NEW CHAPTER IN LESS THAN A MONTH? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!
In reality, I think I just have a lot of steam because i'm SOOOOO CLOOOSE to finishing this story, which is both sad and happy at the same time.
Thanks to my reviewers:Toni, Herdcat, Jamie, and Kasumi69!
Toni: I know, I know...I feel so bad about taking so long! And yeah, I didn't think in a million years this story would be so interwoven, yet here we are XD
Jamie: I'm supposed to be working on like eight things for finals, but instead I'm uploading this. I get the feeling lol. Oh, yes. I think one of the only reasons Voldy saved her is to ask how she avoided death the first time. It infuriates him to no end she has 'no idea'.
Hermione watched Hannah run her fingers across the plates of the metal walls of the training facility halls. She hummed softly to herself, something that almost sounded like a lullaby. Draco was stoic as he walked, his face masking whatever thoughts he had. And Hermione? She, for once in her life, wasn't thinking of much of anything at the moment.
Hannah's hand stopped as it reached a familiar elevator. The elevator that would take them up to the apartments or down to the training facilities. She recoiled, snapping her hand back as though the metal had burnt her. She made a low growl in the back of her throat.
"If I never have to think about this place again, it would be too soon," She hissed angrily, staring menacingly at the elevators.
Draco gave an amused huff in the background, causing Hannah to spin on him.
"Well, we'll be back here in like 11 months," Draco pointed out with a sardonic laugh, "And you'll think about it every minuet." He added. Hermione didn't think his anger was toward Hannah and her comment, but rather faced inward.
"Wha-,"
"Training. These games start the fuck over again. And again. And again." Draco snapped at her. Hermione swallowed thickly. He was right; it had ended, but then again, it would also never end. They'd have to come back and watch more of the people she loved from school die over and over. She'd have to train these children knowing most would never make it out alive. She was with Hannah; she wished she could forget all about this place but that was impossible.
"We'll have to teach children," Hannah's eyes were wide, "I hardly know how I survived!" She whispered.
Draco paused, "I think I'll teach them about healing." He mumbled, "I only knew because I had an interest. But notice how that was hardly a topic? I get that the point of the games is to kill, but it's also to survive. Kids deserve to know this." He said with a resolution.
"That's an honorable choice," Hannah said, sounding slightly surprised, "I think…I'll tie everyone's arm behind their back or make them hop on one foot. They gotta be prepared for anything, especially loosing the ability of one of their limbs. I'm not talking that they'll loose an entire arm like me, but remember Seamus? His hand was crushed- yours too, Hermione. They have to learn to work on stuff without it."
"That's quite ingenious," Draco said, his eyes looking at her nub arm, "Hermione? What about you?"
"I…" Hermione trailed off, "I don't know…"
"Oh, come on! You're the smartest person I know!" Hannah sighed, "Of course you could teach anything!"
Hermione didn't think that was entirely true. You couldn't teach kids to be more interested in subjects they just didn't care about. You couldn't tell them to start reading now because it might save their lives one day; if they weren't doing it already, they never would. You couldn't teach a kid to be logical in a week; it was a long-acquired skill. Hermione felt many of her skills were just her nature, and that couldn't be explained. She did have a large catch of what one might call useless knowledge in another life, so maybe she'd teach a class like Moody? She'd find out what they were lacking in their curriculums and fill in the gaps? She could make up a lesson on the fly, so that was an option.
But the more she thought about it, the more she thought about that moment in the tree- the day before Daphne died and the snow fell. She thought about how it felt like she was shedding away the Hermione she once was- the one that turned herself into a half-cat thing with Millicent's cat's hair, the Hermione that helped Neville find his toad, the Hermione that went to her parents to France after second year. That Hermione simply didn't exist, but if that part of her weren't buried, she wouldn't be here today.
"I think I'll teach a theory class," She whispered, nearly afraid to say it out loud, "On how kids that were like me- kids that are good people- how they can bridge the gap between who they once were and who they have to be." She placed her two hands a width apart, bringing it slowly closer together.
For a second, there was silence. She wondered if it was altogether a stupid idea. Then, Draco was nodding.
"We're Slytherins, we are taught this forever." He said, "But Gryffindors? Hufflepuffs? Even a couple Ravenclaws?"
"Who we are and who we are to survive are two very different people," Hermione agreed, her voice raw, "And the sooner they can come to terms with that the sooner they can try to get out of there."
"I wish we'd had that," Hannah said wistfully, "You know, I think it would have been real helpful if someone sat me down and told me I had two choices in the games, both with grave consequences. And told me that neither was more right or more wrong than the other. On one hand, you can choose to die your own way and not be a pawn Voldemort, but you will most certainly die. Or, you can choose to live and you gotta be prepared for what that means. It might mean stealing or betrayal or…killing." She swallowed, "I'm not looking for someone to have told me what I had to do was excusable, I just wish I had someone telling me that those are the options. Nothing more, nothing less."
"I'm glad that's figured out," Draco said with a nod, looking a little more relaxed. It was as though this was the only thing bothering him, the one thing in his life he couldn't figure out yet. Hermione realized with a sense of panic that she didn't even know where she was going next. Besides walking through these halls and out that door…the next steps confounded her. Gone was the girl that had meticulously tabbed all her text books months before they'd reach those pages, gone was the girl that usually had read three or four weeks ahead. Left standing was a Hermione that didn't have a clue what was happening next.
For one fleeting moment, so swift but still there, she wanted to be back in the games. In the games, she didn't have to worry about any next steps other than staying alive. Her instructions were clear. The thought of willingly wanting to go back there made her sick, but alerted her to a lingering question…where would she go from here?
