[A/N: Late updates are a bad habit, but they're just so hard to break! My apologies! Hope it's worth the wait… again, and as always I have the playlist posted and would love to hear your feedback on the story so far! This is officially the halfway mark!]
The drive back from her parents' house was a blur. Quite literally, since the universe sent a rather symbolic, and tedious downpour. She could only remember the radio forecaster nonchalantly raising his fifty percent chance of rain to, a statistically modified, ninety-nine percent. Ninety-nine. Ninety-nine percent of the water was dropped onto the slower than usual vehicle, and washed out all signs pointing back home. The road was barely one percent visible. Yet, rather than stopping and waiting for the rain to ease up, as Draco had calmly suggested, she had mindlessly drove on.
She didn't exactly remember the walk from the car to the bed and breakfast, either. Or the watered down remark Draco made about its appearance; something about it being a church. She was almost sure it was a wedding joke, but neither of them laughed.
She only came back to herself when she was isolated in the bathroom, and the air conditioning hit. Her soaked blouse clung to her skin and chilled her, so she took it off. When the sleeves stuck to her elbows, she nearly ripped the fabric, practically clawed the skin off her arms. It felt slimy, and wrong - it wasn't hers anymore. Not the blouse she tossed to the floor, or the shorts, or the red skin made raw from hateful nails. None of it was Hermione's. If it was, her mother would've remembered her. She would've seen her daughter in front of her. She would've remembered. She would've remembered, and called out her daughter's name: "Hermione".
But Hermione wasn't outside that woman's door, nor in front of the mirror now. Hermione was dormant, nestled somewhere between the present and the past, and the storm outside made it impossible to bring her home.
Hermione Granger wanted to come home, but she just couldn't find her way back.
Clothes discarded, she dragged a creaking, hollow body to bed, and laid down; it didn't matter what hour it was. Without the lights on, the entire house was a shadow, and clouds darkened the sky outside to black. Glass doors beside her bed, meant to showcase natural beauty, presented a flat concrete wall. Occasionally, cracks of lightning filtered through the otherwise bleak landscape, and vaguely sketched out her surroundings. Eventually, she took to counting the seconds between flashes, and remained on a mental loop for hours. It kept her mind from going completely blank, and alternatively from going completely off the edge. Whether it was meant to put her to sleep, or to keep her from meeting that said fate, her eyes never closed. The rain gave in before she did.
Water streaks trailed down the glass and lingered long after the storm dwindled to a stop. It lingered still after the clouds parted to reveal a refreshed night sky. Little droplets glistened in the moonlight, and nestled themselves among the stars. They imitated what they could only dream of being.
The woman in Hermione's skin made it a game to find the real stars, and once she had, she became determined to find the dying stars. Of course, by the time she did find them, they could already be dead. That was the morose reality of starlight: it would take countless years for someone to finally see the light and, by then, hope was dead. And all you had to look at was a dead thing, a ghost, a crude truth - a miraculous failure.
A quiet laugh filled the room with irony. It sunk into the skin that wasn't really Hermione's, replacing the cool feel of water with dread and humility. Even worse, it filled her with disgust.
What was she supposed to do now? Watch the stars burn themselves into oblivion, all the while wallowing in her own self-pity and destruction? Soon enough, the sun would rise and drown all other stars into the blue of morning. And then what? Would she drown herself, too? Or wait for another storm to cage her inside?
A part of her wanted to stay in bed, and sink into the mattress until not a single trace of her remained. But even though half of her body was heavy as stone, and determined to sink, every nerve in her other half reached upwards and growled with anticipation of something, anything - though, it also specifically hungered for food.
Her attention wandered away from the sky and to the bleach white room around her. It was all open, exposed to the outside with wide windows and barely any walls separating the living spaces. Yet she felt equally closed in, and vulnerable. High ceilings, the open, welcoming rooms and plentiful chairs reminded her that this was a family rental, meant to be colored by all shades of people freely flowing from one room into the other. Yet, here she was, alone, and not even at home with herself. The house was empty - just as her apartment was, with or without her. No one was home.
And it was a church? She stared up at the ceiling, and the universe stared back. Condemning her.
She bolted upright, but her fingers clutched at the mattress. Her heart yearned desperately to wake up, to be a part of that universe again - but her mind was heavy, and tipped back over to the pillow. Her spine ached, and she felt as each vertebrae began to split down the middle.
"Are you sure we're at the right place? Because, judging by the mountain of bananas in the kitchen, a monkey lives here."
Draco's voice was the little nudge that finally pushed her off the bed. She dragged herself out of the bedroom, and almost smiled at the sight that greeted her. Draco stood by the kitchen counter, waving his hands over a bowl of fruit, as though that would make it disappear. Or maybe he was trying to make it levitate to his mouth.
