Work Text:
*CRACK*
The sound of Ron disapparating tore through Hermione like a physical thing. She had heard the sound of apparating and disapparating many times; had done it herself plenty and heard how loud and violent it sounded when it was coming from all around you. But this felt different. There was a violence to Ron’s disapparation that she had never experienced before, as if the air itself had swelled with his anger and then suddenly crashed back down to normal in his absence.
The awful, swelling, deafening silence created by his abrupt departure was only filled by the sound of her own sobbing, a raw, desperate cry tearing itself from her throat against her will. She hated that she was so broken by this. She had sworn to herself after last year – after the mess with Lavender, after being a wreck for months over such an immature boy, that she would be surprised and hurt by nothing else that Ron Weasley did. But she had foolishly allowed herself to believe that they were past his childish outbursts and impulsiveness. He had been a steadfast friend to Harry since returning after the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament all those years ago. He hadn’t ever apologized directly, but it had been clear that he’d been ashamed of his behavior, and they had all moved on. Even when he had hurt her with Lavender last year, she’d never allowed herself to believe he would hurt Harry like that again.
She trembled as she stood in the soaking rain, sobbing and staring unseeingly off into the distance where Ron had disappeared. As broken as she felt by this, she knew Harry would feel worse. He wouldn’t show it the way she was – he wasn’t the kind to curl up in a ball and cry, no matter how much she often felt it would help him to vent. No, he would hold it in, but he would be worse than her. Because he would blame himself. And, if she were honest, there would be at least a small kernel of truth to it. He had been the one to tell Ron to go if he couldn’t hack it. Ron should never have left, and she would no doubt spend countless hours trying to pound that into Harry’s brain. Ron had chosen this. Harry hadn’t forced him, hadn’t banished him, had only told him there was an out if he wanted one. Ron was the one who wanted one; the one who chose to leave.
Exhausted, soaked from the rain, with quiet sobs still escaping her, she turned and trudged back to the tent. Stepping inside, out of the rain and into the modestly warm space they had created, she saw Harry standing where she had left him. Where Ron had left him. He was staring at the tent door without seeing – she could tell his eyes never even focused on her as she entered through the flap. He was staring without seeing, already deep in the process of beating himself up over everything that had just happened. His face looked as if it were set in stone – his jaw set tight and hard, his face tense and angry, but his eyes, even unfocused, were full of sorrow and regret.
“He’s g-gone. D-Disapparated.” Hermione choked out, knowing Harry would already have heard the crack from here. How could he not have? But she needed to say something. Needed to fill the violently empty space that Ron had left behind. Needed to try to reestablish some kind of communication, even if it was only saying something she knew that he already knew.
At the sound of her voice, his eyes snapped to her, focusing slightly but still misty and distant. He gave a single, brief nod. That was the only confirmation she had that he even heard her. The pain in his eyes was apparent to her, but she could also tell he was holding it back, hiding it not only from himself, but from her. He was guarding himself against her. Of course he was. It was just like it had been years ago during the Triwizard Tournament – he had been abandoned by the steadiest friend in his life, and he found himself questioning whether anyone else could be relied upon. He didn’t want to let himself rely on her if she were going to hurt him like Ron had.
A strangled sob escaped her throat as the tears resumed falling down her face and she threw herself at him, crushing him in a powerful hug. To her horror, he didn’t respond. He didn’t wrap his arms around her like he usually did, he didn’t comfort her. She knew that he was never the best at offering comfort – he had never known any growing up, so it was all quite foreign to him. But he had, over the years, come to respond to her hugs with some enthusiasm, holding her to him as tightly as she tried to hold him to her. It had always felt like a mutual, quiet promise, that this bond they shared was unbreakable, that they were there for each other no matter what.
“You should get some sleep,” his voice broke through the sounds of her sobbing then, rough and tired from the exhaustion and the shouting match he had had with Ron. She felt the rumble of his chest where she clung to him, and her own heart dropped even further in her chest when he still didn’t respond to the hug. Still, he refused to wrap his arms around her in return and tell her it would be okay, or thank her for staying, or say anything about what just happened. “It’s been a long day and we have to move in the morning.”
She released him, stepping back and staring up into his eyes in astonishment. She knew, of course, that tomorrow was the day they had decided to move on from this campsite. She had forgotten it, amidst all else that was going on, but she had been the one to set the schedule, so of course she knew that that was what was supposed to happen tomorrow. But the way he so quickly landed on that thought, not even appearing to consider staying, waiting, to see if Ron returned, shocked her. She stared into his eyes, searching for his true feelings beneath all the layers of defenses he had built up over the years to keep himself from being hurt by those close to him. There was a glimmer of pain and regret if she looked very carefully and very deeply, but his eyes had hardened. He was in battle mode now – she had seen before how he changed when danger presented itself. He was shutting down all emotion, locking it away as unhelpful while he formulated a plan to keep moving forward.
It was too much for her. She couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t handle seeing Harry so broken that he put up every wall he could find in himself just to keep from collapsing. Not on top of everything else. She needed him to still be Harry, to be her best friend, to shoot her that stupid, goofy grin and say some ridiculous, self-deprecating remark, or something witty and sarcastic, anything. She needed to know that the world hadn’t ended, that some form of normal still existed, and that Ron leaving wouldn’t break them. She couldn’t take this.
She had stopped crying momentarily, caught up in the confusion of his reaction, but now the tears started flowing freely again as she felt herself break all over again. She took a step back from him, then another, watching as he surveyed her movements carefully, as if he were simply waiting for her to follow Ron out the tent flap, into the darkness and away from him. Anger flared in her, hot and sharp. She knew what he was doing, knew why he had built these walls to protect himself. Or at least, she thought she knew. He’d never directly said what he experienced at home, but she knew enough to know where this defensive instinct for self-protection had come from. But to have it directed at her lit an angry fire in her stomach. She was the only one who had never abandoned him, never hurt him. She had been with him through everything, always believed him.
