” Hermione supplied, her words slow and her eyes unfocused. “I would be thinking I’d gone mad if it weren’t for everything this forest put me and Harry through…”

“What’s wrong?”

Hermione bit her lip again, peering at the other woman and staying silent for only a moment before answering, her voice now more confident. “Harry told me that he’d summoned you, his father, Remus and Sirius the last time he was here. I’m assuming you were referring to that meeting when you told me that you knew of me.”

“You would be correct in that assumption, yes.” Lily said, tilting her head.

“Well…How much did Harry told you? About what we did during the time we spent on the run?”

Lily shrugged. “Not much, only that you two had a run in with a very alive, very bothersome forest. Remus actually visited once, and he said Moony didn’t like it.”

Hermione forced herself to stow away the hundred questions that arose from the last part of the sentence, and instead nodded and continued to speak. “Right, so…How is that possible? The Forest of Dean and the Forbidden Forest are two separate spaces with hundreds of miles between them. There is no explanation that I can think of that would answer exactly how our tent ended up in here, on Hogwarts grounds.”

She was speaking a mile a minute, words spilling from her mouth as her mind worked to try and figure out an answer to her own question. Her eyes sought out Lily’s, finding them crinkled at the sides as the older woman followed her words carefully, nodding along. Hermione decided to slow down.

“I-I’m assuming you know more about this place than I do,” She stuttered after a moment. “You’re…I know you’re brilliant, and you’ve been here for years…haven’t you?”

Lily took a moment to answer, as if thinking through her own words. “I’m honestly not sure.”

“Oh?”

“The last thing I remember before all of this is meeting Harry,” Lily confessed, her voice dropping slightly. “I didn’t even realized that time had passed until I saw him again inside this very forest, moments after he was dragged inside.”

“So you’re sure he’s fine, then?”

“Of course,” Lily answered, smirking. “Like I told you, he has company. You don’t have to worry about him for now. As to your question…I must admit I’m not actually sure. It’s not odd to assume that I’ve been here since the last time I saw Harry, but I wouldn’t be able to confirm it to you. Time…I don’t really feel it passing anymore.”

“But you haven’t been anywhere else?” Hermione asked.

“Not that I know,” Lily stated, seemingly unbothered. “It’s quite interesting, actually. I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it before you came here, but I have to assume that it has to do with Harry burying the stone inside this very forest.”

“He did what?” Hermione blurted out. “He buried it here?”

“Oh, yes,” Lily said. “He didn’t tell us why or how, but we all saw him do it.”

“Then that must be it!” Hermione exclaimed, leaving her seat and starting to pace slowly in front of the other woman. “We’ve already established that the capabilities of this forest are unknown but very magical, and if Harry buried the Resurrection Stone—an object which is known to be magical and legendary in its origins—then both of them must have reacted with one another, somehow—”

“—allowing me and the others to appear before you two tonight,” Lily interjected, her voice as excited as the younger witch’s. “I believe it’s less of the Stone’s fault and more of the Forest’s. The stone needs to be incited by a wizard or witch to be used properly and tap into its magic, so if it was only the stone—”

“—then it’d be useless without somebody or something to activate it, for lack of a better word,” Hermione continued, nodding and still pacing, crossing her arms. “So the forest is the one that is…using it, in a sense. It’s summoned you, somehow, though its goals…I don’t know what it wants.”

“Don’t you?” Lily asked, softly, getting up from the root and walking closer to the other woman. “I’m assuming you must have some kind of inkling, seeing as the forest messed with you and Harry before.”

“But we never found out why,” Hermione answered, voice soft and her eyebrows furrowing deeply. “We weren’t there for more than a couple of days before we got captured, and the roots can’t exactly speak. We were fairly sure it was magical, but that was as far as we could go before we were forced to leave it behind…Have you seen anybody else here, apart from your husband and Remus and Sirius?”

Lily startled softly, thrown off by the sudden change in question. “No, except for you, Harry and, occasionally, the centaurs and Hagrid.”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Why are you asking that?”

Hermione stayed quiet for a moment, her demeanor changing between concerned and suspicious. “Well, it’s—The first day that Harry and I visited the Forest of Dean he…he told me he saw Headmaster Dumbledore in it. He spoke to him, actually, but…Headmaster Dumbledore was already dead for a couple of months when that happened. It was the first odd occurrence that we witnessed inside of the forest, though the others and our capture shadowed it.”

“Did he?” Lily asked, frowning for a long moment before her expression shifted to one of wonder. “Merlin, Hermione, the Forest did it.”

“What?”

“The forest,” Lily continued. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Headmaster Dumbledore is buried here, isn’t he? The tomb at the edge of the Black Lake—it belongs to him, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” Hermione answered, confused.

“Do you not remember the trees surround it?” Lily murmured, her voice on the edge of excitement. “They…they’re not inside of the Forbidden Forest and are quiet small in comparison to the ones here, but they seem like the same type of trees so I have to assume there is some kind of connection between them—”

“—Hagrid,” Hermione interjected quickly. “Hagrid, he…he told Professor McGonagall he wanted to honor Headmaster Dumbledore. I saw him plant those trees a day after the funeral. Do you think he…took them from here?”