He was perfectly at home, while Hermione was utterly absent. She dropped herself into a nearby stool.
"What time is it?" she asked wearily.
Draco stared at the purple shadows under Hermione's eyes, and considered lying.
"Five in the morning. Almost sunrise," he admitted, to both of their dismay. When had they arrived? Six in the evening? It was still a blur.
Hermione pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, and groaned. She wanted to sink back into the sheets and retreat from the shaming sun. She'd had enough of the universe's judgement.
Draco attempted to push the overflowing bowl of fruits - and specifically the protein-filled bananas - towards the gloomy corpse. Perhaps Hermione felt his disappointment when he failed to do so, because she reached for food. That, or perhaps her hunger had finally taken over. Either way, Draco was relieved the second substanence touched Hermione's lips. And Hermione's stomach thanked her for not completely ignoring her own needs.
One, minute, battle won, Draco attempted to tackle the next, more daunting, fight.
"Hermione, about your parents-"
She stopped chewing, and swallowed shrapnel. Resentful, she tossed the banana peel at, and then through Draco.
"Don't," she warned.
Draco was just glad she had the energy to throw something at him.
"How about this: why don't you rest for a little while-" he rushed to say, as Hermione abruptly dismissed herself from the kitchen. He followed her to the bedroom. "Yes, exactly. Rest, actually sleep for a few hours and then we can try again- wait, what are you doing?"
Hermione picked up her clothes from the night before and pulled them back on. She'd forgotten to take her luggage out of the car, which was perfect for what she was doing next.
She grabbed her bag and left the room, leaving a rattled Draco to chase after her yet again.
"Hermione," Draco gaped, "you're not leaving. You haven't slept!"
"Because I can't," she muttered far too calmly. It was the same calm that cleared her mind, just before she exploded and disappeared in the smoke.
Finally, Draco's long legs propelled him in front of her, and he bolted himself to the ground, blocking her path to the door. He failed to remember she could easily walk through him.
She failed to remember that, too, and stopped.
"Hermione," he breathed, heart pounding. If she walked out that door, she wasn't coming back. And it didn't matter that he could go with her. It mattered that no one else could, and how many years would it take this time before Ginny found Hermione again?
"It's nothing we didn't prepare for, right? Your magic is rusty," Draco assured her, even though his voice was a little too anxious to be assuring. "You have to let it warm up, is all. Just try to sleep today, and then maybe tomorrow-"
Hermione shut her eyes, and for a second Draco hoped maybe she'd fall asleep right then and there. But no, she was just trying to erase him.
"I can't!" She burst out, finally. She considered walking through him, but a hazardous feeling held her back. Hermione's head throbbed. "I can't sleep here. I can't even think here!"
"Why not?" Draco pushed, exhausting his attempt to… exhaust her.
When she opened her eyes, all she saw was the answer blocking her from escape. Draco stood there, no more solid than a future with her family. Yet, she just couldn't help herself from holding onto hopeless hope.
"Because it's fucking déjà vu!" Hermione fumed, and her already sleep-deprived, red eyes turned bloodshot. She took advantage of Draco's stunned confusion to bolt around him.
"Wait, what?" he finally reacted, and flew to the door - as though he could hold it shut.
Hermione's eyes bored into that door, the one final obstacle to escape. It taunted her. Why couldn't she just yank it open? Draco wouldn't actually get hurt from the impact. Not like she was when her mother closed the door on her.
"When you died, I buried you, and I accepted that you were gone. It hurt worse than hell, but I accepted it. And then, that same night you came back to me," Hermione heaved, and Draco saw the same wild, frantic fire in her eyes that he had that very night. It was the same fire that burned her out before her time, and killed her light. She'd disappeared into the night sky, and he saw it happening all over again.
"For a few seconds, you were in the same room as I was, and I allowed myself to believe I got you back. But you were a hallucination, just like you are now, and in a blink of an eye you were gone! In just those few, pathetic seconds, hope filled that coffin-shaped void in my chest, and then it was just ripped out - making the hole that much more obvious, more scarring - and I couldn't sleep. I could only think of getting the hell out of that room, of that place-"
"Hermione, you can't just leave again-"
"I just need to get out of this place, out of this skin-"
"No, you don't. Please, just try to sleep-"
"But, I can't! Not here. I just," Hermione fumbled with the doorknob. Finally, she tore the door open, but avoided bumping it into Draco. She sighed with exhaustion. "I need to go for a walk, alone. I'll be back."
Draco frowned. "You're right. Déjà vu. Is this walk going to last another four years?"
The door knocked against Draco's foot. He wouldn't budge. And neither would Hermione.