Not even where she'd go for lunch today, but as exhaustion gripped her, she wondered where she was going to live now? She couldn't go back to Hogwarts; she'd 'graduated' already. The moment that a child was picked as a tribute, they 'graduated' Hogwarts. Most of these children wouldn't ever come back anyway. The ones that won usually would have finished this year anyway, but there still was the thought that sending a third-year that was a victor back to Hogwarts would be a waste of time.
She couldn't go home. Not to her pink bedroom she saw when she was dying, not to normality and a world not controlled by a evil maniac, not to parents that would try to understand but simply couldn't. She felt as she'd outgrown that comfort.
She could find her own house, apartment, yes. She had the money, but did she want to be alone?
The burrow…maybe Mrs. Weasley would let her come and live at the burrow for a while. She of all people would surly understand what she'd been though, and they could all mourn Ron together. Plus, Ginny would be there, one of her dearest friends. She needed that.
Even though the question was simply satiated, she didn't feel…relief. She still felt anxiety. She wondered if this feeling would ever leave?
GG
Hannah used her feet and her side to shove open the doors of the training facility. The day that hit her was balmy, comfortable even. Hardly felt like she was stepping between outside and inside. It was just like the day in the games where-
She paused, scrunching her nose. Since leaving, she'd been doing that a lot. Comparing things here to there. It was seemingly impossible to stop. It was her way of coping, she was sure Cedric would say. She hated it.
And she had enough reminders already, didn't she, with an arm sawed off? Although, she hardly felt it anymore, only sometimes when she was upset, it would still tingle like it was still there.
But overall, her missing arm wasn't even the biggest reminder of those games.
She remembered a study that Hermione had once talked about. At the time, it had seemed of no consequence to her, but she'd listened because Hermione had been so enthralled. She wondered if Hermione would even recall the moment on the grassy hill in the October sun when she told Hannah about this study, or if she'd read so many that they all blurred together? Well, Hannah- who didn't spend her free time reading scientific muggle studies- recalled this one.
It talked about how it took three days for the brain to adjust to an abrupt setting. They put someone in glasses that made everything upside down. For the first two days, the subjects stumbled around, acting like everyone thought they would. But by the end of the third day, they could ride a bike with ease. And then, when they glasses were taken off, they were so accustomed to the way the world had been, it took another three days to re-situate themselves. But it was always three days. Three days for the world to turn itself right.
And the third day after her arm was gone, the third day that the pain vanished, Hannah felt like she'd never had that arm at all as her body just worked with what it had.
So no, her arm was not the biggest reminder, despite what everyone may think.
It was every other fucking little thing. It was the color of her dress; it was the sound her feet made as it turned on the concrete, it was waking up, and it was the food she was eating. Somehow, every road, even the most insignificant, leads her mind back to the Games.
Outside there is a sea of people behind red ropes. They're all so loud. She stumbles back a step, the sound is overwhelming. They're screaming. Why are they screaming?
It takes a moment, only after sending terrified glances to Hermione and Draco, to see that they're fine and realize the crowd is cheering. They're here for them, excited.
"What do we do?" Hermione whispers as they make it down to the main road and people's hands are clawing at them, as though merely touching them could somehow change something.
"Kiss babies, sign autographs?" Draco shrugs, falling into this with an ease of practice. His smile is a thousand watt, his wave is slight and his hand is quick to sign sheets of paper with quills. He's used to this, Hannah realizes. Not necessarily being a celebrity, but having everyone look at you and everyone envy you. This is probably just like before, she thinks.
Hermione pouts for a second but then finds her footing behind him. Lots of people are screaming her name, out of the three of them. Many want her touch, her signature. Fewer scream Hannah's, but she's fine with that.
The trio makes their way down the road, randomly picking out people that are leaning against the ropes and trying to get to them. Hannah feels good to have everyone love her like this, even if it's a mirage.
At the end, Hannah can see familiar faces. There are friends from school that are still alive, there's teachers she respects, they're…her parents. Oh god, her parents. She feels tears on the edges of her eyes and can't help but let a tear drop. They look so happy to see her. Do they still love her even though she's killed someone?
Out of the whole crowd, when they're nearing the end…steps Cedric. Hannah wants to run to him. She breaks away from Draco and Hermione, not caring that people are watching her. Cedric puts out a hand though, before she can bowl him over with a hug and a kiss, and she wonders if she's done something to upset him? They're romance has been quick and has been a whirlwind, but Hannah has never felt anything so passionately in her entire life. She's never wanted anything more, not even winning.
"Cedric, why…" She trails off as Cedric gets down on one knee.
"Oh my Merlin!" Hermione whispers under her breath behind Hannah, and Hannah turns back to see Draco and Hermione staring with wide eyes. Hermione is close to tears too and looks ecstatic for her friend.
She turns back to see Cedric is holding a ring box.
"Hannah," He says quietly, so softly that she almost can't hear him, "Please?" He whispers. There is so much more that is said in his eyes, so much more that is just for her and no one else alone. She appreciates this gesture and as she looks at the ring, not a quaint stone but not ostentatious, it's suddenly the only thing she can think of.
"Marry me?"
Hannah nods jerkily. She's alive, she loves him and he loves her? Why shouldn't she? Why shouldn't they?
He breaks into a grin, so relieved, as though he feared for a second she'd say no. Hannah feels like she's known him her entire life. She remembers the nights before the games, curled up in his bed illegally, the way his hand trailed up her leg and they laughed so hard they were both crying or the way his chest caved with sobs as he told her about his personal experience, while she pressed her head to his chest and just listened to the sound of his heartbeat. And she'd lived lives beyond her already, hadn't she?
He slips the ring on to her finger and nothing has ever seemed like it belonged there more. He lifts her up in his glee, kissing her and grabbing her waist and Hannah's hand curls into his hair.
