The Forbidden Forest

A/N: This is my favourite chapter, which naturally makes me all nervous, wondering whether people will like it or not. A big thanks to Lariope, who coached me through it all and helped me find Ron's voice.

Chapter Nine – The Forbidden Forest

They decided to wait until the Easter holidays, hoping that fewer people around would make the mission safer. It was only about five weeks away, and they had lots to plan before actually going. It sounded like a rather short time to wait, so naturally, as soon as the plan was cemented, time slowed down to an almost unmoving entity.

This house is too small, Ron thought, quickly removing the hand that had been almost at Harry's thigh as Hermione entered the sitting room, book in hand. She sat down on the sofa, flipping through page after page, seemingly oblivious to the tension she was causing. Slowly, Ron edged his hand back underneath the table, letting a few trembling fingers draw a caressing circle on Harry's right knee. Chess pieces fell in a clatter to the floor from the other man's reaction, making Hermione jump as well. She eyed the two of them, and her face seemed to turn a little paler, even as she forced the corners of her mouth into a strained smile and left the room. Harry immediately leapt to his feet, calling after her as he followed, leaving Ron alone in the firelight. Shit! He slumped back into the chair, battling the impulse to just grab the board and throw it into the fireplace. Or something. Anything. He did not know how much longer he could keep this up; the sneaking around, with its emotional rollercoaster and constant interruptions, was really getting to him. He understood Harry's reluctance to let things go further while staying in the same house as Hermione...he really did...but that didn't make it any easier to bear. In weak moments in the night, as he lay alone, consumed with thoughts of Harry, he half-wished that Hermione had never come back, that she had gone somewhere else, somewhere safe in the Muggle world perhaps, where she would have been far away but without them having to worry.

The loathing that followed these thoughts was eating him alive, and with it came, inevitably, the little voice that told him that had he not left when he did...had he stayed in the tent and not abandoned the people he loved...things would have been different. With his betrayal in the woods, he had created his own purgatory. Somehow, it seemed fitting.

"Are you alright?" He looked up. Bill was standing in the doorway, leaning against the wood with his arms crossed.

"I dunno," he said, shaking his head a little. "I'm not sure... of anything really."

Bill entered the room and sat down in the chair opposite...Harry's chair. With a wave of this wand, the scattered chess pieces flew from the floor and repositioned themselves on the black and white board. He let his hand hover over the board for a few seconds and then gestured to one of the pawns, beckoning it forward.

"Your move," he said simply, leaning back. Mutely, Ron raised his hand and pointed the way for a pawn of his own. They played in silence for a while until a misguided move had one of Ron's knights thrown to the floor by a triumphant white tower.

"So," Bill said, picking up the fallen piece and setting it back on the table. "Are you going to talk about it or will I have to force it out of you?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Well," Bill replied, resuming the game by knocking another pawn, "let's start with what has you sporting that feverish, haunted look day and night. Is he considering going back to Hermione?"

All blood seemed to leave Ron's face in one, rushing motion, and for a few, painful seconds, his lungs refused to breathe. Despite the jealousy that burned through him at regular intervals when he saw them together or thought of the weeks they'd spent alone in that tent, the thought that he might lose Harry had never crossed his mind.

I thought... Hermione...

No. Only you. Always you.

Had he been wrong? Did Harry have second thoughts? The image of Hermione rose in his mind, her back pushed up against the mountainside, skin wet and flushed from arousal and warm water. They had been flawless together, wrapped thickly in the magic of Phoenix song, keeping his eyes captive even though the pain threatened to burn holes in his retinas.

"Okay," Bill said, interrupting his thoughts and pulling him back to the present. "I obviously poked my wand into the nest of Doxy eggs with that one. So if not that, then what's wrong?"

"No, maybe you're right," he choked, connecting dots in his head, looking for patterns in what had happened...and not happened...over the past three weeks. "Maybe that's what's actually wrong and he just hasn't told me yet."

"Stop," Bill said firmly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "Don't breed monsters that aren't actually there." The physical contact did ease the reeling thoughts a little, and he drew in a shuddering breath. "Ron, listen to me."

"What?" he demanded, looking up at last, trying to ignore the fact that his eyes were feeling quite dangerously wet.

"Love is not easy," Bill said quietly, squeezing the message into his arm as he spoke. "It's very rarely what you thought it would be and even less often what you'd want it to be. But, Ron," he made a tiny pause, just long enough to fully capture the younger brother's attention, "if Harry is what you need, what you crave, inside and out, then there's nothing you can do. I wish I could tell you to give it time, that things would fall into place eventually. Don't get me wrong, they most likely would, but there's no sense in ignoring the danger you are both in. You might have a century together, or you might have a few weeks. If you truly love him, then make bloody sure he knows it before the end."

A last squeeze on his arm, and Bill rose to his feet and left the room. Ron remained in his chair, dazed and unfocused as his brother's words kept replaying in his head.

