It was another cloudy day. It was another funeral. It was the last in a succession of too many for Hermione Granger to count.
Her black dress was submerged in a splotch of morbidity, Ron done up in a raggedy funeral robe beside her; the Weasleys' cluster of red hair was the only striking color in the mass of silent, pale wizards and witches that accumulated in front of the mass graveyard they'd managed to put together beside Shell Cottage. Dobby's grave lay only feet away from these lines of markers that dictated all of the fallen from the battle of Hogwarts. This particular one lay closest of them all to Dobby. It only felt right, seeing as he'd been the one to bury the small elf.
Here Lies Harry Potter
The Hero Who Lives On
07/31/80 – 05/02/98
The boy who lived, the man who died. A hope, a best friend, a brother. Her brother. They had not shared the same blood, but in her veins she felt him. Or rather, she had. Those same veins were withering now.
"Today, we honor a man who sacrificed…"
Hermione flinched as Kingsley began his speech, his potent words falling on deaf ears as her eyes roamed over the gravestone, over the fresh covering of dirt that was piled atop a slumbering friend.
Six feet too deep.
She could feel the coil that tied her to Harry being severed thread by iron thread as the Fates reminded her of what they'd all lost. Of what she'd lost.
Her legs were faltering beneath her stone body, and she could feel the crack of her ankles as they tried to keep her crumbling frame up. Her throat was dry, a thirst she could never satisfy sapping away everything except for the tears that were pooling up behind the wall she'd carefully built up inside. It was a wall that had taken time to build, and was constantly under siege.
She was so tired of crying, of breaking down at the smallest pressure, of feeling so utterly defenseless against the pain monsters forced onto her, onto them.
She was worn down, creaky and rotting away. Her body was a home left emptied long ago, left to be eaten by vermin from the outside in until even her foundation began to cave. But she was too stubborn, this old house. She refused to fall down, not anymore. She'd let too many things take advantage of her, too many things to live off of her and suck her dry.
She couldn't cry any more. There was no room for weakness, when every enemy was just looking for the soft spot to bulldoze through and cripple her completely.
But, damn it, she wanted to fall.
Ron's warm hand found its way onto hers, and latched on for dear life. She felt its warmth immediately against her own icy skin, against the bitter cold breeze. It was a tight grip, cutting off her circulation, reminding her that she was still alive, still needing those throbbing fingers.
When she looked at him, she saw another old, withered house.
"Your resident clear out too?" She thought. "Mine too."
Same resident, she wanted to scream.
And as much as Ron could sympathize, could share this eagerly spreading pain with her, he could not feel the utter hollowness she felt. His house had visitors. He had his family, a strong and sturdy chunk of his foundation remained even after Fred's passing.
All she'd had was Harry as a foundation, and Ron as her roof. But what good was the roof if she had nowhere to stand?
Her family was gone. There was no getting them back now and, even as she clawed at the earth once everyone had left and returned to the shelter of the cottage, Hermione knew there was no way of bringing Harry back.
There was no one left to fill her up.
This house was a shell of a home.
Australia, a continental plain of desert and beach and forestry. Hazardous inside the cities where deatheaters swarmed, just as hazardous in the wild with multiple creatures that were more than willing to kill intruders; spiders included so it was a heaven sent that Ron had, very enthusiastically, joined Victor's group. It was supposed to be summer here, nearing the end of it, but there was no sign of the sultry sun, or the waves of muggy heat that was infamous here in the woods of the Ourimbah State Park. And, as people began to set up camp behind Hermione, they were greeted with the same downcast, eerie darkness that had swallowed them whole. The skies were bleak above the hovering canopy of trees, momentary glimpses of hope as the sun fought against the clouds for the last time that evening were snuffed out post-haste as more wisps of smoke rolled over the horizon and spread out like a disease. The skeletal leaves of the trees were already falling to the ground in clumps, yet there were still enough to help shroud the area in long shadows that seeped into her skin.