And she pulls back and it all catches up with her; she's getting married. She's engaged now.
And Merlin, it's the best realization she's had in a very long time.
GG
Hermione wants to say something to her best friend, who just before her very eyes was proposed to by Cedric, until she sees two figures out of the corner of her eye elbowing their way to the front. Their motions are almost…violent. She never thought her parents to be violent people. Then again, they probably never thought their daughter capable to murder.
Hermione's body floats to them and they push themselves under the red rope in a frantic rush until Hermione greets them half way. They don't even hesitate to touch her, both of them on either side, like a perfectly made sandwich of love. She feels like a child again here in their arms. Her legs start to buckle but they hold her up, just pressing tighter around her. Some part of her thought they'd be too disgusted in her to touch her; they aren't from here like some of the other parents. They've never understood this harsh game. They begged Hermione to snap her wand and leave forever.
Hermione couldn't and they just couldn't see why.
But they're here and they're crying and her father is rubbing her back and her mother is patting her head and it's almost too much. She didn't know how badly she needed their forgiveness, and the forgiveness for everything is in their touches, until this very moment. It's like a weight is lifting off of her and she's crying for what feels like the umpteenth time. One would imagine there comes a point where there's nothing left to cry over. Apparently, Hermione is being proved wrong.
"You're alive," Her mother whispers in her ear, "You've alive and you're our daughter and you were so brave," Her mother said.
"I thought you would hate me for letting myself go in there," Hermione's voice cracked.
"We could never hate you," Her father said gingerly, lifting her head with his hands, "We didn't understand it, not at first, but the Weasleys have been there for us."
Hermione spots Mrs. Weasley over her father's shoulder and she gets all emotional again because Mrs. Weasley has always felt like a second mother. To know that she was taking care of her parents this whole time is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her. Guilt grips her…she wishes she could have taken better care of Ron.
"Now that you're free we'll go back home. You can go to college, like a normal girl. You have your life back, Hermione, you shouldn't waste it. I've been looking into places. I know you haven't had time to fill anything out but-,"
"No," Hermione forces herself away. As much as they understand some things, it's a sad feeling like a rock in her stomach as she sees there are other things they can never understand.
"No?" Her father repeats slowly, frowning, "No to…what?"
"I'm not coming home." Hermione licks her lips uneasily. They're so chapped, she runs her lips over the edges of her lips again as she watches the confusion morph into worry on her parent's face.
"But, Hermione," Her mother begins in the softest tone imaginable, the one she used to use on Hermione as a child.
"How do you think I can just go to college like a normal kid?" Hermione's voice quivers, "Sit there and learn about wars and the holocaust and pretend like I don't know what it's like to feel someone die in your arms? That I don't know how it feels to kill someone?" She demands in a low, rough voice. Her words are like a slap in the face to her mother, who backs away.
"Hermione, we know that TV can make it seem like some things happened when it didn't, dear." She says, "We're safe." Hermione doesn't understand them but she feels sick when the words come all the way through her brain.
"I did kill people, mom," Hermione says matter-o-factly, "I'll have to live with it everyday, but it wasn't an illusion for views or something." She said. The look of hope drops from her parent's faces, like up until this point they had truly believed that Hermione…
Well, what parent wants to think their daughter could slit someone's throat in the night or watch someone bleed out inches from their fingertips? Not even Pansy's mother would have wanted her daughter to do that, Hermione thinks.
"So you see," Hermione adds awkwardly, now unsure how to say anything to her parents, "I can't just…go back."
"So you'll stay here? The place that did this to you?"
"If you mean the wizarding world, yes," Hermione can feel a shell, one she grew in the games, slowly creeping back over her, "It is where I belong."
"You were always so logical, I can't just understand…" Her mother presses her lips together, "Oh, dear." Her words are filled with such pity and Hermione really hates it.
"I love you guys," She adds as a throwaway because she never wants her parents to think she doesn't, "But your world hasn't been ever meant for me," It's the truth, harsh and unforgiving, the words Hermione's always wanted to say in fights but never had the guts to. Now, she's learned the truth will never be hidden, so why try to hide it?
"We love you too," He father says, pressing a hesitant hand to hers, "But where will you go?"
"I'll…" Hermione's eyes glaze to the Weasley's. She's sure that Mrs. Weasley will let her stay, but she doesn't want to assume anything. Plus, she's acutly aware she's in public for this whole terrifyingly embarrassing event and she's not too keen to say anything else, "I'll find somewhere."
"We can continue the hugs and such later," McGonagall seems to appear from thin air, but she's a welcome interruption, "I'm here to escort you to Hogwarts."
"Why?" Hannah says. Hermione sees she's practically glued to Cedric's side.
"To collect your things, of course. Grab my hand and we'll apparate to the trains." The floo system hardly works anymore, Hermione reminds herself, "Cedric can come too." She adds with a smile.
Hermione is grateful to have a very valid excuse to leave her parents and tells them she'll see them tonight at the large and more private winner's dinner, where they'll talk more. Her mother brightens, as though maybe Hermione has changed her mind. McGonagall looks at Hermione and Hermione sees sympathy in her eyes, and it's so much welcomer than that pity swimming in her mother's. There's only a pat on her back from McGonagall for Hermione to realize McGonagall heard all of it.
Hannah senses the heavy mood and chatters on about how she's dreamed about her wedding since she was eight and all about this collage she made from her mother's magazines, magical and non-magical, that she still has somewhere. It's a nice distraction for Hermione. She feels hurt and loneliness after that, but strong too. She's not going to pretend to be something she isn't anymore. She's going to figure this shit out here, with magic.
The train looks just as they did when they left on it for the training facility, but as far as Hermione is aware it's just the few of them.
