Archive of Our Own ^beta

The tent was stitched with magic, the fire casting a soft, flickering warmth, but still, the chill lingered. It seeped in from the cursed locket and the war tearing through the worlds of wizards and men alike. No wonder, then, that they reached for each other, that they sought warmth in each other.

They held each other in the dim light, swaying gently to a crackling song by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds drifting from the small speaker. The melody trembled through the air like a ghost.

Ron was gone. They had no one left but each other, drawn together by the cold and the weight of everything they’d lost. Hermione pressed her cheek to Harry’s chest, grounding herself in the quiet, steady beat of his heart, a rhythm more comforting than any spell.

“I wouldn’t have chosen him over you,” she whispered, so softly it nearly vanished into the stillness. “There’s nothing in this world that could’ve made me leave you.”

Harry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he pulled her closer, like he could protect her from everything if he just held her tight enough.

“Hermione—” he began, voice rough, but she shook her head.

She closed her eyes. “Even if things were different… even if there wasn’t a war, or a locket, or any of this... I’d still choose you, Harry.”

He was silent, but she felt the way his arms tightened around her, the way his breath hitched against her hair. Harry let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it for years.

“Say you believe it,” she breathed. “Because it’s always been us, hasn’t it? Just the two of us, facing all of this… together.”

Harry looked down at her, eyes searching hers like he was still trying to make sense of everything — her words, the war, the ache that had been building between them for years. Her breath warmed the hollow of his throat, and still, he held her like she might vanish if he let go.

“I do believe it,” he said quietly. “I think I’ve always known.”

Hermione's gaze flicked to his lips, just for a second. “Then stop waiting.”

His heart skipped.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to.

Harry leaned in, and she met him halfway.

The kiss was soft at first, uncertain, reverent, like the world might shatter if they rushed it. But it deepened slowly, blooming into something they’d both buried for too long, something that felt inevitable. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His hand tangled in her hair. The war, the cold, the locket, none of it mattered in that moment.

It was just them.

It had always been just them.