A Way to Hide

A/N: A big hug and thanks to Lariope, as always.

Chapter 4 – A Way to Hide

It was all he could think about, talk about, dream about even. Somehow, they had managed to make their way back to the tent, and shortly afterwards, they had left for a meadow somewhere in the south of Wales. Hermione hadn't said much since leaving the ravine, or he simply had not listened. His head was spinning with thought and emotion, trapping him inside his own mind. He practically fell into bed the second the tent was up, physical exhaustion getting the better of him, despite everything.

He had envisioned this moment for a long time: to fall asleep without the Horcrux watching him, without it infiltrating his dreams and poisoning his mind. When sitting outside the tent on the rare days of sunshine, he had day-dreamed of closing his eyes and drifting away into something that relaxed him and let him rest...something which gave him back his strength instead of tapping what little remained after long days of anxiety and frustration. It didn't happen now. He tossed on the bed as sequence after sequence played in his mind. He was running, trying to catch up with something important...someone important...but his feet wouldn't move. He would be stuck in slithering roots, or in wet marshland, fighting to get free while the thing...person...he was pursuing kept getting further and further away. He was back in the Black Lake at Hogwarts, swimming towards the surface, the temporary gills at the side of his neck closing up and his mouth filling with cold water. The Grindylows were closing in, grabbing hold of his legs and dragging him down with them. Each and everyone of them bore Ron's face, pale and angry in the water, eyes blue and chilly as his arms wrapped themselves more tightly around him, pulling him down to drown in their embrace...

The last one woke him up, or perhaps it was the sounds that penetrated the darkness from the bedroom next door. Hermione was crying. Not only crying...he had heard her cry at night before. She usually made little keening noises, like someone trying very hard to keep others from hearing. Not so this time; the sounds coming from the other side of the wall were loud, desperate and completely out of control. She was not crying this time, she was sobbing. Automatically, his arm lifted the blanket off his body, and his feet hit the soft carpet. Twenty-one steps to her bed. It was enough to clear his mind a little, to bring him out of the mental prison of his own obsession. His toes bumped into something hard on the floor, and he pushed it aside without even looking down. His eyes focused on the girl before him; she was his friend too and had suffered the same loss as he. They needed each other, now more than yesterday...when they could still pretend that everything would be alright again.

Silently, he crept under the covers and lay down beside her, fitting the front of his body to her back where she lay, curled up in an anguished ball, facing the wall and shaking. Whispering softly to her, he ran his right hand down her arm and side, trying to calm her. His left arm snaked its way under her ribcage, effectively wrapping her up in his body heat. He hugged her tightly, allowing his mind and body to lose themselves in her warmth and softness a little. His thoughts started back up, the pain she was obviously feeling seemingly passing from her heart into his. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to make them go away, to clear his mind and push the pain out of his head. It didn't work. He held Hermione tighter, trying to recapture the state of complete mindlessness he had felt earlier that day. It didn't succeed. It just wasn't enough. Just not enough. He needed something more, something much more.

"Harry, wha..." He cut her off by moving the lips that had begun trailing down her neck to claim her mouth, kissing her deeply. She tasted of salt and sadness, and he moved both hands to her face, wiping the tears that were still flowing freely from her cheeks.

"No. Harry, stop. Ple..." She struggled against him, trying to move out from where he had twisted them to trap her beneath his body. He moved his mouth away from hers for a moment, burying his face in her hair and pressing more firmly against her.

"Hermione, please," he whispered, still trying to calm her down by stroking whatever skin he could reach, easing the tremors. "Please help me forget. I need to forget!" He finished the plea by taking her lips again, plunging deeper as she cried out into his mouth.

"I can't," she protested, breaking away and moving her face to the side. "Harry, I can't even think!" Her voice caught in her throat as a wracking sob mixed with the words.

"Then don't think," he urged, moving his face with her, trying to get her back. "Please, Hermione, don't think! I just want to not think for a while." He raised his head slightly, catching her face between his hands and holding it still, forcing her to face him. Her eyelashes were wet, eyes shining and overflowing as she met his gaze. Lifting his hand, he moved a thumb gently along the line of an eyebrow.

"Please, Hermione, I can't bear this," he said softly. "It's killing me, and I can't shut it off." She nodded slightly and blinked, as though she was right there with him, knowing everything that went through and confused him. "This is the only thing I can think of that will stop the madness." She looked at him solemnly and said nothing. He kissed her again, softly this time, letting his lips barely brush over hers. "Please," he whispered again, kissing the edge of her mouth before moving up to her cheek. "Help me make the pain stop for a while."