Those dangerous animals Hermione had to instruct her group on were nowhere to be seen. These woods she'd remembered being so lively with the sounds of creeks and critters roaming about the brush were now almost completely dead silent outside of the site's protective barrier. It was obvious to everyone, and everything, that something was terribly wrong with the world. Everything was giving up, giving way to the plague Voldemort had cursed on the land. The only remnants of life were in the moving bodies of the rebellion.
But she didn't want to dwell too long on the possibilities of life in Australia.
"Admiring the Vagus?" Luna's distant voice called to Hermione, the crunch of the leaves beneath Luna's feet only barely warning the other witch to her arrival. She swallowed, turning away from the trees to look at her quiet companion in slight confusion. Luna was supposed to be doing rounds on the other side of camp, but it seemed she'd swapped out with someone else. And now, she was asking Hermione about things she really had no time to think about.
She never did understand Luna very much, even if she'd grown fond of the strange creature over the past months. While Hermione's muscles were endlessly coiled, Luna Lovegood was the epitome of relaxation. It irked her.
"No? Just me then," her friend chimed as she glanced out into the thick wall of a forest. Vibrant blue eyes were hovering over a particular flower, watching it with a keenness that didn't particularly make sense. It wasn't a very pretty flower, hardly noticeable from the shrubbery surrounding it. If Hermione hadn't known better, from Luna's classification, she would have thought it was a weed from the blanched, off-white color of its petals. It was just so plain.
For a while, they stayed that way: Hermione, too hesitant to leave and see how her ensemble of members was doing at the campsite. Luna, too preoccupied with a weed/flower to notice the awkwardness of the moment.
"Peculiar, this Vagus. They usually travel in groups," Hermione caught Luna sighing. She peered over at her, now completely confused.
"Travel?"
Luna nodded noncommittally. "Yes, see, they're rootless. Well, the literal translation of the name is-"
"-roaming," Hermione cut in, annoyed. "I know. I just thought it meant that they're everywhere, like weeds." She glanced back at the flower in distaste, as if it had done her such a great offense in being in existence.
"No, no. Actually, they're very rare. Not at all like weeds. They actually roam, because they detach themselves from their surroundings and move elsewhere. Of course, they don't walk, but when the wind picks up, they simply fly off and latch on to something desirable. But, they only move in groups, so this one is a bit odd. Its color is off, too."
Without another word, Luna bent down and whisked the flower into the palm of her hand, bringing it up for Hermione to, reluctantly, see.
The stem of the flower was depressed, limp as Luna nudged it. The most peculiar thing was the utter absence of roots.
"Wait, don't they have something down there to latch onto the ground?"
"Of course! They're just very small hairs, but extremely strong. I wouldn't have been able to pick this little one up if it didn't want me to. Once they make a home, they grow extremely attached until it's time to leave."
"But, it's a flower. It can't have feelings about its environment. That's silly," Hermione ridiculed, uncomfortable.
And then, a small smile pulled up Luna's laugh lines.
"You think me mad, don't you?" She asked, tearing her attention away from the Vagus in her hand. That smile stayed, humorous, not the slightest annoyed. She never did seem to get agitated.
Hermione grimaced. "Sometimes, yes," she admitted sheepishly. Luna's laugh rang clear, wistful but a note shy of flat. There was a sadness in her eyes as she glanced down at the small flower, stroking the soft petals and admiring it as the brownish tint began to fade.
"All of us are mad, sometimes. Now, more than ever. Hopelessness does the most unusual things to people. Even flowers react differently when they've lost something. Are you alright, being here?" Her eyes fell back on Hermione, instantly making the other witch uncomfortable once more in her skin. She was see-through. No matter how much she tried to think of this woman as off when she tried to analyze flowers, she seemed too keenly insightful when it came to humans.
"Is that why you volunteered to come here? To make sure I was 'alright'?" Hermione scrutinized, unfairly harsh.
Luna nodded. "Of course. Mainly because of the injury, but also out of concern. It's normal for a friend to be concerned, isn't it?"
