This chapter's a little darker, but don't worry, the light tone is back by the next chapter. It's not super angsty, but there are some more serious themes in this part.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.
Hermione's shaking hit in a violent second wave as she stood barefoot outside by the railing of the Clock Tower. No amount of gripping the wrought iron could control her body, and no focusing on the ticking of the clock behind her could distract her from dwelling on the nightmare she had just had. Off in the distance, thunderclouds crackled with tempests, signalling that a fast-moving storm was going to hit soon. The sound of footsteps from behind her did nothing to drown out of the steady ticking of the clock and the howling of a wolf in the distance.
"The werewolves aren't going to be happy with the rain tonight, are they?"
What surprised her more than the presence of a human being was the identity of said person. "Oh, Malfoy, you startled me." She, of course, had recognised the characteristic voice of the blond instantly, and she turned to take him in. He was wearing blue pinstripe pyjama bottoms and a thick tartan blanket hung across his shoulders, protecting him from the night's chill.
Instead of replying to her comment, he walked forward so that he was next to her, his hallowed eyes searching the horizon. "You think it will rain?" His voice was hoarser than Hermione had ever heard before and his eyes had dark circles underneath.
Hermione turned her own attention to the far-off storm. The brewing clouds reminded her of the haunting darkness of her dreams. She wished that Malfoy were someone else, someone that would hold her and comfort her, because she knew better than to ask. "I can hear the thunder off in the distance, so yes, I suppose that it will rain."
Malfoy drew his blanket tighter over his neck. "It's getting colder by the second, isn't it?"
"It is quite brisk, yes," she replied even as she hugged herself to the cold iron bar, the icy coldness of the metal keeping her grounded. Just like the thick wires on telephone lines back in her hometown.
The boy beside her turned his gaze to scrutinise her. "Yes, which doesn't explain why you're up here on top of the Astronomy tower in nothing but athletic shorts and an old T-shirt. What is that on your shirt anyways? The print is so faded I can't read it."
Hermione was surprised that Malfoy had recognised the Muggle article of clothing that swathed her legs, but she hid it lest he make a sly comment. "You really jump from topic to topic don't you Malfoy?" At his amused nod, she continued, glancing down at the shirt. "It's The Who. They were my favourite band as a kid."
Malfoy inclined his head gracefully and looked back at the storm. "I see. Why are you up here all alone?"
"I could ask the same of you, y'know."
"Touché."
They were silent for a fleeting minute as Hermione's aching body wracked with renewed trembling. Her knuckles were white on the railing and her knees were hopelessly locked as she used all the strength she had left to conceal her quivers from Malfoy. The dreams she had this time were bothering her much more than they usually did, and she didn't want to share.
"Do you really think the werewolves will come out tonight?" She broke the silence with her halting sentence, her jaws so tightly clamped shut that she could barely speak.
"Maybe," his voice was soft and his eyes were pensive. "Everything in the Forbidden Forest has been restless since the War."
The mention of the past hit too close to her fear. She failed to hold back her quaking.
Malfoy sounded surprised when he spoke, and Hermione could have sworn she felt a tentative hand ghost across her back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject."
"No, I'm just cold, don't worry about it." Her jaw clinked together like coins in a purse as she replied.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy whip out his wand and promptly cast a flickering blue flame that hovered above them in the air, spreading a ghostly tinge around the tower. His tone was proud when he countered her claim. "How's that?"
Hermione smiled slightly, but the shuddering did not subside.
"You're still shaking. It's not just the cold is it?"
She bit her lip, wondering what she could reveal to the boy askance her. "No," she finally admitted.
His voice was gravelly and guarded when he responded. "Nightmares, Granger?" She looked up at him to gauge his emotion was surprised to find not even the smallest hint of spite in his face. He looked concerned, nervous even. As if he was scared to find out why she was so shaken up.
It was without fear that Hermione looked into his wide eyes and nodded slowly. His eyes only left hers to look at her forearm, to gaze at the arm she had been unconsciously rubbing with the tip of her thumb. The etched word she had been tracing with her slender fingers. After catching her involuntary folly, she pressed both of her arms against her stomach, wrenching her eyes closed; as if hoping that by closing her eyes, Malfoy would simply blow away like smoke into the air.
The brewing storm was about to strike, and Hermione hoped that he would be gone before the first drops fell.
She had no such luck. No sooner had she peeked her eyes open than she felt an overwhelming warmth surround her shoulders. Malfoy had taken the blanket from his neck and draped it across her, exposing his light cotton shirt to the arctic February air.
"Do you want to tell me what happened? It must have been something big to get the most bleeding-heart Gryffindor I know like this. I'll tell you why I'm out here first if it would help."
She looked back and forth between the tweed blanket and its owner warily. She took a deep breath in through her mouth, wondering if it was palpable trust that she tasted in the air. She nodded mutely even as her shaking settled a touch.
Malfoy nodded back and cleared his throat slightly. "Tonight is the six-month anniversary of when my Father was put in Azkaban. I haven't slept all night for thinking about the day he got The Kiss…" Hermione felt her heart melt, and she moved closer to Malfoy. Their sides were touching now. "Now it's your turn Granger."