But as quickly as the anger began to burn, a quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind, that’s not true, though, is it? She remembered the summer after 4th year, after Harry had come back from that awful place carrying Cedric’s body. She remembered the terror of leaving him alone, leaving him to go back to his awful relatives in the shadow of his trauma. And she had stupidly followed orders, not contacting him “for his safety.” He had shown up at Grimmauld Place so angry, and so angry at her. She had never experienced that before, and she had known then that she had failed him, truly failed him, for the first time in their friendship. It had sat like a pit in her stomach, tight and uncomfortable. It had taken months to remove it, to find some semblance of normalcy.
Their sixth year had threatened that all over again as she had resented his obsession with that stupid book and with Draco bloody Malfoy. She had been right about the book – it was dangerous, and he shouldn’t have used the spells without knowing what they did. He’d nearly killed Malfoy. But she’d been wrong, oh so horribly wrong, about Malfoy. And she had spent the year being distant with him because of it. They had still supported each other – she’d never been so glad to have him around as when he had comforted her over Ron’s displays with Lavender. He had been a light in the darkness then. But things had remained strained any time that the topic strayed too near to Malfoy or the book, and their relationship had felt strained as a result. Had felt for the first time that there were no-go areas, things they couldn’t talk about.
And now those moments echoed back to her in her mind, as she thought about how Harry may have truly begun to believe that their bond wasn’t as unbreakable as it had seemed. How she wasn’t the kind of friend who never left him. She had, after 4th year. And she had hectored him rather than helping him 6th year. And now, in his darkest moment, with Ron gone, he wasn’t certain about her. He was waiting for her to leave, no doubt even convincing himself that it would be better, that she would be safer. And she couldn’t handle any of it – not his self-doubt, not her own failings, not Ron’s awful decision to abandon them. She couldn’t. So she dropped into a chair in their small sitting area, pulled her knees up to her chest as she curled up into a ball, and she wept. She let the whole absurd situation wash over her as she wept openly, not caring if Harry heard her sat there, broken and sobbing and crushed under the enormous, impossible weight of everything.
Her sobs calmed eventually as the anguish in her chest retreated, leaving her with a hollow ache. She had no idea how much time had passed. It was probably a few hours – she was fairly certain she had fallen to sleep for some time. She could feel the awful sticky feeling of the dried tears on her face and around her eyes. She sniffled, feeling how stuffed up her nose had gotten as she had let everything out. It was only as she shifted slightly in her chair that she recognized that she was warm, warmer than she ought to be at least. Their warming charms and her small jars of blue fire heated the tent somewhat, but it still had canvas walls. There was only so much heat that could be kept in.
A blanket was covering her. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending. She hadn’t grabbed a blanket before she’d sat down. Then it came to her. Harry had draped the blanket around her; of course he had. She’d stayed. She hadn’t been aware enough to witness the moment he realized she’d stayed, but he must have, and he’d taken it upon himself to cover her with a blanket so she wouldn’t be cold. She felt her lips curl into a small, weak smile as the tiniest spark of warmth bloomed in her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It was what she had needed, earlier. Proof that this wouldn’t break them. That Harry was still Harry. She grasped the edge of the blanket and pulled it closer, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes again.
The blanket smelled like Harry. The thought took a moment to filter through her exhausted mind, but when it did, it sat there stubbornly like a thorn as she worked out why it was important. So what if it smelled like Harry? He lived in the tent, the whole place smelled at least a little bit like him. But it also smelled a little bit like Ron, and a little bit like her. The blanket didn’t though. It only smelled like Harry. It was Harry’s blanket. The thought hit her suddenly and had her snapping her eyes open, twisting in her seat to peer through the murky darkness of the tent over to where Harry’s bunk lay. Even in the dark she could see the lump of his form on the bed. Uncovered. There was no cover. He’d taken his blanket from his bed and put it around her, to keep her warm while he endured the cold.
A small, exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Of course he hadn’t even considered entering her space to retrieve her blanket. He hadn’t conjured or transfigured one either. He’d simply done what he always did – he had sacrificed something of himself to make sure that she would be comfortable. No doubt this was also part of some twisted penance for his doubt in her. She would be warm, while he would sleep fitfully in the cold. She found herself glaring over at the shivering lump on his bed, out of patience with his noble stupidity. Neither of them would be any better off if he was a wreck tomorrow for having not slept.
She made a decision then, an impulsive, reckless decision, but one she knew she needed. She was exhausted and still feeling very hollow and lonely. She was determined not to be alone, and she knew Harry would be no better off for isolating himself. He needed to be brought back from the edge, just as she did, and they were the only ones who could do that for each other. That would’ve been true even if they weren’t the only ones in the tent, but now it was doubly true. So she rose on shaky legs from her seat and padded quietly across the tent to her own bunk, where she retrieved the blanket and took it with her as she crossed to Harry’s bunk. The beds were not wide – there would be no way they could lay down together here without touching each other. She didn’t care. She rather gracelessly lowered herself onto the bed next to him, draping the blankets across them both.
He stirred, of course, not having been deeply asleep anyway. As his eyes cracked open in the darkness and focused on her, she saw the question in them quite clearly despite the low light. She chose to ignore it for a moment, pulling the blankets higher around them and snuggling in closer to him, burrowing her face into his shoulder for a moment. She put an arm around him, holding him close, and waited for several moments before he finally, tentatively, put his own arm around her and clutched her to him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Harry. I’m with you until the end,” she whispered into the dark. His hand clutched at her more tightly, and she resolved never to let him doubt them, never to let him doubt her, again. They would be a rock against the world, just as they had been during the Tournament years ago. One way or another, they would figure this out together.
