SoulBands

Soul Bands, Chapter One

By Caducee

His visits were more sporadic over the months since the War had by now begun. She had made a point to make to the Burrow everytime the Wireless announced the Dark Marks in the sky were getting closer to Yorkshire, but sometimes, when a storm broke out, Ron would Apparate to her flat and they would get her grandmother's wool cover out and cuddle under it while watching the Wireless Projector, a new device recently created by wizards to work as a muggle television would, or the fire in the grate, and then they'd fall asleep in her bed and the next mornings would be bliss.

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Thunderstorms. Hermione hated them with a flaring passion. Not only did they make her feel small and weak, they seemed designed to make everything look more frightening than they really were.

The power was out, once again. It had been a little less than a week exactly since the last thunderstorm. And she had been alone during that one. Only, this time, the power had let out and darkness enveloped her as she walked through her flat, breath caught in her throat and gasping with each crack of thunder.

"Lumos," she whispered, holding her wand aloft to search for candles in the broom closet. Hermione quickly grabbed five candles and closed the closet door, shuffling to the drawing room and lighting the candles before gingerly throwing the wool over her shoulders and snuggling in the rocking chair to turn on the Projector.

But soon she closed it, head thrown back and eyes closed against the sensations as her legs opened up for her. Her breath came in short gasps as her fingers softly flicked the small nub over her trousers and knickers. But there it was, the warm wetness welcoming Hermione as her head swam with sorrow and guilt. Taking a deep breath, she boldly passed the lining of her knickers and her hips arched for her completion. Sliding one finger over her folds and testing the waters, Hermione smiled a little, though sadly it was. Perfect. Pulling one foot up to rest it on the chair, she dipped one finger in, then two, and finally three, and hissed as she pushed in, feeling whole finally. Brushing her thumb over her clit once again, she began mindlessly rolling her hips as her fingers pushed in, and suddenly images began to play on the backs of her eyelids like a Projector. Images Hermione would never possibly tell, because they were too impossible. Images of lust and sex in the throes of passion.

Hermione felt incredibly empty when she came undone.

Opening her eyes once again, she found her flat empty except for the candles flickering softly all around her and providing smooth light to tame her anxiety. She had hoped...

Lowering her leg, Hermione grabbed her wand from the tea table and cleaned herself before laying her head back against the headrest and sighing. The rain clattered still, unrelentless. And the wind howled in her ears, unmerciful to her mood.

Suddenly she heard the soft crackling sound of someone Apparating in the entryway. Pulling herself up instantly, Hermione pulled her wool around her tighter and smiled, making her way toward the entrance.

"Evening," the cloaked man said, shaking his dripping wet robes off before hanging them on the peg.

Hermione grinned wide and pulled him into a tight embrace. "It's so good to see you," she breathed huskily against his chest.

"I'm so sorry for last time. I was incredibly busy, moving out soon and all."

Hermione pulled away at arm's length suddenly, surprise written all over her face. "You're moving out?" she asked with a voice that wasn't her own.

"Well, I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do, but someone offered me their flat in Bristol because they're moving out to Canada for their job. It's a cheap price, he's desperate to sell, and I've been saying I want to move out for so long... so I'm considering."

Hermione seemed to notice only then that they were still stationed in her entryway. She pulled away completely. "Let's go in the drawing room, yeah?"

Ron nodded, pulling his trainers off and following her. "Are you all right? I mean, you seem a bit distressed. Did something happen?"

Hermione blushed furiously but threw herself on the loveseat and looked up at Ron towering over her. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied, fussing with the cushions and making a show of making herself comfortable as Ron sat next to her. "I guess I'm just surprised by the news, is all."

Ron laid his head thoughtfully on hers and wrapped his arms around her middle, drawing her against his chest. "It's not final, you know. I'm still thinking. And besides, he said there are three bedrooms and two bathrooms, one of which is adjoined to a bathroom."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. So I was thinking about asking you to consider possibly moving in with me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, thoroughly surprised at his offer. "And Harry?" she asked, fingering her ring under the wool.

She couldn't see his eyes darken, but could imagine them doing so as he replied cautiously, "If possible, then yes, I'm going to ask him as well."

Silence filled the void they both felt at talking about their best mate.

Hermione broke it, biting her lips worriedly. "I'm scared," she confessed in a murmur.

Ron bit his lip and listened to the storm, knowing that, somewhere, Harry was in there fighting the battle of his life... a battle he was meant to fight. It wasn't fair. Ron tightened his grip on Hermione and kissed the top of her head quickly. "I know." He wanted to say 'me too' but he knew he had to be strong for Hermione. "Harry will kill him," he added with a painful crack to his voice, making it hard to breathe.

Hermione felt helpless, but she pressed her lips soundly on Ron's left arm and rested her head against him, knowing full well that she hadn't the power to help Harry, but hoping that thinking about him would do nonetheless.

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When Harry came to find them again, it was at Hermione's flat. There had been a storm the previous night, and Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep on her blood red couch, with the grey wool cover thrown over their closely huddled bodies. Harry's fist connected with the door six times before Hermione realised that there was someone at the door. Straightening her clothes and running a hand through her wild hair, she checked through the peephole and stifled a cry before throwing the door open and welcoming Harry in her arms.

Harry's scar was definitely a blazing red, more apparent than ever against his pallid skin, as if he'd encountered Voldemort on several occasions in the last few days and had suffered the pain of Voldemort's mental and physical torture. "Harry..." she said helplessly before dissolving in racking sobs. "Oh, Harry... you're bleeding, you're..." She pulled back when he winced at her touch. "You're bruised," she observed, flinching when he groaned under his breath. She sniffed back her tears and cradled his stubby cheeks, pressing her lips to them and raking her fingers through his dirty ebony hair.

