'Babylon's Sister' is a story written alongside another story of mine, Babylon. Both follow the same storyline but Babylon is Harry's Point Of View, Babylon's Sister is Hermione's. U could read both or just one, it doesn't matter – is just an experiment to try something a little different.

Author's note:

(I'm not a fan of long author's notes so I'm sorry to keep doing this to u!)

I'm just posting one more (shorter) chapter now to show how the story is going to develop, but I'll post the rest when the story's fully finished (I've learnt I get a bit sidetracked if I write as I go..)

I have quite a few chapters already – the story is kinda epic and goes on past The Epilogue (ugh, which I hate but is my challenge to myself) to when …they eventually get together. But just please let me know what u think of this chapter because the rest of the story will be kinda similar in style and pace.

Thanks for your comments I really appreciate u taking the time to review J

Chapter Two

Looking back through time

You know it's clear that I've been blind

I've been a fool.

To open up my heart

To all that jealousy

That bitterness, that ridicule.

The next day, things are as normal as they ever were.

I feel like I could have dreamt it all.

But I know it was real, because just before daybreak I go for a walk to find a place that suits Moody in which to bury the magical eye. After placing it under an old gnarled tree, I wrap our blanket tighter around me and walk past the spot we were last night.

I linger there on the way back, tracing my memories by following the scattered and trampled leaves.

When I duck back into the tent she's awake, and in the shower. I make tea, acutely aware of the sound of the running water from the bathroom. When she gets out she's drying her hair with a towel but we don't talk or look at each other until after she wakes up Ron.

We start talking then and it's not as strange as I thought it might be. Hermione and I decide to move on, to be safe. There are no looks, no secret messages passed between our eyes, just the same easy way we've always worked together.

But I think of our spot in the woods and I wonder if we're leaving to run away from that too.

I still feel like I could have dreamt it all.

Though I don't think she regrets it. I don't know how I know that, I just do.

The next few days are strange. It's ridiculously normal between us. There are just a few things that happen that remind me that a subtle shift in the dynamic between the three of us has occurred.

First of all, at our very next campsite I go for food under the Invisibility Cloak and I encounter some Dementors. I try and conjure my Patronus and I can't. It scares me more than anything that's happened for months now.

When I get back to the tent, Hermione points out that the Horcrux around my neck could've been what affected me. I take it off and I do feel instantly lighter, though I don't tell her that she was the thought I'd conjured to bring out my Patronus. It wasn't that the thought wasn't happy enough; it just sort of took me by surprise that it was of her, and her alone. I look up from the armchair I'm in and she crouches down in front of me.

Her face looks hurt all of a sudden and I'm puzzled. Then she asks if I think I've been possessed.

I frown and snap my reply at her, not thinking.

"What? No!" I'm offended, and then I realise what she's getting at. I work hard at keeping my face expressionless, sensing Ron watching us closely. She's not doing such a great job at doing the same but her face isn't visible to Ron. Her features betray her mind, which is clearly starting down the thought path that the other night was due entirely to me wearing the Horcrux. I choose my reply very carefully.

"I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it."

Her eyes register something like shock and I wonder if she can tell how much I've been going over the other night in my head. I risk a glance to Ron and see his food deprivation has done nothing for his patience, his scowl is intense. I hope his starved brain is also affecting his ability to pick up on the underlying tension that's now obvious between me and Hermione. I charge on.

"I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed would I?"

This isn't much better as our eyes are still locked and most definitely sending messages now. I desperately try to steer the conversation on.

"Ginny told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

That did it – at the mention of Ginny's name, Hermione blinked and looked away, down at the heavy locket she'd taken from me and that was now in her hands. I tried not to notice how I felt sad, and then guilty, for wanting her to look back at me again.

We work out that we should take turns wearing the Horcrux.

My eyes linger on her when she puts it around her neck and drops it down the front of her top. I look away hastily and Ron makes a sulky comment about the fact we still need to find food. Hermione and I share a glance then, and I know we're both mentally rolling our eyes about him. It warms me no end to be sharing that thought with her.

We finally get some luck with food and the night that we eat well, things become easier between the three of us, relaxed and like normal. Except for when Ron goes to bed early, enjoying his full stomach. I felt a subtle connection between her and I flicker into life as Ron's snores fill the tent and I'm far too conscious of where she is in the room. I step out of the tent then to diffuse it but as Hermione sets about getting ready for bed, I pace outside on the first watch, shamefully praying she'll come to me.

When she does, I stride to her and kiss her greedily, the hunger I'd felt before our meal was no competition to this.

We're not far from the barn of the farm we're camping on and we silently make our way to it. It rains while we're in there, the rhythm on the tin roof drowning out my conscience that is screaming at me – a list of reasons a mile long as to why we shouldn't be here. Leaving Ron on his own in the tent was the first of many but I trusted Hermione's wards. I didn't trust myself to say anything however and it seemed that she didn't either because again no words are spoken.

