Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling
Only Time Will Tell
VIII: Only love can hurt like this; It must have been a deathly wish.
By
RedLillies
"I have accepted fear as part of life – specifically the fear of change. I have gone ahead despite the pounding in the heart that says: turn back..." ― Erica Jong
September 5th, 1975
Night had fallen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Hermione was once again found in the Headmaster's Office sitting across the old man. Dumbledore stroked his beard as he looked at her.
''You know, you can't continue living here like this,'' he said gravely. Her eyebrows drew up together but kept silent.
He assessed her thoroughly, ''No, you cannot. From this day forward you will be a student at Hogwarts. You cannot go back to Beauxbatons as it is destroyed, Durmstrang does not accept foreigners and Koldovstoretz is out of the question. By tomorrow, you will be enrolled as a fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.''
Hermione gave him a sweet deceiving smile, ''As you wish.''
Dumbledore nodded dubiously, ''We shall sort you tomorrow at breakfast. Be prepared. You may go, Miss Delacour.''
Hermione stood up from her chair and left the room, not wanting to argue with the man after such a taxing day, and left for the Infirmary. This time, she did not have to hide in the shadows and she walked freely and serenely, admiring the view as she went.
•
She had woken up early in the morning, too early, she found out, as the sun hadn't even risen yet. She had slept poorly. She had woken up every two hours, expecting to take over patrol and sit in front of the tent.
And every time she would come by, she would slump back on her bed and mutter, ''Stupid, stupid, girl,'' squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing the palms of her hands over them.
Hermione lifted her head from her pillow as a house elf flashed right in front of her and away again. The elf did not stay any longer than it needed to. The stool that stood beside her bed table, once empty, was now occupied by a dress and a cloak, both in black. They looked bare like, without any markings or decorations.
She stood up resignedly and gave little puffs of irritation as she put on the black dress and cloak. Her hair, with the aid of magic, braided the top part of her it and pulled it back. The rest of her golden curls falling over the clasp of her closed cloak. She looked like royalty in her garb and her stance.
Her back was straight as a rod as she cautiously walked towards the Great Hall, proud and tall like a widowed Queen. She had taken so long getting dressed and getting carried away in her day-dreams, that all the students were already sitting at the tables, talking and laughing with their fellow students and friends.
Yellow, green, blue and red overpowered her vision as she entered the Hall. The blinding colours starling her for a mere second. Gone were the blacks and the greys she was used to, bright colours now infiltrated her eyes' spectrum. The last time she was here, only black and dried-up blood outlived the once rich colours.
She looked up to the ceiling and saw the nostalgic view. Hundreds of candles levitated themselves, giving a lovely glow to the room as a small sun peeked through the clouds.
She always did find it so wonderfully amazing how the ceiling could change according to the weather outside.
So occupied in her perusing, she did not notice, that one face after the other turned to her as she walked further into the room.
The loud noise suddenly died down. She frowned, while still looking at the decorations, before snapping herself from her daydream as she heard a loud cough echoing in the hall.
Dumbledore stood up from his golden throne and lay his napkin next to his plate, ''Good morning, Miss Delacour.''
''Good morning.'' She answered hoarsely as she felt all their eyes on her. She looked at the Gryffindor table searching for a familiar face.
A wave of reassurance came over her as she spotted James' surprised, but joyful expression.
She did not turn her gaze away from James even as the Headmaster began to speak to the students, ''Miss Delacour, here, will be joining our magnificent school from now on. She will be sorted in but a moment. I hope you will all wish her a great start. She has come from far away, from Beauxbatons.''
The students turned all at once to each other and began to whisper. ''Well, I will not hold us in suspense any longer.''
Her gaze turned towards Dumbledore as he beaconed her with his hand, ''Come, Come, Miss Delacour.''
Even though it was her birth name in this lifetime, it still felt strange when people addressed her like that.
She steeled herself and painted her face with a pleasing smile, fooling all but the Headmaster and James. Dumbledore waved his hand, signalling for McGonagall to grab the stool and the Sorting Hat.
''The sorting might be a little different than to what you are used to, Miss Delacour,'' Dumbledore said mockingly as his warm breath grazed her ear, standing close enough for him to do so and shivered with uneasiness as he moved away from her.
