Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. Also, the Harry Potter universe and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, a whole bunch of corporations and shareholders and not in the least to me. No money is being made here. Nobody would pay for this. Seriously.

2019 foreword: While technically not the first piece of fan fiction I ever put together (One Big Happy Weasley Family, written in 2007, preceded this one by three years), this unassuming piece of writing and the cinematic source of its inspiration very much remain the foundation and the wellspring for all my later explorations of these two characters. Were it not for that exceptionally tender, wonderfully poignant and, ultimately, sublimely tragic scene in the first of the two Deathly Hallows movies, I don't think I would ever have contracted the bad habit of writing fan fiction.

For it is this very tragedy, this crime against fiction as I cannot help but see it, of the magnificent potential of Harry and Hermione being doomed to forever remain untapped, which motivated me to bring into being pieces of a literary Elysium of my own design for the two of them to come true in.

Thus, this story, part retelling and part interpretation, is not yet aforementioned Elysium (which first took shape in Amor Veritatis), but the manifestation of my philosophical starting point, as it were. Wishing, after all, comes from lacking. Most of my stories are about the wish; this one's about the lack. I sought to try and capture in words what that filmic scene so elegantly depicted in sound and image, and then perhaps, eventually, from there set out on a more expansive journey through all the what-ifs and might-have-beens that we delusional ones must find solace in.

Well, we're still talking about a fictional couple here, so let us not get too melodramatic about it all. At any rate, I likely could improve on what you'll find written below in various ways today (and then again tomorrow), but for the time being it shall remain as it always has been: not quite on par in quality with later works of mine, I am quite sure without risking more than a fleeting glance down below, but absolutely crucial to their existence.

A Moment Lost

Harry was so lost in his turbulent thoughts about his quest and the utter lack of any conceivable progress that he did not even seem to take any notice of the cold, harsh wind that was blowing over the bleak rocks he was sitting upon, somewhere in the middle of the northern landscapes of a Britain tightly gripped in winter's grasp. He found himself at the edge of despair. It was not that he couldn't tell where he was supposed to go, but rather that he didn't know what path would lead him there. He felt outright lost. In some kind of semi-youthful naïveté, or maybe even a streak of heroic determination induced by his prior successes, he had doubtlessly believed that he would be up to the task of finding and destroying Voldemort's horcruxes. There had been no room for doubt, for he knew the simple fact that he didn't have a choice. He had to do it, because there was no one else left to take that responsibility off his burdened shoulders. With the death of Dumbledore a few months back, everything had come down to him.

And here he was: the boy-who-lived on his predetermined quest to vanquish the mighty Lord Voldemort – having no clue whatsoever how to do just that. A bitter chuckle came across his lips. The whole wizarding world – and probably many people beyond that, if unknowingly – relied upon him, and he was failing them all completely. He couldn't even say anymore when it had begun to slip away from him, but somewhere between one place and another where they had erected their tent, the grim determination with which he had begun the journey slowly started to falter under the lack of progress and the weight of doubt. Somewhere between balding trees and cutting cliffsides, he had lost what he so desperately needed.

What little faith had been left by the time that the last mild winds of autumn gave way to the more relentless cold of winter, had vanished in an instant when none other than his best friend Ron had thrust the lethal blade into an already bleeding wound. Harry was even a bit thankful, in a way. Thanks to Ron an otherwise simple matter became that much more complicated, for he couldn't clearly say if he was more disappointed in Ron or himself. Could he blame him at all? His friends were relying on him; expecting him to know what had to be done. They were there to help, but it was him that this whole damn prophecy was all about, after all. They could not do for him that which was his to do. He had let them down, and he knew it.

Hermione was still there, of course. But why was that, anyway? She surely had to be just as disappointed in him as Ron had been, and as he himself was. She was far too bright to oversee the futility of their inept undertaking. Hell, she had probably seen this whole farce for what it was long before himself and yet she had said nothing of that kind; never complained, never articulated doubt or even the slightest hint of critique. She had simply kept going, working through book upon book, night after night; pondering on all those lingering questions, seeking answers to riddles unsolved. Why didn't she just leave as well? Out of some kind of misplaced sense of obligation? She and Ron had pretty much left him on his own during their last year at Hogwarts, so why not this time? She would surely rather be with Ron than to continue with this pointless camping trip across the British countryside, trying to accomplish what the boy-who-failed was just too pathetic to do.

He quietly cursed to himself, making even his swearing sound weak.

With his glasses held loosely in his left hand, he buried his face in his right. Concentrating on his deep breaths he tried to fight off all those thoughts that were constantly nagging at his sanity. With at least some of the screaming voices in his head silenced, the outer world around him suddenly seemed quieter as well and the relentlessly ongoing dispute inside him faded away, being replaced by a low, melodic tune he couldn't clearly identify. It took a moment for him to realize that he was actually hearing music and that it was coming from behind him, carried by the wind that was blowing through his untamed black hair. He turned around and saw the all too familiar tent near the edge of the cliff, illuminated from within by a warm light, contrasting against the darkening sky behind and above.

