A silver spoon was stuck into the red flesh of the watermelon as Anne cheerfully carried it toward Hermione.
"Summer just isn't summer without watermelon," Anne said, handing it to her. "I bought it in the market" She hopped onto a high stool and slurped another mouthful of noodles.
Hermione sat across from her, glancing at the bar-height table and then the watermelon.
"A breakfast bar?" she asked. "I've seen one of these on TV."
Anne nodded, cheeks puffed out with noodles. "Perfect for the kitchen. Just right for two people."
Hermione smiled, scooping out a bite of watermelon with the spoon.
Anne hurried to swallow her noodles, eyes fixed hopefully on her.
With an expression that said I knew that's what you were after, Hermione passed her the spoon. Anne took the offered bite in one gulp, it was small, sweet, and delicious. She swallowed, grinning like a fool. "Knew my girlfriend's the best."
Hermione laughed softly and offered her another spoonful.
By the time Anne finally left the kitchen, her stomach was full and her heart lighter. Harry was no longer inside the tent, he'd taken a little stool and was keeping watch outside.
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At dawn the next morning, Hermione was the first to wake. In truth, she hadn't really slept at all. She knew Anne had fallen asleep late as well.
Hermione turned her head. Anne's face was right there, close enough to touch. She couldn't help reaching out, fingers gently brushing over Anne's brow and lashes.
Anne's breathing was deep and steady. Hermione had drawn the curtains tightly before bed; though dawn was breaking outside, the room was still dim and quiet.
Thinking back to last night, Hermione smiled faintly. Anne, angry and bristling, had looked just like a cat whose fur stands on end when you touch it. Crookshanks had gone through a phase like that too. The thought almost made her laugh, but she caught herself, afraid to wake her.
Maybe her touch tickled, because Anne scrunched her nose a little. Hermione froze, hand midair, holding her breath.
Anne didn't stir. Her breathing stayed slow, even.
Watching her like that, Hermione felt her chest tighten. All of Anne's words from last night came rushing back, the pain, the tears, the exhaustion she'd hidden for so long. It had been her fault. She knew that. And now, it was too late to take anything back. Anne must have been truly hurt.
You shouldn't have. You just shouldn't have.
After a while, when Anne still didn't move, Hermione carefully slipped free from her embrace, inch by inch until she was out from under the covers. She tucked the blanket around Anne before stepping quietly onto the carpet, barefoot.
On the coat rack hung a gray cloak and Anne's backpack. Hermione approached, opened the pack with slow, deliberate movements, and summoned a file with a soft flick of her wand, a report from the Order of the Phoenix.
She flipped straight to the last page, the signature line. Skoll. The handwriting was different from Anne's usual script: bolder, sharper, a little wild.
Hermione cast a silent Duplicating Charm.
Now there were two copies, though the fresh one lacked the Phoenix leader's crimson seal.
She returned the original to the bag and thought for a moment, then murmured another spell. Several small scraps of parchment, covered in Anne's hasty scrawl, floated into her hands.
Anne's habit of writing notes to herself never changed, no matter where she went.
Hermione duplicated those too, then pulled the backpack closer. On impulse, she whispered, "Recipe book, come."
To her surprise, two cookbooks soared out of the bag, one in English, one in Chinese.
She flipped through them. The pictures were almost identical.
Glancing over her shoulder at Anne sleeping soundly under the blanket, Hermione smiled to herself.
Was she using bilingual cookbooks to learn?
That was exactly the kind of thing Anne would do. Still smiling, Hermione slipped the book back in.
After zipping the bag closed, she picked up a casual outfit and slipped quietly out the door.
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Anne was woken by the beeping of the alarm clock on the nightstand. Groaning, she yanked the blanket over her head and rolled around twice before finally fumbling for the clock. Eyes half-shut, she squinted at the time.
6:50 a.m.
She rubbed her eyes, sat up with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and then the memories of last night came flooding back.
"Ughhh…" she groaned and flopped back down.
