emerald ink: chapter two
From then on, Hermione and her journal became practically inseparable. She didn't dare taking it out of the house for fear of forgetting it somewhere a Muggle could find it, so she kept it under her pillow whenever she wasn't conversing with the owner of the journal's twin.
She learned a few vague facts about them: they were male and they were British. That didn't help her much. It could be anyone. She suspected they were a wizard, but they couldn't outright say that when, for all they knew, she could be anyone. She hadn't managed to pull a name out of him — though it wasn't for lack of trying!
One night, a week or so after the first message from the other journal owner, she was lounging on her sofa, half reading, half watching T.V., when her wand buzzed. She'd cast a charm on the journal that connected to her wand, alerting her when the mysterious man wrote. She flipped it open.
I hope you don't mind my rant. Just...how dare he?! The ink was bold; the handwriting sloppy and rushed. I've been waiting two months to get Mother on this new medication that might actually help her, and the fucking idiot wouldn't sell it to me!
Hermione grabbed her pen. Why not? she asked him. Maybe she could get some more information.
Of course, he clammed up. I'm not all that reputable, came his answer a few minutes later. Hermione sighed and pursed her lips.
Why not? she scribbled again.
Let's just say I chose the wrong side.
Wrong side? In the Wizarding war?
Was he a Death Eater?
Wrong side in what? Hermione sat back and watched the ink dry on the paper. No response. No response.
Finally, he wrote, In a fight.
Okay, he was being very unhelpful. Should she just come out and ask? No, she decided. Best to wait and see whether he told her.
I see, she wrote. You don't have to tell me...yet. I expect answers sometime.
Fine. Eventually. Maybe. What should we talk about instead?
What's your name?
Ha. Like I'm going to tell you that?
Hermione groaned and thunked her head against the arm of the couch. Okay, Mr. Secretive. How old are you?
Twenty-one. You?
Same.
That meant, if he was a wizard, he would have been in her year. She knew he was British, so it was unlikely he'd attended one of the other Wizarding schools. Oh, goodness, could she remember all the guys in her year at Hogwarts?
She grabbed another piece of paper and started listing every male she remembered.
