Chapter Ten- Waves and Raves
A/N: Wow I am so sorry this took forever. In fact, I'm half expecting no one will be reading it anymore. The thing is, after I read the fifth book I realized there really may be no hope for Draco Malfoy, and my "creative energy" just sort of...evaporated. But then a few days back I actually recieved a comment, and next thing I knew I was off again. So who knows. This chapter unfortunatly is a little long and is nothing special but it is getting me back on my feet. So...hope you enjoy, and have a lovely winter break!
Narcissa awoke to find that her head felt like the location of an elephant's orgy. The sides of her brain seemed to crash mercilessly with her skull, and at first all she could do was lie on the floor with her arms still pinned protectively over her head. Slowly shifting her weight from her hips to her back, she turned and faced the mirrored dresser that, only moments before, she and Harry had been staring into together.
Only, the stare that met her gaze as she puller herself forward to look into the reflection was blank. With all of her cells aching, she held a pale, moonlight brewed hand up to the mirror. Her reflection copied her motion, only with a detatched sadness that Narcissa couldn't comprehend.
*Where was she?*
There was a faint familiarity about this bedroom, she decided firmly, only she didn't remember ever having been in it. In fact, she did not remember ever having been anywhere....
I am Narcissa...but Narcissa who? She looked around the room, curious more than fearful, noting with satisfaction the room's all around decor and feel of persecution. She shivered pleasantly, and felt somehow...welcome. Only then her eyes drifted to the corner of the room and she let out a small gasp. Shattered glass covered the floor and it looked as if something had been knocked over. Then from the depths of confusion, Narcissa realized that she had not woken in a bed but at the foot of one, that there was deffinatly more to this place than met the eye, and that she was quite possibly in enclosing danger.
Her contemplations were immediatly interupted, however, when a meek knock on the door cut through the silence like a dull knife through swiss. Narcissa jumped a little before finding her voice and answering, "Come in."
A small, strange looking creature that Narcissa somehow knew was a house elf squeaked, "Stumpy heard noises, Mistress Malfoy!" Narcissa watched with fascination as the little thing goggled at the spilled vase and turned watery eyes up towards her. "Is the Mistress hurt?" Narcissa was taken aback. Was this thing talking to *her*? Mistress...what was it, Malfoy...the name sounded oddly familiar...she stared into space as the little elfish thing repaired the vase with a flourish of its hand...
Then the door opened again, and as the newcomer entered, Narcissa's scream could be heard throughout the entire Malfoy Manor....
***
Draco snored softly as the world passed by over his head. Hermione was asleep a few feet away from him, tossing around on the slightly prickly hay, every now and again deepening a bruise on Ron's expressionless face with her flailing arms. Jackson perched uniformally on another stack of hay a meter or so off, chewing on an end of straw while thinking sullenly about the looming fate of the children.
Jackson had never had a problem with becoming close to his victims. It had never really bothered him, killing a close friend, an aunt, a grandfather. He had been trained well, and in order to fufil a job, he had always been able to separate his conscience from his work with deft accuracy. However, there was more to these children than there had ever been with any other of his subjects. Although they regarded him with respect and reasonable amounts of fear, they had already molded around his existance as if they had always been under the captivity of a gay warewolf hitman.
Jackson shifted a bit of weight off his rear end and scratched his ear. Perhaps that was what was so strange about these young'ns...they had been able to read him so quickly but still felt it their duty to treat him respectably...
Draco turned onto his side and reached his arm into the air, bringing it down a hair away from Hermione's now still hand. Jackson grinned a little. Those two had it coming, although he was sure they hadn't realized it yet. Hermione moaned a little, and began to shiver. A nightmare, it seemed to be. Draco's eyelids fluttered open, and he slowly turned his face so that he was watching her. His expression was hidden in the shadows, but Jackson did not need to see it to know what it was saying. He watched as a still groggy Draco touched her hand for a second, reassuringly, then brought it back to his side and once again drifted off.
Jackson scoffed. Like hell they hadn't realized it yet.
***
Harry watched the troop in silence. He was biding his time, carefully manipulating the silence and squeezing it into the ears of his victims. He watched as his former two best friends slept, and noticed with interest as Draco reassured the nightmaring Hermione. He chuckled a little. What more could he expect? Certainly Narcissa had been right, there was no right from wrong. He cast a wary glance towards Jackson, and noticed with a bit of unease that he seemed to sense another presence in the barn. He was throwing looks this way and that from the corners of his eyes, and it was painfully clear that his left arm, which was crossing into the folds of his jacket, was gripping a wand.
