AN: This little nugget has been sitting on my computer literally for years. Obviously I do not own any part of the HP franchise.

Hermione was crying. Though undoubtedly cause for concern, this was not in itself highly unusual. What Harry did find unusual, however, was that he now stood paralyzed in the tent's entrance, unsure of what to do about her state. Hermione sat quietly beside her mockingly merry fire amidst their snowy hollow. She had not yet noticed Harry, as she was staring so intently into the flames. She seemed to be waiting for the dancing flames to speak. Tears alight with the fire's orange and crimson reflection crept slowly down her face, and she did not move to wipe them away. Not long ago, Harry would not have hesitated in going to her and perhaps putting his arm around her in an attempt to console his best friend. But now, he was too acutely aware of how incredibly alone they were in this snowy hollow, and uncertainty held him back. This thing, this pressure, in his chest had been building lately every time he looked at her and right now it felt ready to burst him apart, and the thought of wiping her tears away from her skin was frighteningly desirable. As he watched at her sitting there, he saw more than his best friend crying-he saw a world of cruel temptations and blurred lines begging to be crossed and the potential for so many broken hearts. Already, the pressure in him was complicating things, as if their lives weren't complicated enough. And yet, there she was, crying in the snow, and his saving-people-thing had rushed him over to her before his stay-away-from-the-line thing could even hope to catch up.

"Hermione." She turned, and made to wipe away her tears, not because she was ashamed of them, but because she knew they would only embarrass him.

"Hi, Harry. Why are you awake? You should be sleeping."

He merely shrugged. "More important things, I guess," he said. He sat beside her, the snow crunching under him.

"No, here, sit back up," she murmured, and as he did so she set the portion of blanket that had been wrapped across her lap onto the snow beneath him.

"Thanks." Harry was now at a loss. He tried to imagine what he would say to the Hermione he'd known back when they were kids, when there was no pressure in his chest and no boundaries to keep track of. He listed the too-numerous possible causes for her tears in his mind, hastily trying to pick which was most likely: her parents, their miserable lifestyle, the apparent hopelessness of their hunt, their isolation, losing a year at school, Ron's abandonment…all of it Harry's fault.

"Look, Hermione, I- I'm so sorry," he began, and once he had, he found it difficult to stop. "I'm sorry that you're here, that we're always cold and always hungry, that I destroyed your life, that Ron's gone, that your parents are in Australia. I'm sorry that we've gotten nowhere and that you're missing out on everything. You do know that you don't have to stay, right? You're not stuck here."

She just shook her head, as if dismissing all he had just said. "Harry, you know that none of those things are your fault. I know you know that. All of this is You-Know-Who's fault, Harry, and only his."

"Yeah." How was it that she ended up comforting him in his attempt to comfort her?

"And Harry, I'm not sorry. All this is going to be worth it." He nodded and they sat in silence for a moment, smiling sadly at one another.

"Why were you crying?" he almost whispered. She quickly dropped her gaze from his, turning back to the fire.

"I suppose because even though in my head I know it will be worth it, the rest of me still takes a while to catch up. And because…" she shrugged, "because it makes me feel quite alone, sitting out here."

"You know you're not alone."

"Yeah, I do know that. But like I said, I guess the rest of me has to catch up."

There it was again, that infuriating little line. Lines that never used to exist. Lines that Harry had been progressively caring less about, because Ron had abandoned them, left his best friends to fight a war alone. So alone. Deliberately this time, Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione, pulling her close and resting his cheek on her hair, trying feebly to not focus on its softness. He closed his eyes and felt her body rise and fall as she sighed.

"I know its hard, but thanks for sticking around, Hermione. Really."

She was silent for a few moments before she whispered, "Well, stuck here with you, that's not so bad."

Harry sat there hugging her (because surely he wasn't holding her) for an indefinite amount of time. He couldn't exactly remember the last time they had hugged. It used to be a fairly frequent thing between them, as Hermione had made quite a habit of it over the years, but ever since Ron left, the only contact they'd had was between their hands during Apparition. Even the most innocent touch seemed to matter now in a heavy way it hadn't before. Eventually Hermione pulled back and said, "You should get back to sleep. I'll keep an eye out here."