Harry sighed, contemplating whether she would prefer to be left alone. He was taking increasing notice of the cold evening air, though, and the warm glow that seemed to be radiating from the deceptively small tent only enforced that feeling. He stood up from the rock he had been sitting on for far too long and took another moment to look at the weakly illuminated night sky while listening to the strangely familiar music coming from the tent. He was sure he had heard the song before, but he couldn't put a name on it. Then again, it wasn't clearly audible from where he stood, which might just have been what he needed to nudge him forward. He slowly strode towards the tent and, halting in front of the entrance, took a last deep breath of cool air and finally stepped inside, immediately feeling the warmth engulfing him.

Hermione was sitting on a pair of wooden steps at the far end of the magically expanded interior of the tent. She had her legs drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped tightly around them. The moment Harry entered she looked up from the lamp that was standing on a low table beside her, right next to the radio that was obviously the source of the music. She just threw him a quick glance before returning her gaze to its previous point of attention. Harry silently crossed the few meters that separated him from a wooden chair near the opposite side of the tent to where Hermione was sitting, putting nearly the complete width of the tent between them.

He sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him, since they were still a bit strained from the way he had been sitting for quite a while on the stones outside; entirely lost in thought and unaware of the condition of his limbs. He folded his hands – still cold from the winter climate – in his lap and then found himself fixing his eyes on Hermione. At first, there was certainly nothing to it. For a little while he felt quite simply at peace, having his mind free of any of those haunting thoughts and simply relaxing while his body slowly warmed up again. Yet without any kind of conscious intention on his part, he began watching her more intently.

There was Hermione, his long known friend of many years and loyal companion through uncounted challenges and life threatening experiences, looking very... vulnerable – forlorn, even. It was a disturbingly unusual sight to behold, and Harry wondered if he had ever seen her like this before. He had seen her hurting, for sure – in emotional turmoil even, thanks to last year; but this? This seemed different to him. Something was missing. There had always been this strength in her – no matter what – that had kept her going, protecting her like an invisible shield. There certainly was no such thing to be found right now; nothing that was shielding her from the outside world. It was that very world she seemed to be helplessly lost in, and Harry found himself rather perplexed at the amount of pain this revelation caused him.

Maybe he had gotten too used to Hermione sorting all her personal problems out by herself. He might even have failed to consider if she ever had any personal problems at all. Had he ever been there for her, the way she stood by his side whenever he needed her? His eyes darkened and he dropped his head for a moment, as the realization hit him with full force. How many ways were there for him to fail? What kind of idiot had he been, assuming that Hermione would just always be alright? Had he ever really appreciated what he had in her, or had he not taken her for granted, relying on her whenever she was useful? His rising self-contempt was swept away when he looked up again and found himself being watched by Hermione with an unreadable expression on her face, just before she turned her head away from him again.

Harry sighed heavily as memories of the last six years were finding their way into his thoughts and he saw pictures of Hermione flashing past his mind's eye, growing from the little girl with bushy hair and slightly oversized front teeth into the young woman she was today – sitting there before him, clutching her own legs as if she were holding on to the very pieces that made up herself and were threatening to fall apart.

He saw them fighting off the troll in the bathroom to save Hermione, thus laying the foundation for their friendship. He saw himself sitting at the side of a bed in the infirmary of Hogwarts, holding the cold and lifeless hand of a petrified Hermione, who – even in her current state – literally held the answer to the riddle of the chamber of secrets within her rigid grasp. He saw the two of them using the time turner to save Sirius from the Dementors and flying through the night sky over Hogwarts on the back of Buckbeak the hippogriff – Hermione holding on to Harry as if her life depended on it. He thought of their fourth year and the painful feeling of black despair, when he saw her deep down on the bottom of the lake during the second task, her eyes closed and her face disturbingly ghostlike in the murky water. He'd had to fight off the urge to rescue her in spite of the rules of the tournament, trying to accept that he was not supposed to be the one to do so; hating it to have to rely on someone else to make sure she was safe. The lump that was building in his throat during this very lively reminiscence grew even bigger when he remembered that moment in the Department of Mysteries during their fifth year, when he had felt the unconcealed fear of having lost Hermione taking hold of him; seeing her lying on the dark marble floor, motionless and with eyes devoid of life.

Where would he be without her, really? Chances were he wouldn't even be alive anymore. Of one thing he was certain: he would stand no chance at all when it came to prevailing at the task that was laid upon him if it weren't for Hermione. He would have failed at the very first trial and Voldemort would have laughed scornfully at his utter incompetence.

Even now she was here. Just here, with him. Nowhere else – and surely not for the lack of alternatives. No questions asked. She simply stood by his side, even when he was failing miserably in the role of a leader that seemed to be so irrevocably bestowed upon him. And it was this very moment that Harry realized just how grateful he was and how unfair it was to not even let her know of it. He could at least give her that gratitude, even if it wasn't nearly enough.