Hermione had never taken Luna for someone who wanted to achieve normality. She stared at her, waiting for something other than the sincerity painted over the smooth features of Luna's face. But naturally, what she saw with Luna was always what she got.
She swallowed again, a collection of shards in her throat, crystallizing off of one another.
Friend, Hermione heard. Of course Luna was her friend. Of course Luna would want to make sure she was okay. Of course. But Hermione wasn't a good friend. She didn't trust herself to speak.
And that's why it took an eternity for her to finally confirm her sanity.
"I'm fine."
There was no sign that Luna didn't believe her, or even that she did. She gave a kindred smile, turned her focus back onto her adopted Vagus flower and retreated back to the site.
Hermione, herself, would not return to camp. She made excuses, preparing and reinforcing the wards, mapping out lakes and creeks, and possible places near Sydney to retrieve food from by the light of her wand just outside of the base's perimeter. She stayed out of people's way as they went about doing their assignments. It was a basic day, nothing needed from her, and so Hermione took it as her day to strategize and scout the area. And, of course, she wanted quiet.
And for a while, immersed in the dense wilderness that managed to remind her of her time in Dean, Hermione was able to sink into herself.
But of course, all good things come to an end.
"Merlin, Granger, how do you ever get anything done if all you do is stare off into space? Those poor maps must feel utterly depressed." Snide, condescending: only one person could execute such a line so nauseatingly.
Today was not the day.
She was developing the right concoction of words in her head, opening her mouth to tell him to please leave her alone, when she realized Draco Malfoy was already making himself perfectly at home across from where she was sitting against a tree. In the shroud of nightfall, under the dismal lighting she'd called forth from her wand she could see him adjusting, dusting off his jeans as he sunk back against a hunched tree, and looking completely oblivious to her discomfort.
No, no. Horrible wording. He actually looked completely satisfied by her discomfort.
When his haughty face finally turned up to see her reaction in all its glory, it was with the expectation of a fight. But all Hermione could muster was a loaded sigh.
"Malfoy, please. I took up patrol alone for a reason."
He scratched his chin, glanced down at the black lines under his nails with a grimace, and then shrugged at her. "And I took up patrol just now for a reason, too," was his brilliant reply.
"Oh, is that so. Please, enlighten me," Hermione grumbled, turning to the papers she'd previously discarded beside her and rummaging through them just to keep her hands occupied and off Malfoy's throat. She didn't have the energy to do this right now, and especially after Kingsley's warning.
"Well, if you want to know so badly: I thought it was poor judgment on your part to let you go out on your own."
"Malfoy, I'm-"
"-perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You see, that isn't really true from the look of that bump in the back of your head. Mind you, it's hard to see through the fray of frizz atop your skull but its there I'm sure. How is that going, by the way? Not the mane, the bump."
She glared at him, but he didn't look a bit perturbed. If anything, he looked utterly at peace, that sloping, ridiculous smile on his face once more. Did it ever come off?
"It's fine," she barked.
"No more fainting spells?" He tried so hard to look concerned.
"I did not faint," Hermione shot, defensive, though the heat rising to her face was making her lightheaded all over again.
"Oh, but I heard you did. So strange, how it happened once I left you yesterday."
"I was just tired. I fell asleep-"
"While trying to wheel yourself back to your tent? If you say so, Granger," he chuckled, his head falling back against the tree. His eyes watched her face as it puffed up and then hastily deflated. She shook her head, detaching herself from an argument that would leave her with a headache.
"Please, just go Malfoy," she muttered dismally. Her request was followed by silence, and she wondered briefly if he'd managed to disappear just as quietly as he'd appeared. But, when she peeked from beneath her lashes, she realized he was still there.
His smile was gone.
"I don't want to," he replied finally, catching her eye. She averted her attention, looking back at the maps on her lap.
"Malfoy, please. Please. I can't believe I'm saying please so many times, but please just leave me in peace for one day. I just want one day to myself, even if it's to work," she huffed, fidgeting with the frayed corner of the local map she'd grabbed from the deserted tourist help desk they'd discovered yesterday night when they arrived.