In reply, she moved her hands down to the edge of the old, worn t-shirt he had on and pulled it swiftly over his head. Gratitude filled him, gratitude that she understood what he really wanted, what he needed...for the two of them. Moving to the side, he helped her wriggle out of her own nightclothes, tossing them unceremoniously to the floor and pulling her back to him, seeking oblivion in her touch.

In a dungeon chamber many miles away, Severus Snape's eyes hardened, as the sounds from the blank painting on his wall changed to a vivid proof of the fact that Miss Granger had obviously not understood a single word of what he had just tried to tell her.

"Miss Granger, the Headmaster would like a word."

Phineas Nigellus was back. She had expected him to be, had mentally steeled herself ever since her brain had started to recover from near complete numbness. The hours between then and now hadn't made the concept any less terrifying, however. Not trusting her voice, she nodded slightly in confirmation. The minute man disappeared from the canvas.

"Miss Granger." No greeting. Cold and to the point. She was hardly surprised.

"Sir." A long silence followed. When he hadn't spoken after nearly two minutes, the thoughts inside her head burst forth and bubbled over. "Sir, I'm very sorry about what happened earlier. I should have..."

"You should have what, Miss Granger?" he cut her off. "Should have considered the importance of finding the Sword of Gryffindor to be above that of your own hormones?"

She hung her head, mortification tying her stomach into knots.

"I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, trying to keep tears from welling up. Silence spread out between them again, and she kept very still, desperately clinging to her self-control. She would not burst into tears.

"I care little for your snivelling apologies," he retorted, voice so sharp it cut right through her. "You let yourself be ruled by impulse and magic...flashy, gaudy magic on top of it!...when you should have known better. I thought Weasley was the weakest link in the chain, and yet he was the only one to complete your task...a key part to a mission many have died for!"

"I realise you are disappointed, sir," she tried to explain. "I..." The empty canvas seemed to almost explode from the frame.

"Disappointed?" he almost snarled, freezing her spine with that single word. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger, I'm in no way disappointed. I'm utterly and thoroughly disgusted!"

Something broke inside her, or perhaps it was already broken, only more so now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not able to think of anything else to say.

"Impertinent girl!" another voice suddenly broke in. "Did you not listen, just moments ago? Your apologies..."

"Headmaster Black," Snape interrupted, his voice soft with unspoken threats. "Please leave your frame. I shall require to handle this matter without your support."

The little man gasped audibly, clearly affronted.

"But, Headmaster!" he protested. "This girl needs..."

"I'm sickeningly well aware of this girl's needs, thank you," Snape cut in condescendingly. "Leave."

Had there been a door out of the portrait, she was sure Phineas Nigellus would have slammed it. As it was, she was left with only the black, empty canvas and the sounds of breathing coming from the man on the other side. She swallowed, mentally steeling herself.

"Now that we are alone," Snape began, "I believe there are a few things that need to be made very clear." She put the frame down on the covers of her bed, trying to distance herself from the scolding she knew must come. "First," he said softly, "I don't like to repeat myself, so I sincerely hope that the revolting display I was privy to earlier today was a moment of temporary insanity on your part, which will not happen again." Humiliation flooded her, and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling. "Well?" he insisted when she didn't reply. She cleared her throat, forcing it to make sounds.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Secondly, we need to confer on the subject of the remaining Horcruxes. Dumbledore left me extensive notes on the matter, but insisted that Potter take care of as many as possible himself. According to what I understand, three have now been destroyed. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," she said again, trying to get her voice back to normal and focus on the subject at hand.

"Do you know what and where the others might be?"

"I'm afraid not, Professor," she admitted.

"But you have some theories?"

"Not many," she admitted again. "I'm afraid we don't have much to go on apart from the fact that they are probably of great value and tied in some way to the founders of Hogwarts."

For a second time, the canvas seemed to bulge, the anger on the other side nearly tangible.

"What?" he exclaimed furiously. "You mean to tell me that you have nothing of use? What were you going to do? Keep camping...hiding out in the woods...until these objects mysteriously fell into your laps? Or did you hope that if you spent enough time sitting unproductively on your collective arses, the Dark Lord would somehow conveniently implode?"

"No, sir," she managed, the lump in her throat painfully big now. "I'm afraid we're quite lost."