As they lay together in the bed, surrounded by the comforting warmth of the blankets and each other, their breathing slowed and was soon in sync. Hermione felt calm, truly calm, for the first time since the argument with Ron had erupted that afternoon. She found herself somewhat surprised that her heart wasn’t racing, that she wasn’t a nervous wreck from the situation she now found herself in with Harry. She had had a crush on him – perhaps more than a crush, she allowed herself – for as long as she could remember. Probably since the troll incident, but she hadn’t really recognized what it was until she was unpetrified at the end of their second year and had been told that Harry had killed the basilisk. She’d heard the whole story – how Harry and Ron had found the page in her hand, how they’d found out that Ginny was taken and gone to tell Lockhart what they knew only to find him packing. How they’d dragged him down to the chamber with them, and Harry had confronted and killed the basilisk, saving Ginny. And the whole time, she had been panicked about Harry despite the fact that he was right there in front of her. She didn’t feel anything like as worried over Ron, but the thought of something happening to Harry had nearly undone her, and she’d known then that she didn’t feel for Harry like she did any normal friend.
She’d tried to hide it carefully, not certain of Harry’s own feelings. She had succeeded, possibly too well. Harry had gone on to have a crush on Cho, despite the ride she had shared with him on Buckbeak. That had been one of the most truly wonderful experiences of her life, despite her hatred of flying. Soaring through the air on Buckbeak whilst clinging to Harry, though, had made the terror much more than worth it. And he hadn’t, apparently, felt the same. He hadn’t asked her to the Yule Ball, so she’d gone with Krum. She hadn’t quite realized at the time that he was only a stand in for Harry – another dark haired, quiet, famous quidditch star that respected her interests and never belittled her. Someone who didn’t seem to care at all about the fame he had, even found it bothersome. There was little else there beyond friendship with Krum, if only because her heart refused to be diverted from Harry, especially after he had ended up taking Parvati to the ball. There was obviously nothing there between them. She had allowed herself to nurse her crush awhile longer, hopeful after the way he looked at her at the ball that he would realize what was right in front of him.
She wondered if he did, but was too scared to do anything about it, much like herself. Whether that was the case or not didn’t seem to matter in 5th year. He had finally gotten together with Cho, as uninspiring as that romance had been. She’d allowed herself to begin to consider others, thinking that Ron – in his good moments – might be worth her time. That hope was soundly and thoroughly dashed in 6th year when he had spurned her invitation to Slughorn’s party in favor of snogging Lavender in the common room. She had resolved then that this thing she was feeling for Ron was over, but seeing him shove her face in his new relationship regularly had stung. It was simply so awful, so disrespectful. He’d had a crush on her, she knew. Yet he acted like that right in front of her, purposely hurting her. She only hoped he matured someday, or else he would die alone. No witch would put up with him acting like that when he supposedly liked them.
But that same year, Harry had fallen for Ginny. The whole thing still baffled Hermione – she had tried to show her own interest by telling him he was fanciable, and while he had been flushed and looked at her differently, he still had made no move to confirm what it was he felt for her. And his feelings for Ginny had seemed to come from nowhere. He’d barely ever spoken to Ginny alone, never shown any recognition of her beyond being his friend’s sister. The whole thing felt like a puzzle for which Hermione didn’t have all the pieces.
So, she had decided then to let the crush (for acknowledging it as more would make it that much harder) pass, she would accept that Harry either didn’t feel that way about her or wouldn’t make a move if he did. But now Ron had left, and she had claimed a spot in his bed, next to him, and she wasn’t nervous about it like she should be. Perhaps she would be tomorrow when they woke – she was fairly certain she would have some kind of crisis. But now, though, she wasn’t worried. She wasn’t nervous. And she knew it wasn’t because she had succeeded in killing off her crush and now felt no mor than sisterly affection for him. No, that certainly wasn’t true. It was simply that this was who they were – they were more comfortable with each other than anyone else, and he needed her to comfort him right now, just as much as she needed him. So she knew that this wasn’t about changing their relationship. This was about surviving. If their relationship changed, she would be thrilled, but she wasn’t in his bed to do that. She was in his bed to make sure neither of them fell apart.
~
Hermione woke the next morning determined not to be the one to make her decision from the previous night awkward. She knew that if she showed even a hint of regret or confusion, Harry would dissolve into awkwardness. So when she woke, slowly squirming and shifting against the light, only to feel the warmth of another body wrapped around hers, she stilled for only a moment as she remembered where she was. Her mind tried to panic, tried to scream at her about what she had been thinking last night, but she forcefully quelled such thoughts. She had sept well, better than she had for ages, and she felt safe despite the situation they were in. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let this become awkward. She wanted to do it again.
“Good morning,” Harry’s voice came out rough and deep with morning sleepiness. Its source was far nearer than she was used to as she extracted her head from its resting place near his shoulder and looked over into his brilliant emerald eyes. He wore an expression that was equal parts content and confused, and she felt a slight smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Harry had not fled in confusion and panic about what this meant for them; he did not appear to regret sharing a bed one bit. He simply looked like a man who wanted answers, and that was fair.
“Good morning,” Hermione responded, forcing her voice to remain steady and natural despite the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach this morning at the sight of his eyes peering down at her in the bed they had shared. Now she was beginning to feel the awkwardness creep up within her more strongly. The panic and sorrow of last night had passed, and her body remembered just how much she liked Harry and how good it felt to be close to him like this. She only hoped she managed not to blush under his gaze.
He cocked a single eyebrow at her in question, not saying anything. She let out a small sigh and dropped her head on his chest, closing her eyes so she could focus on the words she needed to say. “Sorry if this was… well, a bit much. I just… I didn’t want you to be alone last night. After… well, I didn’t want you to feel alone. And… I didn’t want to feel alone either. I’m sorry if it was too much, Harry.”