Right, he thought, swallowing hard to gather some courage. His eyes fell briefly to the chessboard as he pushed his chair back to get to his feet. A knight and a bishop were circling in on the opposing king as the other bishop and a rook kept the black queen firmly cornered.

Checkmate.

He caught up with her in the orchard, by the same tree he'd been sitting under on the day she'd returned. The branches were budding now, waiting only for that first, warm spring day to burst into bloom. Pulling her down on the bench with him, he ignored her protests and half-hearted struggling to get away.

"Hermione, we need to talk," he said with more composure than he felt. "I don't want this tension between us any longer. We need to focus on Hogwarts, on the last Horcrux, on Vol...You-Know-Who and everything else, and I can't do it when all I think about is you and Ron and the unbelievable mess we are in."

"What do you suggest?" she asked, voice almost free of emotion. He would have preferred her to be yelling.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly, putting his hand to her chin to tilt her face upwards. "I'm really sorry, Hemione. I used you, and then I betrayed you, and there's nothing I can do to fix it."

"It's okay, Harry," she whispered, turning her head away. "We were both there. I understand." She stood up and moved to walk away; a hand on her wrist held her back.

"Where are you going?" he asked, worry in his voice now. "Please, Hermione, we need to fix this..." She twirled, pulling her hand from his grasp and let the anger she'd kept hidden underneath the numbing pain boil to the surface.

"Let me go, Harry," she nearly hissed, pulling her wand from the pocket of her robes at the same time. "Things are not fine between us, and you can't fix them in one night! I can't talk to you right now. I need you to be my friend, but I can't watch you love Ron when you couldn't love me."

"Of course I love you!" he interjected. "You are my best friend, Hermone, I..."

"No, you don't," she interrupted, voice calmer now. "Not like that. The only time you ever looked at me like that was when we were under magical influence."

Harry made some half-successful attempt at denial and then closed his mouth, just looking sadly into her eyes.

"I'm alone," she said, struggling to get the words out as she steeled herself for what she had to say. "You and Ron were the only family I had...I don't get on very well with my parents...and now... I'm alone." She let Harry pull her into a crushing hug, drawing comfort from the warmth of his body, however painful it was to be so forcefully reminded of what she didn't have. She allowed herself to hug him back, taking in the words of comfort and assurances that they always needed her, that she would never be alone. Lies. Forcing her tears back, she withdrew from the embrace and put a gentle hand on Harry's cheek.

"Go to Ron, Harry," she said seriously. "There is no time for all of us to be okay with this, and we all know that things might not," she paused, "be the same afterwards." She tried to smile but feared she didn't manage very well. Her face felt numb and unwilling when she tried to get the muscles to shift.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sorrow plain in his voice, and she realised she had won. He wouldn't stop her.

"Don't ask me that," she said, stroking his cheek for what would most likely be the last time. "If you want to fix this, then don't ask. I will stay safe and I will come back. We'll still go to Hogwarts at Easter, and I'll return before then to fine-tune the plan. But for now..."

Struck with sudden inspiration, she reached into her bag and pulled out an old, gilded frame, set around a black canvas. His brow furrowed in confusion as he recognised the portrait and even more so when she handed it to him.

"Here," she said, "take this. Check in once every few days or if you need to contact me. Headmaster Black will deliver our messages." Harry looked back at her, wheels turning.

"But the only other portrait is at Hogwarts," he protested. "It's in Dumbledore's office."

"Not anymore," she said, a genuine smile spreading on her face as she watched him draw blank after blank mixed with faulty conclusions. "Take care, Harry," she said. "Love him well."

Before he could say anything else, she turned and walked quickly towards the Apparition point, disappearing from sight.

His head was spinning as he stepped back through the patio doors and made way towards his bedroom. Hermione was gone. Gone somewhere she would be safe and where he couldn't follow. He wondered briefly if there was someone else, someone behind the scenes helping her. The memory of a silver crow surfaced in his mind, mixing with images of the Sword of Gryffindor, rising without explanation from the surface of a lake...or hot spring as it was. She had been gone for three days the last time and returned safe and sound with the Hufflepuff Cup in hand. Hidden notes or not, it suddenly seemed an impossible task for just one person. He let out a breath he hadn't know he was holding and felt the greater bulk of the guilt he'd been carrying fall from his shoulders. Someone was helping her. She was safe. Breathing more easily, he turned the handle of his door and walked inside.

"Hullo, Harry," Ron said, and the progress he had made with his breathing was instantly lost. Ron was standing in the middle of the room, barefoot and shirtless, trying desperately not to fiddle too much with his hands. The moonlight hit him from the side, gliding smoothly over his face and body. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

Love him well.

The painting fell to the floor, and he felt his feet propel him forward until they were both standing on the soft carpet, only inches away from one another. He felt Ron's hands touch the top of his robes, stroking softly along the edge of the neckline. Their eyes locked together, and Harry moved his hand to Ron's arm, leaning on him for balance as he kicked off his shoes and socks. They watched each other for a long time, nearly unmoving. Even in the midst of battle, at the height of an adrenaline rush, he had never felt his heart beat this fast. Ron's hand made a last caress along the edge of his robes and then slowly, hesitantly, began a trembling trail across the centre of his torso, moving downwards.