"You? In peace? That seems like a contradiction," he scoffed. She dared to look again, to see if he was amused by her agitation, but instead she found him intently staring back at her. He was always watching her like a hawk did its prey, waiting for a move that would signal for him to swoop in and destroy her.
She tried, and managed, to keep her face a blank slate.
"With you around? Yes, very much so. Go, now," she ordered, simultaneously dismissing him as she started drawing lines to different places on the layout of the forest, even though they meant nothing. Just doodling, looking busy so he would finally leave.
What a ridiculous notion.
"You know, the camp's been talking about your… connection to Australia." Finally, he got to the point of today's attack.
Hermione could feel her insides shrivel up, taste the iron on her tongue as she bit down on it too roughly, hear her swallow down the scream she wanted to let out.
"Malfoy, if you're here to ridicule my professionalism, so help me," she started but Malfoy had leaned over, and his index finger laid a breath away from her lips, telling her to be quiet. Gray eyes were studying her own, a strange clarity in them that left her muddled.
She swallowed again, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
As suddenly as his hand had appeared in front of her, it was gone and he was leaning back, almost pressing, on his tree.
"You never let a man finish, do you?" Malfoy breathed, running a strong hand through his blonde locks, almost looking frustrated. Almost.
He shook his head when she didn't respond.
"I was going to say it was a bad idea, yes, but not because of professionalism. Granger, we're in the middle of a war. Professionalism is the least of our problems. It's just… I don't think you should…" He grimaced, grinding his teeth together as he thought something through, shifting his weight uncomfortably and staring intensely at the canopy above. Just barely, she herself could make out the slim outline of the moon against the clouds and leaves.
"Should what?" She asked, regretting it as soon as the words came out of her mouth. Why the hell was she doing this to herself?
He heaved, finally looking back at her, her face warming under his gaze. "I don't think you should torture yourself like that." Genuine. His voice, soft and genuine. So much more potent, more damaging than the snidest remark he could have ever made.
She was choking on something, a memory of her parents faces the last time she'd seen them. They hadn't seen her. Not really. They didn't remember her anymore, and probably never would now. Were they even alive?
"You have no right to lecture me," she forced out coldly, fighting against the tsunami of sensations she'd locked away so tightly under the floorboards of her heart. "No right."
"I'm not lecturing," he argued, sincerity still there but edged with irritation.
"Oh, yes you are. Don't talk to me about things you don't understand. Don't you dare bring up my parents, when it's because of your lot that I had to do what I did," she shot, her eyes gleaming. She blinked back the wetness, reminding herself of where she was, who she was with, who she was. Who was she, now, anyways?
"Really that high and mighty, are you Granger? Can't possibly fathom that someone might be able to sympathize, or would it be that you can't accept that I have that ability? Am I that much of a monster, that I don't know what it feels like to lose someone?"
They were glaring at one another, seething. Everything escalated so quickly between them, so unbalanced and constantly raging. One wrong word, and she was sure the forest would be ablaze with their fire.
"Oh, please. Lucius Malfoy was no loss to the world," she retorted, her anger retreating despite her drive to continue the fight. She couldn't keep it up.
"You think I don't know that? He was no loss to the world, but he was still of my blood. I despised the man, but I loved my father. Besides, your parents are still alive so stop wallowing in self-pity," he snapped heatedly.
She felt like the ground under her was starting to shift apart. Cold water had splashed over the inferno in her heart.
"I don't know that," Hermione feebly muttered, her vision suddenly going blurry.
"Yes, you do," came a quiet reply. "You always know. There's a part of you that knows they're alive. You just don't want to accept that brief happiness."
She blinked hard, clearing her vision to see Malfoy watching her again. Did he see her weaknesses so easily? Was she that much of a glass house?
The intensity of his gaze almost shattered that glass.
"I don't want my hopes to be crushed," she defended lamely.
