A/N: I'd like to give credit to Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon, the book that made me think of Morgaine differently. ^_^
On that note, there might be a slight twisting of known Arthurian legend here and there. So if you spot something that's different from the Arthurian legend you know, that's mostly because I am evil and I bow to Zod.
Thanks to Tome Raider's exceptional advice and mad beta-skills, this story reads much better than it first did. Like loads better.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter Two: Women of Avalon
A temperate breeze blew, taking with it the cold in Hermione's bones and perfuming the air around her with the smell of sweet berries and vanilla.
She closed her eyes to savor the scent before taking in the sights of this mystical paradise.
Avalon was a vast garden of exotic blooms and charming greens, crawling vines and shaped hedges. Birds of vibrant colors and varied songs flew and perched about in trees and bush, crisscrossing with merrily fluttering butterflies of yellow buttercup and crimson.
The garden spanned several kilometers on all sides, but nestled in the middle of the expanse were two structures, like two thick spires pointing to the heavens.
One was a massive tower made of jeweled stone. It was the only way Hermione could describe it. The thick slabs of rock shimmered, like a thousand tiny stars were embedded on its face. The monolith had windows, but it was hard to say, under the light of day and shadowed windows, whether anyone was inside it. Beside the tower was a smaller structure made of dark marble, like tektite. Inscribed on its face were ancient runes that Hermione couldn't read. She recognized the symbols, but she couldn't figure the syntax out.
The presence of Harry washed over her as he stepped closer, his aura surprisingly ascertainable to her.
"Wicked," he breathed, eyes transfixed to the two towers.
"Hello there."
Hermione whirled to face the unexpected voice, shocked astonishment rocking her backwards and against Harry. He grasped her arm to keep her steady, but he too looked anxiously at the stranger that approached them.
The lady, holding a scepter twice her length, smiled at them serenely, never minding their surprise. At the tip of her staff sat what appeared to be a crystal, and it seemed to be on fire. The woman didn't seem to think this unsettling. She did, in fact, lower the scepter and place her hand around the crystal, extinguishing the flame without getting scorched.
Hermione stared at her a moment before letting her thoughts drift to logic.
The magical flame had to have been the light that led them to where they were now, and this lady, whoever she was, certainly looked non-threatening.
The woman looked to be a bit older then them; probably in her mid-twenties. She had dark brown hair that fell in perfect ringlets down her shoulders. She wasn't beautiful, but she looked so calm and undisturbed that she was easy on the eyes. She wore dark blue robes, a crystal pendulum pendant around her neck and over her modestly covered bosom, and she appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be pregnant.
Hermione blinked. "Oh… erm, hello. H-How do you do?" It was all she could think of to say.
The woman smirked, first at her, then at Harry, then at their joined hands. She arched an eyebrow, but Hermione couldn't tell if it was one of pleasure or disdain. "Welcome, daughter of Eve. I am Brigit."
Daughter of Eve? thought Hermione with a slight frown. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
When the silence stretched, Harry nudged her gently and Hermione pulled herself from her thoughts.
"I'm Hermione Granger," she said. "And this is Harry Potter."
Brigit looked them both up and down with barely veiled boredom. "Yes. I know. Come along then. Mind the Azaleas."
It hardly surprised her, really, that Brigit seemed so unsurprised by them. Hermione did, in fact, believe that they had been expected, because after all, there was no reason for Brigit to be waiting so far into the edge of Avalon carrying a glowing crystal in the mists, unless of course she was expecting someone to see it and use its light as a beacon.
The priestesses of Avalon were rumored to be seers in their own right, and while Hermione's idea of Divination was still "history repeats itself," she was most willing to give these ladies the benefit of the doubt.
Brigit turned to walk and Hermione hastily followed, dragging Harry with her. She wasn't going to risk letting go of his hand.
"You needn't worry about Harry getting lost," Brigit said after a while. "He's in Avalon now, and so long as you want him to be here, he's not going anywhere."
Hermione shot Harry a shamefaced look, and she let his hand go.
Harry frowned but said nothing. He merely sighed and tore his gaze from her, his eyes looking straight ahead.
Their walk wasn't long, and as they neared the towers, Hermione realized that there was a whole expanse of small cottages and walkways surrounding the foot of the tower where women and a few children roamed free.
Several women, dressed like Brigit except for the pregnant cut of her robes, greeted her hello, passing glances at Harry in a most nonchalant fashion. Some wore a pendant similar to Brigit, but most did not. All the women were engaged in some productive preoccupation, like sewing, knitting, reading, writing, playing an instrument, or drawing. In the background, Hermione could hear a very faint sound, like music. It was pleasant, and it sounded like real voices, not a recording.
A child squealed with laughter and spilled on their path, followed by the handful of children in the yard who were giggling delightedly. Most of them were girls, and there appeared to be only one boy.
Brigit dodged the children without a care, letting them play as if they bothered no one.
A girld child looked and stared at Harry. "Oooh. A big boy."
She couldn't have been older than five, but her voice carried out through the yard.
The children began to gather and Hermione had to hustle Harry forward. She didn't want to get delayed.