"He's not dead," he answered her one looming question in a painful breath.

"Oh, Harry... come inside," she instructed, taking his hand in hers and dragging him inside the comforts of her home.

Footsteps resounded from the drawing room, shuffling over the carpet, and Ron suddenly emerged behind the doorframe, dishevelled head and eyes full of drowsiness. He scratched his head once, yawned, then regarded Harry wordlessly, and suddenly it registered in his mind. Gasping, his eyes widened and almost feel out of their sockets. "Harry! Merlin, what the devil happened to you?"

Hermione pressed her finger to her lips and dragged Harry out of the entryway and to the bathroom. "First, you need to clean up, then we'll heal your wounds, all right? Ask aloud if you need help with anything."

Harry nodded weakly and supported his dead weight on walls and doors as he made his way to the washroom. Hermione watched after him as he retreated away and only spoke again when the shower started running.

She turned back to face Ron, determination etched across her face. "He can't be going back today. I know we're the only ones he can trust with healing him anymore, but you know just as well as I do that he'll fight us to go back to Voldemort." She started toward the kitchen and produced two books from a cupboard and presented one to Ron. The other one, he knew it was called Healing Magicks and Their Tricks. Peering closer to the one Hermione had brandished, he recognised one of Professor Snape's class textbooks. "Sleeping Draught?" he heard her ask.

Ron bit his lip. "I'm only going to do this for Harry's sake. You're to blame if he ends up hating our guts."

Hermione smirked ever so slightly, and Ron was reminded of the bossy little schoolgirl in her for a moment, all excited she was about brewing something other than regular food.

Harry slept under the influence for five days straight without interruption.

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On the fifth day, Hermione sat beside Harry's sleeping form and studied his features, brushing his hair here, examining his eyes without glasses there, and when Ron leaned casually against the doorframe, he smiled a little.

"You'd think you were his mother. Mum always did that to Ginny when she was ill."

Hermione lifted an amused eyebrow. "What am I doing, oh-so-clever Ronald Weasley?" She lowered her head. "And besides, he's never had the luxury of this sort of affection."

Ron sat next to her on the armrest and wrapped his arm around her small frame. "I know. That's what's sad about all this. He needs his friends to surreptitiously tell him he needs a break. A mother would have just said 'stay' and he would have."

She cracked a smile. "He never stops, does he?"

"Bloody world saviours... they're all like that," he replied in a teasing bitter voice.

She elbowed him. "Be nice. He might hear you."

"Can't place an observation, can I?" He sighed melodramatically. "Here's every man's answer to everything unfair: Pfft, women."

Hermione let herself giggle. "You couldn't live without us," she answered pointedly.

Ron did a double take, and poked her. "Good point, that." He stared past her at Harry. "Think he'll wake up soon?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Hermione seemed tense. "Think he'll be mad at us?" she asked anxiously.

"Considering?" Ron teased. "Maybe."

Hermione elbowed him again. "Argh, you're a nuisance."

"I finally hear you say it. Hermione, you have made my day."

She smirked. "Bugger off. I'm worried about our chance of survival and you're ruining it by making fun of me. Hardly compassionate of you, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Eh. Fred and George rubbing off."

"Very. Now shove off."

"Neh. I'll be mildly amused if couch potato here wakes up and decides to throw a gigantic tantrum."

"You are the worst best mate I've ever seen."

"He'd do it too, if I were in his place. Of course, I wouldn't drool on my pillow so much. Oh, and I'm curious to know if you'd defend me as much if I were in a vegetative state, too."

Hermione frowned, annoyed. "Of course I'd defend you, Ron. But Harry is a lot more - Harry!"

Indeed, Harry had opened his eyes to find spots of blurs and vaguely familiar voices that became more familiar as his senses slowly came back to him but one - "M'glasses."

They were swiftly handed to him. "There you go, mate."

Harry grunted and pushed them past his nose. "Thanks. Where am I? Oh - Hermione's flat." His arms flailed about suddenly. "What the ruddy hell was that for? Voldemort -" Ron and Hermione still occasionally cringed at the name, especially when Harry mentioned it. "Voldemort could have fled to another galaxy by now for all I know!" A litany of curses and swear words flew past his lips so fast that Hermione and Ron were both stunned, staring wordlessly.

Ron nudged Hermione, whispering in her ear. "Told you so."

Suddenly Harry stopped his tirade, growing weary. "What day is this?"

Hermione squeaked a bit. "It's been five days since you fell asleep."

Harry jumped off the couch and staggered a little as the blood pounded back to his members. Then he pulled on his robes and searched for his wand in his pocket without success. "Where's my wand?" he asked hotly, rounding on Ron and Hermione.

Hermione's fingers trembled around Harry's wand as she held it out to him. He practically dove for it but Hermione held it out of his reach. "Listen, Harry, I - we did this because we thought you needed rest. You've been gone for months now; who knows how much sleep you've had. And... Ron and I, we're terrified."

Ron interrupted her. "Terrified? I didn't say that."

Hermione threw him a dirty look that clearly read 'Shut up and stick with me.' She returned her gaze to Harry. "We're terrified of the things you must be going through. Do you have any idea how wounded you were? I'm the one who healed you, Harry, and you were in horrible shape."

Harry seemed unyielding. "I don't care. Give me my wand."

Hermione sighed defeatedly - there was just no fighting Harry on this one - and handed him his wand. "I know you don't want to hear this, but it was for your own good. We care, you know."

Harry disappeared before she had the chance to tell him goodbye.

"It's like he's living off of his sick determination," Ron said from the couch. "One day it'll catch up to him."

Hermione couldn't have said better.