"Very smart. Just crush them yourself. You love fueling your own pain don't you?" He shook his head at her, a frustrated quirk in his smile as he did so. "You really are ridiculous."
"Fuck you," she spat, but there was barely any venom left to shoot.
"I have so many different ways to respond to that, and all of them would so quickly fly over your pretty little head," he sighed, casually letting his legs stretch out in front of him.
She flushed bright red and looked away before he could eye her reaction again.
"You're no orphan either so I still don't know why you think you have the right to ridicule me," Hermione insistently argued, glaring at a defenseless bush to her right.
Something that sounded like a response came from Malfoy's direction. When she glanced up to see, though, he looked as if he hadn't spoken. He was frowning at the ground, arms crossed rigidly.
"Come again?" She ventured.
"Nothing," he muttered.
"No, you said something."
He huffed, a grimace on his face. "Of course you'd fucking insist. I said, I might as well be." Now he was glaring at the innocent dirt beneath him.
She gapped, confused. "What do you mean?"
"Suddenly interested in my life story, Granger?" He mocked, winning a scowl from her.
"Who's the one who sat down here, insisting on staying and ruining my day?"
"It's actually night, Granger, but I'll let that one slide," he remarked snidely. Her scowl deepened.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. She was far too interested in the way the disgruntled strands fell back into place, a few of them splayed in different directions.
"My mother might as well be dead. She's been deranged since father died," he confessed uneasily. Hermione frowned.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled awkwardly. A cold laugh replied, and her eyes immediately flew to his. He looked haggard suddenly, the lines in his face that she'd never bothered to notice before standing in stark contrast against the bones of his cheeks. They weren't laughing lines. They eerily matched the ones forming on her face.
"Hermione Granger, sorry that a pureblood family is suffering because of the backlash of their own ideals. How revolutionary."
"I'm just as capable of holding compassion for a pureblood family as any other, you narcissistic ass hole. This crap about 'blood' and pride that makes you so different doesn't apply to me," she shot back.
Malfoy was shaking his head.
"Oh, no, don't you even fucking start. I'll have you out of here so fucking fast," she ranted but he was doing that leaning thing again so she stopped. She didn't want him anywhere near her.
But he didn't stop.
He leaned in close, breaking the first barrier around her as he observed her with a ghost of that smile of his that made her wild with anger. He was crouched now in front of her, not touching any part of her, but his eyes did enough of that. They brushed against her fisted hands that fought back the shivers they'd been suppressing since yesterday, stroked the lines of her arms as if following the lines of her veins, and rested on the pulse on her throat.
"No. No, just pride, Granger. Just pride, on both of our sides. I've known for a long time that blood is blue and red all the way through no matter whose it is. We spew the same, dark substance in war. I've seen so much of it, I couldn't tell the difference even if there was any. But there isn't. Your blood, my blood. We're the same, Granger. Does it scare you?" He asked, barely above a whisper. He wanted to keep this a secret from the trees around them, and the eyes that nature had. What a revelation for the forest it would have been, to know that these two people were just another aspect of nature, composed of the same dark substance and the same pride. What a scary concept, it made the air shudder into a breeze and pressed the scent of Malfoy onto her, so prominent and memorable.
She remembered the hand that had held her own as she'd slept, the sweet, musky smell that had felt so safe. It was the same one.
She gave a shudder of her own.
He was staring into her muddled brown eyes, and she knew he was waiting for something. But she couldn't find her voice. Instead, Hermione's body summoned another, one that whispered sweet, strange nothings that reminded her too strongly of distant dreams.
He was opening his mouth, so close to hers that she could taste his essence as he breathed out.
"Her-"
"-mione? Hermione! There you are," Luna chimed as she broke through the underbrush and caught the image of Draco Malfoy leaning over Hermione's bent over frame. There was a distinct change in Malfoy's face, the misted but determined angle of his eyes and face grinded into a clenched jaw. He gave out a frustrated sigh as Hermione wiggled out and away from him.