Harry shifted his weight and pulled himself further into the darkness. A direct approach would be stupid, he thought to himself fretfully, for although it had not only worked on Narcissa--when she awoke, she would remember no more than her instincts, it had worked on Voldemort--doomed to the same fate, but Harry knew that the only element he had held above their heads was that of suprise, an advantage that had been ripped from him the moment he set foot in the barn.
However, the power that was surging through his veins was more than palpable, and with each descending minute he could feel the urge to rip limbs from bodies growing stronger and wilder. His anger had been crashing through him like waves over the sand, his fury becoming more and more concentrated and accumulative as oceans of memories seemed to ride in like driftwood and debris. And Harry...or whatever this new thing was...knew that all he had to do, was ride this emotion like a surfer, and just bring it in to the mainland.
And then, all of a sudden, the waves stopped. He sat there, watching his friends, and he felt drained...drained of everything. He was a beach and the tide was low, and his anger was evaporating...
And then the process started all over again.
***
Draco stared out into the darkness. Someone else was here--and Hermione's thrashing wasn't helping his ease any. He was almost posative that on some level her nightmares were caused by whatever was in the barn with them...
And then he heard it. A low moan in the rafters. Draco lurched from his spot, stumbling over one of Hermione's rabid legs, she awoke with a start and jolted from her reverie. Draco spun on his heel and put his hand on Hermione's mouth, imploring her not to scream. She nodded, wide eyed, and glanced over at Ron. He was still deep in the blue, and by the looks of it, he was in the middle of a very good dream. She bit back a smile and turned back to Draco, who was tensly leering into the depths of darkness above them.
She found herself considering his profile, it's sharp angles and lack of curves. His cheek and collar were the only part about him that seemed capable of holding a warm thought within, and she found herself drawn to them. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shaking her head nonsensically to try and fling the idea from her mind, but these thoughts were getting stickier and more stubborn, attaching themselves to the sides of her brain and refusing to let go.
So instead, she settled with focusing on whatever it was that had forced Draco from his sleep and was now making the hairs on the back of his neck stand like soldiers. Her eyes focused tensly, and long moments passed without any movement, sound, or hint therof. She was about to ask what had bothered the boy when she saw something move. Blinking the spots from her tired eyes, she wondered if she had been seeing things, but then she heard it.
"There you go," said a deep voice. "Come on now, that's it."
Hermione immediatly realized the voice as Jackson's, and she reeled in the amazement of forgetting his existance. She saw a tall, lumpy figure glide from the rafters and a small thump accompanied the gentle landing of Jackson's feet to the hay.
"What have you got there, Jackson?" Draco asked curiously, his fluxuated terror now softly abiding from him in gentle gasps.
"Looks like one of our friends is back," he said lightly, dropping whatever it was he was carrying down onto the hay.
"*Harry!*" Hermione shrieked, tearing through the distance between them and dropping to his side, touching the uncounscious boy's shoulder tensly. Ron jerked awake and simultaniously Jackson grabbed Hermione about the waist and jerked her backwards from Harry, and very strangely, Draco felt an anger well up in his chest.
"Don't go near him," Jackson said, warningly. "They've already had a way with him, he's not safe."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione nearly shrieked, and Draco's well suddenly dug deeper into his anger.
"Oi, Jackson, what's wrong with him? His hair..." Ron began thoughtfully but Hermione cut him off. "That is not important," she said in angry frustration.
Only, Ron wasn't looking at Hermione. He was instead staring at Jackson with a peculiar expression wobbling onto his face. Hermione turned and shivered. Jackson was staring down at the boy, down at Harry, and he looked very purturbed.
"I've already taken this too far as it is," he whispered, and suddenly something slipped from his eyes. Not a tear, but a warmth, it seemed. Hermione took a step back. Something was wrong, and she had the feeling that she understood what. Jackson turned to Hermione, Draco, Ron.
"You three," he said. His voice was sad, and Hermione, with a deathgrip on Ron's arm, heard him whisper: "Oh, no..."
Jackson took a step towards them, and then hestitated.
"I'm sure you don't..." he seemed to be struggling for words. Hermione found she couldn't move. "You don't...you wouldn't happen to know the story of Snow White..."
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Ron asked, wild-eyed.
