This will be a minor series of small human moments between characters of the Harry Potter novels. Grains Falling refers to an hourglass, and the always varying perspective of interaction between people. As in, the grains only move downwards, yet then the entire contraption is flipped and the grains fall down again . . . but to a different place, in a different time, with a different assumed purpose.
Baffling. Because which way is which, what is right or wrong? This is why there are so many misunderstandings between people. You can thank me for illuminating this for you if you feel so compelled.
Just kidding. Ha. Ha.
This first is a picture of Hermione and Draco in their Head Common. Hermione is weary of explaining her evolved view points on matters and shuts down the dialogue. They may have gotten around to sexism, the slavery of elves, the segregation of wizarding society . . . any of these would do. Draco challenges her position on something, primarily to start a fight or at least get Hermione riled, probably by saying something hyperbolic but which he is secretly a little serious about (or curious) and wants to find his own "rightness" by arguing down Hermione's opposing opinion. At least this is what she thinks, and she hates this. Perhaps he only wants to get closer to her, figure her out. He is pierced by her words, which are surprising and stunning, and leaves genuinely offened at her blight on his worth as a conversation partner or simple intelligent being (maybe hurt).
Balance of Sacrifice
"I have had this conversation with myself already. I do not feel like rehashing it with you in an inferior way."
She was completely blasé about this. He stared with some incredulity at the side of her face, willing her for a time to look at him and own her asperity.
She did not. (She glanced at him when he looked away.)
"Goddamn it Hermione." He stood up, walked a pace or two away from the grey couch towards the portrait hole, stopped. "You're so ff- whatever. Enjoy being in your own little world."
He stalked out.
She frowed down into her book, which had been acting not as a book but as a beard.
Well, of sorts.
A shield, a ruse, a mask, a chinese wall of truly infitite escapsim.
She doubted herself for a moment; realizing in a small amount their comparative places in this room, as Slytherin and Gryffindor, as a woman (person) and a boy (man), as two people. She had indeed been incomprehensibly affrontive.
Though she knew, as well, that she would never be able to hurt his feelings the way he could potentially (had) hurt hers.
They were balanced in this. She was meaner, she cared more, he was nicer, he cared less.
(And a Nice that doesn't Care is really a Cruel, while a Mean is not necessarily a Cruel, especially one that Cares- just maybe an Insecure.)
In this moment that was how Hermione took them.
Or at least took herself, and thereby defined him. Perhaps she did not understand them.
She remained on the couch in the quiet empty room, pondering these things, her head slightly bowed.
Draco sat laughing with his friends out on the grouds, in a semi circle.