This is a rushed story made for a friend, I will not be changing it or continuing this head canon is hers. It's badly written but it's good at heart

This chapter contains an extract from chapter 15th of Deathly allows I do not own the scene or the book or thing okay? It all belongs to the Rowling

Hope in such an excruciatingly strenuous time was incredibly hard to come by, especially when certain people seemed to relish in depriving it of others.

Given the various clue from various unexpected visitors, both Harry and Hermione had singlehandedly figured out exactly why Dumbledore left the sword of Gryffindor in his will.

"Its impregnated with basilisk venom, Harry!" Hermione had squealed, tumbling toward the endless pile of books and slipping through them almost violently, he had almost laughed at the sight.

They had barked ideas back and forth at a speed that could challenge a professional tennis player, both adding more and more ideas and theories to the ever-growing hypothesis, eventually leading toward where the rest of the Horcrux's could be. Hermione had referenced Harry's third year and noted that Tom Riddle had no way of reaching Hogsmede until he was much older; the place had no meaning to him.

"Yeah, you're right!" The boy beamed, "So we don't need Hogsmede then, neither the sword nor a Horcrux will be there, what d'you reckon Ron?" He voiced, repeating the name when no one responded.

Harry looked around. For one bewildering moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realised that Ron was lying in the shadow of a bunk, looking stony

. "Oh, remembered me, have you?" he said. "What?" Ron snorted as he stared up at the underside of the upper bunk. "You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."

Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she shook her head, apparently as nonplussed as he was. "What's wrong?" Harry questioned carefully.

That had been a mistake.

From that point on, Ron had made it his personal mission to project all of Harry's insecurities like an unforgivable curse.

Everything Harry had hoped he was overthinking turned out to be true,

to say he was mortified would be an understatement.

"We thought you knew what you were doing!" Ron had started shouting now, standing up, his emphasis on we attacking Harry like scalding knives. "We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do; we thought you had a real plan!"

"Ron!" Hermione barked, clearly audible over the rain thundering on the tent roof, but again, he ignored her.

"Well, sorry to let you down," Harry whispered, his voice relatively calm even though he felt hollow, inadequate.

"Take off the locket, Ron," Hermione ordered at the sound if Harry's weak tone, her voice unusually high. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."

"Yeah, he would," The raven-haired boy muttered, not wanting excuses made for Ron. "D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back?' He didn't sound angry, far from it.

He sounded so incredibly hurt that it seemed to etch physical pain on Hermione's face, her mouth opened to speak; probably to apologise but Ron quickly beat her to it.

"Don't act all hurt, what do you expect dragging us along on this—"

"— Harry, we weren't — "

"Don't lie!" Ron hurled at her. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than —"

"I didn't say it like that — Harry, I didn't!" she cried, eyes begging him to believe her. Something inside of Harry broke at the thought of her saying anything against him.

He thought she believed in him.

The rain was pounding the tent, tears were pouring down Hermione's face, and the excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The argument had raged on, the friendship of the trio cracking with every hate-filled word; before Ron had thrust the Horcrux from his neck and gathered his belongings. He turned to Hermione, making a gesture that seemed like he was beckoning her to follow. She didn't move.

"Come on then." The ginger grunted, head already poking out of the tent. Hermione remained rooted to the spot; Ron was becoming impatient. "Are you coming or not?"

"So you're just going to leave? After everything we've all been through together." Numbness lined her voice; Harry had never heard such a sound come out of her mouth in the seven years he had known her; it made his blood run cold.

"Are you coming or staying," He hissed, ignoring her statement and adjusting the bag on his back. Hermione just scoffed.

"Just go." the words left her lips easily.

So he did just that.


The days following were not ones of joy. The moment Ron left was nothing like either of them had imagined; they thought all of their worries would have disappeared. They were finally alone for the first time in months, finally rid of the constant complaining and ungrateful remarks, with or without the power of the locket.