“Well, he is the Groundskeeper, so it wouldn’t be far-fetched,” Lily answered. “Though it does lead me to conclude that perhaps Hagrid isn’t aware of the magic around the Forest, if he planted those trees. I don’t think he’d do it while knowing the roots of them have a mind of their own.”

“But why?” Hermione groaned. “Why would—what is it about Harry and me that made the trees come alive like that? Never mind the fact that they apparently transported our tent all the way here to just…show it to us? It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to make sense,” Lily offered shyly, shrugging. “Maybe it’s just magic being magic. Not all of it can be controlled at the swish of a wand.”

“Maybe…” Hermione conceded, though her face made it clear that she was still unsatisfied with the answers they were concluding together. She closed her eyes, humming to herself for a long moment, her feet starting to pace again.

By the time she stopped and opened her eyes, Lily was seated at the thick rot again, her arms bracing her weight against it and her legs fully extended before her, peering at the younger woman curiously.

Hermione blew out a breath, her eyes wide. “It must’ve been Harry.”

“What?” Lily asked, confused.

“The forest, it…it must like swallowing magic,” Hermione frowned. “Or something similar. It’s…We’ve already established that your presence here is a direct result of Harry burying the stone inside the Forest, as far as we can be sure. Headmaster Dumbledore’s tomb being in close proximity with the same kind of trees and him appearing in the Forest of Dean…”

“You think the trees are messing with any magic they find?” Lily murmured.

“Not quiet messing, but…” Hermione cursed under her breath, frustration tainting her voice as she tried to explain her theory. “I…I think the trees are attracted to powerful magic. Headmaster Dumbledore was widely recognized for being quite the powerful wizard, and you all…the Resurrection Stone is a Deathly Hallow, which, if we trust its legendary origin, comes directly from Death. The forest might be playing…collector with any powerful magic it encounters.”

“But where do you and Harry come in?” Lily asked. “Don’t misunderstand me, Hermione. It doesn’t take much to know you are a powerful, intelligent witch, and my son fought through a war and defeated Voldemort, but you two were still kids. You two are powerful, but compared to Dumbledore—who had his whole life to build his reputation and back it with the power he gained—and a relic from Death itself, you might be a little in over your heads.”

“It was Harry, it must’ve been, and I think you know why,” Hermione answered, smiling sadly.

It took a moment for Lily to work out the implication behind the other witch’s statement. The redhead stared in silence, eyebrows furrowing and eyes unfocused as her mind worked. Hermione knew the moment the older woman had arrived at the same conclusion by the way Lily’s face fell, her eyes now holding a mix of sadness and regret.

“The horcrux,” Lily whispered, voice numb. “It…”

“I think the forest must’ve sensed it,” Hermione stated softly, walking closer and falling into a seat right next to the other witch, wincing slightly at the hardness of the root. “It’s incredibly dark, but it’s still powerful magic…The forest must’ve known it was there the moment we stepped foot inside, although the trees…they never felt threatening. I don’t think they necessarily have bad intentions, they just—”

“—like powerful magic,” Lily finished, sighing deeply. “And they tried to keep you both there.”

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, shoulders slumping. “I guess they followed us to Hogwarts when it became clear we wouldn’t go back. We tried, a few times, to search for our tent but we never found it so we didn’t stay long. Still…if they were able to sense it when we first arrived at the Forest of Dean, they must be able to sense its absence.”

“There’s no reason for the forest to try and…collect you anymore,” Lily continued, pensively. “Unless…”

“Hm?”

The redhead paused, throwing a quick look towards the younger woman. “Well…what are the odds that the forest is just….obsessed with you both?”

“What?” Hermione blurted out, her previous serious demeanor now replaced by a confused, slightly amused expression. “Obsessed? How…How would that even work?”

Lily shrugged, though her body seemed less tense and the regret and sadness in her eyes was quickly hidden away. “I don’t know. It’s…The fact that the trees keep messing with you both even after knowing that the hocrux isn’t present on Harry anymore…either the forest is fond of you two for reasons we don’t know, or they know you both will become more powerful the more you age. Perhaps they are investing in your future and trying to collect you before you even realize what it’s happening. It’s endearing, in a way, I guess.”

Hermione groaned, passing a hand through her hair, but there was a faint smile making itself known on her face. “’Endearing’ wouldn’t be the term I’d use to describe all of…this.”

“Really?” Lily asked, smiling at her. “Aren’t you the one who was excited about the forest acting out your stories?”

“Well, of course!” Hermione answered, her eyes shining. “It was incredible! I wish I had taken—”

“—Hogwarts: A History,” Lily interjected cheekily. “Harry said as much.”

“Did he?” Hermione murmured, her cheeks warming.

Lily hummed and nodded. “He spoke of you, that day in the forest. He told us about the Forest of Dean and how you liked the characters that it created to act the book, how the both of you got trapped inside. We even saw him write you that letter before he walked towards Voldemort.”

Silence descended upon them. Hermione could feel the other’s eyes upon her, as if urging her to react to such a statement, but her mind seemed intent on replaying it. Harry had already confessed this to her, back when they found the tent on Hogwarts grounds, but he had told her in such a rapid, desperate manner, trying to explain what had led him to pour his heart out in a letter that she didn’t even stop to think about the fact that he’d had company.