Brigit led them into the towers, and it was even bigger on the inside than it seemed on the outside. There were more women walking about, but they all seemed to be engrossed in reading, walking, and praying. None of them looked up to pay them attention.
They were led up a flight of stairs, and then through a mostly empty hallway where there appeared to be doors alternating the walls on both sides.
Brigit stopped midway through the long hall. She gestured to one door. "That shall be your chamber, Hermione." She gestured to a door on the opposite side. "That shall be yours, Harry."
And that seemed to be it. Brigit began to walk away.
Hermione was a bit flustered. "Erm, ma'am-um, priestess-"
Brigit turned to look at her patiently.
Hermione barreled on. "We're not planning on staying very long. We're in a bit of a hurry, you see…"
Brigit nodded. "Oh, I know." Then she turned to leave, as if the matter were settled.
Hermione pursed her lips. She honestly wanted to stamp her foot and say, "You're not listening!" but she restrained herself. She turned to Harry, thinking that he would share her frustration. It threw her off to see him opening the door to his room and walking in.
She frowned, following him, and she found him looking around the clean chamber, with the soft bed and the smart writing table, the walls with a moderate shelf of books, and a view on the balcony outside the French doors.
"Nice," said Harry, as if they'd just arrived in a resort. He set his pack down and fell back on the bed.
"Harry!"
His eyebrow arched questioningly.
She motioned to begin her rant, but she supposed he had the right of it. There was no point in complaining. They were in a comfortable place that appeared to be safe. They hadn't been thrown into any dungeons and Brigit appeared to know everything. Even if they wanted to, they weren't going anywhere.
Her shoulders slumped. "Never mind." She walked wearily to the bookshelves and saw books about Quidditch and defensive spells. There were a few works of fiction, as well, mostly mystery novels. They were the kinds of books Harry would be interested in.
Just how long do they expect us to stay here?
"Where do you think all those children came from?" Harry asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him, shooting him a look.
He reddened. "Oh, you know what I mean. You can't tell me that these women got pregnant by themselves."
"Of course they didn't get pregnant by themselves. You aren't the first man to step into Avalon, Harry."
"Yeah, and they just come here to impregnate the women then leave. Is that what you mean?"
She had to admit that he had a point, twisted as it was. "I'm sure that's not the case." She tried not to think about whether Harry was contemplating that scenario more than he ought to. "Anyway, I'm sure I'll be able to find out all about this place when I get to my room. My bookshelves ought to have more information about that. You can take a kip while I-"
"Hermione, can you just please settle down for a bit? We've been hiking all day and I really just want to sit and-and do nothing for a while."
She felt the slightest bit impatient. "That's fine, Harry. You don't have to do anything, but for my part, I'd rather-"
He sat up in bed and sighed. "Why did you ask me if I was thinking about Ginny last night? Honestly? It really pissed me off. Do you think I'd do that sort of thing?"
That was severely rattling. She blinked, like a deer caught in headlights, and she almost expected the bone-crunching collision of a car.
If he was angry at her earlier, he didn't seem to be, anymore.
She fidgeted and tried to organize her thoughts. How to begin?
Perhaps sensing that he couldn't ambush her for an explanation, he tiredly motioned for her to come closer, patting the space on the bed in front of him.
Hesitantly, she sat. His gaze was penetrating, and she actually began to feel guilty. She hadn't meant to be mean to him, but she supposed she shouldn't have spoken so hastily. She shouldn't have given into the impulse that had been so driven by her insecurities.
"Well?" Harry asked. He wasn't going to make it easy for her.
She reddened. "I'm really sorry, Harry. I didn't-I wasn't thinking-well I was. Too much, I suppose. I shouldn't have said anything."
He frowned. "But you'd still be thinking it-that I'd-I'd kiss you like that and I'd be thinking about some other girl. I can't believe you even thought I was capable of such a thing!"
Her eyes widened, horrified that he was thinking it was him that was the problem. "It's not like that at all! I'm just-Harry, I've been dealing with-with this all week. I couldn't quite understand where you're coming from. Last week you kissed me, and then you pretended nothing happened, and I really couldn't bring it up. I was just so afraid you decided to ignore it-hope it would go away. And then last night-it was really wonderful, and this morning we didn't talk about it again. At first I was fine with it, but I got to thinking, and thinking, and… it just went down hill from there. The more I thought about it, the more I-" She smirked somewhat bitterly. "I'm not even your type, Harry. I don't like Quidditch, I don't have exotic eyes, or exotic hair. I like to study, and read, and if I can, I'd rather stay indoors. I'm bossy and I'm not popular with the boys… I just couldn't figure it out, is all. And honest, I really didn't think you were thinking of some other girl while you were kissing me. That was-that just came out at the last minute."
He was still scowling. "Merlin, Hermione, why do you have to make everything so complicated?"
She didn't deny it, and she had spent most of her life cultivating dignity in the face of her many quirks. "It's my nature. I couldn't help it."
He remained unmoving for a few heartbeats before his scowl waned and he gave a defeated sigh. Then he smiled, again with its weary undertones. "So explain it to me, then, how you can know my type more than I do?"
