This, technically, should still be a part of the last chapter, because that's the way I'd planned it yesterday, but I got tired and just uploaded the first bit. Working on lengthening my chapters, slowly but surely. Let me know if you spot anything else I can do to improve, by the way.
Also, much love to those of you who review (and say such nice things, too). Don't be afraid to be critical, though, that's how I'll learn. Anyway, enjoy.
Hermione bustled around the room, uncomfortably aware that Malfoy's eyes were trained upon her every movement. Something in his attitude towards her had changed infinitesimally since she had woken to his face hovering inches above his own. His eyes had been molten silver again, but this time flecks of gold had shone out from the swirling metallic grey. The pain she had caught in his eyes earlier that day was still there, but pushed to the background by something unreadable and thus much more terrifying. She rolled her eyes, chastising herself for sounding far too much like the quack, Trelawny. Soon she'd be asking to read his palm, or interpreting crumbs on his plate after lunch. What a load of rubbish. She was obviously exhausted, not having had a proper nights' sleep since that blasted letter had arrived by owl the second day of term, if she thought that she could read Malfoy's emotions just by looking into his eyes. She turned back to him, where he sat by the crystal cauldron grinding Chancillion wings into a fine powder, as per instruction. He happened to glance up and catch her eye, still with that unreadable expression on his face. His eyes lowered to her lips, at which point she flushed and turned away, utterly confused.
After a few more minutes standing as far away from Malfoy as possible under the pretence of searching the ingredients' store for Essence of Laetae, she felt the familiar fingers of sleep begin to creep over her body once again. Obviously the nap had not done much to abate her exhaustion. Once again, she cursed the letter and her overactive mind. If only Ron had waited until the Christmas holidays, they could have had a proper conversation. It would have given her time enough to figure out what she wanted, and she would have been able to sleep easily (or more easily, at least). But Ron was his usual impulsive self. He'd probably written the bloody thing without even thinking. Unconsciously, she reached up to feel for the letter in her inside pocket where it had lain since it had arrived that fateful morning. There was nothing there. Panic rising in her throat, she began to furiously pat herself all over, searching desperately for the folded piece of parchment. Malfoy probably thought she was possessed - - Malfoy! How had he known about Ron and his "ginger loving", as he had so crudely put it? Unless…unless she had left the letter in the library yesterday when they had argued and she had stormed off? She whirled round, fury blazing in her eyes.
"Where's my letter, you piece of filth?" she spat, storming closer to him. He looked up in surprise at her sudden explosion of ire, caught sight of her face and paled ever so slightly. He stood quickly, backing away from her advancing figure, and putting his hands up in a calming gesture.
"Look – Granger, I – Calm down, will you? Let me explain –" he said desperately. She was too far gone to listen or to think rationally. Besides, he was running out of space to back in to.
"Shut the fuck up you little shit. How dare you? How bloody dare you to take things that aren't yours and read them? That was private, you slimy, nosy, disgusting, thieving bastard. Give it back to me." She thrust a hand out violently, noting with satisfaction that he flinched at every one of her insults. His body collided with a wall, and he found himself trapped in a corner. And yet, he didn't yield up her letter.
Anger consumed her, and her voice dropped to a menacing, frightening tone dripping with loathing. "You should have rotted in Azkaban with the rest of your kind," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. Pain lashed across his face, contorting his usual façade of cold superiority and twisting it into something infinitely more human. Then the grief was gone and anger took its place. He began to advance, his pale face drained of emotion but his eyes radiating pure, unadulterated rage. He crossed in front of the window and the sun caught his hair, setting it alight as though he were burning. It was Hermione's turn to back away, but he moved far too quickly. Within seconds he had her pinned against the wooden door, his hand at her throat. He said nothing, only tightened his grasp on her until she fought to breathe. Her anger drained away and she closed her eyes, willing herself to be brave. Despite her best efforts, one small, hot tear crept from beneath her long eyelashes and began its slow descent. The grip on her neck loosened immediately and she slumped to the floor, gasping for breath. She did not open her eyes, not yet, but heard a few footfalls and then a crash as glass shattered.