It was…different, coming from Lily. Surreal, even. There were a few more details in her description of events, ones that gave her an almost full picture of what Harry did the day he came into the forest to die, but they were accompanied by a sense of longing and regret that made Hermione pause. She braved a look towards the other witch, finding Lily now staring straight forward, a deep frown on her face and her jaw clenched. It almost looked like she was angry…if one could ignore the barely held tears and sorrowful eyes.

“He told me he loved you,” Lily stated, voice soft, turning to the younger woman. “I asked him. He spoke of you in such a specific way, and you were the thing that prevented him from walking directly into his death. I had to know how he felt about you.”

“You had to?” Hermione asked, her voice faint as she tried to ignore the way her body tensed.

“A part of me was hoping that he’d denied it,” Lily murmured, her words dripping with sadness. “That perhaps I was reading too much into it. In a way, it would’ve been better. He…he told me he thought he loved you, that he wasn’t sure but it was pointless, since he’d be dead anyway. It was the first time I sort of regretted saving him, you know?”

Hermione gasped, but quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sound as best as she could. Her eyes were wide, now fully facing the older witch with confusion and a sliver of anger and pity swimming in them.

Lily stared back at her, nodding slowly as her eyebrows furrowed, her voice struggling to get the words out. “There he was, seventeen and waiting to die without getting to live his life fully. I didn’t tell him, of course, but a part of me wondered if…if perhaps it would’ve been kinder if that night in Godric’s Hollow had ended differently. I know it’s selfish, and cruel, but…”

“He’s your son,” Hermione interjected, smiling sadly at her. “I know you’d do anything to save him from suffering.”

“Not much I can do at the moment,” Lily answered, smirking softly. “Not from beyond, at least…except try to help you sort out whatever it is that’s driving you both apart.”

Hermione groaned, massaging her temples. “You know about that? How?”

“The trees talk,” Lily stated, smirking. “And Sirius too. He’s be talking my ear off about how you two snogged in the middle of the forest and how Harry just left you there. He said it all in more creative terms, though. A lot of cursing was involved.”

“Sirius saw that?” Hermione breathed, some of the tension now leaving her shoulders. “He’s…oh, he’s been insufferable about it, hasn’t he?”

“Of course, he’s Sirius,” Lily chuckled. “I can’t blame him. I, for one, was confused on how Harry could confessed to loving you and then run with his tail between his legs.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed violently in a matter of seconds, her demeanor becoming shyer and a bit more withdrawn. When she spoke, her voice was unsure and slow, eyes flickering through their surroundings as if to check for foreign presences, but there was nothing but darkness and trees.

“I…don’t think he feels that way anymore, if he ever actually did,” Hermione murmured and shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but the discomfort and sadness shining on her eyes made it clear she was anything but. “He…We haven’t spoken in a week. I’ve tried to, but…he keeps avoiding me.”

“He’s being an idiot, I believe,” Lily stated, bluntly and with a spark of humor on her voice. “He told me he wasn’t sure, but the way he spoke of you…Let’s just say I’d be incredibly surprise if he turns out to not have feelings for you. What do you think?”

Hermione’s fingers fidgeted with the fabric of her shirt, contemplating the question for a moment. “I want it to be true. I really do, and even if it wasn’t, I miss him. I’ve been away from him for longer when he was an Auror, but he’s right here now and I almost haven’t seen him or spoken to him in days. He’s so close to me and yet…”

She let out a frustrated sight, pinching the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stomp down the mix of anger and hurt that had been weighting her down for the past few days. At her side, Hermione was able to feel Lilly sliding close until they were sitting side by side, the redhead leaning down in an attempt to meet the younger woman’s eyes as she spoke.

“James avoided me once,” Lily stated, voice light, and her eyes crinkled at the sides when Hermione startled and gave her a confused, disbelieving stare. “It’s true.”

“But…” Hermione frowned. “Sirius used to say that he basically worshipped the ground you walked on, and you’re saying he avoided you?”

“Well, he tried,” Lily admitted, chuckling. “After one of his pranks backfired and I ended up with two extra arms and legs. He felt very guilty about it, especially since I had to reschedule my N.E.W.T.s to another week because of the transfiguration. I was…I was angry, of course, and I told him as such as he apologized. I think it was the very first time that he actually wasn’t looking me in the eye. He turned on his heels and didn’t talk to me for three days.”

“Why?” Hermione blurted out. “I mean, I get it. Rescheduling your N.E.W.T.s…”

“I was very angry,” Lily repeated, nodding, but there was a small smirk on her face. “I don’t remember half the things I said to him, though I do know some of it was just to scream at him and let out my frustration. After that, I didn’t realized he was avoiding me until the afternoon on the second day, when he thought it better to cross the greenhouse full of second years and crying mandrakes than cross paths with me outside the castle. I was…curious about that. Angry, but curious.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her, a shy, small smile appearing on her lips. “Because he preferred to rupture his eardrums than walk by you?”