But the sounds, the tastes, the smells of that night are burned into my brain forever.

I still till this day love the smell of hay, and the sound of rain on a roof.

It was over pretty quickly, both of us frantically grabbing at each other as we knelt face to face in the hayloft. I removed more of her clothing this time, feeling safer in the barn and she did to me too – her hands pulling at my jeans while we never lost contact with our lips.

She sat facing me in my lap when we were finished, my arms tightly wound around her waist, her arms wrapped around my head, holding me into her chest. My lips rested on the skin at the base of her neck, feeling the rapid tattoo of her pulse as it slowed. When she was breathing evenly again, I lay her down and positioned myself next to her, cradling her in close with my lips on her forehead.

This time she was the one who prompted me it was time to go, squeezing my arm.

We walked back, hand in hand in silence again. I can't get the image of her tying her hair out of my mind. Just after we'd dressed, I watched her tie her hair up and it frightened me how beautiful she seemed to me then. It was just a simple thing, but I was a little mesmerised when she lifted her arms to twist her hair; a small frown of concentration on her face as she looked into the middle distance. But she wouldn't look at me. She didn't kiss me when we reached the tent either, just ran her hand from the back of my neck down over my chest before turning and walking away. I went to grab for her arm but missed, she didn't notice. I don't even know what I would've done if I'd caught it but instead I just ended up watching her duck into the tent and away from me.

Still the days stretched on the same, with no obvious difference between us all, other than Ron's increasingly foul temper. I began to wonder if he sensed something. But mainly I thought his irritability was from the lack of food and his frustration that we'd had no breakthroughs in figuring out any further Horcrux's.

I began to resent him, and most of the time, I managed to convince myself that it was only to do with his negativity, and lack of contribution.

But once, when we'd just eaten a good meal of bread and ham from another farm's storeroom, Ron cheered up enough to give Hermione one of his compliments obviously straight out of '12 Fail Safe Ways to Charm Witches'. It was some lame comment about her cooking and I wasn't sure if it was Ron's wink at me after he'd said it, or Hermione's responding blush that caused the flash of anger that coursed through me.

I made to grasp for the Horcrux on my chest, thinking that was the source of my irritation but I realised suddenly that I wasn't wearing it – looking at her neck I saw that Hermione was. The moment passed quickly but it bugged me all night. I felt fidgety, as if I was the one wearing the locket.

The feeling boiled up inside of me and it only felt mildly placated after what happened when I was due to swap watch shifts with Hermione at two in the morning.

I had been awake in my bed and heard her step inside the tent, crossing the room to the bathroom. I watched her all the way and then silently swung my legs off my bunk and padded barefoot to the bathroom door. When she opened it I grabbed her upper arms, moving her back into the bathroom. A small gasp escaped her but she recovered from her surprise quickly to respond to my urgent kiss as I pressed her against the wall.

We were deathly quiet in the dark bathroom. I didn't dare breathe too much, even after Hermione muttered the Muffilato spell. I bit at her lip, not very gently and she gasped again but gripped me closer still. I didn't realise my pent up anger was obvious to her until she finally spoke – the first thing she'd ever said to me when we were together like this.

She said my name. Whispered it, over and over again – and I knew what she meant by it. She was telling me that with every flirty look or casual touch Ron gave her that it was still MY name she was calling breathlessly in to the darkness.

I grabbed her face between my hands and kissed every inch of it in response.

Afterwards I felt irresponsible, reckless – and not a little giddy. I was glad for the graveyard shift that night because I wouldn't have got any sleep anyway.

Over the next few weeks I met with her in dark corners, in moments that presented themselves for our respite.

Under the sanctuary of repelling, silencing and disillusionment charms we carried on, behind Ron's back.

We never ventured into the bathroom again, both acknowledging I think, that it had been beyond foolish. We just both seemed to know when it was going to happen, drawn to each other by an invisible pull in those moments – never by words, because in all this time, we were still yet to really speak.

And it was clear we were still yet to have had enough.

I began to guiltily look forward to our next encounter, never knowing if it would be the last. I felt like I was holding on to her like a drowning man to a life raft.

There had been no more playful behaviour from Ron towards Hermione; his mood just seemed to get darker and lower. He made no secret of the fact that he was resentful towards me, for not having the answers. I would catch him and Hermione talking about me sometimes. Part of me liked to think, or maybe hope, that perhaps she was defending me to him as he seemed to have a problem with our lack of progress on the hunt, and it was obvious he placed the blame squarely on me. Either way, distinct lines were being drawn, and I couldn't help but feel like we were all heading to events even more sinister than Voldemort and his Deatheaters.

Unsurprisingly, mingled in with my anger towards Ron, was a huge amount of guilt. I realised how hard it was to keep going – but it was harder for him because I had something he didn't, the only one thing seeing me through.

But weeks later that all changed, when we ended up on a riverbank in Wales.