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Author’s Notes: Oooh, it’s shocking! I didn’t take forever on this part. I’d like to clear few things up in this note, since I don’t want you people thinking I’m stupid. Thanks for pointing that stuff out, Mystica, but I’d like to clear my name on a few of those… In these stories, and maybe even in the real books, Hogwarts Express not only is a train for Hogwarts, but for Hogsmeade too. That’s why it could take them to Azkaban. And it’s a magical train. It can probably fly to the island or something. I dunno. I’m confusing myself now. And, well, let’s just say Azkaban got a little more lenient than it was with Black? Maybe. Who knows, it could be. Sorry about that. I think that bad spout of writer’s block had something to do with it… Anyway, off the subject of trying to excuse Part IX, this part is very, very sappy and consists of one scene, explaining why it’s so short. I’m not too good at romantic scenes, so please excuse me if you drown in sap… I hate drowning in sap… Beware of typos, as spell check on Word seemed out of business through the majority of my writing this… Hope you like it…

How many days in the year she woke up with hope

But she only found tears

Actin' so insincere

Making the promises never for real

As long as she stands there waiting

Wearing the holes in soles of her shoes

How many days disappear

You look in the mirror so how do you choose

Your clothes never wear as well the next day

And your hair never falls out quite the same way

You never seem to run out of things to say

--Nine Days, "Absolutely"

Crackle. Pop. Crackle...

The flames rose up and swayed gracefully in the soft, cold wind, smoke seeping carefully and slowly up to the sky, where the breeze would carry it to the sky where it would die down. A few embers broke free of the main flame and jumped out to the ground, only to die down as soon as their burning surface met with the stronger cold. The pine needles at the bottom, the most sensitive to the flames, were eaten away and turned to ashes as soon as they met with the fire.

Harry watched all this with transfixed eyes. He tightened the thin, wool blanket around him, and changed position on the log he'd made into a seat.

He felt strange, somehow. He was free, finally, completely free.

Like those embers.

Free for a moment, only to be eaten away by the cold waiting to cushion his fall.

He was sitting on that damp, rotting log in the middle of the forest, yet part of him was still in that freezing jail cell, surrounded by dementors eagerly awaiting their dinner of his soul in a few days' time.

The log shifted as someone took the seat next to him.

He tore his gaze away from the flames to glance at his companion. Hermione kept a respectful distance between them, hands intwined in a warmth-saving crusade. As she already wore a thick jacket, she didn't need a blanket. Her hair was reflected gold in the firelight, and the flames cast shadows across her weary face. Her eyes were set firmly on the flames, as if defying Harry's existence.

She bit her lip, and, sensing Harry's gaze, turned to meet his eyes.

An ember must have jumped out of the fire to land on his face. It was like an electric spark had passed between them, so strong it almost made Harry jump.

He quickly turned back to the fire, his face growing warm in a way not associated with the fire a few feet from his face.

It was tantalizing. After being stuck in Azkaban, the coldest place anyone could ever be, for almost a week, he'd had plenty of time to brood over his feelings for Hermione. She'd been the one thing the dementors couldn't take from him. The one thing that had kept him from freezing to death.

And here she was, just within his reach. The face that had haunted his dreams, the warmth that had beaten the dementors. ,p> Yet he couldn't even reach out and touch her shoulder. He loved her so much it seemed as if she was sacred. Too sacred to be tainted by the evil that had once been in him.

He was a coward, and he knew it.

Hermione turned back to the fire, but then seemed to reconsider and returned her eyes to him. "I missed you," she said suddenly. "I don't care if you're evil. I missed you."

Harry blinked. "You did?"

"Yes. If I hadn't, do you think I'd have come?"

"You were always one for loyalty," Harry reminded her.

Hermione nodded silently. "I guess that's true..." She opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to reconsider.

"What?" asked Harry worriedly.

"Merinah..." Hermione furrowed her brow and glanced over her shoulder, to where Merinah had conjured up a tent. She'd proclaimed herself completely exhausted and had retired to bed. Who wouldn't be exhausted after mindtricking about a thousand dementors, somehow flying three people, including herself, across the sea surrounding Azkaban, and then making a fire and tent, sleeping bags, and blankets?

"What about Merinah?" prompted Harry. In his eyes, Merinah was an angel. She'd saved his life more than once. That was admirable; to him, at least.

Hermione hesitated. "She's...starting to scare me," she whispered so faintly Harry had to lean close to hear. "This weird voice is telling me something is off about her. And she's completely unaffected by cold, Harry. It doesn't touch her. How many people can trick dementors? How many?" Hermione shuddered. "Something's wrong..."

