Title: No Past Land
Author/Artist: NOT TELLING
Rating: G/PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But, I do own Draco Malfoy's Slytherin tie. The lady at the store promised. I also don't own "No Past Land," by Russian Red, which inspiration, however vague, was taken from for this little thing I have going on here. And I know the title to the story sounds familiar...but really, who's counting?
Warnings: Marshmallows galore. But in a kind of sour way. I think.
Summary:When you're cooped up in a train car with a known not-friend, it's hard not to find another way.
Notes:
A/N: Good gravy! I want to say, Somersaulter, that your request threw me for a loop. IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I'VE THOUGH THAT HARD. Especially about a song!!! I'm hoping you like it. I'm kind of not sure if I like it, really. But it's for you, and thank you so much for the challenge! Enjoy it plsss!!
They weren't friends.
She would have been okay with this assessment if she were the one to make it, but he had said this right from the start. From the moment they boarded the train.
"We're not friends, Granger, so let's not play at pretense for the sake of the assignment."
"We're not?"
"No, we're not."
And that was the end of it. He looked out the window the entire ride there. He watched the autumn trees passing with a deliberate forcefulness. If he looked away, maybe he's miss something crucial. Like it was as engrossing as a sitcom on the telly and he had to absorb every last bit before they went to commercial.
The rest of the trip was as uneventful as the train ride, and they returned to London, still not friends.
--
"We only see each other on these ridiculous trips. Why can't you talk to me while we're at it? I mean, it's not as if there's anything eventful going on outside of the window." She motioned to the winter landscape; the grey sky, the bare trees, the very white and still blanket of snow.
"Can't? Or won't?"
"What does it matter, really? You sit, and you stare, and you stare, and you stare, and then you blink, and you stare."
But he was at it again. He was staring.
--
The trees had buds on them by the time they had to share a compartment again.
And she had decided, she had thought long and hard and made a conscious decision that she wasn't wasting another four stinking hours on a train in complete silence.
And so she talked. About anything and nothing. And he stared.
"The trees are lovely this time of year. ..."
"I can't believe that the Cannons won the Quidditch Cup! Is that three years now?..."
"I have an apple tree, I planted it in my front yard. The flowers are gorgeous. And there's so many apples in the fall!..."
"I read this book, it just came out. The characters were done so well and they did the mystery...I thought I had it all figured out! And I was so completely wrong in the end! You see...."
"I can't sit here and talk to silence, Malfoy. Can't you say something?"
"Something. "
She smiled, if only to herself. They might be getting somewhere.
--
The air-conditioning was on full blast in the train car.
One individual in the car had her sweater on; the other lounging lazily, smirking as if there were something amusing sitting in front of him.
"What are you on about?"
"Nothing really. Just enjoying the lovely heat we're having today. So unusual for this time of year."
She glared.
"And you think I am amusing?"
"No, simply comical."
He then turned to stare out the window, yet again.
He did not speak again, except to accept a glass of wine from the beverage trolley as it rolled past.
--
"Why are we not friends?"
It had been a year. The leaves were again yellow and purple and vibrant red.
"Because we're not. You and me? We don't get along."
"We get along just fine. We've been riding in the same train car for a year, and we've not once yelled or insulted or otherwise hurt one another."
"So you're suggesting we're friends." It was not a question.
"Well, why not?"
He paused. "So tell me, friend, why do you value my friendship so? Is it my good looks? Or maybe my natural charm? Are you curious about the size of my bank account? Or maybe you're curious about the size in my pants?"
She blushed furiously. "No! I want to not sit with a stranger every time I'm in this car! I have spent a portion of my year with you and I know you no more than the first day I came here."
He considered what she said. "So, if we talk today, will you stop bothering me? Will I be able to watch the trees in peace?"
"Maybe. Would you be willing to bet on a maybe?"
"We'll see. "
They talked.
--
Winter was upon them. The heat was blowing and she was sweating.
"Can you not regulate your own body temperature?" She said nothing. "I just noticed, you're unable to handle the air when it's on; you wear a sweater. And when you are under the heater, you find the need to peel layers like you'll melt under your clothes." She glared. "Not that I don't enjoy the view. Everyone else is all bundled up, and here you are, in a tank top."
She glared harder.