After a moment’s silence, she cautiously raised her head to peer at him again. He wore a contemplative look, eyes intense and focused on her as he was lost deep in thought. A moment later he seemed to come back to himself and he gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said simply. He then began to shift, pulling the blankets back and exposing them to the cold air of the tent, sending shivers down her spine and causing to (almost) involuntarily curl further into him. Her mind was running far too quickly, fixated on the question of what he was thanking her for, and she wasn’t ready to let him away just yet. She had to know – was he thanking her for apologizing, because he had been uncomfortable or confused, and now had clarity about what last night was? Or was he thanking her for last night?
“Harry?” She asked in a small voice, feeling silly for obsessing about this when they had so much else to worry about. He looked over at her, eyebrows raised as he waited for her question. She cleared her throat once. “What are you thanking me for?” He raised one eyebrow higher in apparent question, as if his thank you had been perfectly self-explanatory. “I mean, are you saying thank you for my apology… or for sleeping here last night?”
A light blush rose on his own cheeks as he glanced away, looking at the canvas wall of the tent as if it might hold the answers. He quickly looked back at her and said, “Both, I suppose.”
“…Oh,” was all she could manage. Suddenly the bed felt slightly claustrophobic. “You’re welcome,” she hastened to add, trying to sound natural and unconcerned. Quickly she helped him pull the blanket the rest of the way off of them as she scrambled to get out of bed. He was thankful that she’d shared his bed, AND thankful that she’d apologized for it? How was she supposed to take that? Still, she reminded herself, she didn’t want this to be awkward. Couldn’t let it be. So she forced herself to stick strictly to the routine they had established. “I’ll see what we have for breakfast if you want to start packing things up?” She called to him over her shoulder as she made her way to the kitchen at what she hoped was a perfectly normal pace.
“Sounds good,” he called back. As she stood in the kitchen looking at their meager food stores, trying to determine something that would count as an adequate breakfast, she heard him rustling around in the main room behind her. The now-familiar sound of books being stacked up and packed away, rubbish being tidied up, furniture and other items being charmed to the floor so that they didn’t move around when the tent was magically shrunk and stuck in her bag, filled the room. She frowned at their food – they truly had very little. They tried to forage what they could, and Hermione sometimes got hungry enough that she hallucinated that she had learned to make the mushrooms they dug up taste appetizing. However, the reality of this morning was that they had only tea left. The cabinets were empty beyond that. Sighing deeply, she put the kettle on and charmed it to fill with water and boil before she added the breakfast tea leaves and let it simmer. It wasn’t much, but it was something. They would have to do something about this, today, before they settled down somewhere else.
“We’re ready to go,” Harry announced as he walked into the kitchen and took a seat at the small table. “What’s for breakfast?”
Hermione grimaced at him as she turned. “Tea, unfortunately. We’ll have to do something about this, Harry. We can’t keep foraging – neither of us really knew what we were looking for before, and now the cold’s come… there’s simply not enough that we know how to scrounge up.”
Harry frowned, looking down at the table in thought. She knew he wasn’t mad at her; after all, it wasn’t her fault the food stores were empty. He knew no more about foraging than she did. But the situation was no easier for that knowledge.
“We’ll have to use the cloak,” he said quietly, refusing to look at her. He knew how she felt about the idea of stealing from muggle markets.
She sighed, crossing her arms. “We can’t use the cloak, Harry. We can’t steal from muggles who’ve done nothing wrong.”
“We can’t afford to starve, either,” he pointed out neutrally. His voice wasn’t confrontational or angry; he was simply posing the other side of the argument, stating a simple fact that required attention.
Hermione turned back to the kettle, pouring out two large cups of breakfast tea and bringing them to the table. She set one down in front of Harry quietly while she sat across from him, staring at the tea before her in thought. Harry was right, of course. That had been her point originally – they couldn’t go on as they were without risking starvation. Even if they didn’t starve to death, the lack of food was already leaving them weaker than they ought to be. They would never make it to the end of the war as half-starved shells of their former selves. But she felt it was a deep moral wrong to steal from any shop, let alone a muggle shop. They had no part in this conflict; it simply wouldn’t be fair for them to have to suffer for it.
“What about Dobby?” she asked hesitantly, watching his expression carefully. He appeared surprised.
“What about Dobby?” he asked neutrally, looking at her with curious eyes. She sighed.
“Well, if he still answers when you call, maybe he could get what we need for us? Take some food from the Hogwarts kitchens or pop to a shop somewhere?”
Harry considered her words for a moment. “Are you sure you want him knowing where we are?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought you trusted him?”
He cocked one eyebrow back at her. “We trust the Order, too, but we don’t tell them where we are.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, that’s true.” Those were their options then. They could let Dobby in on the secret – or they could steal from a muggle market. Obviously, Dobby was the morally better option. He could go to a market and pay for food, possibly even taking the money from Harry’s vault, or he could take some food from Hogwarts – the castle had so much she wouldn’t feel bad about it, especially with it now under the control of Snape. But it would be a security risk. She didn’t believe Dobby would reveal their location to anyone willingly, but could he protect his mind? What if he were interrogated for any reason?
She shook her head. The one thing they knew for certain about house elves was that most witches and wizards ignored their existence and value unless they needed something. No one would think they had valuable information. Plus, Dobby was a free elf, not Harry’s elf. How many people even knew about the bond of friendship the two shared?
“I think we should trust Dobby,” she finally responded. Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “People won’t question an elf, Harry, you know what the rest of the wizarding world thinks of them. It would never even occur to people that he might be helping you. Besides, we can make sure to only contact him on days we’re going to move, so that after he brings us food we’ll be moving to someplace else anyway.”