Once she had regained control of her breathing, she ordered herself to open her eyes. Blinking out the last few tears that obscured her vision, the world cleared and she found herself looking at Malfoy's back. He gripped the white marble table so hard that the skin on his hands matched its colour perfectly. His head was bowed, and his shoulders were slumped as though the anger had drained from him and left him unable to stand. She eased herself to her feet, picking her way through the debris of the shattered phials which lay in long shards. Without a word, she picked up her bag, leaving the books she could not collect without coming close to Malfoy for another time. She turned around once more before the door swung shut behind her, and Malfoy's profile against the bright sun was burned into her retinas. It was only as she was nearing Gryffindor common room that she realised that Malfoy had not returned her letter. The anger she had felt course through her veins had clouded her mind to the point where the letter, the catalyst for her horrible, horrible words, had simply slipped from her thoughts. She shuddered as she remembered what she had said to him, the bitter aftertaste of the words still lingering on her tongue. Hermione felt like a monster when she recalled the tortured look that had twisted Malfoy's beautiful features beyond recognition. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered exactly when she had started to think Malfoy's features were beautiful, but she brushed the thought away as she gave the password to the fat lady in a hoarse voice and stepped inside the common room.
Unfortunately, the only other person in the common room was Ginny Weasley, precisely who Hermione had been hoping to avoid. No such luck – this was shaping up to be a bad day. Ginny looked up at the sound of the portrait clicking shut after Hermione, and got to her feet. Hermione opened her mouth to make a lame excuse and run off to her room, but Ginny interrupted her before she could force her sore vocal chords to make a sound.
"Please just sit down, Hermione. I don't know what my idiot of a brother said," Ginny smiled apologetically, "but it can't have been so terrible that you're now avoiding me too." Ginny seemed to genuinely be upset, and guilt gnawed at the fringes of Hermione's conscience. Oh good, yet another thing I have to feel bad about, Hermione sighed. She said nothing, but did as Ginny asked and took a seat on the worn sofa next to the redhead.
"Are you going to tell me what he's gone and done now, then?" Ginny said after a few minutes of scrutinising Hermione, whose hand instinctively went to her throat as though to hide any evidence of her confrontation with Malfoy from Ginny's inquiring eyes.
For a while, as Hermione considered how best to tell Ginny, the only sound in the common room was the soothing crackle of logs as the burnt on the fire. "He wrote me a letter," she began, reluctantly, wincing at the sound of her own hoarse voice. "I got it a week ago exactly, and I still haven't figured out how to reply."
"What did it say that's got you so upset?" the other girl asked, gently.
"I don't know, that's what I don't understand. I mean, he was really sweet but…" Hermione trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. She herself didn't know what her objection was to accepting Ron's admission of love. Until recently, it had been everything she'd ever wanted, so why didn't she want it anymore?
"Can I see the letter?" Ginny's voice interrupted Hermione's self-interrogation.
"I…erm…lost it?" It came out as more of a question than a statement. Hermione truly was a terrible liar. Ginny looked hurt, clearly assuming that Hermione didn't trust her enough to show her the letter, and she frowned at the entirely transparent lie.
"Look, I'm sorry to pry in your personal affairs. I just thought that, since he's my brother and you're my best friend, I'd be able to help somehow. I'm sorry you don't feel the same way – I thought that after all we'd been through, you'd be able to trust me by now. I guess I was wrong." She stood up abruptly and made as though to storm into her room. Hermione reached out and held her arm, knowing that if she allowed the redhead to walk away, Ginny would hold it against her for a very long time. She supposed there was nothing left for her to do but tell the truth.
"Ginny, wait. It's true that I don't have the letter anymore; I left it behind in the library yesterday when Malfoy pissed me off beyond belief. He must have picked it up and read it, because he knows about Ron telling me he loved me. I think he still has it, actually," she said, almost reluctantly.