All emerging doubts strictly put aside, he had made up his mind. He took a very deep breath and arose from the chair, straightening his grey sweater with a pull of his hands. Walking towards her, his mind was free of any conscious thoughts at all. There was no overthinking this; he was much more acting on impulse than anything else. He was simply doing what he felt he had to do.

And so he stood before her, looking down at the girl whose gaze was lost someplace far away within the warm glow of the lamp beside her, which kept her from taking any notice of the boy standing before her, until he finally stretched out his left hand to her, remaining perfectly silent while doing so. The movement caught her attention and while turning towards him she first looked at his hand, before her eyes wandered up to meet his with rising wonder. Harry kept both his hand and expression unchanged, despite the questioning look she gave him. This moment of hesitation passed when she sighed and finally took his hand, leading Harry to help her onto her feet.

They found themselves standing merely inches apart and looking directly into each other's eyes, still having their hands entwined. Under the intensity of Hermione's gaze, Harry felt as if she were looking right into his innermost self, revealing secrets he didn't even know of himself. Breaking eye contact for only a fracture of a second, he noticed the necklace around her neck, knowing very well of the locket that was hidden under her shirt. A flash of anger at himself and the things that were happening around them overcame him and he hated the thought of Hermione carrying a burden that was only his to bear. He let go of her hands and instead moved his own behind her neck, reaching for the lock. Hermione kept watching him, unmoving while he pulled the necklace off of her. As soon as he had put it aside, he turned back to face Hermione again.

The music was still running and Harry couldn't have said if the song had simply not ended yet, or if it had actually started anew. Not that he cared. He reached for Hermione's hands again, nearly in contact with his own anyway, and she let him take them. He began moving backwards, his first steps still tentative to wait for her response. She followed his lead and moved with him towards the center of the tent, the most spacious area therein; step by step. Coming to a halt, they remained motionless for a moment, merely looking at each other with unchanging expressions. Somehow, Harry couldn't say if it was expectancy or pure uncertainty that he saw in her eyes. He had already made the leap, though, so there was no going back anyway.

It took a great deal of courage for him to do what he was about to do, for he knew very well that this was probably as far from his area of expertise as anything could ever be and there was a moment when he actually questioned his decision one last time, thinking that there might have been something else he could have chosen in order to take Hermione out of her sorrow. Well, this might just have been Harry's one defining moment of proving himself worthy of being a Gryffindor.

Thus he slowly and rather clumsily began moving his arms and Hermiones' with them; back and forth, not really in any kind of conceivable rhythm with the music. Hermione sighed again, which really was the first readable response he got from her, yet he was confused as to how exactly he had to interpret this. Did she look sad, or rather very unsure of herself? Maybe this clumsy attempt at dancing was making her uncomfortable.

Nonetheless, Harry put a bit more effort into his moves and tried to give his arms a more fluent motion, all the while looking at Hermione to seek any kind of affirmation, trying to make her give into it. He raised his eyebrows expectantly and finally the slightest hint of a smile crossed Hermione's face while she tentatively began moving with him despite herself. The relief of seeing her reaction made Harry grin himself, now moving with increased enthusiasm.

After those moments of uncertainty and hesitation, they were both giving in to the moment more and more with every move they made. Hermione's lightened mood made Harry bolder still and he actually made her laugh out loud when he caught her by surprise with a presumably very silly looking spin, while trying to keep a straight face as if he were dancing for Olympic gold – if there even was such a thing. If so, he would certainly be struggling to receive even a single point from the judges right now.

Soon, the two of them were twisting and spinning, swirling and swaying together and around each other; laughing light-heartedly all throughout. No words were spoken, for no words were needed. For a few untroubled minutes, they were just two young people enjoying themselves, shutting out the darkened world beyond the warmth of their hidden refuge. There was no dark lord, there was no sorrow and no death and the only kind of magic in their world right now was the magic of this very moment in time; a single, precious moment of youthful innocence and bliss.

Then, after one last enthusiastic pirouette, they finally collapsed into each other's arms, their laughter slowly passing into pleasant smiles while each of them had their chin resting on the other's shoulder. Still they were slowly turning on the spot, even though – as Harry only now noted – the music had come to an end by now. With their heart-rates slowing down from the joyful exhaustion before, their smiles faded into expressions calm and serene, simply taking comfort in one another.

It took them both a while to become aware of what was taking place between them, but indeed, soon each of them began to feel very self-conscious about their situation. Quite simultaneously, they slowly pulled away from each other, their faces nearly touching. They looked into each other's eyes and tried to make sense of what they were seeing in those depths of green and hazel. Was it mere confusion? A touch of uncertainty? Or something neither of them would have expected to find within the eyes they were looking into?

Hermione was the first to lower her gaze, sighing heavily while doing so. Harry didn't know if he should say or do something – anything at all. He felt the solace they had shared merely seconds before slipping away from him and he wasn't sure if he hadn't made yet another mistake. Before he could bring any kind of order into his thoughts, Hermione turned and made a step away from him, halting for just a moment's hesitation before finally walking away, leaving a distraught Harry behind to silently watch her go.

And thus the moment passed, lost among the winds of winter – never to be spoken of again...

~ The End ~