Harry’s eyes drifted from her face over to the canvas wall of the tent as he mulled her idea over, swirling the remaining tea around in his cup before he downed what was left. He sat in quiet contemplation for several moments before he spoke again.
“Would we ask him to take the food from Hogwarts, or go to a market for us?” Harry finally asked.
Hermione felt a slight thrill that he seemed to be agreeing. The thought of an actual meal made her stomach grumble fiercely. “I think we should ask him if he might be able to access your vault, Harry. If he can, he could take the gold he needs to go to a market. If not, then we can see if he would be able to bring us some food from the Hogwarts kitchens. But if he can go to the market, we could get more at once, and hopefully not have to call him as often.”
Harry nodded slowly as he listened. “Alright, I can try and call him. Are you ready?” She nodded, clutching her teacup tighter. “Dobby!” Harry called. A soft pop sounded as the little elf appeared in their tent, next to the table, staring up at Harry with big eyes.
“Great Harry Potter sir! You called for Dobby?” Harry smiled at the little creature, and Hermione’s heart warmed. He may not have agreed with her on S.P.E.W. – a fact which she still found difficult to understand – but he was always kind to elves, especially Dobby.
“Yes, Dobby. Do you think you could access my vault at Gringotts?” Harry asked hopefully. Dobby’s face fell, and Hermione’s hope went with it. They still had another option, she reminded herself.
“Dobby is not a Potter elf, so Dobby cannot be going to Great Harry Potter’s Gringott’s vault. It is forbidden for elves to go to vaults that don’t belong to their families, sir.” Dobby’s squeaky voice was laced with genuine sorrow.
“Oh, well thank you anyway, Dobby. Do you think you might be able to take some food for us from Hogwarts?” Harry asked. Dobby’s face fell further, and Hermione’s heart felt like it was crashing through the floor.
“Dobby no longer works at Hogwarts, Great Harry Potter sir. Dobby did not want to work for Headmaster Snape, so he works in Hogsmeade now. Perhaps Dobby could bring food from his new workplace?” Dobby’s voice turned hopeful at the end, but Harry responded cautiously.
“Where do you work now, Dobby?”
Dobby’s face brightened considerably as he spoke with obvious enthusiasm about his new employer. “Dobby works at the Hogs Head, Great Harry Potter sir! Dobby works for Mr. Aberforth!”
Hermione frowned. “Does he pay you?” she asked, cutting into the conversation for the first time.
Dobby nodded enthusiastically, his large ears flapping comically as he did. “Oh yes! Dobby is paid 1 Galleon a month, just as he was at Hogwarts, Miss! Dobby explained that Headmaster Dumbledore had paid Dobby, and Mr. Aberforth promised to honor his brother’s agreement.”
Hermione gasped as Harry frowned. “Wait,” Harry said. “The Hog’s Head is run by Dumbledore’s brother?”
Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes! Mr. Aberforth sometimes says unkind things about Mr. Albus, but Mr. Aberforth offered to keeping paying Dobby, and he treats Dobby very well, sir. He helps the students at Hogwarts, sir.” Harry glanced over at Hermione, a million questions burning behind his eyes. She felt exactly the same – Dobby was clearly a very important source of information, and they would have a lot to ask him – another time. Her rumbling stomach reminded her that they had more pressing questions than why the students of Hogwarts needed help or what Aberforth was doing for them.
“Dobby,” Hermione began, drawing those big bulbous eyes back to her. “Do you think you could bring us some food from the Hog’s Head? Enough to last us a few days, and without telling Aberforth?”
Dobby’s expression morphed from elated when she asked for help to extremely nervous and worried when she added her condition. “Dobby is sorry, Miss Hermione, but Dobby is not sure he could take food without telling Mr. Aberforth. Mr. Aberforth is very good to Dobby, and he could not steal from him.” The little elf trembled before them, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of how the Malfoys used to treat him. Even knowing they were his friends, Dobby could not help but tremble with fear at what they might do to him because he could not fulfill their request.
“It’s alright, Dobby, thank you. We don’t want you to have to steal, but we simply can’t let anyone know where we are right now. It’s too dangerous. Please make sure you don’t say anything about us to anyone, alright?” Hermione tried to soothe the little elf and make him understand that it was okay, that it wasn’t his fault. He nodded slowly, still looking distraught and wringing his hands in front of himself.
“Great Harry Potter sir and Miss Hermione are in danger?” He asked tentatively.
Harry sighed. “Yeah, Dobby, a bit. Not right now, but there are people looking for us, people who will hurt others to find us. We can’t let anyone know where we are. It was a big risk calling for you, but we’ll be moving today, so you couldn’t tell anyone where we are by tonight anyway.”
Dobby looked aghast at the news, grabbing his ears and tugging on them slightly in a way that made Hermine want to reach out and gather the little creature into a hug. Dobby closed his eyes tightly, his face a grimace of pain, before he released his ears and looked back at Harry.
“Dobby could become a Potter elf and go to Gringotts for you. Dobby can bring food whenever you be needing it then.” Hermione felt like her heart stopped in her chest for a moment at the words. Dobby had always been fiercely proud of being a free elf, and now he wanted to bond to Harry? Surely not? She glanced over at Harry to find him looking deeply conflicted. He glanced at her and sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re a free elf, Dobby, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Harry responded a moment later.
“Dobby is a free elf because of Great Harry Potter, sir. Dobby would be proud to be a Potter elf. Harry Potter is a truly great wizard. And Dobby knows Great Harry Potter would always be fair with him.” Dobby argued back, shaking his head slightly. His resolution to become a Potter elf seemed to grow with each word.
Harry looked down at the elf for several long moments in quiet contemplation. Hermione felt herself going mad. Surely not. He couldn’t be considering this. He—
“What would be involved, Dobby?” Harry asked, and Hermione’s jaw dropped.
“Harry, you can’t! Dobby is free, you can’t make him a slave!” Hermione couldn’t contain her outburst.