The painted smile did not leave her face as McGonagall drew nearer, the stool floating in front of her and the Sorting Hat held in her hand. The small legs of the stool collided gently and soundlessly with the stone floor.
Hermione looked with apprehension at the seat when she felt a hand lay on her shoulder and steer her to it. She clasped her hands over each other, holding them tightly. And every time she moved her hand, the ring would catch and reflect the light in a way that made the stone glow.
The grimace she formed in her mind, accompanied by the feeling of time slowing down, made her feel like it was more of an execution than a sorting.
With horrifying turmoil did she sit on the stool and looked straight in front of her. She focussed on the ornate wooden doors of the Great Hall, and nothing and no one else, trying with all her might to net let her terror show.
She heard the Hat's voice in her mind before she saw the brim fall over her eyes, tumbling into darkness, ''Well, well, Miss Delacour. We meet again.''
She held her breath as the voice echoed in her mind. She felt so small sitting here once more. The smell, the sounds, the atmosphere - it was all the same as it was before. It made her feel like she never left, like the war never happened. She felt like herself again, like the eleven-year-old Hermione Granger.
''Miss Granger and Miss Delacour, you are much one and the same. Do not worry, your split lives will not tear you apart. On the contrary, they will guide you. Turn your wounds into wisdom and all will be well, my girl.''
What does that even mean, Hermione wanted to ask but did not get a chance to.
''Cunning, yes, that you are, ambitious but BRAVE! Oh, my girl, so brave. Reckless as well. You will do both good in Slytherin as in Gryffindor.'' The Sorting Hat took its time sorting her, only making small noises as he thought of his decision, ''Good luck, child.''
She could not respond to the Hat's well wishes before it announced his decision in a loud voice, ''GRYFFINDOR!''
Her breath hitched as the colour of her house exploded before her. Her entire vision was coated with red. She looked down at the tingling sensation on her cloak and saw that it too, was slowing being covered in red detailing.
The Hat already from her head, she shot up from the chair and walked stiffly to the Gryffindor table, following James' frantic waving, his arm high in the air.
She sat down in front of the Marauders and numbly welcomed their overexcited welcome and their eagerness for her attention, introducing her to the people sitting around her. She sent discreet glances to James, pleading for him to make them stop. He shook his head with regret, telling her without words, that she had to sit this one out. It was inevitable.
She found it slightly odd that the Peter, Remus and Sirius did not question her origins or her relation to James. She guessed that he had told them all about her. She felt relieved at that revelation, she did not want to tell them herself. She felt like she could not have a syllable leave her closed lips or she might throw up.
Her confidence waned. She had assumed that she would be strong enough to sit with the dead, to sit with the parents of her classmates, to sit with the deceased members of the first Order.
Remus sneezed and she uttered a small 'Bless you', even James and Peter did, but Sirius kept silent. She saw as Remus looked slightly annoyed at Sirius who sat next to Hermione.
''You're not even going to say 'bless you'?'' He asked Sirius.
''I'm sitting here with you,'' Sirius replied confused, ''Clearly, you have been blessed.''
Sirius looked quite smug as he saw Remus' shocked face. She heard the loud guffaws of the Marauders but did not chime in herself. The only proof that she had listened was the small smile that threatened to overtake her face.
Alas, the distraction did not last long. She soon felt herself drift off and could not focus anymore on the sounds and the conversations going on around her.
The fiddling started. She could not leave the cutlery next to her plate alone. Her fingers twirled the knife and fork around her hand, she touched the plate and continuously toyed with her empty goblet. She did not dare interrupt Sirius' and Remus' introductions and welcomes.
A girl not far away from the table looked closely at the Hermione, assessing her pensively.
Hermione felt eyes burn in the side of her head. She furrowed her brows and ignored the fiery gaze. The prickling feeling intensified, the longer the stare continued and she ignored it.
Eventually, Hermione could not contain herself any longer and she turned towards the burning scrutiny. Her eyes connected with that of a redhead.
Hermione's breath hitched. She could not let herself believe that this was the person she thought it was. There were more redheads in this world than the one Hermione wanted to assume. She refused herself to believe that this was her.
Sirius, who sat beside her, saw at whom she was staring. He nudged her with his shoulder and she blinked quickly, looking at once at her empty plate.