It wasn't the kind of thing she had expected, and really, she almost thought Harry was being absurd, asking that, but then he had a point, didn't he?
"I like your hair," he continued, tugging gently at a lock, "and I like your eyes. I like Quidditch, but it's a sport, Hermione. It's not as important as fancying someone who doesn't care for it as much. Besides, you show up for all my games. And since I know you don't like it, I think it's the sweetest thing anybody has ever done for me…"
She stared at him, mesmerized. "Fancying?"
Hermione, that was the stupidest question on the face of this earth.
He reddened, looking bashful all of a sudden. "That's usually the case… you know, when you snog someone."
"Well, of course…" She wished she could run and hide. She was so embarrassed.
"I'm sorry you thought you had to ask me about Ginny," he said in an even softer tone. "I wasn't-I wasn't thinking about her when I-it just wasn't like that. You believe me, don't you?"
She nodded. Of course she believed him. She had already decided she had been a great big berk for asking him that question, but it didn't change the fact that she had a reason for being neurotic. His brooding silence was driving her crazy, and perhaps it worked for him, but it was terribly hard for her to cope with that.
"I'm going to ask you another terrible question," she said. "Please don't get angry."
He sighed and gestured for her to go on.
"Did you regret it at some point? Kissing me last week? And last night?"
He shot her a frown, but he answered definitively. "No. Never. Merlin, Hermione!"
"I'm sorry!" she cried. "It's just-why don't you want to talk about it-"
"Everything's just a bit complicated right now, you know? Things are happening and-" He sighed again, running his hands through his hair.
Hermione's mind understood, but her feelings were making her aggravatingly confused.
"Fine then," she said evenly, getting to her feet. "I suppose I'm making too much of a big deal out of this, and I suppose I should be worrying about more important things. After all, I'm just the swotty Know-It-All; the bossy nag who knows nothing about Quidditch-"
"It isn't like that at all and you know it…" he said quietly, holding her by the hand. "Some things… they just happen and you can't always explain the hows and whys, at least not immediately."
She knew this, but she didn't know if she could deal with it now. Some of her anger waned, but she needed some time to process his refusal to discuss what she felt needed discussing. She was a bit tired at the moment to "understand."
"And you say I complicate things," she muttered. "Look, I'm going to try to get some reading done. You get some rest, Harry. If you need anything, I'll just be in my chamber, alright?"
She turned to leave and she ignored the weary sigh he expelled as she wrenched her hand from his grip. If he didn't have any patience for her itty-bitty dramas, as opposed to the humungous angst he was liberally dumping on her shoulders, he could take his broody self and stew on it alone.
She marched out of his chamber and into her own where she found the selection of books to be more to her liking. There was a reading chair by her balcony and she made herself comfortable, curling up with a book, pad, and quills.
It was difficult to concentrate at first, but soon enough she was well-focused on her text.
It was almost dark by the time she looked up, and pushing back her anxieties about the amount of time they might have already wasted in Avalon, she resolved to try to find something to eat.
Wonder if Harry would like… oh, yes, I'm supposed to be angry at him now.
But she couldn't find it in herself to be so cold.
Grumbling, she freshened up and resolved to fetch him before she looked for the kitchens.
Swinging her chamber door open, she was greatly surprised to find Harry struggling to hold up a tray laden with food while appearing to try to knock on her door.
They stared at one another in clear astonishment for several seconds before Harry began to redden frightfully.
"Erm, thought you might be hungry… found the kitchen and, um, raided it…"
Whatever bitterness remained in her heart evaporated completely.
He is so…
"Thoughtful," she said, more charmed that she was willing to admit. "I was just about to get you to hunt up the kitchens. Here. Let me get that for you."
He cocked a smile, looking quite pleased with himself. He evaded her attempt to try to take the tray from him and led himself in, setting the tray down on the desk and dragging the desk by the bed.
"How come you have a fancy reading chair and I don't?" he asked, glancing at the chair and the mess of books around it.
"Because," she began, climbing the bed and sitting cross-legged on the covers, "I was lucky and you weren't. The shelves, however, are spelled like the Room of Requirement. I've been reading up on Avalon-"
"Of course."
She dealt him a glare but her heart wasn't in it. She was too endeared by his thoughtfulness to be snappish. "I read that while the entire island is basically enchanted, like Hogwarts, it's still just like any Wizarding castle. It has its secret passages and rooms, but it's really the people in it that matter. Are you listening, Harry?"
He was busily spreading jelly on some bread as she spoke and didn't appear to hear her, but he replied. "At every word. Keep talking."
She smiled. "Avalon is basically a priory in worship of a Goddess. It's not clear to me who this Goddess is, but my research indicates that it is the same Goddess Arthur Pendragon worshipped dancing naked before the Beltane fires before he had to convert to Christianity."
"Dancing? Naked?"
"Just checking to see if you're paying attention," she said with a sly grin.
He laughed. "I said I was! Stick to the facts, Hermione! So same Goddess. Who is it, then?"