Harry didn’t look at her when he continued speaking, and she felt her frustration rising but she sat back and crossed her arms in front of her. “Would you still be able to work for Mr. Aberforth, Dobby? Could you pay yourself an extra Galleon a week out of my vault? I would never want you to be a slave, and I would give you clothes after all this is over if that’s what you want.” Hermione felt slightly silly now, sitting there stewing in her anger at Harry while he was being far more reasonable about this than she’d given him credit for. She still didn’t like the idea, not one bit, but if Harry paid Dobby and let him do as he liked, let him go free after the war… well, maybe this wasn’t the worst possibility they could’ve come up with.
Dobby nodded. “Dobby could still work for Mr. Aberforth, sir, Dobby doesn’t have to tell anyone he is a Potter elf. Gringotts magic will allow Dobby into the Potter vault once he is bonded to Great Harry Potter sir. Dobby doesn’t need to tell anyone, sir.” Hermione noticed that Dobby didn’t say anything about clothes after the war, and her eyes narrowed slightly but she held her tongue. Dobby was making a free choice, helping them, and she was extremely grateful for it. There would be time enough to berate Harry and Dobby into freeing Dobby after the war.
Harry sighed and looked over at her with an eyebrow raised. She realized with a start that he was looking to her for confirmation. On taking an elf into bondage. She felt slightly sick to her stomach at the notion that she was about to agree to this, but she was slightly reassured that Harry valued her opinion enough to leave it up to her. Reluctantly, she gave a single, forced nod. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
“Alright, Dobby, how does this work?” Dobby beamed up at him with such enthusiasm that Hermione almost felt bad for feeling bad about this whole thing. Dobby was obviously getting what he wanted, and wasn’t that the point of freedom? But what he was getting would also force him to be a slave, even if Harry paid him… the situation was making her head hurt, so she determined to simply shove it to the back of her mind for a moment. They would soon have food, and everything else that needed to be worried about could come after that.
A short while later, Harry had his hand on top of Dobby’s head, pushing just a little bit of magic into the little elf as Dobby closed his eyes and concentrated hard. It made Hermione feel slightly better that the bonding process required the active acceptance of the elf – free elves couldn’t simply be forced into service. Now if she could only find a way to free more elves… Not long after that, Dobby popped away, leaving them in quiet silence again.
Harry broke the silence after several minutes. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said quietly, not looking at her. She started slightly at the sound of his voice, having been deep in thought. She looked over at him curiously.
“For what, Harry?” she asked, somewhat confused.
He looked over at her, confusion showing in his own eyes. “For bonding Dobby. I know you’re against all that. I really will pay him and make sure he isn’t forced to do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“And free him after the war,” Hermione added pointedly. Harry grinned.
“That too,” he added.
Hermione sighed. “It’s alright, Harry. I know why you did it, and I know you would never mistreat Dobby. I agreed to it too, anyway. And he does seem like he’ll be extremely helpful.” Harry nodded, and they lapsed into comfortable silence. The slight awkwardness Hermione had been feeling all morning seemed as if it had completely dissolved.
Minutes later, Dobby reappeared with a slight pop, and with a snap of his fingers a bag appeared on the table in front of them. Opening it quickly, Hermione found all sorts of food – noodles for pasta, loaves of bread, various cuts of meat and fish, potatoes, onions, carrots. It was a veritable bounty of fresh ingredients – it would last the two of them far more than a few days, if they could keep it all fresh. They hadn’t truly been prepared to leave Grimmauld Place in such a rush, so Hermione had to look around the kitchen to see if it had a stasis cabinet, not having done so before as they’d had nothing that needed to be stored in one. When she finally identified the cabinet with the tell-tale rune on the front, she slid the bag of food into it, ensuring it would remain exactly as it was now until it was removed again, preserving the food in perfect freshness.
She thought about making something immediately – her stomach rumbled at her insistently, trying to push her to give into the thought. But just the idea of Dobby knowing where they were at the moment was making her more uncomfortable with every moment that passed. Obviously Dobby hadn’t told anyone. Obviously he wouldn’t. Nobody would even know he was a Potter elf – he had confirmed that he didn’t even need to check in with the Goblins when taking money from Harry’s vault. The fact that he was bonded to Harry’s magic would allow him to bypass the wards and pop into the vault as he was a family elf. Yet she couldn’t stop the creeping feeling of dread making its way up her spine, telling her that it was dangerous for anyone to know where they were. Ron was still out there as well. What if the idiot had gone and gotten himself caught? What if he were being interrogated right now? He knew where they were, even if he would never willingly give them up he could be tortured. He could be legilimensed. They needed to move, now.
Hermione returned to the table, standing in front of it while Harry and Dobby chatted quietly. Noticing her, Harry stopped talking and looked over at her, a question in his eyes. Her expression told him everything he needed to know. Turning back to Dobby, he thanked the small elf profusely, making the elf cry and the graciousness of his new master. Harry very firmly explained that he never wanted to be called master, and that as far as he was concerned, the bond changed nothing except making Dobby an official part of his family. After dealing with a few moments of Dobby sobbing tears of joy and clinging to Harry’s leg like it was a lifeline, Harry politely asked Dobby if he would return to the Hogs Head so as not to raise any suspicions, reassuring him that they would call for him whenever they needed him.
Dobby disappeared with a soft pop and Harry and Hermione immediately began their final preparations. She double checked everything while Harry double checked their bags. Then Harry tripled checked what she had checked while she went through the contents of her beaded bag. Satisfied they had everything, they both stepped outside and went about taking down the tent, shrinking it and stuffing it into the bottom of her bag. Hermione took a deep breath, looking around at their campsite. She wasn’t sure she’d ever had more mixed emotions about a place than this. On the one hand, Ron’s leaving had made it one of her most hated places, filled with the memory of betrayal and heartbreak. But on the other, standing here with Harry now, after sharing his bed last night and with Dobby now on their side, she felt renewed in a way she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Like things had been reset, and they had hope and they had each other in a way that hadn’t been quite true before.