"Everyone else's things were collected as they died, but you're items have been left untouched. Since the year's over and you've all graduated, I think it's time to pack up," McGonagall said once the train was moving, "I'll be down in those corridors, working on next year's schedule, if you so need me."
Just a little mention like that, a simple reminder life continued on, someone made Hermione's chest warm.
Not a second after McGonagall left, Cedric stood.
"Hannah, so, there's this thing I want to show you."
"Yes, that one thing." Hannah nodded quickly, "You should."
Hermione's face blushed, but she didn't say anything. Draco, however, snorted.
"You two couldn't be more obvious if you tried." He said, laying down across one of the seats and crossing his arms behind his back, "Just say you're going off to bang and be done with it."
"Jerk," Hannah said, half-teasing, but laced her fingers in Cedric and led him away. Neither denied it.
"Well," Hermione coughed, feeling her cheeks burn, "That was-,"
"They are newly engaged. I can't say I blame them. Didn't think it would be that quick though, I thought for sure they'd pretend for at least an hour or so…" Draco ruminated, twirling his wand in his fingers. It was a motion Hermione had caught him doing many times during their years at Hogwarts, mostly when he was deeply thinking.
"I'm happy for them." Hermione said.
"Don't you think it's a little sudden? They're a little…young?" Draco implored, frowning at her, "They only just got together the week of training and all."
"I guess," Hermione hadn't realized it had only been about a month, and most of that time was when Hannah was in the games, "But…" She shook her head, looking out the window, "I don't actually."
Draco only tilted his head, waiting for her to go on. She drummed her fingers on the window, before finally forming the thoughts she had into something that sounded like an explanation.
"Well, first off, I like to believe in true love and all," She said and her eyes traveled down to his heart, the place he had a scar that matched her hand prints, "That sometimes you just know right away, you don't have to spend years wondering if this is it. And I think the games taught us that we shouldn't spend useless time anymore. If you're sure, why not take any moment you get? Why can't they be sure after all they've both been through? I think they're going to be a great couple. And…" She gave a sad smile, "Don't you feel years beyond just seventeen?" She was eighteen, but still, she certainly felt at least twenty-five.
Draco frowned at her, opening his mouth to correct her, but then startled, as though something just occurred to him. Draco chuckled, giving a low whistle, "Yeah. I forgot I'm only seventeen a while there. I do feel like I've lived through a couple lives while I was in the games." He agreed, "Valid points." He conceded, "I do hope they work, though, really." He continued in earnest, "I want to think that we can just know. I do."
Hermione once again felt her cheeks flush, but for an entirely different reason. With her socked foot, she gently kicked his shin.
"You're such a damn romantic," She muttered.
He grinned, biting his lip and raising an eyebrow, "You know…I heard your talk with your parents." He added, trying to slide into something big, but of what Hermione was still unsure.
"Yes," Her shoulders locked, "I think everyone did," She added bitterly.
"Move in with me." Draco said, going straight for it. Hermione's eyes widened and her elbow slipped off the window.
"What?" She couldn't help but spurt out, "Draco, we're not even-,"
"Not saying like as a relationship, I still live my parents for godssake." Draco admitted, wincing, "But having you around a lot wouldn't be the worst thing, and you're one of my best friends without the romantic bit of it. We have a cottage on our property, for what used to be for the various workers, when it couldn't be elves. I mean, it's nothing big, but it's enough for one person. You could come and go as you pleased, no one would bother you, it's quiet, I'm right there…"
Draco could see the uncertainty in Hermione's eyes.
"Think about it?" He pleaded. Hermione gave a long nod. It did sound enticing, admittedly. She could really spend some quality time on her own issues if she wasn't bothered by the many people going through the Weasley house- not that she didn't love that on occasion- but she had different needs, especially now. Plus being close to Draco, she could defiantly get use to it.
"I will think about it," she agreed, "Truly."
The rest of the ride was spent talking about really mundane things, about what food they hoped would be at the dinner, how long they were betting they were going to sleep or not sleep that night, discussing stories of childhood. It defiantly felt normal, or what a normal 'relationship' or friendship would be like, and some part of Hermione kept waiting for tragedy. This was too good to be true, all of this. It had to be.
The train ride seemed shorter than it ever had before, and that's because it was the last time, Hermione thought. Unless, of course, she one day became a Hogwarts professor, something she'd considered once or twice before all this. Now…well, let's just say she was quite pleased to not have to worry about a job at least for a couple years.
At the gates, McGonagall gave each of them the passwords currently being used for their houses and they went their separate ways, at least for the moment- even Cedric said he had something he needed to do and gave Hannah a kiss that wasn't quick- even if they were going to be separated only for an hour at most- before following McGonagall somewhere.
Hermione felt like a ghost to be traveling the halls with no one else there. It felt and smelled like her castle, but it wasn't.
"Oh, look at you," The portrait of the Fat Lady crooned when she came closer, "We all knew you'd win, all the portraits. Except some of those grumpy ones, they bet on the Malfoy kid," She paused, "Although we were both right, then…"
Hermione forced a smile, "Ashwinder," She said the password through her teeth and the Fat Lady nodded.
"Of course, no need for talking." She agreed, and opened the door.
Hermione walked straight through the common room without looking at anything.
Her own room felt safe. Her things had been packed up long before she left for the games- she anticipated she'd either be leaving the next day or going into the games- so she'd prepared. She sat on her bed, sighing and laid down. In reality, these mattresses had seen better days, but right now she couldn't imagine anything more comfortable.
After a bit she forced herself up and looked around. The room seemed like any other end of the year, Parvati's side a little mussed. She always did hate to make her bed in the morning, Hermione recalled.