Harry raised an eyesbrow. "Are you sure? I didn't notice anything strange..."

Hermione shrugged. "I just thought I'd...bring it to your attention."

"I'll take note of it, but I didn't notice anything."

Another silence smothered them before Hermione again broke it. "What was it like in there?" she questioned, avoiding his eyes by studying the flames. "Was it hell or was that an overstatement?"

"Hell frozen over," said Harry hoarsely. "And it was an understatement."

"Oh." She fell silent.

Harry gathered his little courage together and glanced at her. Her eyes were bright with tears. Of pity? He didn't want her to pity him. He hated pity. Only one person could pity him, and that was himself.

His gaze fell to her hands, shaking in the chill as she squirmed on the log, in cold, discomfort, worry. Harry didn't know.

It was funny. He was afraid to touch her, afriad that it would prove her to be unreal. He wanted to, he knew that maybe he should. He couldn't. A debate was going on in his mind as his hands reached out and cupped Hermione's in his own, hating to see her cold and just plain tired of keeping a distance.

On its own accord, his body moved closer to her.

Very embarrassed at his lack of control, he answered her questioning gaze with, "You looked cold."

She manuvered her hands about so her long, slender fingers wove themselves into his shorter, stubbier ones. She gave him a slight smile. "I am."

Relieved she wasn't upset, he noticed a slight blush flushing her cheeks and somehow grew more courageous. His vocal chords suddenly began to work so he could voice the words that had been aching to come out for ever now.

"I'm sorry I did this to you, Hermione," he said softly but with a strength growing from deep inside. "I never wanted to hurt you. It just happened. I'm not asking you to excuse me of all I've done. I'm not asking for you to forget what I--I've done to you. But I want you to know I'm sorry. I want you to know I hate it. I know I've already told you, but I'll say it again and again and again till I'm satisfied, and I'll never be. I'm sorry. My God, I am so sorry." Idiot tears. He tried to blink them back, but they broke free and trickled gently down his face. He could feel Hermione staring quietly at him. Preoccupied in trying to stop the tears, he continued and words he never thought he'd be able to say popped out. "I love you."

Realizing with a start what had come out of his mouth, his face began to heat up. "I--I mean...I--"

Hermione looked shocked. "What did you just say?" she whispered.

He bit his lip, not knowing how to respond. His face felt hot, which was odd since it was freezing out.

Hermione's face, hard in a frown, softened as she reached out and cupped his burning face in her cool hands. His heart rate increased by a thousand. "Did you really mean that?"

So she had heard him. He, with great humiliation, barely nodded his head.

A gentle smile carved Hermione's lips. "Harry," she said softly, "don't worry. Don't be embarrassed. I'm the weak and unstable one. Not you."

Since when are you weak and unstable? he wanted to ask. I still have scars on my neck with you almost choked me to death.

She leaned her face closer to his. His breath caught up in his throat and he couldn't breathe. "Weak and unstable as I'm told I am, I'll be strong and answer your little pronouncement..." She paused and chewed her lip for a moment, averting her eyes. She then met his eyes again with the fire burning in them he'd ached for like crazy over the time they'd been apart. "I love you, too."

He opened his mouth to speak. Words failed him.

"Sssh, don't say anything, you'll spoil the moment," Hermione teased. "I need a little romance, as my life's been void of it."

He smiled. "So has mine."

"Then let's bring a little flavor in, shall we?" Hermione whispered. "I'm sick of being mentally unstable, angry, scared, all that other s*** I've been living--"

"Hermione," said Harry quietly.

"Yes?" "Shut the hell up."

"Yes, Mr. Potter. Of--"

He closed the inches between them and kissed her firmly on the lips, cutting off her words.

"--mmmm," she finished, unlocking her hands from his and sliding them up his chest to wind around his neck.

He broke away for a moment and a soft moan escaped his mouth as she massaged away the tightened muscles in his neck with cool, precise fingers. She closed the space between them this time, pressing closer to him.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her as close as he could. His fear had finally been extinguished as he'd brought himself to enter the sacred temple he'd hoped would one day save his soul.

To be continued...

Sappy, eh? *sniff* Hey, after all that angst, the poor story needed a little sap. And, for all you sick-minded people out there, I didn't mean it in that way in that last sentence, okay? I meant it in an essence. And for all you young'uns who haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, just ignore that.

For tradition...feedback...please? Thank you and good night/day/morning/whatever time of day it is you're reading this. : )