She couldn’t be sure if she were imagining it or not, but she thought things had felt slightly different with Harry since waking up. Their bond was as strong as it had ever been, and they had been communicating all day with few words involved. They weren’t needed; they simply understood one another. She still didn’t know what to make of his dual thanks that morning, but it seemed less significant now. Something felt like it had changed, and she welcomed it. They were in sync again, and they had food, they had an ally, and they had hope. Everything would be fine.
*CRACK*
~
Hermione whirled around at the sound of apparition, eyes wide and wand in hand as she searched for danger and searched for Harry. They’d agreed to go around the perimeter of their camp site opposite each other, taking down the wards. This was always her least favorite part, the most dangerous part, but now it seemed they had been found. Somebody had appeared, and she needed to protect them from whoever it was, grab Harry, and apparate away somewhere safe where they could re-ward.
Her eyes quickly locked onto Harry’s mess of black hair as he whirled around, his own wand in hand as he searched for her as well. She rushed over to him just as he started running towards her, and they met in the middle, right where their tent used to stand. They’d only gotten halfway through taking down the wards. The remainder would fall quite quickly without the stability of the circular formation they had been in, but there was no time to worry about that now. She reached out and grasped his hand tightly eyes still scanning the horizon as she tried desperately to calm her mind enough to focus on somewhere, anywhere, to apparate away from here.
“Hermione!” came a shockingly familiar voice. She felt her blood freeze in her veins and her heart stopped. “Harry!” the voice called again, coming closer. She narrowed her eyes as she looked out, and suddenly she could see a large figure approaching through the trees with a shock of red hair. Her stomach twisted in horrible, uncomfortable knots and anger rose in her with shocking speed. Her terrified expression suddenly became a snarl as she whirled to face the approaching figure and raised her wand defensively in front of her. She could feel Harry go tense next to her, though he didn’t react with the same anger she did.
A small part of her knew that he would be hoping for that outcome. He didn’t want his friend to have abandoned them. He didn’t want to feel responsible for their friend abandoning them. And he doubtless would want to hear any news Ron may have found in the last 24 hours that he had been gone. But she felt a fierce, protective instinct rise in her. She made a firm decision as she watched Ron approach – he would have to throw himself on his knees and beg for forgiveness before she could even consider letting him come back.
Ron jogged up to them, finally coming to a stop and huffing out great breaths a few feet in front of them, bending over to put his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He glanced up at them and smiled uncertainly, eyes locked on the way their wands were both pointing at him defensively.
“Hey guys! Er… sorry I left,” he said lamely, keeping a forced grin on his face as he eyed their wands with obvious concern.
Hermione was still quietly seething at him… if this was him. Moody’s paranoid habit of asking Polyjuice questions sprang to mind, and she addressed Ron with a harsh voice.
“Why was I in the bathroom when the troll found me on Halloween in first year?” Ron’s fragile, forced smile collapsed into a grimace as he stared at her with something like betrayal in his eyes. Her own narrowed in response.
Ron finally sighed. “You were upset, you were crying and wanted to be alone.”
Hermione took half a step closer, nearly jabbing her wand into his chest. She never let go of Harry’s hand, so he took a step closer with her. “And why was I crying? What was I upset about?”
“Merlin, Hermione, do we have to relitigate this now?” Ron whined.
“Answer the question,” she responded coldly.
He let out a great huff and put his hands on his hips. “Fine. You were upset because I was a git when you were trying to help me.”
“More specifically?” she practically growled at him.
“Really, Hermione!?” Ron said in exasperation.
“Yes! Now answer her!” Harry responded angrily. Hermione felt him tighten his hold on her hand slightly and her own emotions steadied. She couldn’t believe how relieved she was that Harry actually seemed angry at Ron as well. She’d been so worried when he appeared that Harry would simply take him back like he had in 4th year.
Ron looked at Harry with open betrayal, the pain evident in his eyes. Harry refused to back down, and finally Ron seemed to deflate with a massive sigh, running a hand over his face before answering in a small, embarrassed voice. “You were just trying to help me do a charm right – wingardium leviosa. And I made fun of you and I said it’s no wonder you don’t have any friends. Specific enough?” Ron glared at them then, clearly hurt an embarrassed by having to relive that memory now.
“You were wrong, Ronald.” Hermione responded with a dangerously even voice. “I had one friend then. The same one I have now.”
Ron’s face darkened. “You’ve got at least two, Hermione,” he said defensively.
“That’s what I thought as well. You know how I hate being wrong,” she spat back.
“So what, that’s it? I leave for a day and we’re not friends anymore?” Ron responded angrily, scowling at them, taking particular note of where they held each other’s hands.
“Friends don’t abandon each other during a war, Ronald.” Hermione said acidly, face scrunched into an angry snarl.
“I came back, didn’t I?” Ron responded hotly, voice rising as his temper flared and his ears began to redden.
“And what if we’d been dead, Ron? What if we’d already been gone? We were just about to move when you showed up! And what if you’d been captured, Ron? What if they’d taken you to You-Know-Who and used legilmency to learn everything you knew? You put us at risk, Ron, you put our lives at risk! For what! Because you were cold and hungry and jealous? It was pathetic, Ron, and you don’t just get to come back with a weak ‘I’m sorry’ and pretend it’s all fine now!” Hermione’s voice rose as she spoke, and before she knew it she was bellowing at him in unrestrained anger, her volume fueled by much more than the anger of the previous night.