And Lavender's side looked cleaned out too.
Hermione's fist clenched and her wand slipped from her fingers as it pinched it. She watched it roll across the floor to right by the foot of Lavender's bed. It was just being cruel now, wasn't it?
Hermione bent down and saw a lone object underneath Lavender's bed. With nimble fingers, she pulled out something completely ordinary and something that would have made sense to have been left behind- a lipstick tube.
She slumped onto the ground, opening it and felt something between a laugh and vomit rise in her throat.
It was Lavender's, she knew it for a fact. It was a gaudy color that Hermione knew wasn't her color- not that she knew what her color was to begin with, whatever the hell that even meant, but this surly wasn't it. But oh, Lavender had loved that color. She'd bought two or three tubes of it, Hermione was sure, because Hermione recalled years that Lavender would sit in front of her mirror and just paint it on her lips. Even though the color was horrendous and it seemed like she was putting on enough turn herself into a Picasso painting, whenever she'd turn around to get her friend's opinion, it would somehow look flawless. Whenever Hermione put on lipstick it looked like she had just drunkenly made out with a clown.
And, worst of all, it looked like the exact color of those crushed berries that Lavender ate. The ones that killed her.
Hermione's fist closed around the tube. She wondered if she should give it to Parvati or Lavender's parents. They would know the significance of this tube. But giving it up seemed so impossible to Hermione. She hated that she had to kill Lavender, whether she had ever been friends with her or not. She hated that Lavender had even been picked. She hated that here Hermione was with a half-used lipstick in her hand sobbing about it.
And she felt like she should keep it.
And once she began thinking about Lavender, she began thinking about every other Gryffindor that should have been alive today that would never lounge on the bright chairs in front of the fire again. She thought about how many empty dorm rooms there must be and at this point they almost might need to merge years together so people aren't alone. She thought about how many children's rooms were cleared out and things like this lipstick were left and no one was there to find it as Hermione had. And it was so fucking unfair, all of it.
Hermione dragged herself to the mirror glued to the wall. She uncapped the lipstick and dabbed it across her chapped, swollen lips. She didn't look like a nightwalker with this color on, actually. She didn't look like a goddess, but she looked okay. She stared at herself in the mirror as the pigment in the lipstick sunk between her cracked lines and the product tinted her lips. It looked like Lavender's mouth seconds before she went limp.
Hermione wiped the color off on the back of her sleeve, but some of it still remained, on the corner of her mouth like berry juice dribbling down her chin.
GG
Hannah couldn't even bring herself to go into her room until she watered the plants in the common room, the ones sitting on the table in the view of the one little window they had up at the top of the ceiling, shining light into their underground den. She thought it was strange; why didn't someone bring this home with them? She couldn't recall the plants that always appeared here ever staying over the summer, for there just wasn't enough Hufflepuffs around to water them. Teachers came and went but not consistently and students rarely were here past a week after break ended.
She filled the tin next to them in the sink, going around and giving them life. She'd bring them home with her, that much was decided the moment she saw them forgotten. As she turned one of them around to make sure she wetted the soil consistently, she saw a name scrawled into the terracotta pot: Wayne Hopkins.
Ah, that explained it.
Her throat constricted but she felt even more determined to bring these to her home with her. She was sure that the rest of his things had been taken away by some clean-up crew, but these had been untouched, likely because they didn't know. Hannah was sure none of her housemates were eager to let the people cleaning either.
She found a cardboard box in the back of the common room and loaded the six pots into it, setting it by the door.
In her own room, things looked like the end of any other year. Clean, bright, ready for them to come back in the fall. But they wouldn't be.
Hannah's own things were not great in number; Hufflepuffs were notoriously minimalistic. Plus her family wasn't one of great means, not like Draco's, so she only owned enough clothing to keep her clothed without worrying too much about laundry and not much else from there. She had a couple books from home, a picture frame or two, but most of her things she'd left back in her childhood home over winter break. She had anticipated being picked, in a morbid way. At this point, it was just statistical.
So, it took almost no time in packing it all. More or less, she just messily threw it into her trunk. She really didn't want to linger here longer than she had to, a stark difference in feeling compared to previous years. Before, she would have stayed at Hogwarts forever if she could.
At Susan's bed, the one directly across from her own, she conjured a wreath of flowers and laid it across her pillow.
Inspired, she found Leanne's room as well. Although she'd never stepped foot inside Leanne's room, she could find Leanne's bed easy enough. There was an uncomfortable aura around it, like something not bad but not good. There was just a sense of things being too clean at the bed at the last low, like it was done by adults with a purpose, not a student excitedly packing their things for the end of the year. She put a flower there too.
She went lastly to the boy's dorms from her year. She didn't really think about things, not until she got to the last bed- Ernie's (she'd spent hours studying with him here, since the rule didn't stop girls from going into guy's dorms) to put a wreath down.
She sat, and the terrible feeling of acute longing washed over her, violently even. Ernie had been her best friend. Merlin, she missed him.
And how awful that an entire year of boys had just been…wiped out? That there was not a boy in this year left. All three beds in the room with wreaths, all three empty and lingering.
She lay down on the bed, rolling over and pressing her face into the pillow. It still smelled like him, faintly. She could even remember a time she wondered if they possibly might end up together. Now she was engaged. It had never happened, which probably was a good thing, they joked about. If anything, the fact that they were best just as friends made the loss of him even greater. If he was a boyfriend…sometimes, boyfriends left, things ended. She could have gone the rest of her life being good friends with Ernie, up until they were old and frail.
That wouldn't happen now.
Selfishly, she took off the pillowcase from the pillow and folded it into her own bag. It would only retain his scent for a couple more days, but she couldn't imagine not having it, leaving without it now.