Lily chuckled once more. “Exactly. He kept doing it, and the more I tried to talk to him, the more daring and unusual his methods of escaping were. I assume Harry takes after his father in that regard?”

“You assume correctly,” Hermione answered, her tone of voice wavering between light and regretful as she gaze towards the trees. She kept speaking, though a bit slower, her attention being pulled by…something moving between the trees, though it was gone before she could even identify it. “He uses the castle’s secret passages to get everywhere. I’ve been tempted to intercept him once or twice, but I figured he’d just find a new way of avoiding me. I thought giving him time would be enough…”

“It won’t be,” Lily stated, voice kind and understanding, seemingly not bothered by whatever presence had been with just seconds before. “I had to corner James before he could look me in the eye again, and I believe you’ll have to do the same thing with Harry. You’ve had help, though.”

Hermione turned to look at the older witch, raising an eyebrow, her hand tightening around her wand, just in case. “You’ve spoken to him? Before meeting me here?”

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. “No, not all. A part of me wanted to, but the bigger part wanted to meet you properly. Sirius is knocking some sense into him as we speak.”

“Why him?” Hermione blurted out. “I mean…Is Mister Potter not here?”

“Oh, he is, somewhere in the forest, most likely with Remus,” Lily stated as she shrugged. “But we both felt like Sirius would be the better man for the job. James and I…we don’t really know Harry, Hermione. As much as that pains us to admit, it is the truth. Sirius got to meet you both, and he adores you, so it was better for him to deal with Harry.”

Before the younger witch could answer, raised voices echoed across the forest. The words were incoherent to their ears, lost in between the branches and the wind, but the tone and volume of them seemed to make it clear that it wasn’t a friendly conversation. Hermione frowned, leaving her seat and turner her head in all directions, trying to pinpoint the origin of the noise.

“Or not,” Lily commented, sighing afterwards. “Harry must’ve been more stubborn than Sirius was anticipating.”

“Where are they?” Hermione asked, still looking around. “They have to be close for us to hear them like this.”

As if she had spoken to them, two trees to her right started to trembled, their branches slithering towards the ground and burying themselves into the cold ground. In a moment, they tensed, and for a second Hermione was thoroughly confused as to why, right until she spied the trunks starting to slide away from each other, cutting through the dirt beneath them.

Hermione gasped softly, once more blown away by the magic behind the forest around them, though her awe was immediately replaced by a steely resolved and a shiver of fear as she spied the familiar tent just beyond the two trees. The words were cleared now, though not fully, and she could now distinct between Sirius’ thundering, low voice and Harry’s forceful, desperate tone.

She took two steps forward before stopping, turning around and looking at the older woman apologetically. “I…I have to go.”

“I know,” Lily smiled at her. “Another minute, and both of them will be at each other’s throats. It was very nice to meet you properly, Hermione.”

“Likewise,” Hermione answered, clearing her throat. “If…If you’re still here after all of this is over, I’d love to sit down with you again and talk.”

The redhead woman nodded, but Hermione’s eyes spied the way Lily’s smiled faltered slightly at her words, her eyes avoiding the younger witch’s for a moment before answering.

“I’d love that,” Lily answered, but her words were slow and soft, as if she herself didn’t believe them. “See you later then. Go.”

Hermione nodded, gifting her one last smile before she turned around and allowed her feet to carry her quickly to the tent, her ears trained on the conversation that was becoming clearer with each passing second.

She stopped right in front of the tent, tilting her head in confusion at the wall of branches that stopped her from entering, though her attention was suddenly fully pulled towards the words being spoken from inside the tent, now softer but still heavy with weariness and tension.

“…I’ve lost count of how many bodies I have trailing behind me. I refuse to let Hermione become that. She deserves better than a man cursed from birth.”

“Don’t say that,” Sirius spoke next, his voice low and frustrated. “You were the best thing to happen to James and Lily.”

The branches before her started to slither away slowly, as if afraid to make any kind of sound that would interrupt the conversation between both wizards. The moment she could fit through them, Hermione stepped inside slowly, eyes immediately zeroing in on the two bodies on the table.

“And where are they now?” Harry snapped, and she could hear the grief lying beneath his tone of voice. “Six feet underground, and so are you. If I had used that mirror, you’d still be alive.”

They hadn’t realized she was there. Hermione thought it was a small mercy, considering the way her heart seemed to stop as Harry’s words washed over her. She knew he felt guilty about the war: it was impossible to miss the way he carried himself now, hard shoulders and premature lines around his eyes, always looking over his shoulder as if his own shadow was his enemy. His years as an Auror had only reinforced all of that, and though a part of her had wanted to argue with him when he told her he’d enter the academy, she also knew that it had been the first, real choice that he had made for himself and his life that hadn’t been manipulated by bigger forces.

Hermione cursed her past self, wondering if he’d be speaking of himself like this—cursed from birth, Hermione deserves better, I’ve lost count of how many bodies I have trailing behind me—if he’d chosen anything but the Auror Department. Perhaps if she’d been braver, she’d have confronted him and stopped the heaviness that now seemed to follow him everywhere, and that was now so…visible on him.