"I mean, you'd think..."
She deflated and mumbled something.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Mprgn."
"One more time?"
"I'm pregnant, alright?" she snapped at him. "I'm warm and then I'm cold and I'm warm and then I'm cold, and I'm sorry, but it's ridiculously hot in here." She fanned herself.
"You didn't need to snap." He looked defeated. "And congratulations."
"Well, don't sound so excited!"
"You certainly don't sound it," he replied.
"And what if I'm not?"
He took pause, almost unsure if it was safe to say anything.
"Just please, keep the puking to a minimum. We do have to work while we're there, you know." He looked out the window.
Nothing more was said.
--
"Shouldn't you be fatter?"
She rolled her eyes. "Do you consider subtlety one of your more positive traits?"
"But seriously."
"But I am serious."
"Why did you tell me?"
"Who else would I tell?"
"You mean he doesn't know?"
"There is nothing to know."
"Why would you tell me and not him?"
"This is our space, isn't it? It holds a lot. I figured it was safe to say here."
"So you wouldn't have told me if we weren't in here."
"Probably not."
He stared.
-
"Can I say something?"
She was staring out the window. "Sure."
"Will it leave this car?"
"Not if you don't want it to."
"I'm glad we're friends, even if it's only within this car."
She looked at him. "Why can't that leave this car?"
"Because I would never say it if we weren't in here."
--
She still wasn't fat the next time he saw her.
"Can I ask you something?"
"For someone so self-assured, you ask permission quite a bit."
"It's not a nice question. I figure it's fair to warn someone before I possibly insult them."
"Fair. Ask away."
He started to stare out the window again. "Do you still see him?"
"Him? No."
"Do you see anyone?"
"No."
-
"What are you looking at?"
"Looking at where?"
"When you look out that window."
"Hands."
She looked down.
"Hands?"
"Have you ever noticed that you speak with your hands?"
"It's just something I do. You do it too."
"Our hands understood each other even before we did."
She smiled. So did he.
--
"Why do we only exist in here?"
"It's been eating at you, hasn't it?"
"Two years. It's been two years and I've seen you eight times. I've left a serious relationship, been to two weddings, lost a baby, moved twice and seen six concerts. And of all of those things, the one thing I look forward to every time is coming to this damned car and sitting with you for four hours to do nothing for the government and then return to my non-existent life. It's sick."
"And yet, you're still here, still picking my brain, still wanting answers. Still Granger. Never anyone different."
"Do you expect me to be different?"
He looked at her. "In the past two years, I'd say you've gotten your hair cut four times. You've gotten a facial, last winter. You had your nails done five out of the eight times we've been together. In the past two years, I've had my hair cut twenty-four times. Not only that, but I have my manicure once a week. I regularly go for skin treatments.
"We come here, and we look the same as we ever do. Yet, never once have we had a repeat of the time before it. I find your mind to be constantly changing, and even in the stretches of silence do we communicate. I love coming here.
"We have no past, and no future. We can say whatever we want. We're friends, we're enemies, we can be lovers or haters or whatever we like. You can kiss me, I could make love to you, right here, right now, and it would never leave this compartment. While we're here, we're in our own world. We escape our worlds, our prisons of our lives, and come here, where we are who we define ourselves to be."
She was shocked.
"If you were to kiss me, we would have to take it outside of the car."
"We're taking this outside?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but my face is too beautiful to be subject to such brutish violence."
She giggled. "Not like that."
"What if I were to kiss you?"
"Then we would no longer have an escape. I would want to escape from this "no-past land," this place where we come simply to be. I want to have a past, and a future. I want to see this place I'm so happy in more than four times a year."
"And if I were to let the opportunity pass by?"
"Then I guess I would keep coming back, to our land, to our space, to our car where we are just who we are, and even though our hands understand each other, maybe our hearts never will." He smiled at the reference.
Her hands dropped from in front of her, almost tired from trying to understand and explain where she stood. But when they hit, they were not in her lap, but in the hands of the man in front of her; when she looked up, he was staring at her, almost surprised where his hands wound up.
And when he moved closer, he seemed not to be moving of his own volition; and when he actually kissed her, his eyes were as wide with surprise as hers, until they drifted shut, content, almost happy to escape from his world, his "no-past land".