Not quite so long this time. Managed to get two out in the same week. I guess that makes up for not getting one out at all last week. A bit shorter than some of the previous ones, but I didn't really want to drag it out. It's more of a to the point posting. And ... yeah ... Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

- Chapter Eight -

Broken Trust

"I believed you!" Hermione shouted as she beat Killian across the chest in a secluded corner of the Hogwarts dungeons. "I trusted you!"

"What are you talking about?" Killian asked, grasping Hermione across the wrists to restrain her assault. "What's happened?"

"He could have died!" she shouted, uncaring as to who might hear.

"Died?" Killian asked on, just as perplexed as he had been when Hermione stormed into the dungeons and began her tirade. "Who?"

"Ron!" Hermione answered, pulling free from a stunned Killian and continuing to beat her fists against him.

"What … I …" Killian began, but stumbled over his words. "What happened to Ron?"

"Stop lying to me!" Hermione cried accusingly, her eyes welling. "The poisoned mead from Professor Slughorn's office! The bottle that was supposed to go to Dumbledore! I know you know where it came from!"

"Hermione, I swear to you—" Killian tried to explain.

"Just stop!" Hermione cut in as she stepped away from Killian and wiped her eyes. "You have some secret meeting in Hogsmeade the day Katie Bell is cursed, your family is affiliated with Death Eaters, these Watchers show up and suddenly there's poisoned mead—"

"Watchers?" Killian asked, each word escaping his mouth expressing more confusion than the last. "The Watchers would never—"

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid!" Hermione cried. Although she was no longer certain of any validity contained within her accusations, she could not control the avalanche of rage that had taken over her consciousness. "Something is happening and I know you're involved! You have to be! This can't just be …" Her words lodged in her throat, suffocating her as tempests of heartache, anger, and fear fought their way to the surface all at once. "I can't … I just … I can't do this anymore."

"Hermione …" Killian pleaded with no real direction in mind, "please …"

"Breaking up, are we?" Draco offered with a cocky sneer as he came upon Hermione and Killian. "Pity."

Neither had heard Draco approach, but Hermione's eyes were like daggers upon him. Seemingly unaffected, Draco glared back, his smirk far more infuriating than Killian's had ever been.

"Do you have a minute?" Draco asked Killian, turning his back to Hermione as he stepped between them.

"No," Killian answered immediately. "I absolutely do not."

"I need to speak with you," Draco insisted as Hermione fumed behind him.

"It will have to wait."

"It's important," Draco kept on.

"Just go!" Hermione shouted before Killian could argue further. "We're done here," she added, clenching her jaw to check her emotions as her entire world fell to pieces.

"You see?" Draco grinned deviously. "She's done with you. Come on."

Draco headed back towards the Slytherin House, pulling at Killian's sleeve. Killian resisted for a moment, his lost eyes locked on Hermione, who could do nothing more than stare back, wrestling fury and agony. Hermione then turned and walked out of the dungeons without a word.

. . .

That night, Hermione found herself, along with Harry and the Weasleys, in the hospital wing listening to Ron as he moaned and whined in his bed. Harry was pressing his case for Draco's involvement while Mrs. Weasley worried on. Mr. Weasley, trying to remain as cheery as possible, made a point of stating how lucky Ron was to have entered Harry's compartment on the train their first year at school. Everyone seemed to be angry, sad, confused, or any combination of the three. Everyone, that is, except for the Fred and George. The twins had a knack for finding humor in everything. This situation was no different.

The twins had arrived about an hour after their parents, who were meeting with Professor Dumbledore at the time. After a brief conversation summarizing the night's events and admitting that this was not exactly how they pictured giving Ron his birthday gift, the conversations became much lighter.

Hermione could not begin to contemplate how Fred and George could be so easygoing with their younger brother barely conscious before them. Thinking that some space might do her good, she finally got up and left the room, hoping the open air in the halls would clear her head. She was not alone for long, however, as Fred and George followed close behind.

"You all right, Hermione?" Fred asked as Hermione stared blankly out of one of the tall narrow windows that lined the hall.

George smiled. "It's just Ron, you know. He'll be fine."

"Not a lot of brain to damage there," Fred added.

"It's not Ron ..." Hermione sighed, her eyes already beginning to sting. "I mean it is Ron, but it's not. It's just … I don't know what it is."

"Finn said you were taking this pretty hard," Fred offered.

"You saw Killian?" Hermione asked, her hearted jumping for a moment before being filled with a sickening pressure.

"Yeah," Fred answered. "Just before we got up here."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked on.

"Asked about Ron," Fred answered. "Wanted to know if he was fit and all."

"Seemed more concerned about you, though," George added. "Big surprise there, right?"

"Oh yeah," Fred agreed with a broad grin. "Huge bloody surprise."

"Something going on?" George asked. "He seemed a bit—What would you say he was, Fred?"

"Edgy?"

"No …"

"Distant?"

"Maybe," George pondered aloud. "More distant than edgy, but still … What did he have to say about all of this? I imagine he's heard by now."

Hermione broke down, instinctively burying her head in George's chest to hide her tears. After an awkward moment's pause, George even more awkwardly put his arms around Hermione in his best effort to comfort her while exchanging perplexed looks with Fred.

"What's, uh …" he started, looking to Fred for some sort of advice, but getting nothing more than a confused shrug. "What's got you up in a twist … exactly?"

"Everything," Hermione answered, trying not to sob, but failing miserably.

"Well …" George went on, scratching his head and looking to Fred a second time for any direction he could offer, "... everything's a lot of things. Anything in particular?"