 “Perhaps,” Sirius countered, right as she took another, quiet step inside. “Perhaps not. You can’t live on the what ifs, Harry. You cannot be sure that the outcome of that fight would’ve been different, and you are not the destructive force that you think you are.”

“You should listen to him.”

The words split from her mouth before she could think it through, cutting through the tense conversation between the two wizards. She swallowed, playing with the sleeves of her shirt as she met Harry’s gaze with as much calm as she could muster, pushing down the dread and fear that were slowly simmering beneath her skin at the mere thought of what would happen next.

They needed to talk, and she was done letting him run away.

From her place at the entrance of the tent, Hermione stared back at him calmly, though he could see the way her eyebrows were furrowed and how her hands were fidgeting with the sleeves of her thin shirt, a clear sign of nervousness. Behind her, moonlight streamed lazily towards the now clear entrance, devoid of any roots and welcoming a strong, chilly wind. He swallowed, his body stilling completely while he watched her walk closer, stopping right next to his godfather.

Her eyes stayed on him only for another moment before turning to look at the other wizard, a small smile appearing on her face. “He gives good advice, sometimes.”

Sirius grinned. “Sometimes?”

Hermione hummed, saying nothing more and putting her attention back on the still silent man sitting on the table. Harry’s head was pulled down, his eyes firmly set on the ground. He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment as he wondered how much time she had been there, and how much she had heard.

“Guess I’ll leave you two,” Sirius said after a moment, eyes flickering between his godson and the newly arrived witch. “Enjoy your snogging session.”

His joke fell completely flat, only serving to make Harry even more nervous and worried. He heard Sirius’ footsteps retreating from the tent, getting lost in between the trees and the wind. He took a breath, refusing to meet Hermione’s eyes but feeling the weight of hers upon him.

“What are you doing here?” Harry whispered.

He saw the lower half of her body move to his right side, falling into a seat next to him and staying quiet to his question. She was close enough that he could feel the slight warmth radiating off from her body, and if he would slide over a few short inches, their thighs would touch each other. He braved a look towards her face, and immediately regretted it at being confronted by her stare. Ignoring his rapid heartbeat and the restless energy simmering inside of him, he stared back, even if all he wanted was to run away.

“I saw you being dragged by the roots of the forest,” Hermione stated softly. “I came here to search for you, in case something had happened.”

“I’m fine,” Harry answered quickly. “They were just messing around.”

“So you’re not hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“Good,” Hermione breathed, her shoulders tensing. “Then we can finally have that conversation we should’ve had a week ago.”

He swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling how dry his throat was and nodded shakily, his hands searching each other, fingers fidgeting between themselves as he tried to control the waver on his voice.

This was it. He couldn’t—didn’t want to—keep running from this.

“How…how much of that did you hear?” Harry asked faintly. Sirius had forced him into a corner and extracted every feeling and thought through shouts and pointed remarks. What, exactly, had she heard him admit? Where did they go from here?

Hermione hummed, moving a bit closer to him, eyes still trained on his gaze. “Just that last bit of conversation.”

Harry waited for her to elaborate, but she stayed quiet and watched him silently, eyebrows raising expectantly and fingers interlocked with one another. He sighed, finally ripping his eyes from hers as he rubbed his right temple, knowing that she was waiting for him. She was giving him the opportunity to start the conversation first, but he knew that he couldn’t dismiss whatever she had heard.

“I…I don’t know where to start,” Harry murmured, his cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

“You ran away,” Hermione stated bluntly. “That day, in the forest. You ran away.”

“I had to,” Harry said, voice tight, as if the words refused to be spoken.

“Good to know I’m a terrible kisser,” Hermione countered, and though there was an undertone of humor on her voice, it was overshadowed by the heavy tension that dripped from each of her words.

“You’re not,” Harry answered immediately, waving a dismissive hand and staring at the floor for a moment, gathering whatever courage he could before turning to look at her again. “I…It was great.”

He cursed himself in his mind, wondering if this conversation would get easier the more they got through it, but each word spoken felt heavier and heavier on his tongue, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. A small part of him suddenly wished she had heard everything he told Sirius—perhaps that would’ve made this whole ordeal easy. Another, bigger part of him laughed at the thought. Very few things had come easy to him in the course of his life, and this was not one of them.

His hand came up to his neck scratching nervously at the exposed skin that had been revealed when he had taken his tie off before. His fingers dug into his skin harshly as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

“Harry—”

“It was great,” He blurted out again, forcing himself to speak through the muddle ideas and explanations that were swirling around his mind. Though his voice was hoarse now, and he knew he still sounded reluctant, his words started to pick up speed, as if he was afraid that his mouth would stop working if he stalled for even one second. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I’ve seen it in my dreams, you know? Not every night, but…”

Harry groaned, frustrated, but pushed through. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it sooner. I didn’t meant for it to happen. That’s why I ran away, alright? I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you for days, but I didn’t—I didn’t know how to do this.”

He could feel his heartbeat fluttering in the worst way possible, erratic and hammering strongly enough for him to feel his pulse in every part of his body. He pulled his hand away from his neck, guiding it to the edge of the bench and gripping the worn wood tight until his knuckles were completely white. His other hand, the one neglected until this very moment, reached out towards her hand to grasp it.

