Off we go to chapter 11!
Oh, Harry! Oh Ron! Oh, more connexions!
Because of popular demand, I update quickly ( just finished typing, so excuse the eventual error)
Chapter 11: Sequences of their lives.
How could she?
How could she cry over such a stupid boy?
Hermione was sitting in the girl's bathroom, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to get control of herself. But she couldn't stop feeling so insecure and stupid and most of all, used. Well, no, not used, but sick of waiting for something that simply didn't want to happen. Things didn't happen like they promised to her they would happen.
Something deep inside her had guaranteed her life from now on would be easier, that things will get better.
But they didn't!
They simply didn't!
She had been here now two months and had no friends, just classmates. No one invited her to conversations or games. They asked her what class they had next and what time it was, but never is she wanted to sit next to them at lunch.
So she sat next to Percy who was a figure of power therefore of comfort to her. In class, she always came in last in the classroom in hope to sit next to someone, but the only places free were in front, far away from them.
The twins also talked to her, mostly throwing a hastily greeting or a smile between classes or from the other corner of the common room where she always was alone. Well, there was Neville who talked to her and she liked Stella and she knew vaguely Dean (actually he knew his sisters) from before.
The girls from her dorm were really nice. But none of them was who she wanted to be with. She wanted more, therefore she looked down on the company that was propositioned to her.
She wanted recognition from them. No, not them, but she wanted Ronald Weasley to notice her.
"Well, he did notice me"
But he wasn't supposed to laugh at her!
He wasn't supposed to get so easily her to cry!
But why, why did she cry so much?
Because it hurt. Because she was so, so disappointed.
Hermione had known, had felt the jolt, had felt the pleasant feeling all over her body when she had met that red headed boy. He had to be connected with it! He had to! Each time she felt it he was somewhere around. He had to some something, anything, to do with her!
Someone who could bring her such joy couldn't be bad, now could he?
Yes, yes he could. He was cruel to her tender heart she wore expectantly on her face as she met him. He was supposed to watch her and she wanted a secret code, a secret sign trhey could communicate through a singly look.
But no, she got insulted, pulled in the mud instead!
How could she have trusted herself to such an utter idiot?
Because something told her it made sense. Now that part admitted that it eventually was idiotic, therefore Hermione was in near psychosis: How could she have betrayed herself?
How? And for whom? A stupid, stupid boy!
Hermione tried to calm herself. She really tried to, but she simply couldn't.
She had never been wrong before in her life!
The tears kept on slowly gliding down her cheeks and messed up her lashes. For now, she'll cry. Then, later, she'll try to figure things out. A bit later, but not now.
CUT!
Bill was feeling feverish. He wanted to throw up, or eat the sand that was surrounding him or gnawing on his wand (something one should never EVER do). His head was spinning around and his balance was lost and he simply couldn't breath.
He had never felt this ill before. It was not a sickness, it was something else, something that would cause you to take the first object you'll find and try to relief the pain with it. For now, Bill had settled to jump violently against the walls of the small room he was occupying, causing pain on purpose to distract him.
How could he feel this bad? How could he feel this ill and helpless? What was wrong with him?
He winced as his hip lodged itself in a corner of a heavy wooden table. An orange, some parchment and his bag fell from it. The bag spewed up its contents and Bill bent down to collect the various objects.
There was paper, a cheap paperback, an old book, letters from his parents, various small Egyptian objects, change, tea bags, dried mint, a handkerchief filled with ice and a box found a month earlier. The box looked like a misshapen box made out of some odd substance. It was speculated it was a mix of stone and wood, but the clump didn't fit exactly the theory.
Bill, being the one to notice the little arrow in its side, figured out it was some object concealing something else. They had X-rayed the box, which had given very hazy pictures but there has something inside it.
The object was given to Bill to study for a couple of days since every one else couldn't stand the sight of it (the brainstorming session to understand what it was had given everyone a migraine).
So now the object had been trusted to him. But as soon as he had came back to the room he lived in at the archaeological library, he had become restless.