Love him well.

With a groan, Harry grabbed him, taking his face in both hands and kissing him with all he had. The tension that had been building for the past three weeks swelled and released, shooting into him in tiny jolts of electricity wherever Ron's fingertips came into contact. He felt the hem of his robes being yanked upwards, pulled over his head with the rest of the garment, and shivered as the cool night air brushed against his chest and back. And then there was warm skin against his, and his brain short-circuited. He couldn't get enough, couldn't touch enough. His hands travelled over Ron's back, over his shoulder blades and down the curve of his spine to the edge of the threadbare pyjama bottoms he was still wearing. Following the edge, he moved to the front, running his hands over stomach and chest back to Ron's face, pulling him deeper into their kiss.

For every touch he initiated, Ron mirrored his movements, awakening his very skin with tiny shots of magic. And then Ron moved his lips down his neck, and a strangled cry broke from his throat. Nothing with Hermione could have prepared him for this. He had fallen into pleasure before, letting the sensations of his body force his mind to stop spinning, but with her, it had always been an activity, a means of escape, like sleep or exercise, only more effective. With Ron, it was barely a thought, coupled with an unrelenting, driving need, releasing pleasure from every cell in his body. Blood was pounding in his ears as Ron kissed and bit his way across his left shoulder, and he wondered where it all came from. With Hermione, it had all seemed to be centred in his groin, leaving him pleasantly light-headed, but now, there was blood everywhere. He could feel it pumping through his veins with every erratic beat of his heart, feeling it fill his heart and mind, flooding to every toe and each tip of his fingers. Dragging his hands over Ron's chest, he tried to keep them from shaking as he reached the draw-string cord at the top of the trousers. The sounds Ron was making against his throat were driving him mad, causing him to snag the knot not one, but four times. Just as he finally managed to get it open, he felt Ron's hand slip under the elastic of his shorts and wrap around his aching length.

Pleasure exploded from everywhere...heart, toes, behind his eyelids...and he felt his knees go weak beneath him as he struggled to breathe. He was dimly aware of words falling from his lips, of cries and moans as Ron continued to stroke him, bringing him almost to the brink of agony. He welcomed that as well, needing more...God, so much more...his recent climax having only taken him to a new level of excruciating arousal. Kissing desperately, they fell to the floor, the nearby bed forgotten as their bodies moved together, crawling and climbing, trying to touch every single inch of skin while never letting go of the other's lips for more than a few seconds. They might have spoken things that were actual words, but if they did, neither of them noticed. The contact of skin was their language now, speaking loudly with each kiss and caress as they soared together. Harry felt a stream of pure freedom surge within him, gathering speed with each moan and gasp; when Ron broke apart in his arms, it flowed freely between them, and he knew that he had never been truly, unequivocally happy until that very moment.

Physically sated, they kept looking for more, finding the pleasures of soul and mind in deep kisses and hands that stroked soothingly over flushed and heated skin. The connection was like a wave between them, feeding off the deep currents to move into new peaks, crashing onto a sparkling beach only to draw back and start again. When they finally made it to the bed, dawn was visible at the horizon, sending delicate beams of gold to dance across the ocean.

"I wanted to tell you how I felt," Ron confessed as he spooned up against Harry's back to face the window. "I had this whole thing planned out, rehearsed it and everything. Now it just feels so..."

"Unnecessary," Harry filled in, pulling him a bit closer. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Smiling, they drifted off to sleep.

She landed exactly where she had departed, in the middle of a sitting room, next to his leather sofa. She had been worried about the wards, half-expecting to find solid resistance when she spun, forcing her back to the point of departure. She had thought to Apparate into the Forbidden Forest, right into the glade where she and Harry had almost fallen victims to a very angry heard of centaurs, and sneak into the castle through one of the secret passages. When she focused on her destination, however, she met with only compressed air, welcoming her into the space she wished to occupy.

The room was empty, and she looked around for the door she knew would be there. The bedroom was empty as well, so she removed her robes and climbed into bed, letting the familiar sensations soothe her. He would come soon enough.

She woke up a little while later, someone shaking her roughly by the shoulder. He was angry; she could practically feel the emotion radiate from his hands. Smiling, she opened her eyes and reached for him, making sure to stretch enough for the sheet to fall down to expose her upper body.

"It was this or back to my grandmother's house," she said, interrupting him before he even had a chance to speak. "If I'm to die in two weeks, I'd rather spend them here than there."

He was silent for a long time, just long enough for her courage to slip and embarrassment to set in. When his hand settled over her right breast, the moan was equal parts relief and pleasure. Reaching for him, she found the front of his robes and pulled. She would not be alone. Not tonight.

A/N: Please, please review! I'm really anxious to know what you thought of this chapter in particular. Thank you all for reading!