"Alone. I mean it."
Rather than have his insignificance rubbed in his face when the door went completely through him, Draco stepped aside. Against every muscle screaming for him not to do so, Draco let her go. Hermione refused to feel guilty when she closed the door behind her, and left.
But where was she going? Hermione asked herself that exact question the second she got behind the wheel, but didn't bother to answer it when she turned on the ignition. She just drove.
She kept driving, and the sun spied on her from just above the horizon. Its warmth kept her company, even when she didn't want it. She watched as dark skies turned into a hazy purple, as the world woke up behind her, while stars were snuffed out one by one. She wanted to get away from that sky, somehow. Because anywhere under that sky was a reminder of her failures, of how far she'd fallen from herself.
But sunrise had a softness to it, a gradual warming that changed everything about the world. Hostile shadows became wistful against the purple and pink background. Eventually, those same shadows turned into mountains, and trees, and flowers. And even Hermione was soothed by the time she reached the end of the road.
Calmly, the car came to a stop. Trying to be just as calm, Hermione got out and walked away.
She walked away from the car that wasn't hers, away from the suitcase filled with clothes that weren't hers, and away from a life that definitely wasn't hers anymore. She walked into the trees, and away. And away. And away. And away. But she wasn't just walking away. Hermione was desperate to find something within the bush. Someone she hadn't seen in awhile: herself. She wouldn't be able to sleep until she found her, that much Hermione knew. So, she followed a dirt path with no real concrete destination in mind; just memories, which she had to dig out from the earth below, out of their graves and into her aching body. Hermione was certain some of those memories would stab at her feet, make her body bleed, but she needed to remember the girl that body belonged to. Still belonged to.
She took her time in wandering through the evergreen, and enjoyed the variety of leaves - even the sharp ones - and the different species of flowers that puzzled her, and shook her curiosity out of its darkened hiding place. She let the encroaching, humid heat touch her skin, make her sweat out the years-old poison. She exhaled a breath she'd been holding onto for too long, and breathed in fresh air. She opened her ears to the world, and listened to it for once - despite the fear of what it would say to her; mostly, there were birds, the occasional rustling by animals, and a distant river stirring. Every once in awhile, she would hear footsteps on another person's path, and imagined what journey those feet were on. Occasionally, she wondered if those footsteps belonged to a teenage girl who was still lost in the rubble of war.
Hermione Granger came back to her in fragments, then.
She turned a corner, and there she was, miniscule under a brown bush of curls, sitting on a fallen tree. Her legs folded up into a table for heaps of books, all of which were overflowing with different papers and notes. It was hard to see the twelve-year-old behind it all. But then again, it was all a part of her. The mountain of books was just an extension of her curiosity, her unsatisfied hunger for knowledge. Her hair was shelter for that hungry brain, so it could grow safely should a book ever fall on it. From behind the madness, small eyes poked out to look at the woman standing there so cluelessly.
"What are you looking at? Have you never seen a book before?" The girl shot out accusingly, defensively. She was still insecure about how others saw her, but her fingers still clung so eagerly to those books.
When was the last time Hermione read a story? When had she stopped feeling that hunger to learn? How could she? Sure, she'd opened a book or two in the last four years, but she couldn't put names to them. She couldn't explain how they made her feel, what she hated about them, what she gained from them. They were just words on pages, time to kill while her life slowed to a standstill. They didn't come alive in her hands, like they used to. They weren't worlds to explore, to get lost in, to delight in and devour. They were just dusty decorations, meant to fill empty spaces in her apartment. And the more she stared at that curious, cautious child in front of her, the more Hermione realized she was starving. She'd been starving for years.
Urgently, Hermione stepped towards the girl, but with a small smile the girl vanished. In her place, through the break in the trees, Hermione spotted a smaller path. Curiosity rekindled, Hermione followed the uneven earth downhill, where the bushes eased away into an open field. At one side was a picnic area and a small camping site. To the other side was an even smaller cafe.
Hermione smiled, despite the growling stomach, and headed towards the promise of food.
Once she had a plate of eggs and a cup of caffeine in hand, Hermione sat down at a picnic table and watched as campers rattled awake. Families began to pour out into the field. Some sat at outside breakfast nooks, groggily eating themselves awake, while others immediately headed out for a day's hike up the mountain.
Over the brim of her cup, Hermione remembered the familiar sight of her parents setting camp. Her mother erupted from a tent, legs lathered in bug repellent and sleeves pushed up, ready for a quest despite never knowing where she was going. All the while, her father meticulously packed a day's worth of supplies. And there Hermione was, thirteen and attempting to cook breakfast over her perfectly executed fire. Humidity had forced her mane into a mangled bun, and her own decree of "no magic" kept her wand away from the burnt toast. She'd been determined to be self-sufficient, with and without magic, in an "extreme" survival situation. It had always been a fear of hers that perhaps one day she would lose her wand, and become a helpless twig in the woods. On top of that, she'd felt closer to her parents that way. Especially when her father rushed over to help Hermione flip the eggs over without breaking them, and when her mother taught her how to read a map.
