Where We Go From Here

Hermione looked out from the entrance to the tent, feeling a dark cloud settling over her. The war was over. Harry had defeated Voldemort--so why was she so upset? They wouldn't have to live in fear anymore, the stench of blood and death wouldn't work its way into her clothes anymore, and there would be no more sleepless nights, waiting for the next attack, the next list of dead and wounded.

But wasn't it the sleepless nights that were now working their way into her mind? Because they hadn't been entirely sleepless.After the days of blood and killing, she would come home to her bed--a bed that wasn't always empty. It was the nights that it wasn't empty she preferred, obviously, but now that there wouldn't be anymore of those nights... Did it mean he wouldn't be there either?

She couldn't remember how it had started. Probably a glance, a touch, perhaps a slight blurring of the mind with alcohol had precipitated it, but the comfort she felt with him had sustained it. She felt safe with him, during their nights together. During the days they barely saw each other, and when they did they shared nothing more than a look; a significant look, but a look nonetheless.

And during the night, the wonderful, blessed night, she had realized that somehow, even with all the killing and dying, she had fallen in love with him.

She was not stupid. She knew that relationships forged in these conditions were not meant to last, that they invariably fell apart after the situation was gone--but she couldn't help but hope.

Would he even want to continue it, though? Would he want to continue their affair, the sordid way they met with each other nearly every night? Would he need the comfort as much as she did?

"Hermione?"

She spun around. "Ron," she said, giving him a small smile.

"It's over?" he asked from his bed, a white bandage concealing one eye. It would heal, but it would be at least a month before they could remove the bandage. Even with Wizarding medicine, a broken cornea was difficult to fix.

She smiled tremulously. "It's over," she whispered.

Ron leaned his back again, closing his eye. There was a small smile on his face. Would it still be there when he learned she had been sleeping with one of his most hated people in the world?

She turned around abruptly, widening her steps and quickening her pace. She wasn't running, she was just...Walking very quickly. Extremely quickly. She passed more tents, more wounded, more nurses--so many people, wounded, dead, those helping the wounded, those cataloguing the dead... It would have made her shake, or vomit, but those urges had been buried long ago.

She wasn't entirely certain where he was, but if she knew him then he would be at the front, checking on those around him who hadn't been as lucky.

If he were even alive.

The thought almost made her trip over her own feet.

It wasn't something she'd allowed herself to think about, because the possibility would have killed her. It was something she had known they were both going back to every dawn, but now, when the end of the war was here, the possibility that he might be dead was nearly suffocating. The fast walk she had restrained herself to only moments before now broke into a run, and she ignored everyone's stares, everyone's questioning glances, concentrating simply on finding him and making sure he was all right.

"Hermione!"

It was Blaise! He was alive, he was all right... She saw him less than 15 metres away and ran to him, enveloping him in a hug, tears pouring down her face. "Blaise," she whispered. "Are you all right?" She patted his arms, his face, his chest. "Everything's in one piece?"

"Hermione," Blaise said, pulling her arms gently. "I'm perfectly fine."

Hermione gave him a watery smile and threw her arms around his neck again, just leaning against him. Usually, they didn't show this much emotion, this much caring. She couldn't cry. She mustn't cry. She had to be strong.

But she couldn't, and she let them leak out, wetting Blaise's shoulder. She knew he felt them by the sudden tensing, and even if she hadn't noticed that, the question he next voiced confirmed it.

"Hermione, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she muttered, unwilling to spoil this time with him.

"Hermione," he said.

She broke. Whenever he'd used that tone with her, the one that was pleading and at the same time demanding (something she hadn't thought possible until him), she wasn't able to keep silent. "Where are we going after this?" she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You and me. Or are we even 'you and me'? We aren't 'we,' but... What are we?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me!"

Silence. Blaise stroked her back, contemplating his response. "How would you feel about being my wife?"

Hermione froze. They had never spoken of marriage, of commitment; she had assumed it off-topic and left it that way. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"How else would you become my wife?" Blaise asked.

She didn't say anything.

"Hermione, I'm not going to spout poetry about how I'll love you till all time stops still, because you know me. I don't do that sort of thing."

"But I don't know you, Blaise. I know your body, Blaise, but that is not knowing you. And as much as I enjoy that, I don't know you, Blaise."

"Hermione," Blaise said softly, "you know me better than anyone. Don't make excuses."

She knew what he meant. She knew what he was talking about. The late-night talks they had often had, when one of them couldn't hold the anguish any longer and let it pour out in torrents. He was her greatest confidante, and she supposed she was his as well.

"Hermione," he said, and leaned down, kissing her softly on the lips. "Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"You know me better than anyone, Hermione. So we don't know each other now--we'll have years and years after we get married to learn every little thing about each other."

"How about we just...try us for a while, without the war?"

"I suppose," Blaise said, frowning.

Hermione smiled, pecking him on the cheek. "If it's any consolation, Blaise, you know I love you. Maybe until all time stops still, I don't know. Any idea when that's going to happen?"

Blaise grinned. "No idea. Maybe we can stay entertained until then?"

"I'm sure we can think of something."