Restless and ill and worried for something.
¨Then he felt it –CUT!
Hermione cried and didn't care for who heard her. She had no substance anymore and it was good so.
CUT!
At the same moment, a troll thumped into the castle.
CUT!
Bill felt as if his head was going to explode. His hands found blindly the handkerchief with the ice he used to cool off his skin with during diggings.
He pressed it hard against his neck.
CUT!
Hermione's eyes flew open, feeling something very cold against her neck. She looked up and opened her mouth in horror.
She turned slowly her head and heard a click.
The troll's face looked questioning for a moment. Then it turned around. Hermione pressed her hands against her mouth.
CUT!
Bill was coughing on the floor, panic dancing in dark spots in front of his eyes. His hand clawed the floor, ripping through what it found, breaking his nails, punishing his fingertips.
CUT!
Harry felt cold, objective horror rise in him.
CUT!
The troll noticed the girl. Hermione felt suddenly anger. HOE DARED THAT TROLL INVADE HER PRIVACY!
He kicked open the door of her cubicle, walked out and gave him a look that made it clear that he was in trouble.
How could a girl who was not even half the height of a dangerous troll be so menacing?
Feeling threatened, the troll swung his club and single handily destroyed all the toilet cubicles. This took a rather big effort from the part of the troll who grunted still, feeling unsafe and nervous because of the girl.
To protect herself from the splinters, Hermione ducked under a sink for safety and for planning out her tactic to get out this situation.
CUT!
Bill suddenly felt a bit better. The ice was melting now in the heat of the room, mixing into the mass of shredded paper, mint, dust and blood. It felt soothing in a purely masochistic way.
But just as he had felt relieved, his arm started to cramp, sending jolts of pain up to his neck that stiffened. Bill started panting, trying to gulp in air. His arm moved around spasmodically and grabbed into something hard.
CUT!
Hermione watched as the club that moments earlier had broken the thin mastic walls of the toilets fall clumsily on the head of its owner.
Her eyes took in the scene, her mind critical towards her saviours. Why the hell did they think she needed them now, just when she decided to give up on them?
The two boys, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley looked at her with big eyes and suddenly the part of Hermione she had been ignoring came massively back to her.
The feeling of despair, of need, of longing she felt took her so quickly, so strongly she couldn't help but to tremble and wipe her face in the dusty sleeve of her robe.
Silly me, she thought, why did I ever doubt myself?
CUT!
Relief surged into his system. Soothing, calm, and cool words travelled up his spine into his body, his convulsing calming down, his aches banished away like a bad memory. He felt as if suddenly his body was very ancient and didn't see the point of taking the pain, but to observe it instead.
His body was dust now, nothing else, something belonging to someone else.
His hand opened up and the object he had in his hand dropped on the floor, broken.
Bill's hand, smudged in specks of ice, mint leaves and something dusty and crumbly slowly came to his face to cup it.
And then he felt it again -CUT!
He saw his brother. He saw his brother, saw a short boy with round glasses, he saw McGonagall. He saw broken glass; he smelt a foul smell of something rotten. But mostly of all, he felt. He felt the skirt he was wearing, the elastic waistband of the underwear and the softness of his small breasts becoming too heavy to be free under a shirt without a bra. He felt hair caressing his skin; he sensed anger and saw the fear in the eyes of his brother.
He opened his mouth to defend his brother, but when he articulated, other words came out. The idea was there but formulated impersonally, without his intake in it.
CUT!
When Hermione Granger walked through the portrait to the Gryffindor common room, Ron felt a strong sense of trust and confidence emanating from the girl.
It felt as if she knew him since forever.
CUT!
Next afternoon, Bill was found smiling, his hands oddly misshapen, his face oddly broken, with scars like the webs made by porcelain cracking on his face.
In his hand, there was ice, mint and mimosas.
The clump had opened, and the room was now already half covered under the yellow flowers. The flowers were growing thick in front of the door, making it difficult to walk towards the man who needed medical help although no one could ever recall seeing him this happy.