Luna didn't look a bit deterred. "If you're going to look for the Memorfur swarming around her ears, you have to close one eye. It's pointless otherwise, Draco."
There was no disguising the look of utter confusion on Malfoy's face.
"On another note, Hermione, we need you back on camp. We've received intel from Victor but seeing as you're the only one who can open it…" she trailed off, seeming to finally put two and two together. But before she could really process too much, Hermione was up and grabbing at Luna's shoulders.
"Really, great. Let's go see what it says. Malfoy, keep patrolling." And she was off, steering Luna and herself away from the utter nightmare behind her.
Luna's timing was nothing if not impeccable.
"Did I interrupt something important?" Luna asked as she was herded back into the hushed camp, people moving around with a drop in energy that probably had to do with the time. A lot of them also weren't very peachy about a certain member being among them.
Hermione could sympathize.
She forced a smile, reassuring them both. "No, no. Of course not."
"If you say so." Luna was glancing back, trying to see past the thick wall of trees that blocked out Malfoy's shape in the darkness. Hermione wanted to hit the other woman upside the head.
"I do. Now, the intel," Hermione steered the conversation onto better turf, allowing her heart to slow down and her nerves to settle back into their rightful place. They'd entered the head tent where she spotted George and Neville waiting. They were looking past her, waiting uncomfortably for another, unwanted body to materialize.
"It's just us for now. Malfoy took up patrol. So! Let me see," Hermione murmured, grabbing at what appeared to be a pile of blank papers. She frowned.
"I thought you said it was just from Victor." She looked to Luna, who shrugged.
"It is."
Puzzled, Hermione unrolled the documents and ran her fingertips lightly over the surface. Under her touch, the outlines of scribbled words began to surface and grew definitively darker as she continued to stroke it; it was sensitive to her fingerprints alone.
She leaned forward, feeling the shadows fall on her as the others did the same, and read each letter as its scrawls became more excited.
"He's found the location, and he's spotted Bellatrix of all people. No sign of You-Know-Who, but he's been hearing whispers about him… that, that he's not well," Hermione explained, shuffling up the notes he'd sent and stopping to smile at the last one before shoving it in her pocket.
"What was that?" Neville dubiously asked. Hermione eyed him, but she was still smiling.
"Personal note. No need to show and tell."
He flushed, swallowing before pointing out the relevant papers. "So, what do we do now?"
George was clucking his tongue, rubbing his hands together. "What don't we do?"
"George, we've only just got here," Neville muttered, but Hermione was shaking her head, stopping him.
"No, we do something. I've had this planned for a while, and I want them to know they aren't winning this war by a long shot. We're going to do a simultaneous attack." She was staring eagerly at the map in front of her, pointing out the places they'd managed to plot as major headquarters of the death eaters.
"Yesterday, we found our hit and Arthur already confirmed his. We're just waiting on Bill and Dean. I know Dean's group was having a hard time finding cover, but Bill's should be reporting in soon. We have to time this perfectly, so once they're ready, we can start devising the timeline of assaults. We only have this one shot to give a large blow."
"Won't that just let them know that we're here?" Neville asked, frowning.
"That's what we want," Hermione reminded him. "We want them to know we're not hiding anymore. We're here to fight, and to win."
"They'll be scattered, and we can pick them off one by one after we destroy their home base," a familiar, smooth voice came from the tent entrance. Hermione looked up and met Malfoy's eyes, burning with a hunger that didn't match the coolness of his composed face. She felt her skin melt under the heat and quickly looked back to the rest of her small consulting group.
"Exactly," she confirmed. "It's now, or never."
She had to remind herself not to look at Malfoy, even when the burn of his stare seared a hole through her chest.
A/N: I know, I know, WHY HAVEN'T THEY KISSED YET? Right? I'm really slow when it comes to building up relationships but patience, my grasshoppers. It will come. Btw, remember the M rating~
As always, reviews are lovely and are rewarded with goodies! PLEASE, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK. It makes me really nervous when I only get one review per chapter (though I love her reviews, bless your soul).