His head came close to her ear and whispered, ''The girl you were looking over there, that's Lily Evans, that is. Nasty, little girl. Thinks way too high of herself,'' he sounded more and more agitated, ''She thinks that anyone not academically challenging enough is not worth her time. Worse of all, she has it out for us.''
He chose not to say that it was the worst for James and kept his explanation at that. He moved away from her ear and focussed on something James had said to gain his attention.
She felt her confidence weaken. Of all the people she would meet, she did not think that the young Lily Evans would give her the hardest blow of all. Maybe it was because she shared Harry's green eyes or maybe it was of the distrustful look that Lily kept throwing her.
Eventually, she felt the redhead's eyes looking away, leaving the feeling of burnt skin behind.
She saw that her bowl was suddenly filled with porridge and a little bit of cinnamon. Hermione looked up and saw James' worried face. Sirius, Remus and Peter purposely kept out of it and looked away.
''Please, Hermione, eat something.''
She wanted to say that she could not, that the lump in that had formed itself, was taking up all the space in her throat. She wanted to say that she wanted to leave, that she could not eat in fear of throwing up, but something stopped her in her tracks. James' pleading gaze made her succumb to all. Why? How could he have the power to do so?
She tried pushing all her dark thoughts out of the way and ate as much as she could without throwing up. She ate only half but that was more than enough in her books. Hermione nursed her goblet of water and waited patiently for the boys to finish their breakfast.
''Are you coming?'' James asked as the boys stood up to go to their dorm.
She looked up and wordlessly nodded. Hermione stood from the bench and walked along the long table to the end.
James offered her his arm as they neared the big doors of the Great Hall and she put her hand in the crook of his arm, walking out of the hall. All the while, ignoring the burning stares that the students' eyes left on their backs.
Yet, she could not help but not hear one girl's whispering in particular, "Mary, don't say shit like that. Only the victims and survivors can truly comprehend the awfulness of that time and place. The rest of us live as if on the other side of the fence, staring through from our own comfortable place, trying in our own clumsy ways to make sense of it all."
She wanted to turn around and shout, 'Yes! Yes! Finally, someone who is not some gossiper but is actually sensible!'
But of course, she did no such thing, and strolled further, hand-in-hand with James.
The walk to the Gryffindor common room was as uncomfortable for her as it was not for Sirius. She was half-listening to him happily prattle on as she was lost in her perusing of the hallways.
The magic in this day and age seemed to thrive on a level that she had never experienced in her time. And although the outward of the hallways would not change, the air pulsed of magic that was once forever lost in her world.
Cut off from her musings she heard James' gentle inquiry, ''Why did you not tell me that you were being sorted today?''
''I did not have much choice, James,'' she whispered back softly, ''I only heard yesterday evening. I did not have the time to process and to tell you, sorry.''
''Well, for one, I'm glad you're here.''
She gave him a lovely little smile and braved on as the entrance of the Gryffindor common room finally came into view.
It was the same portrait that guarded the door as in her time. The Fat Lady sat in her chair gossiping with the portrait beside her, giggling like small school-girls. Somethings will never change.
Peter stumbled a little forward as he loudly proclaimed the password. Sirius scowled at him and muttered under his breath, his voice falling on deaf ears, ''Yeesh, could you have said it any louder so that the Slytherins might hear?"
Hermione was shocked at Sirius' behaviour towards his friend. She pondered the thought of Peter not betraying the Potters...
The first thing she saw as she stepped through the portrait hole was red. The smells and sounds of the place suffocated her. The long thin windows let the early rays flitter through their glass and reflected the red stained light on every surface.
The boys walked around the place, gathering their books and stuffing it in their bags, crinkling their homework as they went. Hermione could only look befuddled at the graceful way they moved together. As if in-sync. They moved around one another like dancers, lithe, while not looking at each other.
James, however, did not leave her place beside her. His book bag already held tightly with his other hand on his shoulder. And Hermione, well, Hermione did not have to gather her books and her homework for another week. The Headmaster had so 'graciously' exempted her from classes for that exact period of time to let her mourn in peace.
''Are you going to be okay, Hermione, being here today – all alone?''
She felt touched that he had thought of her, ''I can only hope that I will,'' she trailed off, ''I – ehm – shall see what I will do to keep myself occupied.''