"Her stepmother sent her into the woods, sent an archman to kill her, only he couldn't...he was supposed to bring back her heart." Jackson swallowed. His face was beginning to look pasty, and he begged for his composure to return to him. "The marksman, he couldn't do it. He instead killed a hog and delivered that heart to the evil Queen instead."
Hermione was trembling. She found herself seeking out their savior's eyes, only Draco's did not meet hers--they were narrowly locked on Jackson.
"Well," Jackson swallowed again. He needed a cigarette. "Well, I'm not that marksman. And I'm sorry, but I can't be."
Hermione's heart lept onto her tongue and she started feeling dizzy. She had known he wouldn't turn out for the better, but was it already time? She looked frantically towards Draco and saw with emmense suprise that he was no longer there. Turning fearfully back to Jackson, she realized that he had noticed also--he was looking about wildly, and almost a bit...hopefully....
He couldn't have left them, she thought. She felt as if a buffalo had decided her stomach was a lovely place to lunch and was now ripping her innards from each other like nice, fresh grass. She watched in horror as Jackson's wand rose into the air, now pointed at Ron. She grabbed him by the arm and flung him down behind the stack of hay they were standing on and he landed with an "oomph!" She quickly jumped down beside him and grabbing him by the hair, started dragging him towards the door.
"Hermione, I'm coming! Not the hair!" he whispered in pain. She bit back a smile. Ron and his hair. Harry and his...she stopped dead and turned to Ron. "We've got to get Harry!" she whispered.
Ron nodded and snuck a glance to the lying figure. Only..."Where's--"
And then a wand appeared directly in front of his nose.
"Nice try Weasley." Ron gulped. Jackson sighed and said, "Now, this won't hurt a bit. I'm just relocating--" Hermione frowned. Jackson seemed to have stopped in mid sentence, and was now staring at a spot a bit above their heads. Hermione took a quick glance to see what he was staring at but saw nothing. And then, a moment later, Jackson crashed into the hay beside her. Out cold.
"Stupid man," Draco sneered, landing on the hay.
"How did you...?" Ron asked with grudging amazement.
"The rafters. He was so focused on you he didn't noticed my summoning charm, which, I suppose I must thank Potter for," Draco said smuggly, flicking his wand between his fingers.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, but Draco only shook his head.
"So you knocked him out?"
Draco nodded. "Yes, but we must get a move on."
"Not a good idea," a voice growled. Hermione's stomach plummeted. It was Jackson.
"Not such a good spell!" Ron seethed, terror riding his face like a bull.
And then once again, there was a wand, only now there was a flash of white light, then a flash of blue.
And once again, Hermione and Draco were alone.
* * *
"I could only cover one other person with it," he explained, watching nothing.
Hermione stared at him calmly. His silhouette, a stripe of silver wolf, yet his eyes did not burn with the gold of the moon. They were dead, a flatline where there should be mountains, and she did not know what to say to him. Draco sat on the edge of a stack of hay, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin on his wrists. He stared vacantly into the hay as if it was not there. Hermione felt as if she herself wasn't there.
Harry and Ron, both gone. Jackson turned horribly and then disappeared, and she had no idea what was going on with Voldemort, when he would come for them. And yet all she found herself doing about any of this was stare at her former enemy, Draco Malfoy. She knew there was more to the story than he had told her and yet she realized she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know what this was. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, then looking through them. She held his gaze, but why, she wasn't sure.
At this point, Hermione wasn't even sure who she was. She was terrified, yet she didn't care about anything except holding this gaze, this contest of fiercness. She had kissed this boy twice, and while the thought was weaving through her brain waves, it was more a fact than a feeling. At the moment everything about this creature was slamming into her, sound waves of confusion, history, events seemingly so far in the past yet accepted as certainty. This truth, this thing that the tiger in front of her had been hiding was now snapping between them. He was telling her the story, and she was telling it back to him, him back to her. They were no longer childhood enemies, Draco was no longer the selfish, sniviling coward he had presented himself as for as long as Hermione had known him. She knew that he was not seeing her as the bookworm mudblood he had taken her for, in fact, they were aknowledging everything they had ever known about the other and were now letting it all go.
They were releasing every memory between them--Buckbeak, Harry, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, Hogwarts--so many memories flying back and forth between these four eyes--Snape, two very buck teeth, a ferret scurried through their minds, collecting strings of knowledge, tying them into cobwebs and then sweeping them out of the mind. One kiss, two bodies held together, falling out of two minds.
"The way the crow flies," Draco muttered emptily.
"It only flies away," she answered, also drained.