"Okay, let me see if I've got this right: Ron loves you and Malfoy stole your letter?"
"Yeah, that's about right," Hermione sighed.
"Let's deal with the first bit first. Ron Billius Weasley, my brother, has actually managed to pluck up the courage to profess his love to you? Wow that must have taken a lot of firewhiskey." That had been Hermione's first thought too, but the writing was that of a sober and coherent Ron, more eloquent than she'd ever heard him before, "I thought you loved him too? How come you aren't over the moon about this whole thing?" Ginny continued, to which Hermione only shrugged. "I know that you guys kissed during the War (typical Ron timing) and then the whole thing went to shit when Fred—" Ginny broke off, unable to say the word; the gaping hole that Fred's death had ripped in the Weasley family was still raw, "but you were there for him through all of that. I mean, all summer you guys would be off together in the fields around our house. I'd never seen him so happy, and I think it really helped mum and dad through it all, knowing that at least some joy had come of that bloody battle. What changed? Is it because he didn't come back to Hogwarts with you?"
"Partly, I guess. I mean, at first I felt frustrated because I couldn't mourn his loss with him. Every time I tried to get close, he pushed me away until I felt that I didn't really belong. Eventually, I caught him off-guard long enough for me to kiss him, because I thought that maybe the only way he'd let me in was physically. It turns out I was right, and slowly I got him to look happier by being more and more physical with him. I think it took his mind off of Fred for a while. But his happiness was more of an illusion than anything – when he thought I wasn't looking, his eyes would darken with grief. He was so changed, so horribly changed. It was like he was possessed by the Horcrux again, only infinitely worse because instead of anger there was just nothingness. I tried everything I could to bring some life back into his eyes, but nothing really worked. I thought it did, at first: when I kissed him, he seemed to respond, but I realised too late that he was just going through the motions. He came to my room sometimes, used me and left without uttering a single word. It made me feel so dirty that I just couldn't bear it anymore, and I confronted him. He hit me that night, and part of me has never forgiven him for that. I try to empathise and to understand, but I can't get past the fact that he attacked me when I had done everything, given everything to help him. The minute he lifted a hand to me, I no longer recognised him as the Ron that I had loved for such a long time. I finally saw what I had been hiding from all along – that my Ron was gone.
"That next morning I left suddenly, having told you that my mother had fallen ill. I went home, and stayed away from you all until term began. I remember panicking, wondering whether he'd come and see you off at the station, but thankfully he wasn't there. And then, two days in to term and after several weeks of complete silence, I get a letter from him filled with sweetness, with words that I'd longed to hear fall from his lips since I was eleven. He told me that he loved me more than anything in the world, that I was perfect and that he would wait for me as long as he needed to. But it was nothing like I dreamed it would be – he'd written it all down, probably caught up in some drunk, spur-of-the-moment passion, and I couldn't help but see his face filled with hatred as he hit me. It was all so wrong that I just ran away from it, as I had done that night, and I haven't stopped running. I haven't slept since it arrived, and I can barely bear to look at you because you remind me so much of him. I'm so lost…" Somewhere in the middle of her story, tears had begun falling silently from her eyes and now, as the last words faded from her lips, the sobs consumed her body. She buried her head in her hands, her stoic attitude vanishing with every sob, and felt a warm arm slip around her shoulders. Ginny pulled her in to a comforting hug and held her wordlessly until Hermione's tears subsided. Then, when Hermione had rubbed her eyes and grimaced with embarrassment at her loss of control, Ginny began to speak.