She dragged everything up to the Headmistress' office, where everyone had been told to meet. Interestingly enough, no one was there yet, not even Hermione. McGonagall was absent, although the stairs let up up to the main room. She pushed her suitcase against the wall and carefully set the box of plants on the ground. She looked around; this room was still filled with so many knickknacks and curios that she couldn't imagine ever tiring of letting her eyes wander.
Yet, today, her eyes fell upon the Sorting Hat, sitting on it's perch. Hardly even twenty-four hours ago she'd had its help to win.
"You saved us," She said out loud. She wasn't even sure the hat was sentient outside the sorting ceremony. To her great surprise, the hat smirked.
"Abbott, Hannah," He recited, like her name had been said as a first year before she was sorted, "Although not all here…"
She shifted in the chair, pushing her missing arm side into the leather, shoving her good side forward. Something about the hat's scrutinizing look made her feel strange.
"Quite a feat, pulling that sword from me, you know. Not just anyone can do it, let alone see it." He said and Hannah frowned.
"Draco didn't," She recalled his absolute surprise when she'd mentioned it.
"It's a special sword, that of Godric Gryffindor's. It only appears when a true Gryffindor needs it." He said. Hannah gave a quiet nod. Hermione was in great need of it, dying there, she just couldn't get to it.
"Hermione appreciates it coming, I'm sure." Hannah said out loud, her foot tapping gently on the wood of the desk in front of her.
"Hmm," The hat merely murmured. Yet that sound put a doubt in Hannah's mind. One that made her question something she'd felt on the edge of her mind now for a bit. Her foot kicked the wood façade rather loudly as something emerged in her mind and the sound echoed around the empty room.
"Hat," Hannah called out, unsure how to address it, "Do you think that we're ever sorted too young? That we can change…and that the house we once would have been in aren't so anymore?" She asked, her voice tiny.
"I believe in change, it's the only truth I know," The hat replied, "But I also believe that I was made to see a person's true self, present-past-and future. And I know more than anyone that sometimes one person is not simply a single house, but two or three. It's what they do in situations of true emotion that make the difference."
"But then how could I-," Hannah started to ask, but locked her jaw. She hadn't felt like a Hufflepuff, not since the middle of the games. Whenever it was brought up that she-a Hufflepuff- won, a strange knot appeared in her stomach. Did she feel like a different house? Maybe. Did she know which one that was? Not at all.
"The houses are not all too different, you'd realize if you sorted as many children as I. Some more so than others. In the moment of the battle, you altogether could have been a Gryffindor as much as a Hufflepuff." It said.
Hannah gave a slow nod.
"Does it matter?" He hat asked and Hannah could not answer. She let the answer ring out, and she did not respond.
Truthfully, she didn't think it did, but everyone else was making it so. And, if these games taught her much of anything, it was that they did not care for which house a person was. Everyone still died, everyone's blood was red, and everyone- even Pansy- died a death that was unnecessary.
GG
Draco felt the chill of his common room as soon as he stepped inside. The water from the lake leeched coldness into the floor and usually there was a fire, even at the end of term, in the fireplace. Today, the whole place was chilly.
It seemed darker than before, maybe.
Draco didn't waste much time, for he knew his moving out would be an arduous one. His parents had sprung for only the best of materials, and unlike some other students, all his furniture was that of his own. His parents wanted him to be comfortable in school, so instead of the small twin bed the school provided, he had rich queen-size four-poster bed in his room, much like the other Slytherin boys his age. Keeping up with the popular parents was such a trend, after all.
Crabbe and Goyle had done a dismal job of cleaning out their things, and Draco still spotted some term papers with 'Dreafulls' or some text books that were useless to them in the spot their beds would have been. Theodore's area was spotless, unsurprisingly, and Blaise's was-
Draco frowned. He hadn't thought of Blaise in a very long time.
Well, he wasn't going to start now, not when he had a job to do and other things on his mind.
He determined the best way to move everything was to gather everything either into his homemade dresser, desk, or onto his bed and then shrink it all down and put it in his book bag. It was a difficult spell on such large objects, one Draco was okay at.
He was surprised to find less resistance than he would have guessed and noticed immediately his spell work was stronger. He had been doing some very mature spells in the games, he figured.
On his way out of his bedroom, with his things in tow, he nearly ran into a large body.
"Flint, what are you doing here?" He asked, stepping back.
"Malfoy, I see you're cleaning out things," Flint said.
"Yes. Very obviously," Draco crossed his arms over his chest, "Why else would I be here?"
Immediately, Draco felt a hand around his neck as he was shoved back into the wall.
"Don't give me lip, Malfoy. I'm older than you, more vicious than you. I could crush your skull if I wanted," Flint gave a tooth smile. Draco recalled his signature move during his year had been to smash heads into bits.
"I think that's unwise, Flint," Malfoy gasped out, struggling not to panic, "Even if I can't get to my wand, I am quite adept at wandless magic." He said, trying to seem casual. He didn't want to give Flint any sort of satisfaction.
"Go on then, hurt me," Flint challenged, his pungent breath on Draco's cheeks, inches away from his face, "Do it." He goaded.
Draco paused, wondering why Flint had become suicidal or something all of a sudden, but just as quickly as Flint had attacked him, he was let go.
Draco dropped to the ground, spitting up and trying to find his breath as his fingers rubbed what would bruise around his neck.
"I knew it," Flint said, kicking Draco's side, "I've been wondering for awhile if you really were a true Slytherin or not, but I guess I have my answer."
Draco's eyes snapped up, anger clouding his eyes at the accusation.