''Do you want to take your clothes off and go lay down in my bed?'' James began to stammer and turned red, looking quickly at his mates and back to her, ''No, no, I didn't mean it like that…''
Hermione gave a little laugh, ''It's okay, James. I understand what you mean. Thank you. I don't quite feel like meeting my new dorm-mates,'' she hesitated a little before asking the question that lay on the tip of her tong, ''Are the boys going to mind?''
''What? You – oh, ehmm, no, they aren't.'' James reminded himself that he should talk with the boys later about what the fuck was going on with this girl, his best friend, and her entire, well, to put it lightly, situation.
James gave an embarrassed nod as his blush died down. He gulped and looked at his wrist-watch, ''Are you guys ready to leave?''
Sirius and Peter just stuffed the last thing in their bags while Remus still ran through the room, ''Almost done,'' he called out, ''And… Ready!''
Remus smiled widely and opened the portrait hole. ''Good luck, Hermione,'' shouted the boys as they left.
James hesitated a little, ''I'm sorry that I have to go. I wish I could stay here with you.''
''I believe you, Jamie,'' she gave him a smile, ''I know you will return,'' she answered him as she heard Remus shout his name in the distance. ''Go on," she motioned with her head and a reassuring smile, "I'll be there when you come back.''
Her eyes shined with mirth as she purposefully looked at the portrait hole, reminding him that he had a class to attend.
James nodded sadly and looked at the open portrait as he heard his name being called irritably again. He looked at her and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head, striding out of the common room yelling exasperated as he went, ''I'm coming, Merlin, Remus, don't shout!''
The portrait closed and she turned around, looking helplessly at the deserted common room. She heaved a great sigh and walked towards the boys' staircase, hesitating slightly.
She knew no one was up there, classes were going on after all but still waited before setting foot on the stone staircase. As she walked up the winding staircase, her fingertips flittered gently against the railing, almost caressing it.
She made her way up to the fifth year dorm and slowly opened the door. The sight that greeted her made her laugh a little. Boys will be boys, she thought.
The room was messy, the unmade beds lay open and clothes lay scattered around the room. Posters of 'Puddlemere United', James' favourite Quidditch team, and apparently posters of boys' own favourite teams as well, hang on the walls.
She walked carefully around the strewn clothes to what she presumed to be James' bed. She looked at the nightstand and saw a picture. She knew that she had no right to look but as she looked closer, she saw the face of a young Hermione Delacour with James smiling by her side.
Both were dressed pristinely but comfortably. She presumed that this picture was taken when James was going to his first year at Hogwarts as he held his acceptance letter proudly in his hand.
The photo seemed to be expressing so much hope compared to the thick tension that was slowing getting hotter and hotter, preparing itself to be boiled.
Hermione looked away quickly to James' bed. She realised that Harry had unwilling chosen the same bed as his father had. Closest to the window but farthest away from the door and the bathroom.
She kicked off her shoes and her cloak. Pulling off her dress, she put on a white t-shirt of James' that lay in his dresser. Leaving her bare-footed and dressed in James' white shirt that ended mid-thigh. She knew that he would not mind, he had expressed as such.
She lay down on his bed and pulled the covers over her. The chilly wind slipped through the crack of the window making her shiver. She drew up her knees and turned her head in his pillow. She inhaled his scent and quickly stopped.
Her eyes widened. What was she doing? It was irreversibly wrong.
She turned her head a guiltily, letting it rest on his pillow. Hermione gripped the covers tightly in her hand as she looked out the window and let her mind's imagination wander to places yet to be discovered.
•
Hermione lay in his bed a long time. She lay there past lunch and past dinner, not eating the food that James had brought up with him from the kitchens or the Great Hall.
She just lay there looking silently out of the window lost in her own world like a corpse. She indicated that she was alive only by her gentle breathing and her blinking.
James looked regretfully at Hermione. He knew that he should not have left her alone. Why did he not listen to the reasoning in his head? Why did he believe her little white lie?
He knew she did not want to burden him, did not want to see her this way. But it hurt him either way, knowing that she lay silently in his bed like this.
Two days passed where she did not move from his bed. Only moving to drink water or go to the bathroom. At night the only acknowledgement she made was to gesture for James to lay beside her. Apologizing in a croaky voice that she was sorry for stealing his bed, ''I'm scared, Jamie, I'm so scared to sleep alone.''