Yet, it was lonelier than they could have ever imagined. Knowing Ron left them, his best friends, burned a hole through the two of them.

They only had each other now.

Both Hermione and Harry had been on autopilot since the incident; never mentioning Ron or the Horcruxes, limiting their conversations to what they were going to eat and how the other was feeling. They always felt lost but were grateful to have each other still.

Harry had found himself sketching, a hobby he hadn't picked up since his days at Hogwarts. He never had the time anymore, but with the looming lack of desire to research, he needed something to keep him busy.

Looking up at his chosen model, he sighed. Hermione had nested on his bunk in borrowed clothes, an old grey hoodie of his and some sweatpants that were both practically hanging off her frame. Her auburn hair was tied back with her wand holding the knot, various curls springing free and framing her face, she was reading; or was pretending to at least. Harry hadn't seen her turn a page in 15 minutes, which was far too long for the bookworm. Emerald eyes returned to the paper in front of him, dragging the beaten pencil across the surface to add more detail to the eyes; those gorgeous eyes. He sighed again.

The pair had acknowledged their attraction for one another long ago, but both had also recognised Ron's interest in Hermione.

The last thing they wanted was to do was upset him with something that made them so happy.

Doesn't matter now, though, does it? The voice in his head chimed.

There is a war.

No better time then, if we're all going to die —

Stop it.

"Nice drawing." A voice chimed beside him; Harry must have leapt at least a foot in the air, Knocking his cup of tea all over the rough sketch and quickly smudging the drawn lines "Oh! I'm sorry!" She scrambled To rescue the illustration, small hands swiftly removing it from the puddle of cold tea, Harry was currently trying to clean up. "I didn't know you were so focused on your work... Oh, dear." She lightly swore under her breath, taking one look at the paper in her hands and pouting, moving to release her wand from her hair.

"Wait." A tanned hand moved over hers, "I like the way it looks... Sort of vintage." Adjusting his glasses, he looked closer, "Keep it as it is, let it dry on the table." He declared softly as she placed it down.

"I'd forgotten how good you were, " Hermione voiced, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him, eying the creation fondly.

"Ah, well. I'm not too terrible at pencil drawings. It's painting I suck at. Too much mess."

"How dare you insult painting!" The young which teased wholeheartedly, "I'll have you know painting was my favourite activity in primary school, save reading time." She proclaimed proudly, smiling genuinely for the first-time id days, Harry's heart could have melted on the spot.

"I could not imagine a young Hermione painting, you'd get mad for not mixing the correct colours!"

"That was uncalled for! So what if I want to have the perfect shade of teal! Is that too much for a little girl to ask?"

The pair giggled, their throats croak from the lack of use. Desperate to continue the lighthearted mood, Harry came up with a brilliant idea.

"Stand up." He ordered, grabbing her hands and dragging her into the middle of the room, confusion flashed across her face as she tried to hide her amusement.

"Harry what on earth are you doing?"

"Wait, Wait you'll see." Revealing his wand he pointed it at the chairs, praying his transfiguration skills decide to surface now. With a flick of his wand, the two chairs that they had previously been sitting on transformed into two tall easels, hearing Hermione gasp he continued. Moving towards the numerous coffee mugs that had been left scattered along the table, he began turning the remaining droplets of tea Into Every colour of the rainbow, turning to the side he saw Hermione's grim had grown, he smiled back.

"Here." He revealed a paintbrush that he had transfigured from a spoon and handed it to her like it were A great king accepting a weapon. "Thou wishes to paint; thou can paint."

Hermione had nearly tackled him to the ground, brushing past him and eagerly dipping her brush directly into orange. "Come on, artist, show me how it's done."

"I told you, I suck at painting." The wizard warned, carefully picking up paintbrush.

"Oh boo hoo Harry, come on, it's fun!" Hermione had wasted no time beginning work on a rather large orange ball On her canvas.

" I suppose it is rather enjoyable." He admitted, carefully dry bruising the outline of what was supposed to look like I do look like a stag.