"How dare-,"
"You killed two of our own, Malfoy. We don't do that, not unless they're weak. Daphne was not weak. Tracey, the surprise of the century, was not weak. And do you know what they called you? The Protector," Flint said it like it was the most appalling thing he'd ever heard," Draco Malfoy, good at healing and protection spells. The little guardian angel of the games," He taunted, "You're as bad as a Hufflepuff and thusly should be treated as one, I say. And worst; you fell in love with a mudblood and have I wondered for a while if it was just for show but you really do love her. Pathetic." Flint said dismissively, kicking Draco again and turning around to leave. Draco's blood boiled. He could insult him and his stature, fine. But bring Hermione into this?
Draco reached out, grabbing Flint by his ankle and pulled him down angrily. He shoved the boy, much larger than he, on his knees as he stood up. He took out his wand from his pocket, looked at it, and threw it aside.
"I would think really hard before insulting me, Flint." Draco said in a darkened tone, "Because I am much more skilled than you ever were and I can kill you with my hands too, but with magic. If you ever lost your wand," Draco summoned it non-verbally and Flint lunged out as his wand flew into Draco's hands. Draco played with it, pretending to consider it, "Well, let's just say I think I'm going to keep this for awhile to prove a point."
"You," Flint growled, trying to get up, but Draco grabbed his shoulder and whispered a body-locking spell. Flint went rigid, unable to speak.
"Better," Draco said, wiping his forehead, "I wasn't finished. I did what I had to survive, just like any other Slytherin did- but no one else did as well as I did. And the idea that a Slytherin can actually be a decent person isn't a paradox, and I won't try to make it one. But let me assure you if I am threatened, if I am attacked, if anyone I love is attacked or threatened," He lowered himself to stare directly into Flint's eyes, "You will truly see that I am a Slytherin and defiantly no one to trifle with." He threatened with resolution in his voice.
He put Flint's wand in his bag and went across the room to pick up his own. He went over to a large mirror next to the window to the sea and craned his neck. There weren't marks yet, but he was sure there would be. He had a spell to help that, which he did immediately. The easiest way to heal something was to get to it as soon as possible.
At the door, Draco heard Flint's desperate squeaks as he still kneeled petrified. He turned, sighing, "Someone will find you Flint. You're unfortunately too important as a victor to be left unattended to." Draco said confidently before closing the portrait door behind him.
He still felt riled up. He didn't like being dark- he thought of Pansy and her foray into dark magic- but he was a dangerous person and Flint should be aware of that. Yes, he could have easily killed Flint, but he was still a healer more than anything. But that didn't mean the thought hadn't flitted across his mind.
This should make a point for him not to bother him or Hermione; although he was sure Hermione could quite easily handle someone like him on her own. He felt his feet leading him. His thoughts were on Colin but also on Elizabeth. More so on Elizabeth, and being in the castle just heightened those thoughts.
He hated saying it, but Colin likely would have been picked off next year if not this year. Unless he won, there wouldn't have been anyway he was gong to get out of this. But Elizabeth? He felt like she had so much more left in her, even with her sickness. He was sure that if someone had known, maybe if he'd known, he could have figured something out. She was only 13, she deserved so much more. She should have had the chance to take her NEWTS and OWLS and learn to apparate and go to a Yule Ball and date guys and sit down with Madam Sinatra to discuss what she was going to do in life…
And she was dead.
At the door to the Ravenclaw common room, Draco found the walls outside of it covered in beautifully painted pictures of the tributes. It was a poignant reminder there hadn't been a Ravenclaw winner- all these people were dead. Underneath were flowers or bears or picutres of those sacrificed? The students had been in Hogwarts almost a week into the games still, until graduation. He was sure that some teachers had attempted to wash it from the walls, but he sensed a great deal of powerful magic surrounding the images.
He picked up a dying flower from Elizabeth's picture and made it into the dragon stuffed animal she'd loved so much.
A shadow out of the corner of his eye made him go on edge and for a second he wondered how Flint managed to free himself so fast and how stupid he could be to come after Draco a second time. But when he turned, he saw it was his godfather instead.
"Draco, it's a pleasure to see you alive," Snape said, and Draco was sure this was the closest Snape had ever gotten to say he cared for Draco.
"Yeah, I am." Draco agreed. Snape looked past Draco to where the pictures were, and his face deepened into a scowl. Draco felt a rush of fuel, ready to defend Elizabeth to his godfather. Instead, Snape shook his head.
"Come with me, Draco," He instructed in a tone that said it wasn't a suggestion.
Snape led Draco back down to his offices, and he was very taciturn. Draco didn't find this odd, but it was the sadness in Snape's eyes that he did. He liked to think that even the death of a thirteen-year-old was hard for his godfather, but he couldn't be sure.
Once inside, Snape pointed to a chair. Draco sat, sinking into it. His godfather did a series of very intense spells before unlocking a drawer in his desk.
"What's with all the cloak and dagger?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was almost afraid of what his godfather was going to give him, what he was assuming.
"I was told to give someone I trust this," He said, handing Draco a square object. Draco flipped it over. It was…a book. More than that, a book of children's tales called 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard'.
"Erm, thank you?" Draco frowned, "I stopped reading this when I was like eight, though. And who is this from, exactly?" Draco flipped through it absentmindedly.
"Dumbledore, in the even of his death. Which unfortunately, has occurred." Snape said, "Although not without a great sacrifice to the cause."
Draco closed the book with an audible snap, "The cause…" He echoed, eyes wide, "So you're not-,"
"No." Snape said curtly without letting Draco finish.
"Should we be talking about this here?" Draco whispered in a low voice, bowing his head.
"Do you think I don't know how to check my own office for listening devices, boy?" Snape asked, annoyed.
"I didn't…I guess." Draco felt his face blush at the thought, because Snape was good at this.
"How long?" He asked.