He would lay down beside her, his arm around her and fall asleep. She herself slept no longer than two to four hours per night. Retreating the rest of the night in her own bubble losing all semblance of time and reality.
The boys did not mind Hermione sleeping in their dorm, James having explained the entire situation without compromising her or giving too much information, even denying their discomfort when James asked them.
It was late at night when Hermione finally spoke to James, whispering softly, ''I lay here, James, and I am thinking about me being so utterly stupid and insensitive… I want to be someone who can survive any situation with poise and instinct, but I am surrounded by people that try to take my power, my will-power away from me,'' She turned towards him in his bed, careful not to fall or lay atop of him, ''except you, of course.'' She gave him a small smile.
His gaze met her straight-on, ''Truly, James, I find myself utterly repugnant.''
He gave her all his devoted attention, ''I remember people telling me that Mary Queen of Scotts wore black, embroidered with silver and gold thread, for her wedding gown. And I think – that is how it is to be a powerful figure in a time of despair. That is how it is to be a Queen.''
His hand searched for hers under the cover and grabbed it gently, ''That is how I want to be, Jamie. That is who I want to be. Underneath my black brocade I want to wear a petticoat of scarlet, the colour of Gryffindor, as she always did, that would show in glorious colours as I'd walk around,''
''And do you want to know, what is so magnificent about the colour red?'' She asked him with a bit of awe in her voice.
''It is the colour of defiance. Red is the colour of love, red is the colour of life, and so it will be my colour. I want it to be the colour of hope.''
''I want to be able to wear my black embroidered gown and my red petticoat till the day that I die. That is how I want to be and be known. Defiant, and at the same time, loving and caring. That is who I aspire to be. I want to be Mary Queen of Scots,''
She clasped her hands around his own looking sorrowful, ''I have just lain here and done nothing but waste away, James. And I am sorry. I'm sorry for ignoring your attempts at comfort and just simply ignoring you. I'm sorry for not living the way, my sisters or my parents would have wanted to. I'm sorry for disappointing you.''
She continued in one big breath before James could say anything, ''And I promise you now, James, I will do right by you, my sisters and my parents. I promise.''
She grabbed James in a powerful hug and he embraced her with more loving than ever. He stroked her hair as her head lay in the crook of his neck. His nose was in her hair as he inhaled with relief, the familiar scent that was pure Hermione.
''And who do you want me to be,'' asked James jokingly, murmuring the words into her locks, ''Francis, Henry or even Lord Darnley?''
''None of them at all,'' she replied against his chest. Her warm breath grazed his naked chest and he shivered slightly, trying with all his might to not let her show how she affected him. ''I want you to be James – I want you to be yourself.''
She finally let herself succumb to sleep and woke the next night, having slept for the first time in more than eight hours. She felt starved and thirsty but she had other things to do first.
She stood up and walked to the bureau that stood on the other side of James' bed. She lit a candle and looked around her at the surrounding beds, hoping that none of the boys had woken up by the small light. She exhaled a tiny sigh of relief and sat on the creaking chair.
Her eyes flitted across the tiny table and saw some parchment and a quill and ink laying in one of the drawers in his desk. She grabbed the parchment and lay it in front of her. she uncapped the ink and let the tip of the quill carefully touch the ink that was inside of it. Letting it soak up not too much, and not too little.
She straightened her back and raised her hand slightly above the parchment and began to write with swirling and curling letters. She knew that the Mistress of Magic of France had forbidden any survivors of the attack to write to their parents or anyone else in fear of them getting killed, but Hermione did not dare to wait any longer to contact her parents.
Even if they weren't her own in the first place, they were hers now and she had a duty to them. After all, all is fair in love and war.
And sometimes, when all is going wrong, you have to step back and evaluate. Sometimes you have to overstep your own boundaries, or those set up by others, in order to achieve your end goal.
If the men that attacked the school that night ever tried to assassinate her, then she would train. She would prepare the best she could as not to fail herself or Harry ever again. She could not let herself see this new life as a mission, as a game. Here and now, this was her life, the lives of many people around her – their fates.
Don't we owe it to the people we love, to stand up for them?
