Gray Into Brown—Chapter 11

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry that last chapter took so long. I had basketball practice yesterday and my first game is tomorrow! Plus I have to rehearse for my solo in our Christmas program. I'm so sorry about the waits in between chapters. Anyway, enjoy Ch. 11!

Chapter 11: Jordan, Gold, and Kiss-and-Tell

Draco's POV

I've gotten some strength back since my post-Hermione breakdown, and now I can think clearly again. Her eyes still haunt me, though. The tears in them. The hurt in them. The break in them.

Nightmares every night. I have them every night. Her death, her screams, her dissolving into nothing but dust. It's awful. I can't take it much longer. I have to talk to her. I have to see her.

The Lounge Room is colder at five than the dormitory but at least I'm alone. I stare out the window, through the fog on it. It's almost a new day, and I don't want to sleep. I'm afraid of the dreams. The last one was horrible.

A scream. A scream that goes on and on.

Hermione's. Hermione's!

"Hermione!" I yell. "HERMIONE!"

I stand up and run. I run in the direction of the scream, the scream that hasn't stopped. The scream that echoes in my ears and chills my spine…

I'm in a room that's warm and a flickering fire burns merrily. So why is someone screaming, so loudly that I'm going deaf?

I turn out of the room and sprint, because the scream has moved from this room to the one next to it.

But the next room is lined with bookshelves and cozy armchairs.

The scream has jumped across the hall.

"HERMIONE!"

A second scream joins the first. It's higher-pitched and desperate.

"SYLVER!"

A third. Fourth. Mother and Father!

"AHHHH!" My scream joins theirs, five shrieks harmonizing horribly. Scream after scream joins: my aunts, uncles, friends, even Potter and Weasley…I never thought I'd care…

My ears pound. Where are they all?

And then there's silence as body after body hits the floor. My body smacks the floor with a BANG, a bang too loud for something lifeless.

Hermione hits the floor next to my unseeing eyes.

I shudder at the thought of her, and Sylver, falling to the ground, dead and cold and past and gone. Tears line my eyes as I once again think of her sobs at dinner, her sobs in the common room, her unforgiving manner because she can't trust me anymore.

I curse Pansy Parkinson and myself and even love altogether.

Hey.

Hey, I think miserably to Sylver.

Your ex-girlfriend doesn't trust me, you know. She's been digging in the library for records of my last name. Sylver's voice (in my head) has a nasty edge to it.

And has she found any?

No, because she's clever one. I have to tell you something.

Come to the Lounge Room. Please. I'm here already.

What? Why are you up so early? Sylver sounds concerned. Like we really are siblings.

Draco.

Sorry. I'm up so late because I can't sleep without having a nightmare. I think it sheepishly.

Same here. I'll come down quickly.

Thanks.

I sit in silence for awhile, my heart pounding. Sylver is so mysterious that it's scary. I wonder what she has to tell me and anticipate something along the lines of "I'm dying" or "I have to go".

It seems like forever, waiting for her. I realize that I long to see her silvery blonde hair, her stormy gray eyes, the corners of her mouth when they curve up, like when she smiles. I'm not in love with her: I want to see her alive, happy, and well. I love her like a sister.

"Same here, Draco." Her voice is firm, but tired. There are circles under the eyes, the eyes, the silvery gray eyes. She tilts her head, examining me. "I love you like you're my brother. The brother I lost."

"You had a brother?" I ask gently.

"Yeah. Died when I was six. Then my parents died a few years later and it was me and Shelia…sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?" Her cheeks are bright red. "It's just been so long."

"No, it's okay," I say consolingly. "If—if it's not intruding or anything, what was his name?"

Her eyes well up with tears, but she answers. "Johnathan."

"I'm sorry about your—life." I should've chosen my words more carefully, because she looks offended. "I meant, about the things that've happened. In your life." I cringe. "Sorry. I'm no good with words."

She sits next to me, covering both of us with a blanket. "No, it's okay. I get it." She takes my hand. Hers is warm and small and slender, mine cold and trembling slightly. "Shh, shh, it's okay, Draco."

"What did you need to tell me?"

She looks me right in the eye, and I can tell she's been planning this.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"What? Yes, you are! I think you're Sylver Glisens, the Thought-Reader!" I say, aghast. She shakes her head sadly.

"No, no. I am a Thought-Reader, but—the rest was made up." Her breath catches in her throat. "The rest was—a cover. I couldn't have you blabbing that I was a Thought-Reader, and it serves me right because you went and told your girlfriend." Her voice is not angry, not tearful: it's disappointed.

"I—I was stressed, and I—"

"Imagine that stress, times ten, for four years after you found out you were a Thought-Reader. Imagine the regret, times thirty, after telling the one person you felt a 'connection' toward. Imagine the panic, times three million, once you figured out he told someone. Imagine the worry, times a billion, when you learned that 'someone' didn't trust you and was this close to uncovering your secret. My whole life is the definition of stress, Draco."

I feel so sorry for her, knowing that I, in a way, betrayed her. Heavily.

"Yes."

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Syl—uh, you."

"Yeah, let's start from the beginning." She takes a breath. "My name isn't Sylver Glisens. It's Jordan Gold. I'm cursed. A cursed girl. That's why I wear this, my gold bangle, all the time. The bangle, called The Bound, has healing powers that may be used ten times. I've used it twice. It glows red-hot and absorbs the blood of the wound, therefore healing it. It also gives me extra Thought-Reading powers, like viewing your thoughts or your words whenever I want to.