“You have to know that the last thing I wanted was to hurt you,” Harry whispered miserably.

Hermione took a deep breath, but her hand squeezed his and even tugged at it, making him slide closer towards her while she spoke. “You didn’t hurt me. You haven’t hurt me, Harry. Are you going to?”

“I…don’t want to.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Hermione countered. “We kissed. It happened. Do you regret it? I don’t. How could I?”

“Hermione—”

“I didn’t hear everything you and Sirius talked about,” She continued, ignoring his attempted interruption. “But I’m going to sit here and listen to whatever you have to say about all of this, and about us. Tell me, Harry.”

“What did you hear? Before you came in here?” He asked, voice heavy. “I…I need to know where to start.”

His eyes searched hers again. Hermione was staring at him, her eyebrows slightly furrowed and her teeth digging into her lower lip, as if debating with herself on if she should answer his question. Harry clenched his jaw, feeling so pathetic and out of his depth at the moment for needing Hermione’s guidance in what was supposed to be his confession, but he could already feel his desire to run away creeping on him little by little. His fingers had started twitching faster, and the heat on his cheeks had traveled everywhere.

It took another moment for her to answer him, but Hermione seemed to concede that the conversation would come to a standstill unless she offered a way in for him. The witch took a deep breath, seemingly to brace herself, and started to speak with a soft voice.

“That you were cursed from birth,” Her words were slow and her eyes were unfocused, as if she had trouble believing what she was repeating. “That I deserved better than that. That you blame yourself for Sirius and your parents. I also heard Sirius rebuff you of all of that. I agree with him, completely.”

“You shouldn’t,” Harry stated, his voice suddenly sounding much more confident and raw than moments before. “I was right. You know I was. I don’t want that for you.”

Hermione opened her mouth but immediately closed it, tempering the fire that had started to blaze behind her eyes at his statement. “It won’t happen to me.”

“If you and I were to…” Harry started, frowning deeply and feeling as if he was rehashing the entire conversation with his godfather. In a way, he was. “I’m very dangerous to be around, Hermione. Not matter how much I…”

“I’d be dead by now, if that was true,” Hermione said bluntly. “You and I are very close.”

“This will be different,” He insisted. “If they get wind of us—”

“You’re not making any sense, Harry,” Hermione interjected, her hand leaving his and traveling to grip his shoulder, turning his body fully towards her.

“I can’t have you be a casualty,” Harry bit out, frustrated while he left his seat. His feet started to pace in front of the table as he passed both his hands across his face, rubbing away the heat and the sweat upon his forehead. “I won’t have you be a casualty.”

“I won’t be,” Hermione stated, frowning deeply as she stood up, but she stayed put. Her gaze followed his movements with concern. “It’s over. Everything it’s over.”

“It’s never over!” Harry exclaimed.

The small fraction of control that he’d had up until now snapped in a second, sending him into a desperate tirade. His words were stumbling out of his mouth while he tried to fight against the moisture that he could feel gathering at the edges of his eyes.

“It’ll never be over,” Harry continued, his volume now down but his tone still hard and tired. “Do you understand? It’ll never be over. If you and I were to…I can’t have your blood on my hands, Hermione. I won’t be able to bear it. What we have…it’s enough. It has to be. We can get out of here and return to the castle and just forget about all of it.”

He had sounded so confident that it actually threw him off for a second. Although there had been no discernable hesitation on his tone, he could almost feel the way his heart withered at what he was saying, and a part of him whispered to him that it was already too late.

It had been easier, back when they hadn’t crossed the line and he could admire her from afar. He had thought about it—about them, their life and what it could be and what they could have—, extensively, from the stolen moments inside the Forest of Dean up until the godammed stroll inside the Forbidden Forest that had discombobulated them so hard that it forced him to hide. Sirius had been right: Hermione had been at the center of his heart for years, but the thought of them had always been so…unattainable, out of reach and a perfect fantasy that had always stayed private for him.

Their kiss had broken all of that. None of his dreams could ever compare to what he felt that night, laying on the cold ground and with the taste of her lingering upon his tongue. He tried to mean what he said: that they could forget about all of it, that nothing had to change…but he silently wondered if such a thing was possible.

It seemed that Hermione was thinking the same. Harry didn’t know exactly how she’d managed to catch his bluff, but she’d always seemed to know him better than anybody else. He watched as she took a deep breath, her shoulders impossibly tense and her eyes blazing while she took two long stride to come to a top right in front of him.

“We can’t do that,” Hermione stated strongly, looking up at him. “Everything changed. We can’t go back to what it was before.”

“It was nice,” He murmured, swallowing nervously.

“This is better,” She answered, smiling at him. “Kiss me again, Harry.”

His fingers twitched, her words enough to spur him on, but he fought to still them. His breathing, while unstable from the moment he entered the tent with his godfather, started to unravel again, his lungs forcing themselves to work quickly and efficiently.

“I…” He whispered, the start of an unwilling rejection that he couldn’t bring himself to fully verbalize.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Harry,” Hermione said softly. She bit her lip, pausing for a moment, but her expression lost none of her previous confidence as she uttered her next words. “And if something does happen, then I don’t care.”