"Celtic Goddess. She takes many shapes and forms, and therefore has many names: Bel, Rhiannon, Cerridwen, Branwyn, Gwynn ap Nod… just some among many, but as one Goddess, they often call her Great Mother, or Creator of All. Anyway, that's hardly important. What matters is that priestesses come here with a common calling: To serve the will of the Great Mother. Some priestesses have special callings, and this is why priestesses, once they join Avalon, take a Goddess name that corresponds with their abilities." She reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed a book from the floor. She was getting into this big time, but Harry seemed interested enough. She hauled the heavy book up with a grunt and was about to sarcastically comment on how helpful he was when she saw him staring at her backside with clear appreciation and a hint of smoldering desire.
She felt her face grow hot and her stomach fluttered with excitement.
She let on that she didn't notice and cracked the book open to the page with the list of Goddess names. She pointed to it. "See here? There's Brigit and it's the name the Great Mother uses when she's the Goddess of agriculture, arts and crafts, divination, enchantments, fertility, fire, healing, knowledge, love, motherhood, spells, psychic ability, witchcraft… almost everything. And see, Brigit, from earlier, seemed to be quite a few of these things. She is pregnant, therefore she's fertile and is about to become a mother; she seemed unsurprised about many things, implying that she knew of them beforehand, and she was there, carrying a beacon, to lead us through the mist, so she knew we were arriving before we came."
"That's actually quite interesting."
She nodded. "It is. The head of the priory is named Morgana le Faye. All Head Priestesses since Morgana le Faye's time took her name in honor of her legacy. Unlike the legends, they don't think Morgana le Faye is an evil, opportunistic, incestuous hag. The history of Avalon clearly states that Morgana was a woman of great compassion, power, and femininity. She wasn't evil, and she certainly didn't want to take her half-brother's throne. She did, however, sleep with him."
Harry made a face. "Ew…"
"By accident. They were separated at birth, met at the Beltane fires and sired Mordred. Even Mordred didn't want to take Arthur's throne. Mordred loved Arthur, but something happened-and Morgana herself couldn't explain how it happened that Arthur died by Mordred's sword. Anyway, Morgana lived the rest of her days here leading the priory, and she was beloved by everyone."
"Did the books say anything about Excalibur?"
"I found many things about it. The books say that the Lady of the Lake is its keeper, and that she chose to give it to Arthur. Before Arthur died, he told Sir Bedivere to throw the sword back into the water and the Lady of the Lake took it back. There's some reference to Arthur some day returning with the sword to save Britain from a terrible threat, but there's nothing in the books to indicate how we'd be able to coax the sword back from the Lady. I might try to ask the Head Priestess once she sends for us. She might know something…"
Frustrated, Hermione took a handful of grapes and began eating them while immersing herself in deep thought.
"I'm worried," she said after a bit. "I just want to destroy Slytherin's locket, because that will mean Voldemort would be mortal, which means we can… make him go away."
His eyebrow arched. "We… can make him go away?"
She reddened. "Seems bloodthirsty to say `destroy,' and I know that if it wasn't for that bloody prophecy, you'd rather not be destroying anybody."
He sniffed. "Oh, I'll destroy him, alright. We won't. I will."
She frowned. "Harry-"
"You're not part of the prophecy."
"Harry!"
"It's not that I want to do it alone," he said with quiet conviction. "I wish-I don't know. If I can bring an entire army with me when I have to fight him, I would, but even if I wanted to, I don't think fate would let me have it so easy."
"I already told you that you don't have to be alone."
"Yeah, I remember. I can never-I won't ever forget that you said that. When you did…" A fond smile spread his lips and he looked bashfully at his hands. "Well, I kissed you, didn't I? I just felt… I don't know what I felt, but it felt good, and I wanted to kiss you really badly, so I did."
She was feeling so many things for him at that moment. She felt an overwhelming sense of compassion-a need to hold him close so that he didn't have to feel so burdened. But she wanted him to hold her too, just so some of her anxieties could melt away at his embrace. Most of all, the lost look in his eyes, the way he smiled, and her remembrance of how he had looked at her just a few minutes before made a potent mix.
Resistance was most assuredly futile.
Leaning over on her hands and knees, she sought his lips and kissed him. She felt no resistance from him in the least, and almost immediately, he had gathered her in his arms and pulled her in for a deeper kiss.
Responding came so easily for her that she figured there was absolutely no reason for them to go on talking. She removed his glasses with almost expert ease and he let her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and didn't even look to find out where she set it down.
Fingers raking through his hair, she let her tongue slide against his while they pressed lips upon lips. He made a maddeningly wonderful sound from the back of his throat, and suddenly the feel of his hands on the small of her back felt inadequate. She squirmed, adjusting herself to straddle him. His hands traveled lower to her bum, and she conveyed her approval with a soft moan.
He was breathing heavily again, but she found that it didn't alarm her the way it had the night before, and she pressed her body closer to him, her hips flush against his, his head cradled in her hands while they kissed.
Her fingertips tingled to touch more of him, and she experimented with one hand dipping down the hem of his shirt and lifting it to trace the contours of the skin on his back.
By the sound of his moan, he approved, and she felt his back muscles bunch briefly while he tipped them over, her back against the soft bed.