The young witch filled her lungs once more with the biting air and she gathered her thoughts. "She comes to my nightmares sometimes—Bellatrix. It's always awful, but it's never been as bad as it was tonight. Usually she just comes and does what she's already done to me, and then she leaves, but this time, it was my Mum instead of me." She felt him stiffen beside her, but she couldn't stop talking now that she had started. "I couldn't go to her and save her. My feet wouldn't move, my mouth wouldn't open. I couldn't scream. I couldn't breathe.
"And Bellatrix laughed, and she screamed with Mum, but her's were happy screams. She had that knife. And she scarred Mum just like she did me." Tears spilled out of her eyes as she gasped for breath. "And Bellatrix, she would look at me, and her gaze hurt. Hurt me in my heart. It felt like she was real, like she was back from the dead, just in my head, just to kill me inside more." The more words surged out of her mouth, the faster they got, until they were coming out in such a blur Hermione wasn't sure she even understood herself.
"The chandelier from the ceiling came down and hit Bellatrix, just like it almost did. The glass cut her, and then floor turned black as pitch. Then the floor fell away and we were sucked inside through the hole in the floor, like it was empty space. And as I fell, I still couldn't move. And Mum was still screaming, I could hear it." She sniffed and when she continued, her voice was no longer panicky and urgent, but it was dead and hallow. "When I woke, I was in the corridor outside the Dungeons. I don't know how I got there. But that's where I was. I thought about going to McGonagall, but she would send me home. I know she would." Her voice started to tremble terribly and the insistence was back. "But I can't go there, not now. I'm afraid that if I go home, Mum and Dad won't be there. I don't want to have to face loosing them again, not when I sent them away to Australia. And I can't tell Harry or Ron either. They don't know that I have dreams about that day in Malfoy Man—" She stopped dead in her tracks. "Malfoy Manor," she murmured. Suddenly her hands were on his shoulders and she was shaking him desperately. "Oh Draco, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have told you! That's your aunt, that was your house. You saw that night. Why am I telling you this? Oh I'm sorry Malfoy, I shouldn't have, I—"
"Hermione!" He yelled, his voice strangled and worried. "Shut up about me, will you?" He grabbed her wrists and roughly gathered her up in to his arms. When he spoke next, it was suddenly soft and gentle, and Hermione could feel the rumble in his chest. Her ear was right over his heart and she could hear it beat, fast and frantic. "I don't know exactly what you're going through, but I do know what dreams can do to you if you dwell on them. It's good that you're talking about it and not holding it all in, but now that you've let it all out, you need to forget about it."
"But how do I do that?" She hated how weak her voice sounded, but he didn't seem to mind. His grip on her sides loosened slightly, but he did not let her go.
"A Pensive."
Her words came slowly, as if she was swimming through molasses. "A Pensive? Where would we get one of those? The only person I know that has one is the Headmistress, but I don't think she'll let us—"
"No, we don't need hers."
Hermione pulled away to look at him properly, even though she was loath to leave the warmth and strength of his arms. "Whose will we use?"
"Just come with me," he replied in a reassuring voice. He pulled his wand out of his pinstripe pocket and waved it at the Quidditch Stadium. "ACCIO BROOMSTICK!"
There was a loud banging sound that came from the Broomshed and instantly a Nimbus 2001 came to his side. Stowing his Hawthorn, he mounted expertly and held his hand out. "Come on Hermione, get on the back."
Hermione was unsure. "I don't know Malfoy, I don't like heights…."
Malfoy kept his hand out, and Hermione could tell that he was fighting an eye roll. "I'll be right here the whole time. Do you trust me?"
Reminded suddenly of the Disney movie Aladdin, she tentatively took his hand. "I suppose, I don't know."
"Good enough," he grunted and deftly swung her to sit sidesaddle behind him. "Hold on."
"Where are we going?" She asked as she wrapped her arms around Draco's lithe waist.
"Just to Hogsmeade."
"Why? Who there has a Pensive?"
She could feel him chuckle as he kicked off from the top of the Clock Tower. She imagined that he was laughing at the quantity of questions she was asking—it wouldn't be the first time. "I believe Mr. Dumbledore from the Hog's Head does."
"He has one?" She asked her question with her eyes closed as she felt the wind blow around her and droplets of rain fall on her cheeks. She didn't want to look down to see the Hogwarts grounds hundreds of feet below her.
Malfoy had to shout to be heard over the gusty air. "Yes, a discovery I made at the beginning of the year. I went into the Hog's Head one night late, just this last September, and I guess that the Dumbledore man could tell that there was a lot on my mind, so he gave me a drink and let me use his special pensive. It took some of the pain of the thoughts away when I put them inside. I didn't forget the memories, no way, but when I put the thoughts inside and they disappeared, I was almost detached from the memories. I bet that Aberforth would let you put some of your memories of that night with Auntie Bella inside it so you wouldn't have them with you."
It wasn't until she listened to Draco's drawling—yet somehow soothing—voice that she realised how tired she was. "Okay," she agreed and she drifted off into slumber.
"Hermione, wake up. We're here."
Hermione opened her eyes to find herself leaning against Malfoy and staring into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. "Dumbledore?" She murmured. "But you're dead."
She felt Malfoy stiffen dramatically, and she turned to look at him. "Malfoy?"
His only response was directed at Dumbledore. "Come on Aberforth, let's get her inside."
Did you like it? Too dark? I felt like you needed a little more serious of a part to show how the war grew them up. Did you like it or was it unneeded?
Review and tell me your thoughts! I'd love to hear them :D