A/N: Wow I am so sorry this took forever. In fact, I'm half expecting no one will be reading it anymore. The thing is, after I read the fifth book I realized there really may be no hope for Draco Malfoy, and my "creative energy" just sort of...evaporated. But then a few days back I actually recieved a comment, and next thing I knew I was off again. So who knows. This chapter unfortunatly is a little long and is nothing special but it is getting me back on my feet. So...hope you enjoy, and have a lovely winter break!
Narcissa awoke to find that her head felt like the location of an elephant's orgy. The sides of her brain seemed to crash mercilessly with her skull, and at first all she could do was lie on the floor with her arms still pinned protectively over her head. Slowly shifting her weight from her hips to her back, she turned and faced the mirrored dresser that, only moments before, she and Harry had been staring into together.
Only, the stare that met her gaze as she puller herself forward to look into the reflection was blank. With all of her cells aching, she held a pale, moonlight brewed hand up to the mirror. Her reflection copied her motion, only with a detatched sadness that Narcissa couldn't comprehend.
*Where was she?*
There was a faint familiarity about this bedroom, she decided firmly, only she didn't remember ever having been in it. In fact, she did not remember ever having been anywhere....
I am Narcissa...but Narcissa who? She looked around the room, curious more than fearful, noting with satisfaction the room's all around decor and feel of persecution. She shivered pleasantly, and felt somehow...welcome. Only then her eyes drifted to the corner of the room and she let out a small gasp. Shattered glass covered the floor and it looked as if something had been knocked over. Then from the depths of confusion, Narcissa realized that she had not woken in a bed but at the foot of one, that there was deffinatly more to this place than met the eye, and that she was quite possibly in enclosing danger.
Her contemplations were immediatly interupted, however, when a meek knock on the door cut through the silence like a dull knife through swiss. Narcissa jumped a little before finding her voice and answering, "Come in."
A small, strange looking creature that Narcissa somehow knew was a house elf squeaked, "Stumpy heard noises, Mistress Malfoy!" Narcissa watched with fascination as the little thing goggled at the spilled vase and turned watery eyes up towards her. "Is the Mistress hurt?" Narcissa was taken aback. Was this thing talking to *her*? Mistress...what was it, Malfoy...the name sounded oddly familiar...she stared into space as the little elfish thing repaired the vase with a flourish of its hand...
Then the door opened again, and as the newcomer entered, Narcissa's scream could be heard throughout the entire Malfoy Manor....
***
Draco snored softly as the world passed by over his head. Hermione was asleep a few feet away from him, tossing around on the slightly prickly hay, every now and again deepening a bruise on Ron's expressionless face with her flailing arms. Jackson perched uniformally on another stack of hay a meter or so off, chewing on an end of straw while thinking sullenly about the looming fate of the children.
Jackson had never had a problem with becoming close to his victims. It had never really bothered him, killing a close friend, an aunt, a grandfather. He had been trained well, and in order to fufil a job, he had always been able to separate his conscience from his work with deft accuracy. However, there was more to these children than there had ever been with any other of his subjects. Although they regarded him with respect and reasonable amounts of fear, they had already molded around his existance as if they had always been under the captivity of a gay warewolf hitman.
Jackson shifted a bit of weight off his rear end and scratched his ear. Perhaps that was what was so strange about these young'ns...they had been able to read him so quickly but still felt it their duty to treat him respectably...
Draco turned onto his side and reached his arm into the air, bringing it down a hair away from Hermione's now still hand. Jackson grinned a little. Those two had it coming, although he was sure they hadn't realized it yet. Hermione moaned a little, and began to shiver. A nightmare, it seemed to be. Draco's eyelids fluttered open, and he slowly turned his face so that he was watching her. His expression was hidden in the shadows, but Jackson did not need to see it to know what it was saying. He watched as a still groggy Draco touched her hand for a second, reassuringly, then brought it back to his side and once again drifted off.
Jackson scoffed. Like hell they hadn't realized it yet.
***
Harry watched the troop in silence. He was biding his time, carefully manipulating the silence and squeezing it into the ears of his victims. He watched as his former two best friends slept, and noticed with interest as Draco reassured the nightmaring Hermione. He chuckled a little. What more could he expect? Certainly Narcissa had been right, there was no right from wrong. He cast a wary glance towards Jackson, and noticed with a bit of unease that he seemed to sense another presence in the barn. He was throwing looks this way and that from the corners of his eyes, and it was painfully clear that his left arm, which was crossing into the folds of his jacket, was gripping a wand.