Her heart raced, but she felt no anxiety, even as his hardness pressed firmly against her; even as his hips thrust ever so slightly, almost cautiously. Her hand kept exploring the dips and ridges of his skin, his shirt lifting higher as she did so. Her own boldness excited her, and she found that other parts of her body were useful for touching him, like her socked foot, which was sliding slowly up and down the back of his thigh. He moaned again, and she realized that everything Harry was doing was in response to her touch. She was leading him, and that gave her a sense of power.
Harry pulled away with a gasp, and she watched him-feeling intoxicated with her new discovery-as he pulled off his shirt and fell upon her again, his lips over hers and his tongue sweeping in her mouth, almost hungrily.
She couldn't help the tiny smile that lifted the corners of her lips, even as she kissed him back. Her hands, perhaps realizing the new liberties it had, traveled down his spine and found the loose waist of his trousers. Her fingertips hit boxer, and perhaps drunk with whatever it was they were generating between them, her hands pushed the garter aside and slipped beneath his pants.
Hermione had never held a man's bare arse against her palms before, and she hadn't the slightest clue about what a good one felt like, but she was amazed how something so smooth to the touch could feel quite solid.
Harry gasped again. "Oh, damn."
For a moment, she considered apologizing, but the completely powerless look in his eyes filled her with accomplishment.
"D-Don't-"
She felt an inkling of embarrassment as she slowly realized what she had done. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, her panic going on a slow climb. "I just wanted to know what it felt like."
He blinked a bit, obviously not expecting that. But he seemed to recover quickly, as Harry was apt to do when he stumbled, and he leaned over, likely to continue on from where they left off. "Don't stop," he whispered, just before their lips met again.
She didn't, and she kept exploring her newfound patch of skin, the occasional thrusting of their hips increasing in frequency.
His hand slipped over the front of her, cupping her breast and squeezing before lowering further to the hem of her shirt. Her stomach fluttered, and when his hand slipped beneath her shirt, brushing against her ribs and then the lace of her bra, that moan of approval escaped her throat again, just before the sensation of Harry's bare hand on her breasts sent her senses reeling.
It felt wonderful, but in a few seconds, her enjoyment began to get tainted by her insecurities. She suddenly wasn't very sure about the shape of her, of whether he thought her breasts nice enough to touch. She had seen other breasts, of course. In the dorm rooms, all but her wore skimpy, showy nightdresses when they weren't starkers in the shower rooms. She was always very shy about her body, or as she liked to say, she kept herself reasonably decent the moment she stepped out of the privacy of a shower stall. She had tried not to stare at the other girls, but of course she couldn't help it when they walked around in nothing but their knickers, gossiping and laughing as casually as they did walking fully clothed down the hallways.
She had spent many of her years comparing, and of course hers were never as nice, never as perky, never as round, or never as pretty.
It was while she was lost in these thoughts that Harry, oblivious to her musings, began to unbutton her jumper.
By the time she realized it, her bra was fully exposed and Harry's tongue was dipping between the valley of her breasts.
Her thoughts scattered as her back arched and her arms wrapping around his neck. She was acting on instinct, and all she knew was that it felt good.
He made a sound of approval, just before he pushed himself up and away from her.
Her brain felt too addled to process his actions the first few seconds, but then she realized he was staring down at her, watching her as she breathed to catch up on her desire. His eyes rested on her bound breasts, and she felt horribly self-conscious.
The blush that settled on her cheeks spread all over and she attempted to cover up, tugging at her jumper.
Harry's brows knotted in confusion, just before he gently pried her hands away by their wrists. His eyes seemed to take her in and she swore that he was admiring her. There was nothing in his expression to justify her earlier fears of inadequacy, and gradually, she relaxed under his gaze. She grew so comfortable that she wouldn't have minded in the least if he asked to remove her bra, but he didn't, and so she asked him, still a bit shyly, but with inner certainty, if he wanted to see all of it.
He swallowed, looking a bit nervous, but he nodded, and she arched a bit, preparing to remove the rest of her jumper and then reach behind her awkwardly to undo the clasps. She was surprised when Harry helped peel her jumper off and then reached behind to undo the clasp himself. She giggled softly when he fumbled, unable to undo the clasps with one hand.
"I'm a right klutz," he muttered sheepishly.
She pushed herself up by one elbow and used her other hand to twist the clasps loose. The bra sprung free and her heartbeat increasing in tempo. She became all too aware that the moment that small garment was removed, she would relinquish a great part of her self-control and entrust it to him.
The bra slipped off and she had to toss it lightly aside, and for a moment, it looked as if he could stare at her all day, but then his lips fell upon her with arousing enthusiasm, and his open-mouthed kisses on her neck caused a pleasant ache to blossom down below, just beneath the zipper of her jeans.
She wanted that ache satisfied, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to go that far.
When his mouth began, unhesitatingly, to taste her breasts, the ache intensified, and out of sheer instinct, she began to thrust her hips against him, pressing the ache against his hardness. The pressure felt good and a moan escaped her.