After a few seconds, she sat up again.
What am I even afraid of? I wasn't wrong.
Exactly. She wasn't wrong.
Throwing off the blanket, she got out of bed.
In the washroom, Anne splashed cold water on her face, again and again. When she looked up, the skin around her eyes was still red and puffy.
Great.
No choice. She froze the water in her cup with a flick of her wand, wrapped the ice in a towel, and pressed it against her eyes.
When she finally put on her glasses, her amber eyes darkened to black under the enchantment, and the puffiness disappeared with the illusion. Satisfied, she exhaled and left the room.
No one was in the living area, but she heard faint sounds coming from the kitchen. She hesitated a moment, then turned toward the tent entrance instead, pushing aside the flap.
Harry sat outside on a small stool, fiddling with the Golden Snitch. He jumped up when he saw her.
"Morning, Anne."
"Morning," she said, glancing at the empty patch of grass. The blanket and pillow were gone, she vaguely remembered spotting them inside earlier.
"You should get some rest," she offered. "I'll take watch."
"It's fine!" Harry pocketed the Snitch. "I'm not tired. Actually, there's something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
"Last night, well, early this morning, my scar hurt again."
"What did you see?"
"Vol—"
"Wait." Anne cut him off. "I forgot to tell you last night, don't say his name anymore."
"Why not? Dumbledore said—"
"I know. But word is that the name might've been cursed. Just to be safe, don't use it until I confirm it. Better cautious than dead."
"Alright," Harry said. "Then what should I call him?"
"The Dark Lord, that man, You-Know-Who, our enemy, the guy in black, take your pick."
"Anne?" Hermione's voice came from behind. She lifted the tent flap, her face appearing in the morning light. Seeing Anne standing with Harry, she seemed relieved.
Anne didn't turn around. "Go on," she said to Harry.
Harry hesitated, glancing between them. Hermione gave him a small nod and stepped closer.
"Right. When I saw him, the Dark Lord found Gregorovitch. He tied the old man up, interrogating him about something he wanted. I don't know what it was, but Gregorovitch said it'd been stolen years ago. Then I saw flashes, memories, maybe. A blond boy stealing something from Gregorovitch's workshop. The Dark Lord demanded to know who the thief was, but Gregorovitch didn't know. Then… a green flash."
"Did you see what the blond boy took?" Anne asked. She didn't turn her head, but from the corner of her eye she could see Hermione watching her.
"No, but it was small. Definitely something small."
"So the Dark Lord wasn't after Gregorovitch himself, but something Gregorovitch once possessed," Anne reasoned.
"You think he's trying to make another Horcrux?" Harry asked.
"No," Hermione said before Anne could. "His soul's already too damaged, hanging by a thread. Making another one would destroy what's left of it. He wouldn't risk it."
Anne nodded. "I'll check in with the Order, see what people are saying about Gregorovitch. Maybe he was known to collect rare magical items. Anything else?"
Harry shook his head.
"Alright. Got it." Anne turned to leave, glancing briefly at Hermione. She was still watching her.
Anne froze for a moment. Then, before she could think better of it, she reached out and caught Hermione's wrist. The spark in Hermione's eyes was impossible to miss.
Without a word, Anne led her into the bedroom.
She let go, disappeared into the washroom, and came back holding a towel wrapped around crushed ice.
"Close your eyes."
Hermione obeyed. The coolness pressed gently against her eyelids, and she smiled, reaching out by instinct to wrap her arms around Anne's waist.
After a while, Anne lifted the towel to check. The swelling had gone down a little.
"I already iced them this morning," Hermione murmured.
"Mm."
Anne placed her palm over Hermione's eyes, warm skin meeting the chill. Hermione's lashes fluttered. When her warmth returned, Anne switched back to the towel again.
A few repetitions later, the redness had faded.
"Can you let go now?" Anne asked softly.
"No" Hermione whispered, opening her eyes and holding Anne tighter.
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