"Evidently," he spat, causing the first tear to escape the corner of her eye. She kept silent after that, not trusting herself to speak again. He went on for quite some time, berating her, Harry, Dumbledore and anything connected with the camping trip in general. She shut down after a while, numbness creeping back up her body. Tears started to spill from her eyes in earnest, and she found that she was too tired to stop them.

"Miss Granger."

She didn't answer, couldn't answer. Sobs were working themselves up her body in great waves, causing her to shake nearly uncontrollably.

"Miss Granger, calm down."

He might as well have asked her to stop time.

"Hermione, stop." She quieted down from sheer shock. When it returned, his voice was softer, darker and nearly hypnotically persuasive. "This is a crucial conversation, and one you are obviously not fit to have at the moment. Go to bed, Miss Granger. Compose yourself. I will contact you again when I believe that you will have calmed down sufficiently to be able to behave with some decorum and clarity of mind."

She heard him call a sharp order to Phineas Nigellus to close the connection...she assumed the former Headmaster was sulking in the professor's frame as he was nowhere to be seen on hers...and heard the sound of his footsteps grow fainter as he left. Too raw to think or to process anything of all that had happened, she curled herself up in a ball and relinquished control.

The empty frame hit the floor with a soft thud, falling to lie face-up on the carpet, half-hidden by the covers hanging over the edge of the bed.

He stepped out of the shower and walked the few steps to his bedroom. His hand rested on the doorknob for a moment, hesitating to turn it. He hoped the girl had stopped crying. Or that the fickle ex-Headmaster inhabiting the portrait would have got over his little huff and returned to close the connection like a responsible...well, he guessed 'person' wasn't exactly the right word. He berated himself for having put the thing in his bedroom...surely his outer chambers were well-warded enough that the sitting room would have done just as nicely. One would have thought that after spending a year experiencing the dulcet tones of Mrs Black on regular intervals, one would have the presence of mind not to put an object which could neither be removed nor silenced against the wish of its occupant in a room designed for rest.

His eyes went directly to the painting as he entered the room. It was still empty, but thankfully silent. He stepped close and listened carefully. Sounds of breathing. The connection was still open. Annoyed, but not terribly alarmed (unless she had the habit of snoring or talking in her sleep, he should be quite alright), he turned and walked towards his bed.

"Please."

He jerked around. Was she talking in her sleep or did she know that the connection was still open and was trying to contact him? He stepped back to the wall, listening intently.

"Help me make the pain stop for a while."

Potter! He almost said the name out loud, disbelief surging through him. Impossible! She had agreed that they would not do this. Agreed that she would not jeopardise the mission by indulging in emotional distractions with the boy. And yet, as he stood there, there was no mistaking the sounds of hitched breathing and bodies moving hurriedly together on a creaking bed. He gritted his teeth to keep from swearing out loud. Revealing himself to Potter was not an option, no matter how much he wanted to chastise the boy. Stalking across the room, he cursed under his breath, wanting very much to throw something. A moan travelled through the silence and seemed to echo off the walls. More of the same quickly followed, accompanied by the rhythmic sounds of bodies coming together.

"Hermione! Oh, God..."

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the sounds became louder, the movements faster. He acutely wished for a suitable spell to make him temporarily deaf but came up empty. There were spells for such a purpose, naturally, but they normally came with some less-than-pleasant side-effects, and he absolutely refused to stick his fingers in his ears like some petulant toddler. He would endure. Potter was a seventeen-year-old male after all. The odds that he wouldn't have to bear it for very long were hugely in his favour.

As though in response to this last thought, a tell-tale cry tore through the room, confirming that Harry Potter, the great hero of the Wizarding World, had indeed managed to last all of five minutes. Hermione's breaths were still distinguishable amidst Potter's, telling him that she hadn't found the experience nearly as relaxing as her partner. He almost laughed. Serves them right. He removed his robe and slid into bed, preparing for some much-needed sleep, when:

"You alright?"

This could not be happening to him.

"Hermione, look at me. Did I do something wrong?"

Apparently, it could. The urge to scream renewed itself. Wasn't it enough that he put himself in daily mortal danger? Did the fates really have to punish him additionally by forcing him to listen to a pathetic 'morning after' talk enacted by his former students?

"Hermione." The boy's voice was serious now. He was obviously not prepared to let the matter slide and just go to sleep like a normal post-coital man. No, Saint Potter would act the gentleman's part. Bugger.

"I'm fine, Harry. Just go to sleep." He inwardly thanked the girl for trying, even though an imbecile could detect the blatant lie in that statement. He didn't have to see her face to know that she was crying.