"I think it hit Ron and George the hardest, Fred being gone. I mean, mum was devastated, we all were, but mum had dad to comfort her. George had only really ever had Fred – they were connected in a way that none of us understood, a connection that ran deep in their blood. George began to waste away (you left before the worst of it, trust me) without Fred there. They'd always shared everything, and it was as though George was now left with half of a body, half of a heart. George stopped eating, stopped moving. Sometimes we would barely catch him breathing. He looked like he was simply waiting to join his brother, waiting patiently that death might take him too. And with every inch that George sank into darkness, so did Ron. You have to understand that the three of them were very close. I was always slightly on the outside, being a girl, and Bill, Charlie and Percy were too old or too different to be included, but those three were made of the same stuff. Ron had grown up with those two teasing him to death, but not in the way they teased the rest of us. He was under their wing. When the twins first discovered their magic, they enchanted two cups and turned them into one of those Muggle contraptions that dad was always banging on about – a walkie-talkie, I think they were called. They gave Ron one of the cups, and the three of them would run around the garden playing at being aurors. When Fred died, I guess it seemed like the radio had fallen silent. There was a tangible hole in our family. So I understand Ron's behaviour up until the point where he hit you. I've never seen him lash out violently, ever, and I just can't understand that you – the girl he's secretly loved since you wandered into their carriage looking for Neville's toad (yes, he told me) – would be his target."
"But it doesn't change the fact that I was," Hermione said quietly, "and I'm not sure I can forgive him for that. I… I gave him everything I could give him to try and bring him back to himself. I gave him my virginity, and he took it without emotion. He hurt me in so many horrible ways…"
Ginny's eyes widened slightly but she made no comment, seeing Hermione's eyes begin to glitter in the fading afternoon light. The younger girl reached out and enveloped the older's hand in her own. They sat in unbroken silence, watching the golden light dip behind the trees.
As evening drew to a close, Hermione found herself apprehensively wondering about what night would bring her this time. She had left Ginny to her younger friends as people began trickling in to the Gryffindor common room after lessons had finished because removing herself to her room had seemed like the best option. She was not in a sociable mood, and preferred the comforting silence of her own room to the happy, meaningless prattle of her fellow Gryffindors. She had never been more thankful that the returning Eighth years were granted their own private rooms than today, when all she wanted was to sit on her windowseat, resting her head against the glass and think of nothing. The last thing she wanted to do was hold a forced conversation with girls she didn't really know or associate with, trying to overcome her differences for the sake of blending in. Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her that she wasn't that different that she didn't need food once in a while. Her encounter with Malfoy had lasted well over lunch, and she had spoken with Ginny so long that it had been nearing time for dinner when she had escaped to the privacy of her own room. She simply couldn't face going to the Great Hall with the rest of the school, on the off-chance that she saw caught a glimpse of Malfoy, or that her eyes suddenly decided to betray her and start leaking again. Her stomach loudly announced its disapproval at her decision to forego yet another meal today, but before it had even ceased grumbling, a loud crack shattered the silence.
A female house-elf wearing the usual Hogwarts tea towel had appeared in her room, her tiny arms shaking with the weight of a groaning tray laden with food. Hermione did not have time to question the little creature, as the second the tray had been deposited on her bed, the house-elf disapparated with a snap of her fingers and another loud crack.
I am having the strangest day today, Hermione thought, lightly hoping down from the window sill and approaching the tray with slight suspicion. The smell of food tickled her nostrils and pulled her closer. She lifted the silver cover to reveal the feast beneath. In the far corner, three golden white bread rolls were nestled in a small wicker basket, still steaming as though fresh from the oven. Small platters of rice and vegetables orbited the main dish - carved slices of honey roasted pork - and one single slice of chocolate fondant cake, adorned with a raspberry comfit beckoned at her from the other corner. Hermione could feel herself salivating, and her stomach urged her brain to stop wondering whether this was a trick and tuck in. It didn't take long for Hermione to listen to the sensible ideas of her ravenous stomach. She ate until she could eat no more, at which point the food and the tray vanished. For a while, she remained immobile on her bed, incapacitated by the stupendous amount she had just consumed and feeling uncannily like a wallowing hippopotamus as she lay sprawled across her bed. It was then that she realised that a hole inside her had been momentarily filled, and, for the first time since the incident with Ron, she felt close to whole again. Hands lightly resting on her belly, she allowed sleep to claim her.