"Ahuh! And it's also very good for the soul."

They were content for the moment, both expressing their feelings through their artwork, talking like nothing had changed for the first time in forever, Harry hadn't felt more like himself in a Very long time.

"Clearly, I'm more talented when it comes to painting." Hermione claimed smugly, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet. Humour singing through her voice.

Harry would show her most talented.

"Oh, yeah?" He nodded his head, "well, how this." with that sentence a large splatter of yellow landed on Hermione's hoodie, she gasped.

"You did not." She shared her disbelief, albeit with a smile on her face.

"Oh, but I did" Harry challenges smugly,

"That's it, Potter!" And with that, Hermione, had already launched the remaining paint on her brush, Harry found himself with orange hair.

Harry quickly lunged for the paints, moving to reach his hands in the paint pots and wipe them across her face.

It looked like the pair were not planning on staying clean anymore.

Both were throwing paint and spreading paint wherever they could on their partner's body, Hermione had gone as far as to poor a lovely shade of brown down the inside of Harry's shirt. The chosen one responded by running his green and red covered paintbrushes across her face.

"You're getting it in my hair!" Hermione whined in pretend anger, giggling all the same.

"You're getting hair in my paint!"

The two were completely covered s unique sort of canvas, still tickling and fighting and laughing, as kids should do.

It wasn't until Hermione somehow slipped on paint and brought him with her, laughing more and more as the ordeal went on. Hermione was stuck on top of Harry whilst Harry chuckled beneath her. They both sat back, he was leaning his head on her shoulder whilst she lent hers on his head, their legs a tangled mess on the floor of splattered paint. The sound was music to Harry; it was all he could have asked for, just a moment of laugher in a time of utter darkness.

Leaning back, the pair simply stared at one another. Eyes glistening with happy tears. Harry studied her face like he had many time before, he beautiful hazel eyes, her freckles's, the lingering scars on her cheek from the ministry, her tumbling curls, her lips.

All were covered in paint, but Harry didn't care. He hardly knew what he was doing.

Unbothered by the layer of paint coating her features, empowered by the moments purity, Harry stooped forward and softly brushed his lips against hers, hearing a faint squeak as he did so. He pulled back quickly, the courage evaporating. Her eyes were closed. That was good, right?

"Oh..." He heard her hum after a moments silence, sparking hope inside the boy.

"Oh..." She repeated, her eyes opening, "Oh... goodness... I do hope this paint is non-toxic" Hermione whined, clearly indicating the moment was over, Harry gawked at her.

Had they just experienced the same moment, or was the lack of food starting to get to his head.

"I'm sorry." She squeaked, blushing "I didn't mean to say that out loud.."

"It's fine." The boy who lived quickly went to stop her in her tracks, "s'all good." He coughed awkwardly, moving to stand up, he offered her a hand.

They stood there for a rather uncomfortable amount of time, not even considering tidying up or discussing what had happened.

"Are you hungry?" Harry blurted out abruptly, startling the both of them, "We have those sandwiches leftover, "

Sandwiches, Really?


"That sounds good." Hermione decided, rubbing her hands together.

Probably realising neither will move until the other does, Hermione strode forward a little too fast, Harry followed behind like a lost puppy, the mess behind them forgotten for now.

They were just about to enter the kitchen when the bushy-haired girl in front of him, twirled on the spot, grabbed the boys face and kissed him right on the mouth. Harry almost immediately kissed back, his hands pulling at his jeans as the two squeezed their eyes shut, relishing in the chaste kiss. Hermione pulled back, desperately trying to study his eyes as they opened, Harry just smiled.

"Is the paint toxic?" He joked, his grin growing as her eyes returned to panic.

"Oh, Harry. We need to wash our selves before we eat and before we... Talk about this." She finished slowly ,

They're a this now

This, he could get behind.

"Yes, ma'am." And with that, Hermione dragged him towards the sink, planning on removing any paint she could.

Maybe he wasn't so bad at painting after all.