She'd been afraid of losing them. She'd been afraid of losing that "muggle" part of herself, the more she immersed herself in magic. And even though that had been one of the last trips she'd ever had with her parents, she'd kept them, and all those memories snugly within her through all those years. Until she let it all slip through her fingers, and for what? To act out an uninspired, fake-muggle life?
A sound erupted from beside her memory: a group of friends clammering out of their own, cramped tent. Briefly, she was thankful for the distraction. Until the sight became yet another mirror shard under Hermione's feet. Tense backs, and raised voices wedged her between her parents and her friends - splitting her family in two.
Just beside the unknowing thirteen-year-old was that confused eighteen-year-old Hermione, frantically trying to keep her friends from slipping away as her parents had. This was the girl Hermione feared walked beside her in that forest, just out of view. She was pulling at Ron's arm, trying to keep him anchored to her, to Harry. And she'd almost succeeded, or thought she had, until Ron was nothing but thin air, and Harry was nothing but a body to tug around. Hermione's heart screamed all over again with the jagged stab of abandonment. She remembered the feeling of everything falling apart, and not being able to fix any of it. Absolute, and loathsome helplessness. She'd hated the disgusting feeling, had hated how it clung to every pore in her skin while everyone else slipped away from her. She'd wanted to be self-sufficient, useful, with or without magic - just never without her family.
She'd been afraid of losing them. She'd been afraid of losing that fierce love forever. Yet, she had only just healed from Ron's abandonment, before she'd dealt him, and everyone else, a matching wound. A wound that stayed gapping for years.
But now, Hermione was determined to hold on with both hands, and every fiber of her being. She was going to fix this mess of hers, with or without magic.
Hermione promised that to those two girls, before heading back onto her path.
She followed the earth uphill, let her calves burn through all the protective layers until she was raw to the bone. She picked up more pieces of herself along the way, remembering all the little bits that made her who she was: she was the obsessive girl who stayed up all night trying to perfect every minute detail of an essay. She was the loyal friend, who grinned and cheered through every Quidditch match her friends played in, despite finding sports more painful than a root canal. She was the compassionate person who would, albeit painfully, put aside her studies to comfort a stressed, or frightened classmate. She was loudly protective of others, and spoke up against injustices and tried to shield her friends from everything - especially their own stupidity. She was proud, and insecure, and fiercely independent, and afraid of being alone - she was a complex puzzle, yet all the pieces fit somehow.
She just couldn't put them all together. Again, fear held her back from being whole. She stood on the height of a mountain, with a view of the world, but she couldn't face herself. Every piece she'd collected was just like the panorama in front of her: it was beautiful, filled with colorful outlines. But it was also glossed over. From afar, she couldn't see the hideous construction sites that never fully repaired damaged foundations and infrastructures. From up in the mountain, she couldn't see the shadows of humanity - the murders and horrendous crimes committed just under her nose. Someone had stood where she had when the war tore apart homes and threatened the very existence of that beautiful view.
If she looked closely at her own view, she saw those same faults. She was the obsessive girl who stayed up all night trying to perfect dark magic, in an attempt to conquer it. She was the loyal friend, who often pondered what her life would've been like had she never met Harry or Ron, had she never had to carry their weight upon her own. She was that same compassionate person who made a classmate cry when he dared to talk to her when she was studying. She was so protective of others, that she maimed and killed in their name - though, it was really all out of selfish pride and anger.
If Hermione put all the pieces back together, she was afraid it would unlock all of that darkness. She had a second chance to save her own life from destruction, but just how much of herself could she let back in without completely losing control? After all, she was already on the edge, and everything below was solid rock. Even if she wanted to be a part of that beautiful view, there was no way to get to it without going down - and there was no safe landing from this height. And that was the problem with climbing all the way to the top of any obstacle. Eventually, there's a descent. And sometimes, that's the most challenging part.
She walked past so many families admiring the view. Their victories came in the rise, but hers had to come in the fall. Climbing up was all about control, but the descent was all about letting go - about letting the earth lead you home. She needed to let go. She needed to know that she could, that she could let go and be herself without fearing herself.