Harry shifted his weight and pulled himself further into the darkness. A direct approach would be stupid, he thought to himself fretfully, for although it had not only worked on Narcissa--when she awoke, she would remember no more than her instincts, it had worked on Voldemort--doomed to the same fate, but Harry knew that the only element he had held above their heads was that of suprise, an advantage that had been ripped from him the moment he set foot in the barn.
However, the power that was surging through his veins was more than palpable, and with each descending minute he could feel the urge to rip limbs from bodies growing stronger and wilder. His anger had been crashing through him like waves over the sand, his fury becoming more and more concentrated and accumulative as oceans of memories seemed to ride in like driftwood and debris. And Harry...or whatever this new thing was...knew that all he had to do, was ride this emotion like a surfer, and just bring it in to the mainland.
And then, all of a sudden, the waves stopped. He sat there, watching his friends, and he felt drained...drained of everything. He was a beach and the tide was low, and his anger was evaporating...
And then the process started all over again.
***
Draco stared out into the darkness. Someone else was here--and Hermione's thrashing wasn't helping his ease any. He was almost posative that on some level her nightmares were caused by whatever was in the barn with them...
And then he heard it. A low moan in the rafters. Draco lurched from his spot, stumbling over one of Hermione's rabid legs, she awoke with a start and jolted from her reverie. Draco spun on his heel and put his hand on Hermione's mouth, imploring her not to scream. She nodded, wide eyed, and glanced over at Ron. He was still deep in the blue, and by the looks of it, he was in the middle of a very good dream. She bit back a smile and turned back to Draco, who was tensly leering into the depths of darkness above them.
She found herself considering his profile, it's sharp angles and lack of curves. His cheek and collar were the only part about him that seemed capable of holding a warm thought within, and she found herself drawn to them. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shaking her head nonsensically to try and fling the idea from her mind, but these thoughts were getting stickier and more stubborn, attaching themselves to the sides of her brain and refusing to let go.
So instead, she settled with focusing on whatever it was that had forced Draco from his sleep and was now making the hairs on the back of his neck stand like soldiers. Her eyes focused tensly, and long moments passed without any movement, sound, or hint therof. She was about to ask what had bothered the boy when she saw something move. Blinking the spots from her tired eyes, she wondered if she had been seeing things, but then she heard it.
"There you go," said a deep voice. "Come on now, that's it."
Hermione immediatly realized the voice as Jackson's, and she reeled in the amazement of forgetting his existance. She saw a tall, lumpy figure glide from the rafters and a small thump accompanied the gentle landing of Jackson's feet to the hay.
"What have you got there, Jackson?" Draco asked curiously, his fluxuated terror now softly abiding from him in gentle gasps.
"Looks like one of our friends is back," he said lightly, dropping whatever it was he was carrying down onto the hay.
"*Harry!*" Hermione shrieked, tearing through the distance between them and dropping to his side, touching the uncounscious boy's shoulder tensly. Ron jerked awake and simultaniously Jackson grabbed Hermione about the waist and jerked her backwards from Harry, and very strangely, Draco felt an anger well up in his chest.
"Don't go near him," Jackson said, warningly. "They've already had a way with him, he's not safe."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione nearly shrieked, and Draco's well suddenly dug deeper into his anger.
"Oi, Jackson, what's wrong with him? His hair..." Ron began thoughtfully but Hermione cut him off. "That is not important," she said in angry frustration.
Only, Ron wasn't looking at Hermione. He was instead staring at Jackson with a peculiar expression wobbling onto his face. Hermione turned and shivered. Jackson was staring down at the boy, down at Harry, and he looked very purturbed.
"I've already taken this too far as it is," he whispered, and suddenly something slipped from his eyes. Not a tear, but a warmth, it seemed. Hermione took a step back. Something was wrong, and she had the feeling that she understood what. Jackson turned to Hermione, Draco, Ron.
"You three," he said. His voice was sad, and Hermione, with a deathgrip on Ron's arm, heard him whisper: "Oh, no..."
Jackson took a step towards them, and then hestitated.
"I'm sure you don't..." he seemed to be struggling for words. Hermione found she couldn't move. "You don't...you wouldn't happen to know the story of Snow White..."
"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?" Ron asked, wild-eyed.