"No, not until I fix this," Potter said. "Was it...I mean...didn't you like it? Was I doing something wrong?"

No, Potter, not at all. Crying is the normal female reaction to a satisfying shag, he thought nastily. Pathetic!

"Harry." He closed his eyes again and could practically see the scene unfold before him, as Hermione tried to ward Potter off.

"No," Harry repeated stubbornly. "I'm going to fix this. Tell me what to do."

"You can't help me, Harry," the girl argued. "Just drop it, alright?"

"But I want to," he protested. "You've managed to teach me everything I ever had a problem with. Teach me to please you." In his mind, he watched how Potter leaned forward to kiss the girl, coaxing her into compliance with his lips. "I want to see that look on your face again."

"What look?" Despite her protestations, her voice was trembling, and her breathing had started to quicken again.

"You know what look," he whispered, kissing her again, more deeply this time. "Tell me where."

His hand crept slowly over smooth skin, trying out the terrain. He circled one of her breasts, pressing a little firmer as he heard the breath hitch in her throat. Gently, he cupped the flesh and moved his thumb over her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch. She moaned softly, and he did the same thing again, caressing the other breast in the same manner. She pushed into his hand, and he added a little more pressure.

"Good?" She licked her lips, trying to respond. He moved in for another kiss, playing with her softness, trying out new techniques with his fingers. She moaned into his mouth, leaning into his touch more fully, unconsciously shifting her position to give him more access. He moved down, and she let out a sound that was at once protest and encouragement.

"Where?" Wordlessly, she moved a hand into his hair and urged his head downwards. He followed her lead to kiss her along the velvet of her throat and down past her collarbone. When his lips finally settled over one of her breasts, they both groaned. He started to play with his lips and tongue as his hand slid further down, over her stomach and down along the inside of her thighs.

"You'll have to show me how," he breathed, caressing the underside of her left breast with the tip of his tongue. His hand moved back up the thigh and began its search through her soft folds. A soft moan escaped her, and he immediately went back. "Here?"

"A little softer. More...God!" She nearly cried out as he found a particularly sensitive spot and began stroking it. His mouth renewed its efforts on her breasts and he rejoiced as Hermione's breathing began to hitch, contrition being replaced with pleasure on her face. He kept stroking her, following her whispered directions until she was trashing under him, reacting to his every move. Letting go of her nipple, he moved up her body until they were face to face again.

"You close?" She whimpered in response, pushing into his hand and pulling his head down to her for more kisses. He broke away, moving to the side to play along her neck and ear.

"Can I be inside you?"

"Yes."

She turned to her side, lifting her right leg to let his left thigh slide between hers. He groaned as he slid back into her. It was just like before, but at the same time so very different. The heat of her was everywhere, and he slid deeper with ease, revelling in the increased wetness. He kissed her deeply, moving his hand over her to find his way back to where it had been, while his hips began to thrust slowly into her.

"A little more to the left." He immediately obliged, following her every lead as pleasure surged inside him. She had to correct him quite a few times, telling him, showing him where he needed to be. He pushed back the urge to quicken the pace, keeping his focus, doing his best to hold on as the passion mounted. Her face broke with pleasure and she cried out, arching against him.

Oh, God! Harry...

Harry?

His eyes snapped open, and a bolt of panic went through him. Disoriented, he looked around, his gaze immediately finding the empty, black frame on the wall. Oh, God. Hermione's moans were filling the room, and he realised he was throbbing hard under the covers, his hand moving over his length, having him only moments away from his own climax. He snatched it away as though burned, twisting around to his side. He suddenly felt nauseous. Tearing out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and stared at himself in the mirror. No. He would not be reduced to some perverted voyeur, fantasising about one of his former students. He was more than that. He would keep in control. Studiously ignoring the sounds of lovemaking drifting through the door, he stepped back into the shower, turning the temperature to a freezing cold.

Far away, in a rickety camping bed, Hermione shifted in Harry's arms, settling down to sleep. Her body felt tired now, and for that she was thankful. Perhaps she would find rest tonight after all. A thought kept nagging at the edge of her mind, however...a memory of a voice, uttering her name in a way that made shivers run down her spine. It couldn't have been real, she argued. She had been caught up in the moment, that was all, and her mind had been playing tricks on her as she fell over the edge into pleasure. Resolving to forget, she snuggled more deeply into Harry's embrace and closed her eyes. Just a trick of her mind.

A/N: Please review!