Hello, everyone! Hope you all had a lovely week. Enjoy.

Harry leaned back into the chair and kicked his legs up on to the edge of the table. This, of course, immediately elicited an exaggerated roll of the eyes from Hermione. She sat, with exquisite poise and posture, in a matching chair across the length of the old wood. Both existed in a state of haphazard dress, as if neither could be bothered to put more than a base effort into reestablishing a sense of propriety between them again.

It, like most of their interactions, had been a silent agreement to put some physical space in between themselves. They both knew that their previous conversation hadn't been an adequate appraisal of their present situation. So, in an effort to stymie the incessant flow of sexual chemistry that seemed to be oozing from both of them, they'd gone to the table. It was proving a marginally effective dam, but Harry could definitely feel a few holes beginning to form with each shift of the blanket Hermione had wrapped around herself.

Tea was not an appropriate beverage for this particular conversation and Harry had spent a moment or two digging through the bag he'd packed before coming up with a bottle of Polish vodka. If they were going to have a hard discussion, it seemed only fitting they consume some hard liquor. Perhaps they could try to harness some of the liquid's clarity for their own use.

"Cups? Or shall we drink like heathens?"

"Heathens." Her smile set him ablaze and Harry wondered at the foolishness that had made him think it would be a good idea to leave a bed he'd occupied with this woman just a few minutes prior. Hermione grabbed the bottle, popped the corked top off with a twist of her wrist and pressed the frosted glass to her lips, drinking deep. If his blood hadn't been so hot for her, Harry would have had a much harder time not chuckling when the effect of the vodka splashing across the back of her throat made Hermione couch and splutter, shaking her head and sliding the bottle across the table with a pained expression.

"Want a mixer? I could apparate to the Co-Op and get some juice for you."

"Oh, just shut up and drink, Harry."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't 'yes, ma'am' me. You make me sound like a tyrant." A swig, a grimace, and a subsequent smirk.

"Yes, ma'am." If she kept rolling her eyes like that, she was going to begin looking apoplectic, thought Harry.

The two of them drank for a time, both struggling to begin the conversation they knew they would have to have. As they'd risen from the bed moments before, the sun had been shining through the canvas of the tent. It seemed that the presence of daylight had been as disconcerting for Hermione as it had been for Harry and so an illusion had been cast over the clearing, rendering the appearance of a perpetual starry night. The magic was similar to that which gave the ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts its famous skyscape, but much less complex as it was largely a fixed image, unchanging with the exception of occasional illusory cloud cover. The two had sighed in release, almost in tandem, when the tent had been submerged in darkness again.

After what must have been Harry's fourth drink from the bottle, a small noise from across the table snapped his attention back to the present. Hermione cradled her forehead in the palms of her hands, her elbows resting upon the wooden table top. She shook her head and waved him off as Harry began to get up to comfort her.

"Don't. I'm not crying, Harry."

"I…" Harry unsuccessfully practiced his eloquence.

"How'd we get here? How did we let it get to this point?" A shrug.

"Much like any couple of teenagers stuck in a situation they can't see their way out of, I suppose."

"Yes, but Harry, at the risk of sounding horribly stuck-up…"

"We weren't just 'a couple of teenagers'?" Her face constructed an affirmation. Harry settled back into his chair, swigging at the bottle for the fifth time. This wasn't the conversation he'd been readying himself for, but perhaps that was for the best.

"I can't tell you why you stayed with Ron." Hermione snorted. It was delicate, cute almost, but still decidedly a snort.

"I loved him. In a way, I really did."

"Same."

"With Gin?"

"Yeah. I was quite fond of her once."

"I know. I was horribly jealous." Harry threw an incredulously look Hermione's way which was surprisingly met with stone-cold seriousness. "I mean it."

"Then why not say something?"

"Really? Like it would have been that easy? Just walk up and tell you that I hated the way she looked at you? That it made my skin crawl to see you touch her?" She was shivering slightly now, deep in the memories.

"'Mione…"

"For the past two years, Harry, every time I watched you kiss her I felt a small part of me die inside." Harry's fist slammed into the table, shaking the bottle and the assorted candles. Hearing those words come out of her mouth after the past few hours together proved too much for Harry to bear. He wondered for a moment if they might both be too emotionally raw for this conversation right now. Embarrassment and frustration welled up inside him. The idea that, even ignorant to it, he'd caused Hermione that type of pain drove him to madness. He sighed and shook his head, releasing his clenched fingers and some of the pent-up angst and took another long drink. To her credit, Hermione didn't looked surprised at his outburst. The look she fixed him with was soaked in regret and it sent home just how useless any possible response of his would be. There was nothing either of them could do about the past few years now. 'This is about moving forward.' Harry reminded himself.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." The smile was sad, but genuine. It was a smile that reeked of hope, but was born in pain.