She had to do this. She had to get herself out of this rut that she had fallen in. Her parents did not deserve the stress of wondering whether their child was alive or not. They did not deserve sitting around the candlelight, anxiously awaiting any news on their daughter.
She hoped dearly that they had found the perpetrators. But she knew no more than she did in May. She had looked in the Daily Profit. Actually, in all the Daily Profits since the attack yet could find not one reference to any arrests, only a detailed description of what the English press thought about what was actually happening in France.
She wondered silently if Dumbledore ever did alert her parents, she had waited to see his moves. And as she predicted, he had done absolutely nothing. He never had contacted her parents or those of Emily.
She would know if they did. She would have seen her parents come morning. But they never came.
She did not know whether that was due to her parents not knowing that she was still alive, or that they themselves had left the planes of this world.
She finished the letter and blew lightly on the ink, wanting it to dry a little quicker, and looked at the letter she wrote.
Sep. 9th, 1975
Dear Maman,
I truly am sorry for not having written any sooner, to have taken this long to contact you after the attack.
I have failed you both as a daughter and a young woman. Please, forgive me. I will beg on my knees, but please forgive me for all that I have done.
I have listened carefully to the words of our Mistress of Magic, that as long as she has promised to be a fierce protector of our people, that we, in turn, would be her loyal subjects – Loyal to France.
And I have listened so well, Maman. I have obeyed every word but I could not go any longer without telling you that I am alive. I have felt nothing but deep and utter guilt for not sparing your poor nerves.
I promise that I will never do so again and will always love you, Papa and Fleur. How did she celebrate her ninth birthday? Did all go well? 27th of July, I do remember, Maman. I always remember. Does she remember me, her big sister?
To yourself and Papa: I am finally and truly safe. Promissum nos soli lumen iustitiam.
All my love,
From your daughter,
Hermione A.C.L. Delacour
Hermione knew that she would have to write in code. 'Promissum nos soli lumen iustitiam' was House Delacour's motto. She always signed her letters this way. If she did not, her parents might never believe the sender of the letter at all - might never believe her.
She did not remember her sister, Fleur, before writing this letter. Her mind only supplied her with her memory as the words started flowing from her quill to the parchment.
Fleur Isabelle Apolline Delacour. Born on the 27th of July, 1966. Hermione was stumped. Fleur should have been born in 1977. Did her coming here accelerate her birth?
Hermione felt rotten. Not only forgetting that she had a sister but maybe even preventing Bill and Fleur from ever meeting and marrying. She never got to be a sister in her previous life as Hermione Granger, and now that she had gotten the chance, she had all forgotten about being one, about having an actual little sister.
She folded the letter and applied a sticking charm to the end of the parchment, tying a string around it that she had conjured from a lint she had found on her dress. She wrote the names of her parents on it and put it to the side.
Before she had written her letter, she had duplicated the parchment two more times, to write to more letters with it.
With an ache in her heart, she wrote to both the parents of Gabrielle as well as to Emily, informing them about their daughter's death and expressing her condolences.
She felt like a heartless monster writing those last letters, feeling as if she was a heartless bastard that bragged about being alive while their daughters were not.
She folded the letters and applied a sticking charm as well. Finding two more strings of lint on her dress, she transfigured them into a string as well, tying them around each letter.
She stood up slowly from the chair, blowing out the candle as she went and tip-toed to the window. She opened the ledge a little wider than before and cringed as it made a sound. She stopped her movement as Remus let out a particularly large snore.
She waited until he had stopped his movements and went back to sleep before making any movement of turning back to the window.
He settled down and she made a quiet little noise, that was in actuality a short tune. Three owls came swooping from the sky, almost immediate as if they felt her need.
She tied the three letter around each owl's leg as they landed gently on the ledge, not making a sound. ''I will give you all a treat when you return,'' she whispered softly to the owls.
They hooted and she held her breath, hoping that none of the boys would wake up. She looked out the window as the owls stretched their wings and flew off. The three owls flew to the east for a long time before they became small dots and splitting from each other, flying to different directions.
She gave a small sigh of relief and closed to the window to a crack, letting a small breeze flitter through the opening, before tip-toeing back to James' bed and falling asleep.
The night was clear as she fell asleep. Stars shined, planets formed or disappeared. Gods argued and made up. The sky was so deceivingly peaceful.