He groaned in response and it almost sounded tortured. He pushed back more intensely, almost painfully, and his shoulders tensed, his loud moan muffled as he sucked on the skin of her shoulder. He shuddered then went perfectly still.
Slightly confused, and still aching with desire, she asked, "What's wrong?"
He looked up from her shoulder, utterly red in the face, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. "I-um… oh, God…"
The mortification in his gaze only confused her for an instant. She knew in the next second what had happened, but instead of feeling annoyed by it, which was probably what he expected, it made her feel so terribly good about herself. She was, after all, a woman driven by success.
"It's alright," she whispered. She felt rather wanton, and her desire was still raging. She paused briefly, thinking about her options, and was, in the next second, surprised to realize that she was wholly unashamed of her unwholesome thoughts. There was absolutely no way she could turn back and let her desire go unsatisfied, and while she had never ever experienced touching herself, Lavender and Parvati had joked about it many times, how they'd needed to "polish themselves" off once a while. This lead to the inevitable discussion that sometimes, a man could help this process along in about the same manner.
Still swimming in her haze of desire, she unbuttoned her jeans, and with her trousers loosened, she took his hand and guided it into her knickers.
Harry looked like he was going to pass out from shock, but when she felt his fingers on her clit and she guided him just so to move it in a certain way, she found her neck arching and a moan escaping her throat at the wonderful sensations.
Harry didn't seem to need that much prompting after that. He pushed her jeans and knickers off part way to give his hand more access as he began to press circles against her. She gasped as waves of pleasure assaulted her. He got a bit excited and pressed too hard for a few heartbeats and she told him to go easier in a voice so sultry that she wasn't sure if it was still her talking, or if she was suddenly possessed.
The circling motion of his hand continued, but when she felt his fingers slip gently into her, she thought her head would explode.
"Oh-Oh, Harry! Oh-"
She came, and her hips bucked off the bed as she pressed her legs together, neck arching. She didn't know how she managed the acrobatics of it. All she knew was that it felt so good, and the sense of release was amazingly explosive.
It was nothing like she'd ever felt before.
She collapsed on the bed, panting. She felt so utterly liberated, and she liked it exceedingly.
"Wow," Harry breathed. "That-you-looked amazing."
Even bathed in these excitingly new feelings, she was surprised by his words, and she wasn't quite sure how to respond. As she began to wind down from her high, she began to feel self-conscious, and then quite shocked with herself.
She shimmied back into her clothes as casually as she could, because Harry was still watching her with barely veiled amazement, even scrambling to put his glasses on, and he still seemed completely enamored of her body. It was a bit unnerving, but she didn't want to make the situation awkward for him, even if it felt a bit awkward for her.
Sitting up, she buttoned her jumper back on and ran her fingers through her hair to settle it. She figured she looked a fright, but Harry didn't seem inclined to complain in the least.
She decided to stare right back, seeing as he still had his shirt off. He was a bit thin. That-she knew-would never change, but he was no longer painfully skinny, and the lines of his muscles were exquisitely defined. Their constant hiking, the relatively healthy diet they had on the road, and the supposed free time he had spent training with spells and hand-to-hand combat with the Aurors had kept him in shape.
He looked downright sexy shirtless.
Now she wasn't quite sure what to do next. Neither did he, for that matter.
A knock on the door jolted them both, and almost by rote, Harry hastened to the door.
"Harry!" she hissed, grabbing his shirt frantically from the floor and holding it out.
Cursing softly, he shrugged it back on, raked his hand through his hair (as if it wasn't tousled enough), and opened the door.
It took a moment, and from behind Harry, Hermione could see no one, but Harry shifted slightly and she saw a child-a boy, it seemed, and he was looking up at Harry in awe.
"Erm, hullo," Harry said.
"Mum said you're to come to dinner in a bit. I'll come get you and the lady in fifteen minutes to show you where the dinner hall is."
Harry fidgeted unsurely. "O-Okay."
The child grinned. "I'm Ezekiel. Everyone calls me Zeke. Are you-are you older than thirteen?"
Hermione was too astounded by the oddness of the question to do anything but stare at the child in wonder.
"Um, I'm going on eighteen, actually."
"Whoa… wicked. I'll see you later, then. Almost eighteen… wow." He turned and sped off, probably to tell all his friends that he had spoken to an eighteen-year-old boy-someone so much older than thirteen.
When Harry shut the door, Hermione gathered her bearings.
"We'll have to get ready for this dinner," she said, the blush on her cheeks only now making itself known to her. She reached for her rucksack and began to ruffle through it. "I think perhaps I could put something together that's half-decent for dinner with a High Priestess."
Harry's hand was suddenly on her shoulder and when she looked up at him, he pressed a kiss to her lips. She could only close her eyes and let him.
When they pulled apart, he said, "I'll see you later, alright?" He said it softly, but it held a world of meaning, all of them wonderful to her.
She nodded, watching him fondly as he left the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dinner, it appeared, was not a communal affair.
Hermione had expected they'd be led to a hall, much like the Hogwarts Great Hall, where all the women and children they saw in the courtyard would be gathered to have a hearty meal.