Harry startled slightly, his frown returning with full force, but he wasn’t able to answer her before she started to speak again.

“We’ve survived too much to not allow ourselves to enjoy the life we’ve fought for,” She whispered. “If we…pursue this and by some cruel twist of fate something does happen, I won’t care in the slightest.”

“How can you say that?” Harry stated, his voice harsher than he intended. “Don’t you care about your life?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Hermione countered, matching his tone of voice. “You’re speaking of hypotheticals in which you lose me to some imagined threat, but have you stopped to think about what it might do to me if I lost you?”

He froze, swallowing nervously and clenching his jaw, his expression wavering between shock and discomfort, her words throwing him off enough for her to keep on speaking. Her hands reached out, grasping the collar of his shirt and pulling him down and closer to her, his feet following her cues until the tip of them were pressed against her own. He leaned down, still speechless and searching her gaze, his reluctance leaving his body slowly, his resolve weak against the shine in her eyes that promised to make his imagined future a reality.

“I’ve been right by your side all these years, Harry,” Hermione breathed, her voice now shifting to something softer and longing. “I’ve always been right here, with you, through everything. This…this would just be another adventure. Another step we take together. I love you, Harry.”

His breath hitched, eyes closing at the sound of those three little words that immediately disarmed him. He pulled her closer, cursing the sudden moisture on the edges of his eyes as he hid his face in her neck breathing her in. Hermione paused for a moment, as though she could sense the vulnerable state that he had entered into, but eventually turned her head to whisper into his ear.

“Besides,” She started, voice humorous and making him shudder at the feeling of her breath upon the skin of his ear. “You’re too noble for your own good. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”

Harry chuckled, his arms wounding tighter around her as she joined in with his joyful sounds. The tension between them vanished in a moment, his shoulders slumping in relief as he leaned back slightly, just enough to gaze into her face.

“You’re right,” He whispered, smiling widely, and though his voice still held a bit of fear to it, he couldn’t deny the happiness that dripped from it that was clear even to his own ears. “Nothing at all.”

“Kiss me again then,” Hermione stated, pulling on his collar and bringing him closer. “And don’t stop this time.”

Harry breathed deeply, taking a moment to look at her and reassure himself that yes, he could take this leap—he wanted to take this leap, consequences be dammed. Her eyes didn’t move from his, steady and happy and begging him to close the small distance that was still between them, and he found himself praying to whoever heard that his fears would stay imaginary. He could live with them, if only they stayed locked inside his mind.

“If we do this,” He stated, voice so soft that he was sure she couldn’t have be able to hear him is she wasn’t as pressed against him as she currently was. “There’s no going back. You’re stuck with me for life, Hermione.”

“Oh?” She chuckled. “Really?”

“You’re it for me,” Harry confessed, a part of him surprised at the way the words left his mouth so fluidly, his previous embarrassment and reluctance all but gone. “If we cross this line fully…”

Hermione grinned, her hands leaving his shirt collar to grasp his neck, pulling him forward until their foreheads were resting against his each other. He shuddered—she was so close, and his senses were all full of her—

“Good thing I don’t plan on letting you go, ever,” Hermione stated. “You’re the one stuck with me, and whatever amount of books I can fit in whatever house we live in.”

Harry laughed, the sound coming out a bit choked due to the tears that were still threatening to fall from his eyes. The way she talked about it—their house, theirs—so casually, as if it was something so easy to attain if only they allowed themselves to made his head spin from the barrage of emotions that he was currently suffering form.

“We better search for a big place, then,” Harry murmured. “One where we can fit a library that can hold at least four bookshelves.”

Hermione’s smile widened, her eyes shining in the low light of the still miraculously lit lamp as she stared right at him, her tone of voice sure with a pinch of desperation. “Don’t make me ask again, Harry.”

He nodded, understanding exactly what she was referring to, and dived to capture her lips with his in a searing kiss that could put their previous one to shame. He moved frantically, as if fearing that she’d disappear any second now, pushing his lungs well past their capacity to function without air as his hands grasp the back of her shirt, pressing her impossibly close to him.

Hermione was the one who broke the kiss, gasping for air and with her cheeks completely flushed. Harry barely took a second to follow her lead before he leaned down, his lips kissing her jaw and traveling upwards, touching softly upon any inch of skin he could reach as they both caught their breath. Her breathless laugh made him pause and lean back to look at her, searching her eyes for any amount of regret. She grinned at him, pulling him back into another kiss that was every bit of passionate as the last one.

He wasn’t quite sure how much time passed since they started kissing, but the sun was starting to light up the horizon beyond the opened entrance of the tent as they reluctantly separated.

Harry looked at her, feeling his lips lift at the sight of her completely flushed cheeks, slightly disoriented eyes and puffy lips. She had conjured a small mirror, checking herself and redoing the bun that had gotten messed up by his own hands. Her clothes, too, were wrinkled and displaced from his touch, her shirt unbuttoned bellow what was deemed professional.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hermione said, not taking her eyes off from the floating mirror as she finished doing her hair.

“Like what?” Harry asked, absently, picking up his tie from the floor and putting it around his neck, letting his memory do the work for him as his eyes stayed on her.