So, Hermione departed from the view and followed a steep, abandoned path downwards. The further she went, the more she heard the sound of steady, and strong water - the fierce heartbeat of the mountain. Oh, she could tell she was heading for a dead end, as other curious souls turned back to find an actual exit - but that was sort of the point, wasn't it? Hermione had been faced with so many dead ends lately, and she'd always turned back. Or rather, she'd retreated, frightened by the prospect of confronting the situation before her. She'd never bothered to think of other ways through. And that wasn't Hermione Granger. So, when her path cut off, trees stumped against moist boulders, and a waterfall faced her, she didn't turn back. Hermione absorbed the situation surrounding her - from the encircling canopy of infinite trees to the cool mist that baptised her skin. She stared into the eyes of the thunderous waterfall, and swore she saw a glimmer of her own reflection on its surface; for once, she recognized the mirrored image as her own, and did not despise it. Not entirely.
She took off her trainers and tossed them below. She didn't even hear them hit the bottom.
There was no room for doubt in her head - the roaring pulse of the water filled her ears and veins, and drowned out all uncertainty.
Hermione stepped further out onto the rocks, and saw the power of that water carve a hole into the mountain stone. Revived by the night's storm, it poured down through the opening until it landed fifty feet below and swam in a crystal blue pool. For a split moment, Hermione thought that if she jumped, and something happened to her, no one would really know. Everyone would just assume she'd disappeared again - that she'd hit another dead end and ran.
Just as she needed to believe in herself, enough so not to retreat this time, she had to believe that this water wasn't the kind that drowned. It needed to be the kind that lifted. And she needed to let go.
Hermione closed her eyes and jumped.
As she fell, her heart rushed upwards, to reunite with a mind that was so determined to be alone. It pounded at her skull, which was already pounding pretty loud with her impulsive decision. It was only a matter of seconds, but her head and heart bickered for ages over the stupidity and brilliance of jumping off a cliff. Past the whistle of air, and that incessant doubting, Hermione heard a clicking; all the pieces she'd found were putting themselves together again, reconstructing the broken soul Hermione had buried away. Just as she'd hoped. She'd just had to let go, give up control over the unknown… and before she could become anxious over whatever that soul, and that unknown looked like, Hermione slammed into water. And boy, was it a big bang.
Everything inside of her got knocked about; that heart of hers took a leap into her eye sockets, her brain got disconnected for a second, her bones cried out against unwanted rearrangement, and her veins reverberated from the shock - even sent out distress signals out into the water. Yet, harsh as the initial greeting was, Hermione let the water engulf her. She let it take control. It embraced her then, smooth as a silk blanket around her stunned body. It comforted her while she found her orientation, and helped heal her wounds. But there was one hollow spot in her chest it wouldn't heal, as though purposefully avoiding that void.
Hermione opened her eyes to the deep blue of the water, so much like the sky and the universe beyond - growing darker and richer with depth. In that depth, sinking even further into space, was her soul. The blunt force of landing had knocked it out of its cage, wonderfully whole, but still very lost. It glowed blindingly in the dark, a dormant blue dwarf star, heavy with burden and dwindling life, yet still burning fiercely. It still hoped for someone to notice it, and treasure it again. It was time Hermione finally did. After all, the war had taken so much from her, but the loss of her soul was her own doing.
Longing hands reached for the star and clasped it lovingly, pulled it close to her chest. Upon contact, it burned ever brighter, hotter, until it exploded through flesh, and bone, and throughout her body. Energy fired through her veins, dispersing cells into a nebulae cloud of rebirth. All those little pieces that made Hermione Granger who she was melted into her flesh, strengthened weakened bones, revived dead dreams and convictions. And funny enough, full as she was, she floated light as air.
Hermione floated through the darkness, until her lips kissed the surface of the water. When she opened her eyes, they were welcomed by blue once again. Up above, the sky shone through the cave's opening, and reflected the same crystal color of the pool. Hermione was surrounded, alone with the water and sky. She could pretend that they were one in the same, and she was just another spec aimlessly and happily drifting through a vacuum. Happily. Hermione smiled and let her arms spread out beside her, reaching her fingertips as far as they could go, laughing at the tickle of the current weaving through them. And that's when they touched a spark of fire. She didn't need to turn her head to know what it was. Her fingers curled around it, slender and solid and singing against her skin. It must have slipped out of her back pocket during the fall. Her wand came home.
Wand in hand, all of Hermione's nerves came rushing back to her. The water amplified the current of electricity that pulsed within her fingers, down her arm, and jolted her tranquil heart into a frantic beat. But it wasn't fear or juvenile, anxious energy that filled her at the touch of her wand. It was excitement and joy. Her wand didn't fall limp against her palm, but hummed happily at being reunited with its true owner - no matter how damp the reunion was.
Damn it, she hated admitting how much she'd missed it - even just to herself. But it felt so divine.