The air thickened and for one wild moment Harry had been about to ask her to come with him, but then he gulped down the words and simply nodded. "K, I'll see you in the morning, then." Her lips quirked up into a smile for a moment as she watched him go.

Harry awoke slowly to the sound of fierce winds whipping through the trees outside. He did not rush the process, but took a moment to reside in that blissful state between waking and sleeping, where any thought is worthy and images flow like film. His mind replayed last night, memories of Hermione's fiery tears, her patience, her kind words and her warm embrace. A smile graced his features momentarily and he opened his eyes upon the most welcome sight he had seen in months: a sumptuous plate of gooey looking chocolate chip cookies. He sat bolt upright, instantly awake, and rushed over to them. Hermione must have heard his mad scramble, because she entered the tent with a giggle. She secured the flap firmly behind her to keep out the howling wind.

"Whah dijoo eht eez?" Harry asked gleefully around a delicious mouthful of cookie.

"Well," Hermione said, picking up her own cookie, "when the sun rose I saw that we were awfully close to a Muggle camping trailer, its about a fifty yards that way," she waved her hand vaguely to her right, "and I couldn't help but notice they had left a little Tupperware container on the table. I knew they would be taking cover inside the trailer from the storm, so I summoned the container, duplicated the cookies, and sent it back. Warmed these ones up, and here we are."

"Hermione, you're absolutely brilliant. Brilliant! I honestly don't tell you that enough." He demonstrated his appreciation with yet another huge bite of heavenly cookie. She laughed.

"No, I don't think you do. And the best part is that I can continue to duplicate them, so we won't run out, until of course they go stale. So don't eat all of them!"

"Yesh, 'Ermynee."

They scarfed down the cookies until their sides hurt from laughter and their stomachs from excessive sugar.

"Oh, I've missed this," said Hermione through her laugh at Harry's discovery yet again that a cookie could not, in fact, go down his throat whole.

"Cookies?"

"Well of course, but laughing too."

He just smirked at her and took a ridiculously manic chomp on a cookie, and watched the smile transform her face and her eyes roll at his absurdity.

Later, the cookies safely stowed away like a precious treasure, Harry and Hermione sat together in the tent entrance, their discussion on potential Horcrux locations leading nowhere except frustrating circles.

She was gorgeous. Did she know that? He tried to tear his eyes away, but she held his gaze as though she were charmed. It wasn't fair, cramped up with her like this, unable to escape her, and he found himself increasingly failing to refrain from various little touches to her arm, her shoulder, even a proper hug every once in a while. And now here she was before him in the candlelight, talking a million miles an hour, some of it aimed at him, but mostly to herself. What owned his attention, however, was not her words but the fact that she was steadily removing her clothing, layer by layer. Her eyes held his, clearly trying to impress upon him the importance of her words, as she unwrapped her scarf, shrugged out of her jacket, shook her hair loose from her hat, and began to unbutton her cardigan. Harry could not stop his mind from conjuring the image of his own hands loosing those buttons, one by one.

"Well?" she asked, finally removing the cardigan to reveal her white (and, Harry noticed, skintight) tee.

"Um…what?"

"Did you miss everything I just told you?"

"Yes." Had it always been so awfully warm in their little tent? And dark. Only one candle had remained lit during Harry's sleep.

Hermione gave a small chuckle and said, "I think you should go back to bed, Harry."

"Only if you join me." The words were out before he even knew he was speaking, but his only regret came from the tiny voice in the back of his mind that was also acutely aware of the Horcrux around his neck. The voice now ramming its way to the front.

"What?" She froze. Her surprise snapped Harry back into focus, and the reality of what had just come out of his mouth hit him like a splash of icy water. He was suddenly cognizant of just how close she was.

"No! I didn't mean-I didn't mean that. Honestly. I just meant…I don't really know what, actually…" he trailed off lamely.

Hermione took a small, steadying breath, also apparently freshly aware of their proximity, and whispered, "Maybe you should take off that Horcrux now, Harry."

"Yeah…Hermione?"

"Hm?"

"You know how amazing you are, right? How…how beautiful you are?" She didn't reply, but lowered her eyes and placed her hands on his neck, and for a heartbeat Harry thought she was going to kiss him and something in him caught wind and soared before crashing back down as he felt only the thin golden chain lift from his neck and over his head. He saw a shadow of some heartbreaking emotion cross her face, and with a mutter of "Night, Harry" she made to turn away, clearly expecting Harry to be instantly freed of whatever state the Horcrux had twisted him into. However, not entirely to his surprise, he felt no different without it, and decided that he might as well finish what the Horcrux had started for him. He summoned some courage and gently touched her arm, freezing her again.