It turned out the dinner she and Harry had been invited to was exclusive and somewhat formal, if not for her and Harry's awfully rugged dinner wear.
The women that sat on the table were as old as, if not older than Brigit appeared to be, and at the head of the table sat a woman elder than everyone else, though she was by no means nearly as old as McGonagall. They all had on the robes of blue. Only the varying shades and textures of their hair offered a break from the uniformity. If it weren't for that, Hermione believed that they all looked alike, different shades of skin and all that.
The same calm and serenity sat on their features, and Hermione found that oddly alluring. To be so much at peace that it showed? She couldn't help but be a bit jealous.
Zeke left them in the dinner hall and Harry sat awkwardly beside her, just one seat away from the woman at the head.
She smiled approvingly at Hermione. At Harry appraisingly. She introduced herself as Morgana, Head Priestess, just as Hermione expected.
Avalon was known as the "Isle of Death," for indeed, it was the burial ground for kings, but the grandeur of its grave's occupants eclipsed the fact that a priory, very much alive, guarded its hallowed earth. It did not bother the priestesses. They rather liked their privacy, and Morgana, after introducing the half-dozen other priestesses on the table, made clear note of this fact.
"It is not everyday that we let ourselves be found Hermione," said Morgana. "Most of the time, we evade discovery. We take in strangers in need of assistance, usually when they find themselves collapsed and weakened from traveling so far into the forests, but that's not so much a regular occurrence, either."
Hermione felt for a moment that she had intruded and perhaps seeing this in her expression, Morgana smiled.
"You and Harry are no trouble to us, dear, which is precisely why we did not resist your discovery. Brigit did, in fact, offer a beacon through the mist, yes? She knew you were coming and advised that we should welcome you. She's an excellent seer."
Hermione nodded, overwhelmed by the honor.
"Though I must admit," Morgana continued. "We seem only too eager to show ourselves when there's a man involved, yes?" Her eyes twinkled as they shifted to Harry, and the other priestesses on the table laughed softly in their own fashion.
Hermione blushed with him, and remembered how history told of the boy who would be King of Camelot. Harry wasn't going to be king of anything, but she did say, even if teasingly, that he was way up there with King Arthur.
"You need the sword," said Morgana.
Hermione was beginning to wonder whether they needed to say anything at all, with Morgana knowing everything. "Yes, ma'am." She nudged Harry underfoot.
He stammered with a "Yes, ma'am," of his own.
Morgana smirked, gaze falling upon Harry. "You'll have to hope the Lady of the Lake would give it to you."
Hermione could absolutely tell that Harry didn't know what to say to that. Neither did she.
"Is there any way," Hermione began, "that Harry could… convince the Lady to give it to him?"
"Probably, but we never know what her motivations are until they happen. She lent the sword to Arthur, the boy who would be king, and it seemed to make sense that he had need of Excalibur before and during his reign, but we only knew that after the fact. When Arthur returned the sword to the Lady, it hadn't made a reappearance since. Perhaps Harry here would like to be king?"
Harry's eyes widened in horror.
Morgana chuckled. "No? Then I do not know what could convince the Lady to lend him the sword. Do not despair, though. It's not an impossible thing, for the Lady to decide to give the sword over. It has happened once and it may very well happen again."
Harry motioned to speak, but hesitated. Hermione had to nudge him encouragingly to go on.
"S-Sorry," he said. "But how does one know she-you know, wouldn't?"
Morgana shrugged. "We don't, but Hermione found us when we haven't let anyone else find us in one thousand five hundred years. That has to count for something, yes? I suppose I have a good feeling about you two. The Lady may favor you in the same way. Stick around. It's not a bad place to be, anyway."
Hermione pursed her lips. This was beyond the realm of foreseeable logic, and there was absolutely no way they could stick around and wait for something that might not happen.
"You like it here, don't you, Harry?" Morgana asked.
Harry blinked in surprise, glancing cautiously at Hermione.
She dealt him a glare, as if to warn him that the wrong answer would get him in trouble with her. She didn't need these priestesses thinking that she could be won over through Harry. He shouldn't even think of encouraging them.
He swallowed but replied. "It's peaceful. I feel safe."
Wrong answer.
Yet Hermione couldn't entirely blame him for it. It was nice to feel safe and at peace, especially since what awaited them out there was a power-hungry mad man who wanted to kill him. Still, she wasn't entirely pleased with his answer and she made him know it through the exasperated release of her breath.
He gave her a small shrug of resignation.
"Of course you do, dear," Morgana said. "This is a wonderful place. We've brought many outsiders into these walls, and often it's because we know they need our help. We're a refuge. We heal the sick and give ease to those in pain. You have nothing to worry about when you're in Avalon."
Hermione frowned. "Yes, we understand that, and we are very, very grateful for the hospitality you have shown us, but please understand also that we cannot stay here longer than-"
"Avalon is a strange place. It can do many things. Things that, you might find, work to your benefit. There are, in fact, many things that Avalon would do for you if you need it bad enough, but you'll have to trust in its wisdom. It doesn't always go the way you expect. Be at ease. There are books aplenty for you to learn from. Harry may spend his days contemplating the favor of the Lady of the Lake if he so wishes."