"I don't know," Hermione went on. "I don't know anything anymore."

"It's all right," Fred said, in a failed attempt at reassurance. "I mean … I guess it's not actually all right … But it will be, right?" he added.

"Yeah, sure," George agreed with a serious lack of conviction. "Of course it will. Whatever it is, it'll be fine."

Hermione smiled at the remark and straightened up, wiping her eyes. Then, noticing how uncomfortable Fred and George looked, she burst out laughing. This sudden moment of levity, shattering the previous moment's tension, placed the twins back within their element.

"See?" Fred said with a smile. "Better already."

"I know I feel better," George added as Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

After taking a few deep breaths to settle down, Hermione, Fred, and George made their way back into the room to visit with Ron. She was sure he would be still be less than completely conscious, whining, and carrying on. Still, she knew that she should be there. Why, exactly, she did not know. She would rather be with someone else, but that was simply not an option at the moment.

. . .

After several hours of sitting at Ron's bedside, listening to the adults banter back and forth about any number of things, both important and mundane, Hermione finally decided to head back her dormitory. Trudging along, she crossed through the Gryffindor common room, devoid of any students at the late hour, and slowly wound her way up the spiraling staircase towards her bed.

Once in the room, she saw that all of her housemates were already fast asleep. This was not really a surprise. Although there was, no doubt, talk of what happened to Ron echoing throughout the school earlier, there were few who were going to lose any sleep over it. After all, it was not long ago Katie Bell was cursed. Prior to that there had been countless other events within the school that left a student injured in one manner or another. For most within the walls of Hogwarts, this was just another event. The gossip would continue in the morning, but for the night, the voices were silent.

Not feeling up to changing into her night clothes, Hermione fell into her bed, clutching her pillow and pressing her eyes shut. How often she had wished for a Time Turner since she was introduced to the wondrous magical device during her third year. There were so many things she would have gone back to relive, gone back to change. She could do something different, say something different, prevent … Prevent occurrences she would forever regret. Occurrences that should not have been. Occurrences that would not have been had she only taken a moment to breathe.

Opening her eyes, with her head still resting on the pillow she held in her arms, she saw her copy of Hogwarts: A History. She had carried that copy since the moment she discovered she had been accepted as a student by the hallowed institute she now resided within. It was one of her most precious possessions, one she often went to for both information as well as comfort. In recent years, it had also served another purpose.

Hermione sat up and grabbed her tome, placing it in her lap. Flipping through the first several pages, she came across a pressed foxglove. Killian had Conjured it for her earlier in the year near the covered bridge. He was being charming and silly and sweet. The flower's fragrance has since faded, its petals dried and preserved, but the memory remained.

A few pages further she found another flower. One of paper. This flower, like its organic twin, that had been pressed flat and hidden away. On one of the petals, Hermione could still make out the inked message.

Hope you're feeling all right

- K

It was such a simple and innocent charm performed for both the purpose of impressing her while at the same time apologizing without actually saying the words. Although she never acknowledged she was impressed, she accepted Killian's apology … Prior to raining her fury down upon him in the Room of Requirement. Another regret she could never take back.

Towards the end of the book, Hermione came across a third flower; or what was once a flower. The soaking wet paper did not hold its form under the pressure of the pages pressing down upon it. Now it looked more like a twisted piece of paper that had been left in the rain, stomped upon, and left to dry in the sun.

Still, it had once been a flower. And before that, a rain-soaked bird tapping on her window. It was not a silly token or an apology. It was a messenger. It was Killian calling to her, allowing Hermione to see a side of him no one else was allowed to see, to have a part of him no one else could ever have. The mash of dried pulp pressed before Hermione represented them, unrecognizably perfect in ways only they could understand.

Perfect …

And gone …

Why had she done it? Why did she storm down to the dungeons seeking Killian? Seeking to find him, seeking to hurt him, seeking to punish him? From the instant she heard of Ron's poisoning, the moment she heard of the tainted mead, it was as if a fire erupted within her. She was so angry. Beyond angry. Beyond anything she had ever felt.

Killian had said something to her the night they held each other in the pouring rain at the base of Gryffindor tower. It was a confession, a fear. He told her he thought he had ruined her.

He had introduced her to an element of magic she had never experienced. Passion and control. He explained how the counterbalance can amplify a wizard's power, augmenting their attacks beyond imagination. But, he also warned her of the dangers and devastating effects when one cannot control their passion once it has been unleased.

She experienced, first-hand, the result of unbounded passion. She left scars upon Killian, scars upon herself, scars that faded but never truly disappeared.

Ever since that night, Hermione felt her life had become a constant ebb and flow of happiness and sadness, bravery and fear, confidence and doubt. Each high was euphoric, while each low seemed insurmountable. Worse, she was finding more and more how little control she had over herself when these waves of emotion swept over her.

Her altercation with Killian in the dungeons could be no better an example. It fell out of hand so fast. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself fully entrenched, begging herself to retreat, but having now idea how to do so. Her words, her mind, and her heart all contradicted each other, even as Killian looked upon her with the eyes of someone completely lost and looking for a way back down a path he neither knew he was on nor how to traverse.

The image of Killian's face, pained and confused as she shouted at him, beat upon him, and cast him off. How could she have done that? Why?

Perhaps Killian was right. Perhaps his fears were justified. Perhaps she was ruined after all … Damaged and broken.

Wishing nothing more than for Killian to be there beside her as she gently slid that stubbornly errant lock of her hair errant away from her eyes and placed it behind her ear, Hermione lay her head back down upon her pillow and quietly wept. The morning could not come soon enough, and as such, the night would go on forever.