However, that didn't mean Hermione was one hundred percent ready to take it for a whirl. Instead, she held the wand to her chest, listened to it fall into rhythm with her heartbeat. She let it sit there as she floated around and around the cave, droplets of waterfall kissing her toes and forehead as it splashed down. Gradually, everything glided in sync with one another: the thunder of a waterfall slid into the current of her blood, and coursed upwards to her heart and through to the slumbering wand. Even though her eyelids began to sag, Hermione couldn't sleep until she was completely awake.
Dreamily, Hermione held up her wand. She peered at it curiously as it split the sky in half; it was just a stick against the background of a forest. Had it fallen in the dirt, no one but her would've known to seek it out. No one but her, because it was a part of her being. It was the last piece she had to dig out from its grave. It was so alive against her skin, she couldn't fathom ever abandoning it to the soil. How could she have done that? When it sang into her bones powerful songs of promise and hope - everything Hermione wanted. And rest. It promised such peace, of mind and heart, and soul. Hermione couldn't hear the dark tones beneath the harmony, couldn't see the shadowed creases under the lovingly carved vines; she couldn't fear the darkness that wasn't there. No black magic stained her wand, nor her fingertips, no matter how intensely she sought it out in the sunlight. Perhaps the water bathed it, too.
"Lumos," she whispered, and the cave overflowed with light. On either side of the sky were wide, vined walls. Buds of flowers clung to stone; shy from living in the shadows, they didn't blossom when spring came. They were stuck in winter, dying to live. Hermione's heart ached for them, and pressed a wish into her wand. Effortlessly, magic flowed through her fingers and wrapped around those buds, embracing them. Encouraged, the buds bloomed into a kaleidoscope of colors and fragrance. She breathed it in, and smelled memories of springs past: lazing by The Great Lake while Neville sloshed through the water in search of rare plants, getting stuck in the middle of the River Wye with her father after he accidentally tossed the ores. And of course, there was the spring she'd buried so deep within the earth she had to dig and squeeze the bud out- the spring she'd married Draco.
"Nox," Hermione breathed, and the flowers disappeared into the shadows again. But Hermione was determined not to do the same. Not again. She took a deep breath and admired the radiant waterfall as it glistened and splashed against the stones. Little droplets on the walls became stars. Resiliently, they shined in the dark - even though day still claimed the earth. These stars were neither real, nor illuminated corpses. They just were, shining for anyone who cared to look, and shining on even when no one did. They were not strangers to abuse - to the forces of the universe, to gravity's pull, to falling and collapsing again and again. Neither were they strangers to rebirth. Nor to the hope that this time might be different, to the reassurance that even if it wasn't, they'd get another chance to rise into the sky again. They were magnificent, and infinite.
Even though the ones Hermione saw weren't real stars, it was a beautiful sky to sleep under nonetheless. So, with a small, silent wish, magic weaved itself around Hermione and cradled her. Effortlessly buoyant, the water became her bed, and the sun and stars her ceiling. Exhausted, and seduced by the peace surrounding her, Hermione closed her eyes. All she needed was a few minutes to rest her eyes and mind, just a few minutes. Maybe half an hour. Just-
"Just what is so spectacular about seeing this comet?"
Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's groaning, and continued to unfurl the blanket she'd brought for them to share; the Astronomy Tower's steel floor wasn't exactly the coziest thing to lay on - especially not when winter still clung onto the sunset.
"Besides that it's a comet? Evidence from the birth of our solar system?" She huffed as she plopped down onto the blanket. Draco stood awkwardly for a moment, glaring at the sky for whatever reason, before finally joining her. He sat rigid as a board. All the way up the stairs, he made a production out of how cold he was. He tossed in a few shivers for good measure. Even though he was wearing his warmest coat; though, it wasn't like Hermione knew how it felt to be in it, or anything like that! She'd only borrowed it once, a few days ago. It wasn't anything too serious. Obviously. It was just a coat.
Suddenly, Hermione's cheeks were warm enough to heat the both of them.
"Yes, besides that."
On cue, Draco poured salt on an otherwise lovely evening. She'd just wanted to see a damn comet shoot across the sky. Was that too much to ask? Basked in salt, she frothed.
"Well, firstly," Hermione surged on passionately. "It's a beautiful night to see the stars. A little nippy, I will admit, but it is ideally clear for a comet viewing-"
"We might not even be able to see the damn thi-"
Hermione nearly shoved his face into the steel floor. Instead, her clawed hand curled into a patient, pointed finger. Instantly, she had his undivided, and silenced, attention.