"Her stepmother sent her into the woods, sent an archman to kill her, only he couldn't...he was supposed to bring back her heart." Jackson swallowed. His face was beginning to look pasty, and he begged for his composure to return to him. "The marksman, he couldn't do it. He instead killed a hog and delivered that heart to the evil Queen instead."
Hermione was trembling. She found herself seeking out their savior's eyes, only Draco's did not meet hers--they were narrowly locked on Jackson.
"Well," Jackson swallowed again. He needed a cigarette. "Well, I'm not that marksman. And I'm sorry, but I can't be."
Hermione's heart lept onto her tongue and she started feeling dizzy. She had known he wouldn't turn out for the better, but was it already time? She looked frantically towards Draco and saw with emmense suprise that he was no longer there. Turning fearfully back to Jackson, she realized that he had noticed also--he was looking about wildly, and almost a bit...hopefully....
He couldn't have left them, she thought. She felt as if a buffalo had decided her stomach was a lovely place to lunch and was now ripping her innards from each other like nice, fresh grass. She watched in horror as Jackson's wand rose into the air, now pointed at Ron. She grabbed him by the arm and flung him down behind the stack of hay they were standing on and he landed with an "oomph!" She quickly jumped down beside him and grabbing him by the hair, started dragging him towards the door.
"Hermione, I'm coming! Not the hair!" he whispered in pain. She bit back a smile. Ron and his hair. Harry and his...she stopped dead and turned to Ron. "We've got to get Harry!" she whispered.
Ron nodded and snuck a glance to the lying figure. Only..."Where's--"
And then a wand appeared directly in front of his nose.
"Nice try Weasley." Ron gulped. Jackson sighed and said, "Now, this won't hurt a bit. I'm just relocating--" Hermione frowned. Jackson seemed to have stopped in mid sentence, and was now staring at a spot a bit above their heads. Hermione took a quick glance to see what he was staring at but saw nothing. And then, a moment later, Jackson crashed into the hay beside her. Out cold.
"Stupid man," Draco sneered, landing on the hay.
"How did you...?" Ron asked with grudging amazement.
"The rafters. He was so focused on you he didn't noticed my summoning charm, which, I suppose I must thank Potter for," Draco said smuggly, flicking his wand between his fingers.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, but Draco only shook his head.
"So you knocked him out?"
Draco nodded. "Yes, but we must get a move on."
"Not a good idea," a voice growled. Hermione's stomach plummeted. It was Jackson.
"Not such a good spell!" Ron seethed, terror riding his face like a bull.
And then once again, there was a wand, only now there was a flash of white light, then a flash of blue.
And once again, Hermione and Draco were alone.
* * *
"I could only cover one other person with it," he explained, watching nothing.
Hermione stared at him calmly. His silhouette, a stripe of silver wolf, yet his eyes did not burn with the gold of the moon. They were dead, a flatline where there should be mountains, and she did not know what to say to him. Draco sat on the edge of a stack of hay, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin on his wrists. He stared vacantly into the hay as if it was not there. Hermione felt as if she herself wasn't there.
Harry and Ron, both gone. Jackson turned horribly and then disappeared, and she had no idea what was going on with Voldemort, when he would come for them. And yet all she found herself doing about any of this was stare at her former enemy, Draco Malfoy. She knew there was more to the story than he had told her and yet she realized she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know what this was. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, then looking through them. She held his gaze, but why, she wasn't sure.
At this point, Hermione wasn't even sure who she was. She was terrified, yet she didn't care about anything except holding this gaze, this contest of fiercness. She had kissed this boy twice, and while the thought was weaving through her brain waves, it was more a fact than a feeling. At the moment everything about this creature was slamming into her, sound waves of confusion, history, events seemingly so far in the past yet accepted as certainty. This truth, this thing that the tiger in front of her had been hiding was now snapping between them. He was telling her the story, and she was telling it back to him, him back to her. They were no longer childhood enemies, Draco was no longer the selfish, sniviling coward he had presented himself as for as long as Hermione had known him. She knew that he was not seeing her as the bookworm mudblood he had taken her for, in fact, they were aknowledging everything they had ever known about the other and were now letting it all go.
They were releasing every memory between them--Buckbeak, Harry, Ron, Crabbe, Goyle, Hogwarts--so many memories flying back and forth between these four eyes--Snape, two very buck teeth, a ferret scurried through their minds, collecting strings of knowledge, tying them into cobwebs and then sweeping them out of the mind. One kiss, two bodies held together, falling out of two minds.
"The way the crow flies," Draco muttered emptily.
"It only flies away," she answered, also drained.