"It's worth quite a lot, Harry. Quite a lot." Hermione extended an empty hand across the table, and he slid the bottle her way. She drank without coughing this time, tilting the bottle twice before resting once more on the table. "It's more than just us, though."

"More than what?" She shook her head, pausing to select the right words before continuing.

"I need you, Harry. I need you like this. I always have, I think." Hermione stood up, moved around the circular table and settled down on Harry lap. "But it is more than that. We… we made the wrong choice after the war ended."

"I know. I've been thinking about that a lot lately."

"And?" She looked ready to weigh her conclusions against his and the knowledge of that impending judgment gave Harry a momentary pause.

"We were kids. Young and naïve. The war was a terrible thing, so very terrible. Everything about the war was terrible. Once it was over we could go about doing the things that mad happy successful people happy and successful." Judgement stalled out for a moment in favor of curiosity. Hermione had turned in his arms so that she could look directly at him and had her head cocked ever so slightly to the side in rapt attention. "That's what everyone around us thought for us. The crushing weight of their goodwill made it impossible for us to make our own decisions after The Battle."

"We were drowned in milk and honey." Their eyes met and Harry knew instantaneously that she felt the same way. She snatched the bottle from the table and pressed up to his lips, tilting it and his head backwards. Harry opened his mouth and reveled in the feeling of her laughter on his chest as vodka dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. He swallowed as she brought the mouth of the bottle to her own and sipped slightly. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"It never occurred to me that I was living someone else's dream."

"So what, pray tell, Mister Potter, is your dream? What is it that you want?" Harry smirked and fished mischievously inside the blanket for some bare flesh.

"Besides this?"

"Well obviously."

"I don't know." Harry answered honestly. "Acknowledging that this," He motioned outward, implying his life beyond the confines of their clearing. "is not it, is about as far as I've gotten." His left arm held onto Hermione, keeping her steady on his lap, while the other spun the vodka bottle on the table in an absent gesture.

"I miss the fear." She said it without an ounce of hesitance.

"How is that possible?"

"You do, too." Silence. "You also probably miss being 'Harry Potter'." If silence could get more silent, Harry made an attempt at it. Hermione tussled his hair gently, the gesture came across more comforting than playful.

"I…"

"I also miss being important, Harry. It's not just you." Hermione took a deep breath before continuing. "I was your ''Mione'." A wetness welled in the corners of her hazel eyes. "That was something I didn't know I'd needed so badly until I didn't have it any longer. The feeling that it was you and me against the world. I was yours and you were mine and that was all we needed."

Harry wrapped both arms around her, pulling Hermione in close and placing delicate kisses across her forehead.

"The fear gave us purpose, Harry. It made us rise to greater challenges and meet them with greater conviction than anything we've done from that point forward." The words were whispered, but the delivery was strong and steady. "That's who we were and it's who we are supposed to be now. Somewhere along the way..."

"We lost sight of it." Harry's mouth found the exposed skin at Hermione's collarbone and pressed his lips to the pale softness. Hermione's hands found their way to his hair once again and Harry could feel her rest her head against the top of his. He drank deeply in the scent of her before pressing onward.

"Okay, so how? Short of resurrecting Riddle, how do we get back to that place, 'Mione?" She retreated from him just far enough to catch his eyes again.

"That's it? You're not going to fight me on this lunacy?" Harry fought off the urge to shrug his shoulders for what felt like the thousandth time since he'd started thinking about this topic.

"It's like you said. I could continue to lie to myself and deny that I miss those things, but what's the point? Trudging forward with a life that has me feeling like a caged animal?" Harry planted a chaste kiss on Hermione's coral lips. "No… I think not. I believe I'm finally ready to start accepting hard truths again." Her expression was a mixture of desperate happiness and deep arousal upon hearing his confession. Feminine hips pivoted and slid against his, slender legs wrapping around Harry and the back of the chair he sat in.

"Well, my dear Mister Potter, if we want to make an omelet, we're going to need to break a few eggs."

Until next time, friends. 3

- Hush