Hermione had been sitting in the Hogwarts library not moments ago, but suddenly the scene before her eyes shifted and morphed into her room at the Burrow. Her heart sank, knowing what was coming next. She watched, immobile and invisible in the corner as though under the Petrificus Totalus spell, while Dream Hermione sat on Ron's bed, absentmindedly staring out at the sunset. The door opened quietly, so quietly that Dream Hermione did not hear it, and Ron walked in. Dream Hermione looked round and smiled a smile that broke Hermione's heart. Ron answered with a terrible grimace which barely passed as a smile. She saw it now, the unfathomable void in his eyes and the cracks in his shoddy mask of happiness, but she hadn't seen it then, blinded as she was by new love. Her stomach churned as she watched Dream Hermione stand on tiptoes to kiss Ron, and she knew what that kiss had meant. It was a wordless admission of love and hope of a happy future. She saw how Ron moved his hands almost robotically to thread them through Dream Hermione's hair, too roughly.
Dream Hermione shifted in slight discomfort but ignored the warning her brain was sending her. Stupid, stupid girl Hermione screamed wordlessly at herself, listen to your heart – don't do this, not again. But Dream Hermione went on, oblivious, and Hermione watched in growing horror as her past self deepened the kiss with Ron, hoping beyond hope to bring him back to himself with her body. He stood, woodenly, while she tried to incite passion in him. When she realised that it wasn't working, she broke off, and took a few steps back.
"I'm sorry, Ron. Should I just go?" Hermione heard her own voice say, hurt evident in her eyes.
Ron's back stiffened, and something in him snapped. He crossed over to Dream Hermione in one step and began furiously kissing her. What Dream Hermione mistook for passionate love, Hermione saw as fury. Ron attacked her with kisses, mashing their lips together, while his large hands pawed her body. And she sat there, taking it all, lapping it up even. Hermione closed her eyes in a wave of nausea, willing herself to wake up so that she wouldn't have to witness every instant of that night again. But it was to no avail. She opened her eyes again to find that Dream Hermione was shirtless, remembering well how Ron had ripped her white shirt open, sending buttons cascading and rolling all over the floor. She had not said a word in protest, pretending to herself that it was an act of love rather than one of violence. One of Ron's hands was now fondling her breasts, still encased in her white cotton bra, the epitome of naïve innocence, while the other had wandered beneath her skirt and was wrenching her underwear down to mid-thigh. He released her for an instant to unzip his flies, and bile rose in the Real Hermione's throat as she watched the fear slowly appear on Dream Hermione's face. Ron did not even notice, she doubted whether he would have cared either way. Flies unzipped, Ron's hands returned to Hermione. He backed her up against a wall and she allowed herself to be pushed, as limp as a doll in his hands. Ron lifted her slightly, and held her in position. Then it began – roughly, violently, he claimed her. He paid no head to her pathetic whimpers of pain, but continued at the same animalistic pace. Tears streaked her cheeks and her hands clenched as he came inside of her. He dropped her once he had satisfied himself, letting her crumple on the floor, and walked out of the room without a word.
Never again, vowed Hermione as she watched herself shake in the corner like a pile of dirty, used rags, never again will I let a man cloud my judgement.
Hermione awoke and barely made it to the toilet before she started retching. She wiped her mouth and flushed away the last remnants of that night's rich feast, glancing at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were sunken in her pale face, ringed with dark bags from lack of sleep, and her cheeks were hollow. She had not been able to keep a meal down since the dream had started, and it was beginning to show in the lines of her face. She averted her eyes and brushed her teeth furiously, trying to scrub away the lingering sense of being dirty which was not only down to her vomiting fit. When that didn't work, she almost threw herself into the shower and scrubbed her skin raw, drawing small comfort in the familiar scent of her orange blossom soap. Nothing could quite rid her of the feeling, but it helped a little.
