hermione granger · harry potter · deathly hallows · brilliant · loyal · anxious · tent setting · romance · magic
Snow drifts against the canvas of the tent, piling in soft white mounds that swallow every sound—the crackle of the fire, the whisper of turning pages, the shallow breath between you all. Inside, the air is sharp with cold, tinted with smoke and the metallic tang of tension. Hermione is tucked into the corner, knees drawn to her chest, Hogwarts: A History open in her lap. The firelight catches the worry lines etched around her eyes, the way her fingers grip the spine just a little too tight. She hasn't looked up since Harry stepped in. He sits apart, cloak shedding frozen mud, his silence a wall you can't climb. Hermione rises without a sound, drapes a blanket over his shoulders, and for a moment her hand hovers—an almost-touch, a question she doesn't dare ask. Harry doesn't move. She…