Bewitched by You (A Marvel/Harry Potter Crossover) COMPLETED

Chapter Nine: Reality Crashing

Hermione picked at her breakfast and sneaked quick sips of her coffee as she sat across from Bucky on the sofa. Turned out dehydrated foods weren't all that bad, once they were re-hydrated and cooked properly.

It occurred to her distantly that she'd not done much in the way of Muggle camping since before she'd been officially recognized as a witch. Maybe that old man had been correct to insist someone else double-check what she was doing—only not for the reason he thought.

Bucky alternated between picking at his own plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and darting his gaze around the—still amazing to him—cabin-like interior of the tent. It seemed he couldn't manage to keep his gaze on hers as he explained that first dream from yesterday morning.

"So he threatened you?" she asked when he'd finished, her chestnut eyes watching his movements as he lifted his coffee for a long swig. "And pretty much asked you to hand me over?"

He gave a sideways nod. That was more or less what happened, yeah.

"Why were you so reluctant to tell me this?" Even as she asked, she wondered if it could be for a reason similar to the one that made her not quite want to share the first dream of hers Loki had invaded, either.

"I don't . . . ." He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes as he bit his lip. "I don't know, it just felt—I can't put my finger on it, but there was just something else. And then, when whatever happened earlier happened, I think he was there, too."

"I didn't see him, but at this point, I don't think anything to do with Loki would surprise me."

"Okay, but . . . ." He set aside his mug and reached out, clasping his flesh-and-blood hand over one of hers. "It really did happen, right? You were there? You remember it the way I do?"

The first thought to race through her mind at the skin-to-skin contact was that he wasn't wearing his gloves. Other than the very specific moments of showing her his metal hand in the car night before last, and when he'd stepped from the shower yesterday, she hadn't seen him without them.

His hand was warm, the palm a bit rough against her knuckles . . . and his fingers dwarfed her own.

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure I do." He hadn't gone into specifics on the second dream, so she ticked off items for clarification. "There was a projection playing, I had my back to you. You were chained up . . . ."

He averted his gaze, then, and she wondered if the chains had been for more than restraining him from any attempt to prevent her from watching. Maybe they were a metaphor for something else. Feeling bound to his past, perhaps?

Yes, she thought, that made perfect sense, given what Bucky Barnes' past entailed.

She couldn't help poking fun at him, trying to keep him from brooding as she shook her head and spoke in a deliberately shy tumble of words, "Though I have to say . . . didn't quite hate the image of you tied up."

Those blue eyes flashed wide as he snapped his gaze back to hers. With a headshake of his own, he let out a surprised chuckle.

After his laugh died away, the two sat, staring at one another in silence. Things felt so . . . simple with her. Which, he realized was completely absurd, since the situation they were in was anything but simple.

Maybe it was because of her own past, maybe it was because she didn't know him enough to equate the horrors he'd committed with the man she saw before her. Whatever it was about her, it made him feel human. It made it difficult to remember anything before these last two days—and just barely two days, at that.