She knew she would not sleep again tonight, but nor could she focus on her school work. She had to distract herself somehow, so settled on going for a walk. Technically, it was against the rules, but she did have some leverage as a prefect. Besides, she was getting rather good at a simple Invisibility spell she had found in a tiny old book in the library.
Hermione felt a gentle breeze on the back of her neck as she walked in the grounds on grass which seemed to glow with silver, bathed in the round moon's light. Her wet hair was gathered into a messy bun and she was walking barefoot, marvelling at the sensation of dew and silky grass between her toes. She walked without knowing or caring where she went, content to let her feet guide her and let her mind focus on nothing. The Forbidden Forest was nothing more than a dark mass on her right, and the black waters of the lake glittered as the surface was disturbed by creatures moving beneath it. She turned away from the lake, knowing she would not find peace or solace by its shore – it had always slightly frightened her, a sinister mirror that hid untold things in its murky depths – so she strayed instead towards an unknown area of the grounds.
She had not been walking long before she found herself confronted by an archway made of vines wrapped around a metal frame. Flowers on the vine bloomed in the silver light of the moon, unearthly white hearts bared to the starry heavens. Hermione's curiosity propelled her forward and she ghosted beneath the arch, bare feet making no sound against the cool earth. She found herself in sort of tunnel, made of vines and flowers of the same type that had entwined themselves around the metal of the archway. The pinpricks of light from the starry sky were barely visible through the canopy of leaves and petals, but the tunnel was remarkably light. She walked forward until the walls fell away and she found herself under the clear night sky once again.
The sight that greeted her tired eyes took her breath away. She found herself facing a still, glassy pond that spanned half of the garden before her. The grass beneath her feet gave way to cool stone, which snaked through the plants until it reached the water's edge. Beds of sleeping flowers lined either side of the path, and she could only image what and explosion of colour the garden would be under the smiling gaze of the sun. She followed the path to the edge of the pond, only to discover that it did not end there. Stepping stones hovered inches above the smooth surface of the water, suspended in midair, while small white water lilies floated on the water, each delicate flower cradled by a large green pad. The centre of the flowers was a tiny ball of golden light, which lit the pond enough that Hermione could see here and there the metallic flash as light rebounded from the scales of fish that cut listlessly through the water close to the bed. Hermione stepped gingerly on to the first of the stones, unsure whether her weight would shatter the spell. To her surprise, it held perfectly and was warm to the touch. Hermione stepped from one stone to the other, marvelling at their stability and at the clarity of the pond beneath her, until she found herself in the middle of the pond. Seating herself upon the largest stone, which could easily fit three people, she let her toes skim the water, watching as concentric circles broke the mirror-like surface. The lilies rocked gently on the tide she had created, and their radiant centres danced. She sat in this way for what seemed like an eternity, feeling her newly raw heart healing slowly in the soft moonlight. Then she continued along her path until her feet were once more on firm ground. Her wet footprints glistened in the silver glow of the moon as she followed the winding stone.
Hermione explored every inch of the garden, finding hidden treasures in every corner. She was led through a rose garden, where the rose plants climbed white wooden trellises and fused with one another above her head, and the path beneath her feet melted into sand through which she ran her fingers and marvelled at how soft it was. The path led her to an ancient tree with a heady scent, out of which a love-seat had been carved. Here she sat, breathing in the scent of the tree and watching as the wind laced through the leaves above her head, making them tremble lightly. Continuing on, she passed a small fountain with three tiers. A marble couple danced together under the clear sky, their naked stone bodies lapping up the moonlight. Hermione moved on quickly, finding that watching the man and woman's loving dance brought up emotions she hoped to suppress. She passed beneath the bent boughs of a weeping willow, whose trunk she could well imagine spending summer afternoons reading against. Eventually, and far too soon, Hermione reached the flowery archway through which she had come. She cast one last look at her mysterious haven as it lay serenely in the moonlight, and left it behind her.
Dawn was just staining the night sky pink when she regained her room. More content and at peace with herself than she had felt in a long time, Hermione summoned a soft orb of light, and began to read.