"Can the island make time beyond it stand still?"
Morgana's eyes twitched a bit, as if Hermione had completely missed the point. "If the island so decides for you, it might. It's not unheard of, is it? There are Time Turners that manipulate the past and future, and we've had priestesses who swear that time, for them, had stood still outside of Avalon."
Hermione refused to be sidetracked. She had to make them understand their situation. "We need to destroy a Horcrux."
"Of course you do. It's an abomination of life. Only women can make life, and share it. It's why we're so powerful."
It was an interruption, but Hermione patiently let it go unnoticed. "We need to do it as soon as possible. I don't know how to make the Lady understand this. Can you help us?"
"Other than accommodating you, giving you advice about life and love, spiritual development… I cannot help you in anything else. I'm sorry, Hermione, but while the Lady of the Lake favors us, she does not take us into her confidence. Her reasons have always ever been her own."
Hermione did not ask more after that. She was a bit too upset, and everyone else went on with dinner as if all things were settled.
She ate in silence, and perhaps sensing her mood, no one addressed her. They all spoke to Harry, asking him questions about the state of Quidditch, and the Ministry, and other everyday things. Harry answered them all politely as he ate. By the end of dinner, all the women have decided to take Harry into their special care, as was often the case with Harry and mothers.
Everyone left dinner together, but before Hermione could completely retire with Harry, Morgana stopped her briefly and said, "Do not fret, Hermione. There was a reason you were brought here, and those reasons are always good. If the sword is not given to you or to Harry in three days, you can go, and I shall send for you if the Lady decides to bequeath the sword after that."
Hermione appreciated this offer and she smiled gratefully at the priestess. It was not an ideal plan, but what can she do?
She and Harry walked up the chambers together, and she was lost in pensive silence.
As they approached their chambers, Harry sighed. "You know there's nothing we could do about it, right? It's out of our hands."
Hermione wasn't as surprised as she should be when Harry knew exactly what she was thinking. "But-"
"You have to let it go, and you have to take things as they come. Don't get stuck on what you can't do."
She gave an exasperated sigh. "That's your thing. You thrive on split second thinking and `winging' things. I have a plan. I need for it to work, because if it doesn't, we'd have to start from square one, and I don't know if we have time for that. There has to be a way for the Lady to-to cough up that sword!"
He shook his head, seemingly completely frustrated with her, but he didn't contradict her. It would be pointless, anyway. They'd just be arguing in circles.
She took a deep, calming breath. "I'm going to keep reading. There's bound to be something I can find in those books. Perhaps if I read through some of Merlin's texts… there's some scripture to prove that Merlin prepared Arthur to be worthy of that sword…"
Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She looked up at him questioningly.
"Get some rest, Hermione," he said. "The books will be there when you wake up tomorrow, I promise."
At first she considered being stubborn, but after seeing the concern on his face, she could only give him a contrite smile. "I just need to do something."
An amused smile cocked his lips. "Oh, you've done loads."
She had to wonder what he meant by that, exactly. His words warmed her, but whether it was because she appreciated the praise, or because she might have imagined the surge of desire in his gaze, she couldn't quite pin point why.
She couldn't promise him that she'd get some rest, but she did relish the concern he had for her. "I'll see you in the morning then. Bright and early."
There was disappointment in his eyes in spite of his grin, and she wondered-amazed, if he hadn't been hoping to get invited back into her room. For a brief moment, she wanted to take what she just said back; telling him instead that she might like some company before turning in for sleep, but then some of the snogging-haze cleared and she became thoroughly shocked with herself-or else she tried to be.
In some corner of her logical brain, she heard a tiny voice demanding what manner of thoughts she was having, enticing a boy to do ungodly things to her, but it was rather half-hearted, more of by rote. It was like someone had switched on a recording, which she may or may not pay attention to. For the most part, she was perfectly conscious of the fact that she wanted Harry.
And those ungodly things? Felt quite heavenly earlier.
She shut her eyes tight and gave her head a slight shake. When she looked up, Harry was staring at her oddly.
"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding truly concerned.
She cleared her throat, just to make sure she wouldn't squeak. "Yes. Just a bit of a headache is all…"
Lovely… aren't the headache-excuses supposed to come AFTER the proposition…?
Oh heavens… PROPOSITION!
She seriously needed to get away from him. If she stuck around any longer, she was in grave danger of grabbing him and dragging him through her bedroom door.
He began to look even more concerned. "Do you want me to hunt up a painkiller? They're bound to have a potion-"
"It's alright, Harry. I'll just get some sleep. Thank you for offering, anyway. You-You go get some sleep, too."
This seemed to calm him down. "I will. Tomorrow, then?"
She nodded, and just when she was turning away, he tugged on her hand.
She looked, he kissed her, and she felt completely taken by the wonderful sensations of it.
When he pulled away, she thought maybe she couldn't feel her legs.
"Goodnight," he whispered.
She couldn't trust herself to speak quite yet. Turning, she hurried into her room and closed the door well and surely behind her.
TBC
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