"It's supposed to be extremely bright and impossible to NOT see. And secondly," she continued rapidly. "Even if we don't see it, there's nothing wrong with stargazing! It's just as extraordinary. Every star in the sky, every little seemingly 'insignificant' and 'unspectacular' speck " - she went so far as to make air quotes, and Draco couldn't help but smile - "is millions and millions, and billions of years old. Hell, there are stars in this sky that are almost as old as the universe itself."
"Hermione-"
"Did you know that there's a star, visible to the naked eye, whose light was emitted sixteen thousand three hundred and eight years ago? You are precisely seeing sixteen thousand three hundred and eight years into the past. And with a telescope? You can see even further into the past - No magic necessary. How can that not be spectacular? Honestly, you waste so much of your time whining, instead of appreciating the wonders in front of you."
His smile kept growing, and so did Hermione's agitation.
"Personally, I think it is well worth sitting down, and admiring it and all the random cosmic explosions that had to happen for us to be here amongst it all. Our past is all around us, whether or not we're looking, even if we think there's nothing to see - it's all there, gloriously lighting each night for us. And I think it deserves more than a second's glance - if only to know where we were, in order to appreciate where we are!"
Draco's smile never wavered. Though, Hermione swore his cheeks were rosy.
"And is there a thirdly?"
Hermione pursed her lips, and realized they looked far too puckered. She rolled them in between her teeth. Unfortunately, she couldn't hide the fire spreading from her chest all the way up to her hairline. Besides, it was blatantly evident why she was so passionate about making Draco appreciate astronomy as much as she did.
"Thirdly, I wanted to see it with you."
Finally, Draco's smile slipped, but only enough so he could kiss her. He could be such a pain in the ass sometimes, with all his teasing, but he made up for it so well with his lips. And his hands. His fingers stroked at her cheeks, fueling that fire under her skin in the best of ways. She nearly forgot her initial purpose for being out past curfew. Until Draco pulled away.
"We should probably watch out for that insignificant little flying speck. Wouldn't want you to hound me with that same lecture the next time it comes around."
"Draco, Hale-Bopp is not a flying speck. It's actually rather slow in moving - I just don't want to break curfew again, and it's finally at its peak for brightness and closeness to the earth, and who knows the next day we'll have a clear sky and it isn't coming back for-"
"Another four thousand years," he recited, pressing his forehead to hers, cooling her down. "I know, Hermione. I listen to you when you speak. Trust me, it's hard not to. But I also know you're the kind of witch who'd keep me around that long, just to teach me a lesson about the cosmos."
Hermione groaned, but Draco jumped in again, thumb strumming against her jaw.
"I'm just getting a rise out of you. I do think it's rather amazing. And I know my share about the universe - for example, my name is written in the stars-"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Draco-"
"-is the name of a constellation. And not just any constellation, but one of the largest constellations. And did you know that Draco never sets beyond the horizon? Draco is always in the northern sky."
"Are you quite finished speaking in third person?"
"He never leaves, unlike all those other shifty stars that eventually leave the northern hemisphere for the southern one. He is for your eyes onl-"
Hermione muffled Draco's mouth with her hands and shoved him down onto the blanket. He laughed against her palm, and kissed it. Only then did she relinquish her hold and lay down beside him.
"In all seriousness," Draco breathed, "I find it hard to pay attention to anything up there, with what I have right here."
Hermione buried a childish grin within Draco's coat, though that didn't disguise the radiance one bit. It beamed right through the fabric to his heart, and nestled itself there. Draco muttered something about still being cold; an excuse for his arm to curl around her shoulders and pull her closer. Both of them committed their gazes to the sky, even though their attention wasn't completely focused on the universe above them. If Hermione closed her eyes, it would've seemed she was floating on cool waters. She could've easily fallen asleep there, and rested for days on end without a single worry. She could've stayed there for thousands of years, if the world would let her. It was bliss, being suspended above their trials, drifting through the sky and marveling at how such insignificant specks could be so magnificent.
Just as she pondered dozing off to the steady breathing beside her, Hermione saw two streaks of light beam bright against the sunset, intensifying as it chased the vanishing sun. It was everything her mother had wrote to her about. Astonishingly bold against the darkness, the comet was impossible to ignore; it had two tails, as though it was undecided on its future, both radiantly white as dove wings. Tranquil as it looked, stagnant in the night sky, its brilliance was both a scientific anomaly, and the effect of racing towards a violent end. How could such a peaceful, still object in the sky be the same object of volatility and self-destruction?
And how had she missed this spectacle for so long? It had been in the sky for months, yet Hermione had never bothered to look up long enough to see it. She'd just been so wrapped up in her problems that she never could see the beacon in the sky, the one that cautioned just as much as it inspired to live life without fear.
Perhaps Draco wasn't the only one who needed to look up more often.