She smirked, vanishing the mirror and turning towards him, pointing her wand at herself. “Like you want to stay here and make out more.”

“But I do want to do that,” He answered, grinning and watching as her clothes righted themselves, not neatly around her frame and without a single clue of what they had been doing before.

“Me too,” Hermione confessed, pointing her wand at him. “But we have class. You know how nosy the students are.”

“We’re not that late, are we?” Harry asked, feeling his own clothes fixing themselves as she pointed her want at him.

“We’re going to cut it close,” She answered. “We’ve already missed breakfast, but we have enough time to go and change.”

Harry felt his smile widen as he took two steps towards her, his arms wounding around her waist to pull her close as if they had been doing that exact same movement for years, comfortable and sure while he dipped his head to kiss her.

He made sure to keep it light, just long enough to savor her and commit it to memory before he pulled back, unable to resist the impulse of kissing the corner of her lips before traveling to her jaw, biting softly on it.

Hermione hummed, her hands pressing against his chest and pushing him away to scold him, although her voice was light. “We’re already late, Harry.”

“Sorry,” He answered, his tone of voice and smile making it clear he was anything but. “Dinner tonight?”

“Moving fast, are you?” She chuckled. “Whatever happened to that reluctant man that ran away after kissing me?”

“Be glad I don’t have a ring,” Harry said, feeling his face turn warm at the words coming out of his mouth unfiltered. “I’d get down on one knee in a heartbeat.”

Hermione opened her mouth, her smirk and shining eyes making it clear that he wasn’t leaving the tent without being teased about what he’d just stated to her, but the words got caught in her throat as a thundering sound grabbed their attention.

Both of their heads snapped towards the entrance of the tent, watching as several roots slithered chaotically inside, as if fighting against each other. They didn’t stop until their ends were within reaching distance of the two people inside, and Harry barely had time to trade a confused look with Hermione before a small cluster of them moved upwards, slowly revealing several shining and old-looking rings comfortably wrapped around the thin wood.

“Are those…?” Hermione whispered, eyes wide and flickering between amusement and shock.

“Rings,” Harry answered faintly, swallowing nervously.

The roots moved closer, pushing the rings right into his personal space when he took several moments to observe them, as if desperate for him to pick one. He took a step backwards, frowning at the collection of them: there were thin ones, silver and gold and with barely any diamonds or pretty rocks upon them, while the other were more ostentatious, bigger and more attention-seeking.

Hermione’s laugh broke him out of his thoughts, and he turned towards here with a frown and a silent question in his eyes to find her biting her lip, her face set in an amused expression.

“They’re always giving us things, aren’t they?” She said, throwing another look towards the rings. She scrunched her nose at the sight of them, quite clearly not loving any of the designs—he was inclined to agree; all of them looked from a century ago, and though they were clean, they weren’t in the best conditions.

“I guess,” Harry answered, softly pushing away one of the roots that got up right in his face. “But it’d be nice if they weren’t interfering so much. Bloody nosy, the lot of them.”

As if offended, the roots dropped the rings unceremoniously, slithering back and leaving the tent, but not without slapping at his shoes.

“You hurt their feelings,” Hermione sighed, stepping away from him and walking towards the entrance, peeking outside.

He followed her, doing the same, gazing at the overall peace of the forest in the morning before looking back, staring at the now abandoned pile of rings. He was about to answer her, tell her that perhaps the roots would learn that their initial push for them had worked and they should leave them alone, but his eyes set on a very familiar ring that sat on the ground of the tent.

It looked like it had all those years ago, back when he had buried it: the black stone shined against the soft sunlight that traveled inside from the open flaps, the silver ring unmarred. He took a breath, a part of him wishing to reach out for the Stone and conjure Sirius again, maybe tell him that he’d stopped being a coward and that Hermione had dragged the truth and several kisses and insecurities out of him—

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, pulling him back from his thoughts.

He saw her head turning towards whatever he was looking for, but he was quicker. He stepped closer, catching her into a quick kiss and putting himself in between her line of sight at the back of her.

“I’m good,” He murmured, hugging her closer and throwing a look at the now light blue sky. “But we won’t be, if we’re late.”

Hermione nodded and started to walk away, her hand reaching out to grasp his, but he saw the way her eyes still searched beyond him and inside of the tent, her curiosity too big. He realized the moment she knew what he’d seen because her gaze found his, questioning.

Harry shrugged, falling into step right next to her and wounding an arm around her shoulders, pulling her along the small path that had been revealed to their right. “It belongs here. Nobody will find it. The trees are good at keeping things to themselves.”

“Don’t we know it?” Hermione answered and grinned, leaning into him.

“I love you, Hermione,” He whispered into her hair, repeating it several more times before she dragged his face towards hers.

He didn’t mention the fact that their walking pace was too slow, or how he apparently couldn’t go five steps without dropping a kiss or two on her forehead or her awaiting lips. He’d held out for years, ridding himself of the possibility of this, but Hermione was here now and she was kissing him back and suddenly everything he’d wished for felt possible. All was well in his heart.

Behind them, the roots slithered towards the tent, pulling it down and enclosing it, dragging it back towards the trees.