"Since the night Harry's parents were murdered," Snape leaned back in his chair, making Draco's thoughts that maybe he'd been perfecting this for a long while true. Draco looked down at the book.
"I don't understand why I got this, though." He mumbled.
"Because I trust you will do the right thing," Snape said simply, "I almost had to give it to the Granger girl," Snape made a low growl in the back of his throat, "Luckily, you seem to have things…figured out." He said vaguely. He meant in terms to whose side Draco was on, of course.
"I didn't sign up for this, you know," Draco said, not angrily, but just confused. In truth, yes, he did really hate Voldemort and would love to see him topple. He was just surprised that this opportunity seemed to fall into his hands, quite literally.
"You would have, given time." Snape said wisely.
Draco opened the book again, "I'm not sure what this means. Do you?"
"Not the foggiest," Snape admitted after a long second, "But Dumbledore would have given such instructions were it not paramont to our winning." He assured, "Nothing needs to be done today. Revolutions do not happen within a week, Draco," He said, which was a surprisingly soft and comforting thing to hear.
"I think you should be getting back to McGonagall's office. You all shouldn't linger here longer than needed," Snape announced, standing.
"Right, yes." Draco agreed. He paused, "What do I do now that I'm…" He made a hand motion with his free hand, meaning that he was now inside this revolution.
"Act like you aren't. Make it count, as I do." Snape instructed sharply, "You're life depends on it still. Don't worry too hard about this and just try to get through the next couple weeks." He offered a bit of advice.
"How have you done this for seventeen years?" Draco asked, shocked.
A look came over Snape's face; one Draco recognized but was absolutely flabbergasted to see on his mentor's face. Love. "I'd imagine the same reason you are now invested in this," He said. He'd never thought of Snape as capable of loving or romantic or anything, but that comment…
And, just as quickly as it arrived, the look on Snape's face was gone, "Don't fuck this up, Draco. Not just you depend on that." He reminded, and Draco gave a quick nod. It was so much more than just him.
He almost opened his mouth to ask who his godfather loved, but at the last second decided that he liked the way his face looked and just left, the book tucked under his arm. On one hand, he almost thought Dumbledore was just a crazy old man. But, out of anyone in the world-including his own parents- he trusted Snape the most. And Snape had trusted Dumbeldore, so this must mean something. He just wasn't sure he'd be able to understand what. He was honored to be given such a responsibility but one part of him was terrified he'd fail and let everyone down. Draco didn't often think so lowly of his own skills but this task could possibly be even more difficult and life threatening than the Green Games. He couldn't misstep at all.
GG
Hermione tapped her foot nervously at the entrance to the Headmistress office. She didn't see anyone else here yet, and for some reason the tube of lipstick felt as though it was burning a hole in her pocket.
The griffin behind her moved and out stepped Hannah, balancing a large cardboard box of plants with her one arm and her bag moving magically behind her.
"Can I help?" Hermione jumped up, beginning to take the box from her.
"No, no. I got it." Hannah said confidently. From around the corner appeared Draco, and Hermione was surprised to see he only had a satchel on his arm, no trunk. He kept touching the satchel though, as though checking if something was there.
"Ah, there we are," McGonagall said, coming from yet another direction, "Do we have everything?" She asked. Three heads nodded, "Well, then, follow me." She instructed, and led them down to the boathouse. Hermione's heart clenched; it was tradition that at graduation, the students left on boats as they had come. There was only one little boat though, and she wished she could have been with everyone on all of them. And not just those that survived the reaping in their seventh year but everyone, Harry included.
Draco helped Hermione onto the boat. Cedric took Hannah's things and she didn't stop him. Marcus Flint appeared, and Hermione wondered why he was here, but he looked at Draco and his eyes bugged out a little and he sat the farthest away from them as he could. How odd.
The night was falling by the time everything had been said and done, and they were leaving Hogwarts. There was mostly silence on the way back, Hermione turned to face leaving Hogwarts in the distance. There wasn't the same kind of sadness there usually was, in fact, she merely felt relief.
And the thought of maybe distancing herself from everything brought her relief, from everything that had been. Not forever, but just for awhile. Part of that was the Weasley house, something she'd been so sure she'd liked, but now, she wasn't sure.
She looked back at Draco, who instead was focusing on the reflection of the stars in the lake, his fingers trailing like a mosquito hopping on the surface of the water. He seemed deeply troubled by something, she could tell from the way his brow was creased like a sheet of paper.
"Draco?" Her voice was soft and didn't carry to anyone else on board. McGonagall was steering the boat, Flint was quite in his own world, and Cedric and Hannah were discussing something. Draco looked up, the worry vanishing from his face for a second, "I'd like to stay in that house, if you'll still have me." She whispered. Draco flicked the water from his fingers.
"Of course, but what changed your mind?" He asked.
"I just…" She played with her sweater, clenching it between her fingers and releasing over and over, "I need something not familiar. Familiarity has only gotten people killed and me into this. I just need time away from everything." She said.
Draco sat up straight, "Are you okay, Hermione?" He asked, scrutinizing her.
"I will be," Hermione gave a wry smile, "Do you understand?" She asked. Draco chuckled, blowing out air from his cheeks.
"Perfectly," He agreed. A grin split his face, "You're going to love it, Hermione."
So we're still up for at least one more chapter before this is over, most likely two. I have a list of like 15 things to write before it ends and this one only got through five, but other scenes I don't think will require so much space. So we'll just have to see, I suppose.
A lot of people had really good responses to me starting a tumblr for my stuff, so I've created one- search for YoungbloodLex22 and my profile pic is the slytherin uniform. I haven't posted much, just because I want you all following before I start so my thoughts aren't lost to the void lol.
So, what did you think of this chapter? Review and let me know!