"Well," he huffed into her hair. "Won't have to wait around for four thousand years. Though, it'd be worth it."
"Told you so," Hermione murmured smugly. Was it possible to hear Draco's eyes roll?
After a moment of reflection, Draco's fingers began to strum against Hermione's arm.
"Ever suspect your mother wrote too many zeroes?"
She lifted her head to inspect Draco's level of seriousness. His eyes were glued to the comet. Momentarily, she was pathetically jealous.
"Too many zeroes?"
"Maybe it's four years," Draco rattled on with a playful grin. "That's not too long to wait for something to come back. Yeah, four years. How does that sound?"
"Statistically improbable."
Draco laughed at Hermione's bluntness.
"Have a little hope, Hermione. You're the one who said comets can be unpredictable, and unstable - and nearly wet me silly thinking the world was about to end with this light show. And you're also the one who said nothing's ever really gone. It just takes awhile to come back to us."
Despite the relatively carefree tone in Draco's voice, Hermione saw the comet's reflection in his eyes. Beneath that, there was a deep introspection he rarely exposed to anyone. Hermione rested her head on his heart and tried to gouge out its cause.
"Yeah," Hermione murmured. Draco's eyes flickered to hers. Residue of the comet still lingered in his pupils; two tails, unsure of where to go. Hermione pressed her fingers to his lips, and for a moment the tails vanished completely. "And by awhile, I meant thousands to millions of years."
Draco smiled into her fingertips, alighting them with the kind of magic that made galaxies.
"Or maybe she meant four seconds."
Eventually, they would have to put a quota on how many rollings of the eyes could happen in one night. "Stop being ridiculous."
"Four," Draco began the countdown, and kissed her index finger. Again, Hermione rolled her eyes. She was starting to get dizzy from doing it so much. Or maybe that wasn't the cause at all.
"Three." Another kiss, another little world placed upon her fingertips.
"Two." And another. Hermione couldn't hold back the smile any longer. Preparing for take-off, Draco raised his head, approaching too close to Hermione's beaming face.
An impending collision between lips threatened all life on earth-
"One."
Hermione woke up to a flower petal tickling her lips. She was still floating, under an eerily familiar starry sky, except the stars were all wrong for the season - at least, if she thought of home, they were. She saw constellations she'd never seen before, constellations reserved only for this part of the earth. And though it was magnificent to finally, truly see with whole eyes, there was still, still one piece missing. One constellation meant for her eyes only. And even though he wasn't supposed to be on this side of the world, somehow, someway he was still shining, waiting for her to see him. Or, at least, she hoped.
She swam to shore, made the trek back to the car, and back to the door she'd closed years ago. Though this doorknob was new and polished, it felt rusty and tired in her hand. Her heart suddenly felt wretched, conflicted over what she wanted to find behind that door; what would it mean if he was still with her? Was she still unstable? Or was it just a matter of finding the strength to say goodbye?
Hermione gripped onto courage and opened the door.
There he was, right where she'd left him. Draco stood at the center of the room, far enough away to give her space, yet he flooded her every sense. And she let it happen, allowed her eyes to take every part of him in, and engrave it to memory all over again. Hermione was done taking him for granted, just like she was done taking herself for granted. She deserved this, no matter how stolen the time was. Yes,the relief and joy that poured out of her was wrong. She knew it was wrong to be so hopeful, and so needy, but she'd had such a long day and there was only one person she wanted to talk to about it. Implications of his existence be damned. And the way he looked at her? His expression mirrored more than just her relief. His eyes lit with her reflection, and Hermione recognized herself for the first time, in too long a time. She saw the girl who broke curfew to show the stars to a boy she loved. She saw the Hermione Granger who didn't fear or run from the past, but embraced it with strong arms. Just as she wanted to embrace the man in front of her.
"You came back," he breathed into a smile.
She took a step towards him.
"Of course I did," Hermione replied, her attempt at lightheartedness severely undermined by a sudden wetness to her cheeks. There was so much she'd been holding in, Hermione wasn't quite sure what the tears were for. She took another step. "It just took me awhile, maybe a long while."
Her smile was damp. She could see it in her reflection. Something told her she was too close, if she could see herself that well in Draco's eyes. Hermione was just so relieved she didn't see disappointment there, that she took another step.
"Did I make you all wait too long?"
"Of course not."
Draco's hand reached out to her. She didn't flinch. She refused to run away. His hand folded, soft as a flower petal, around her cheek. She could just barely feel his skin against hers, like the memory of a dream. Hermione took another step, and cautiously placed her head against his chest. She heard the same heartbeat that had lulled her to sleep amidst the stars. Hope made her eyes burn, and her heart pound; it rang in her ears - vigorous, exultant.
"Welcome back, Hermione."