"I was cursed when I was born. There's a prophecy in the Department of Mysteries—or rather, there was—that states, as follows (I memorized it),

Doth, a child born of twenty November

A girl with silver for eyes and fire for a heart

Cursed with the power of minds and thoughts

Cursed as punishment for the ones before her

She bears the mark of Gem on her skin

Mysterious and dark, quiet and strong

Gray will come and distract her from her secret

Which she must keep faithfully, or death results

Gray and Silver, glistening as though drenched

She will entwine herself around him, as though he is a lifeline

When he is not, but merely a source of trouble

Death awaits the girl at her anniversary of fourteen

In which she will walk gladly into its loving arms

Gray will cause catastrophe for Silver and she

Will give herself up to Death's warm glow

And stroll into paradise, comforted.

"There it is: the Prophecy of Silver. I'm sure 'Silver' is me, since I have silver eyes. That's when I started calling myself Silver. The other part, glistening, struck me as a perfect last name. Sylver Glisens was born. And Gray…Gray…

"Gray is you, Draco. You're gray. You have gray eyes. A gray personality. Gray is soft, dark, and dangerous. You act so nice—but I can't shake the fact that you're my downfall." For the first time, she pauses, crying. Tears run down her face. "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry…You have gray eyes and you're always so gray. The only time you weren't was when you were with Hermione. Then you were—you were—white. I saw it. I can sense colors. I'm sort of—gifted in the brain. I see differently than you can. That's not the point, though.

"The point is that I need to separate myself from you." A sob racks her and she buries her face in the folds of her skirt. She scoots away from me so that the blanket covers only my shoulders. I never realized how small she was.

"I don't get it." I speak, finally. "Why?"

She faces me, her silver eyes tinged red. "Don't you see? Gray will cause catastrophe and she will give herself up to Death's warm glow? Death awaits the girl at her anniversary of fourteen? When he (Gray) is not, but merely a source of trouble? You don't see?" She glares at me. "I'm going to die in three days! My anniversary of fourteen. My birthday is in tomorrow. I'll be fourteen. I was cursed on my birthday." Sylver-Jordan shakes her head. "I held onto the thought of you being my family so tightly, too tightly. You told Hermione, and—"

The door bursts open. Hermione stands, her lips slightly parted and her eyes on Jordan. Jordan's eyes widen and she covers her mouth with a loud "oh!"

"I knew something was funny about you!" she whispers. "I knew it! But I didn't know you were cursed. This—this could be dangerous!"

"No, please!" Jordan pleads.

"Wait! Wait!" I call to Hermione's back. I need to make things right.

"What?" she asks, her voice brittle.

I run up to her and kiss her. I kiss her so passionately, so warmly, so fiercely that she has no choice but to give up talking.

We kiss, but it's more like making out. We kiss and kiss and kiss until my mouth aches.

Finally she breaks away. Smiling slightly, she murmurs into my cheek, "I knew you'd come around."

I laugh and just hold her for awhile. Then I sit her down and tell her Syl—um, Jordan's story. At the part of her parents, Hermione begins to cry.

Then she grows pitiful, and finally horrified.

"You're—you know you're going to die, and yet you're calm?" she says, stricken. Jordan shrugs and twists her mouth.

"I wouldn't say I'm calm."

Hermione stands, bends down, and hugs Jordan tightly. Then she holds her back by the shoulders and says, "I'm so sorry, for poking around in your private life."

"It's—it's okay, it's not like it matters anymore."

This causes both girls to erupt into tears. I stand by awkwardly, watching as they hug and sob and stutter reassurances to each other.

I mean, I feel bad too, but men don't cry.

Jordan laughs slightly at my thoughts. "Men don't cry. Ha. You hypocrite! You were crying this morning, over Hermione! You've cried every day since you two broke up!"

Hermione laughs. "Oh, god, Draco."

"Shut up, Jordan!" The girls laugh. It's strange how their emotions change so quickly. "Yeah, so maybe men do cry."

"It's what makes you wonderful," Hermione coos, and kisses me some more. We kiss happily for awhile, until Jordan clears her throat.

"Okay, that's gross, you two making out all the time," she says passively.

"Oh, Jordan, there must be one boy who you fancy," Hermione teases.

Jordan blushes profusely. "N-no."

"Yeah there is!" I roar, jumping up.

"I can't say."

"Mm-hmm. C'mon. Open up!" Hermione says gleefully.

"It's—it's—"

"Go on!" I urge.

"You, Draco."

Instantly my heart races. "Really?"

"REALLY?" shouts Hermione. "Aw, god, that's—"

For a moment, I think she's angry, but she bursts into laughter.

"But—but Jordan," I say quietly, "you're in third year. And—and you're like a sister to me."

"I know," she says miserably, "and I used to long for you to notice me. That's why I staggered into the common room that day, that's why I revealed my secret to you. I told you it was like having a brother—but I really, truly loved you. I—I love you, Draco."

"I love you too, Jordan, but not passionately. Siblinglike." I feel awful, breaking her heart like this, but I love Hermione.

"Figures," she whispers. "It's her, isn't it?" Jordan jabs a finger in Hermione's direction. "Well, come and kiss over my coffin, then."

She departs, leaving me speechless and Hermione crying softly.

She's dying tomorrow.

My sister is dying tomorrow.