40 Days

December 5, 1997

We worked together cleaning the tent and casting hot air charms repeatedly after my water repelling charm failed and water flooded the tent from the marsh. My toes felt like little blocks of frozen ice.

Professor Snape, when teaching us how to brew a draught of peace in fifth year, had failed to mention any side effect on magic, but maybe it hadn't been intended for extended use as I was using it now.

"I'll take care of the water repelling charm." Harry offered, the locket glinting on his chest.

I had stopped asking for the locket and no longer tried to keep him with me to monitor him, so Harry was much more relaxed around me, although I could still feel the noose of his imperius curse. Both of us were experiencing issues with our magic though, him likely because of the locket and myself because of my potion use.

Where my magic just petered out when it shouldn't, Harry's went the other way and mimicked Seamus Finnegan's and blew things up. He had exploded our food after casting a simple retrieval spell while cooking.

We were back on a starvation diet and so far I had managed to argue with him against a shopping trip–although I didn't know how long that would last. The last thing we needed was something to set him off and for him to blow up a muggle food shop.

"No, I got it." I cast the charm again, resolving to recast it more frequently.

Harry came up to me from behind, his hand sliding along my waist to pull me back into him. I jerked my head away when he tried to use his other hand to angle my head towards him so he could kiss me. "No kissing."

"Hermione." The imperius curse slithered inside me as his mouth shaped my name, trying to move me to his will.

I resisted. "Maybe if you push hard enough, I'll burst into pieces, too." I told him calmly.

His hands tightened on me, his grip on my waist rough as he spun me around to face him. "You don't want me?"

Harry's hair was shaggy and touched his shoulders. His messy black locks looked different when they were longer. As if the windswept look was an affectation rather than an accident. The sharp angles of his cheekbones, the glittering gold of the locket, and the long hair all came together to present the image of a stranger to me.

Some dark younger simile of Sirius Black. Not Harry Potter at all.

"I want Harry Potter." I told him and he looked at me curiously, not understanding.

"Then come to bed."

He took me to bed and made love to me softly, seductively whispering how much he loved me. I closed my eyes, still refusing to let him kiss me while I pretended he was someone else.

While I pretended he was my best friend.

While I pretended he was Harry Potter.