"You know, right?" he repeated more fervently. She stared at him, her wide eyes glinting with emotions Harry could not hope to comprehend. And maybe it was the warmth, or the candlelight, or the fact that his skin was goosebumped where her fingers had grazed his neck, but all of a sudden the hand resting on her arm was pulling her through that last small distance and her lips were moving under his and Harry was so alive- his world seemed to be clicking into place. He heard a gasp, whether his or Hermione's, he was uncertain. That aching pressure inside his chest now did something paradoxical: it seemed to overflow out of him, while simultaneously building in pressure, slowly but with a surety that made Harry feel rather powerless. When they broke apart, he saw for one beautiful moment nothing but sparkling happiness in her eyes, and knew that she could see the same in his. But reality has a way of seeping into moments such as these like poison, and that sparkling thing in her was extinguished. She looked ready to sob.

"Harry…" she whispered, searching fruitlessly for the right words.

"I know, I know…I'm sorry." He rested his forehead on hers, not willing to break the connection quite yet.

To Harry's extreme surprise, Hermione whispered, "I'm not." And without hesitation, she leaned in and kissed him again. Bracing himself, Harry pulled away and said the one thing he knew could condemn this moment.

"Ron."

Her eyes flashed. "Ronald has nothing to do with this. He doesn't have a claim on me, for goodness sake!" she said with reproach. "Besides," she continued, "he left us. Both of us. And even if—well, to be honest, I think I've learned all I need to know about Ron Weasley."

Harry felt a tug inside of himself somewhere between guilt, anger, and heartbreak at Hermione's words, but he found it relatively easy to shove the feelings into a distant corner of his mind, underneath an overwhelming pile of other emotions currently crashing around inside him. One thought won out above the rest: Proceed with caution. There was too much at stake in this moment to allow himself to be pulled along headlong by his emotions. Hermione had probably taught him that at some point.

He searched her face, summoning everything he knew about her, trying to maintain some level of reason despite the now roaring pressure in his chest. He touched her face, her hair, and all at once, it was as if a veil lifted from between them. This was Hermione, his brave and brilliant best friend, who had given up everything she loved to protect him, who felt somehow like a permanent part of his body without which the whole could not function. Hermione. Of course. Who had he been kidding, trying to give his heart away to anyone else? He could feel it plain as day now, obvious as the sun, it was only ever hers to begin with. She seemed to perceive the realization now gracing Harry's face. She always had been able to read him like a book—and that was saying something special when it came to her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry."

She knew him too well. In the midst of Harry's self reflection, fear had also slipped its icy fingers into his mind. What if this was overwhelming for her, and she left? What if she realized she was only missing Ron, and she left? What if he screwed this up somehow, and she left? Her fingers delicately grazed his hairline, completely avoiding his scar, her eyes never leaving his. For a spilt second Harry felt like just a 17 year old without a tragic story, standing with a beautiful girl, paralyzed with completely normal teenage-boy fears. No scar, no prophecy…just him. Just Harry. And strangely, the way she was looking at him made him feel like that was more than enough. He dropped his forehead to hers again, his hands on her waist.

"Hermione…" he began, with no plan as to what would follow, "…I'm glad you're here. Not just because I wouldn't want to be alone. Im glad you're here. Wouldn't change a thing." He pulled back and glanced at the ceiling as the wind picked up outside. "Well, maybe a few things." She smiled gently in return, humoring him. "You're the most important person in the world to me, Hermione. I don't want to…mess anything up."

She was silent for a long time, so long that Harry began to worry if she was regretting the last ten minutes. She finally reached down and squeezed his hand, and somehow it felt different than when she'd held his hand before. "We'll take it one day at a time, okay?" she said.

"Okay."

With that, she leaned in again, painfully slowly, and when their lips met they took their time, learning each other. Harry thought it felt like coming home.

Later that night, they fell asleep in their respective beds, and each slept more soundly than they had in months.

The End! Hope you enjoyed the musings. Shout out to y'all who caught the Doctor Who reference ;)

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