“What do you want from me then? You want me to fall on my knees and beg you to let me tag along on your little love fest? You think I don’t see you holding hands even now? You tried to deny last night that you choose him, but I saw it, I saw it every day, and you’re not even trying to hide it now! I thought we had something!” Ron roared, and Hermione couldn’t help the hollow laugh that escaped her throat at that. Ron’s face turned tomato red in anger as she laughed at him, but she couldn’t help it. The utter and complete absurdity of the situation felt like it was breaking her.
“That’s what you think this about Ron? You think I just wanted more time alone with Harry? Are you mental? We’re fighting a war for our survival! We can’t just go home like you, as you so kindly pointed out before you left. My parents are gone, so that they would be safe, and Harry’s only family is us. Is me, since you left us. And if we lose, we’ll both be killed – me for being a mudblood, and him for being Harry Potter. We can’t just go home. I wasn’t choosing him over you, Ron, I was choosing the war, choosing my survival over a life in hiding. I refuse to be Anne Frank, living in your attic with the ghoul whenever the Death Eaters come knocking after you threw away our only chance of winning this war over some fit of childish pique.” She saw confusion flash across Ron’s face at the mention of Anne Frank – he’d clearly never heard of her. But it was just a momentary flicker of confusion amidst the anger and embarrassment and shame that were raging for control of his features. Hermione determined not to let up; he had far too much to answer for.
“And for the record, Ronald, I would choose Harry over you any time because he is actually kind to me. He listens without telling me I’m insufferable, he doesn’t call my desire to learn mental, he doesn’t think the only things that matter in this world are Quidditch and eating, and he doesn’t abandon me when I need him! Not to mention he doesn’t go out of his way to hurt me! If there was every anything between us, Ronald, which I’m starting to really doubt, it was destroyed the moment you stuck your tongue down Lavender’s throat! I asked you to Slughorn’s party and you did that? Are you a child!?”
Ron’s eyes went wide with shock before he recovered and lapsed back into anger, letting loose his own tirade. “You didn’t ask me as a date, you asked me as a friend! I was just your idiot tagalong, not good enough to get into your fancy slug club for stuck-up gits. You think I don’t know you were just taking pity on me? I was a free man, not your boyfriend! And besides, you’d gone and snogged Krum, and Harry had snogged Cho, it wasn’t a crime for me to snog Lavender!”
Hermione took a step back in shock, eyes wide. A moment later she was shaking her head sadly. “We’re not doing this, Ronald. Not now. It’s done, it’s over. I don’t know who told you I snogged Krum, but they lied. I was only ever friends with him, and even if I wasn’t, it’s a pretty awful thing to do to hurt someone you supposedly have a crush on. There’s nothing between us. There hasn’t been since the first moment you were with Lavender, and there never will be. After yesterday, you’re not even my friend anymore. Frankly, I should obliviate you before sending you home just so you’re less of a threat to our mission.”
Harry glanced over at her, their eyes connecting briefly as she looked at him for confirmation. His eyes were full of pain, but they weren’t begging her to stop and reconsider. It was the pain of an old and treasured friendship ending, not the pain of betrayal. He gave her the slightest nod, letting her know that he would go along with that if she wanted to. She returned the nod before turning her attention back to Ron.
“I bet you would, you just love obliviating people, don’t you?” Ron asked angrily, stepping forward aggressively. Before he could approach any further Harry took a step forward and roughly shoved him back by the shoulder, eyes hard as he stared him down.
“That was uncalled for,” he said, voice dangerously low.
Ron glared at him defiantly. “I’m not wrong though, am I? Anything to keep herself safe. Of course she’d obliviate me, she obliviated her own parents! And I apparently don’t even rate a friend anymore!” Ron’s anger drove his volume up again as he practically shouted at Harry, though he shot a pointed glare over his shoulder at Hermione.
Harry turned back towards her then, pointedly turning his back to Ron as he looked down at her. She could feel the beginning of tears in her eyes again, and Harry’s own emerald eyes were full of sympathy as he stared down at her and offered his hand again. “Let’s go,” he said quietly. “He’s not worth this.” Hermione merely nodded, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. She placed her hand gently in his.
“So that’s it then? You’re just going to leave?” Ron asked angrily from behind them. Harry didn’t turn, he didn’t let his eyes flick away from hers for even a moment.
“Yes, Ron. We’ll let you keep your memory – for now. If anyone finds us, if we survive it, we’ll hunt you down and make sure you don’t remember anything about us. Stay home. Stay safe. Stay out of the way. This is a war, Ron, we don’t have time for you to grow up. When this is all over, maybe we’ll see what’s left to salvage.” Harry’s voice was flat as he spoke, and Hermione could see the anguish on Ron’s face from over Harry’s shoulder. He seemed to only now be realizing that the fight hadn’t been a prelude to some sort of truce or reconciliation. It was only settling in now that this was happening, that he was being rejected. They would move on without him, all because of him. Because he chose to walk away, and they couldn’t, wouldn’t, trust him to come back and actually stay. Wouldn’t accept his half-assed apology. Wouldn’t accept him.
He swallowed hard. He stared at Harry’s back with tears forming in his eyes as Hermione watched the emotions flicker across his face. Anger, sorrow, depression, guilt, embarrassment, terror. He seemed to be experiencing the same maelstrom that had consumed her and Harry last night, and though part of her was savagely glad of his karmic justice, she still felt a lump forming in her throat and a weight in the pit of her stomach. For all his many faults, he had been with them through a lot. She quietly, silently hoped that Harry was right, and that when all this was over, they could see what was left and there would be something there. He wasn’t a bad person, truly. He just needed to grow up, and they simply didn’t have time for him to do that now. Not during a war.
“Keep each other safe,” was all Ron managed to choke out, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. Hermione locked eyes with him and nodded once.
“Always,” Harry responded, still not taking his eyes off her face. She refocused on him and gave him a nod, and with another crack they were gone.