Obliviate -the lost week (Harmione)

Diving in

The pull-over was drenched by the time the witch dropped it on the snow, her other hand already grabbing the first sweater to force Harry's head into it. They chocked and shivered and panted in a sort of chorus, but she was more worried about hypothermia. Hers, because her soaking clothes no longer protected her from cold. His, because he was male, and therefore less protected by body fat. All the breath she had left, she had used to warn him it was her, so he wouldn't use whatever remaining strength he had to fight. The first sign his consciousness was fully back, came when he watched sword and twitching locket side by side on the snow.

"I think it's the real one." Hermione's teeth chattered while she dyed his hair with a spell.

"How sure?" he managed to whisper, his voice weak.

"I'll check for unique marks once back in safety. How did you know it was here?"

"A patronus"

At once she grasped her wand and cast: "Homenum revelio" with unsteady bluish lips. Nothing happened.

"Shape?"

"Doe"

Her lips tightened forming a line. She couldn't recognize it.

"No way we'd open that locket without knowing for sure" she concluded, serious. "We might get stuck with an open horcrux and a useless sword. Much as Riddle's diary. It might even have been the point whoever left it here wanted to make."

She had helped him into his pants by then, no discomfort attached, but when she started pulling out her drenching clothes he suddenly had nowhere safe to look. The thought that most of the vision fields around the forest didn't include his stripping friend never entered his mind. As she turned to take out her underwear, clothes already conjured from the tent and flying right to her hand, the echo of Ron's voice, resounding from fourth year, came to his ears: "You are a girl!" the boy had said, and Harry's awareness of it was growing by moments. Before checking out her bottom a conjured towel interposed between them, and he managed to look away somehow, but by then he was inconveniently aware of the female curves so often hid under layers of clothes and cloak. He suspected he would be able to see them now, no matter how many sweaters she wore.

"Drink this" she recommended while thrusting a flask on his hand.

As she pulled another sweater and two pairs of socks, covering bluish toes, he obliged. Fire came down his throat, burning and making him choke again.

"What potion is it?" he managed to ask at last.

Hermione was still shaking, her arms around herself as she started to walk towards the tent, wand in her pocket and a hand loosely grasping sword and locket together. He approached her, seeking warmth. Until she answered:

"Vodka"

"What...?!"

He dropped the flask, but the girl caught it in her free hand and passed the content of the other to him. Then she sipped and coughed, as Harry had done. Well, at least she wasn't alcoholic.

"Drinks cause vasodilation" the bright witch explained "but I think it's safe now that we have dry clothes on. It'll also provide a comforting warmth. People use it for that purpose."

"For Merlin's sake, how many things did you pack in that bag?!"

Hermione smiled at him and sipped again, managing to cough less this time. Her ears were red. They reminded him of Ron's, but his memories of him weren't disturbing today.

"We have to leave" she said darkly. "Right now."

He was about to protest. He wouldn't lie on a bed and sleep but he still was too tired to pack. Not that he would be better in the morning. Anyway, it was clear that someone had left the sword there for them to find, which implied that someone knew they were there, and though no one had attacked them when they were at their weakest, and putting such a weapon in their hands wasn't attributable to death eaters, Harry wasn't betting their lives on the purity of soul of a stranger.