"You're Hermione," Lottie said, and hearing Hermione's real name caused a shiver to travel down her spine.
The startling words echoed inside of her head as she stared, slack-jawed... Had she mistaken Lottie? Had she misheard her?
"What?" She had to make sure.
"You're not Annabelle," Lottie repeated, her voice gaining confidence, "it all… it all makes sense now."
Hermione glanced nervously at Annabelle's mother. The older woman sat, crumpled defeatedly into the loveseat. As she had watched the two girls converse, her fruitless attempts to claw her mouth back open had ceased. Instead, her eyes darted back and forth between them and Horace's unconscious form. It seemed as though the reality of her situation had set in, as evident by her chest heaving from beneath her ruffled nightdress.
Despite Martha's lips being magically sewn shut, Hermione could hear what she intended to say: You've lost it. You've gone mad! Both of you!
"We can't have this conversation here," Hermione said. "We need to leave before anyone comes to check on us. Someone must have heard something." She managed to keep her voice calm and clear, despite her heart hammering wildly inside of her chest.
The witch looked to the door, then to the maid… She took a shuddering breath when she realized the sudden turn the voyage had taken. In an instant, everything had been flipped on its head. Her plan- albeit half-baked- was out the window.
Lottie knew. Lottie had figured out the truth; her beautiful, capable, loyal friend had discovered the secret she so desperately had wanted to tell her their entire voyage.
"Where will we go?" Lottie asked, glancing fearfully at Horace's unconscious body.
"Anywhere but here."
Lottie nodded, eyes still glued to the butler as if anticipating him to sit up and continue his assault at any moment. After a few seconds where he continued to lie motionless, she moved to grip the side of the love seat and hoist herself onto trembling legs.
Hermione saw her struggle and darted forward, moving to wrap an arm around her waist. Instinctively, Lottie brought an arm around Hermione's shoulders.
With a lump in her throat, Hermione realized that she was still trembling. She could have buckled beneath the heavy blanket of guilt that settled over her.
This was her fault.
Lottie had begged her not to go, and she had insisted.
"Steady, now," Hermione whispered as she felt Lottie relieve some weight upon her, and after a moment she said: "I'm so sorry, Lottie."
"I told you it was a bad idea," the maid said, choking back sobs, "I told you."
"I know. I'm so so sorry," she said, voice thick with sorrow. She pulled her friend into a hug, and the young girl collapsed into a fit of hiccuping tears. "I'll explain why I left. I'll tell you everything once we get somewhere safe."
"No more lies?" She asked, looking up at Hermione with wet eyes. Her heart squeezed.
"No more lies." Hermione said, and she meant it.
. . .
Draco made his way back into the ship like a zombie, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He hadn't been able to rest in what must have been over 48 hours, and he felt his mind begin to play tricks on him. He wasn't sure where the Crew corridor was, what number that locker room was supposed to be, or if he was to turn left or right. He hovered uncertainly in the second class sitting lounge, rubbing at his eyes. Even the words above the doors seemed to be gibberish.
He blinked repeatedly as he tried to decipher what the markings on the engraved plaques said. After a few fruitless attempts, he hung his head. His brain was betraying him, the fog of exhausting preventing even the most basic cognitive function.
Maybe he should have asked Hermione to come back down with him, but he hadn't wanted to seem incompetent like Potter or Weasley. He had wanted to prove to her that he was a much better companion and partner, yet now he was wishing he had swallowed his pride and asked her to guide him back down.
He looked down at his White Star Lines issued uniform and pulled at the material in chagrin. Would it really be so bad if he held onto it a little longer? It would arguably be a smart move, considering the ease of being able to travel around in plain sight. It was like an invisibility cloak.
After a few more moments of deliberation, he decided that it was simply the most logical course of action. That, and he was too tired to do anything but rest. If he wanted to be sharp enough to divert the tragedy tomorrow, he had no other choice.
With a silent apology to Hermione, Draco turned on his heel and began his trek down to his cabin. He had boldly promised himself he would never go back- as it was essentially nothing more than a watery tomb- but he needed a bed.
A slight smile tugged on his face as he easily bypassed one of the gates designed to keep the third-class passengers in, opening it and slipping through seamlessly. He wished he could wait around to see the look on the poor tosser's face who had the responsibility of unlocking the gates that morning. Hermione was so brilliant- in such a simple move they had successfully ensured that everyone had the ability to get up onto the deck. The pride of their accomplishment, though small, warmed his chest.
Maybe they could do it, after all. Maybe they could save this doomed vessel. Hamish could live a long and happy life in the United States, Tommy could work for his uncle and continue the family business. Sam could see his parents again.
He thought of their last encounter, a horrible, stumbling fight- for which no one was to blame but Draco. He sighed heavily. He had almost certainly ruined their image of him, and he doubted they would ever be friends again. The thought of him not being able to talk to them tomorrow doused any sort of pleased pride he had been feeling by their successful mission.
When he reached his cabin door, he entered quietly and shut it gently behind him. When his eyes adjusted to the subtle glow of the moon outside of their small, round window, he could make out Hamish's slumbering figure on the bottom bunk. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was deep asleep. Draco longed to wake him, to apologize and take back everything… but he knew the damage was too far gone.
With a heavy heart, he slipped his shoes off and hoisted himself onto his bunk and settled between the thin sheets. He was still in the stolen uniform, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Before the sands of sleep took him away, a singular thought rang out loud and clear:
They would live to see the port of New York City. He would save them all, or he would die trying.
. . .
Hermione knocked on the elegant oak door before them: five quick, sharp raps with her knuckles. Surely that would be enough to get anyone's attention at such an ungodly hour. Beside her, Lottie wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It covered her head, shielding her battered and bruised visage.
"What if she doesn't answer?" She whispered fearfully. The two glanced down the corridor, praying that it remained empty for a little while longer. They waited for what felt like an eternity- but it must have only been a few seconds- before she tried again.
"Okay. A little harder this time," she murmured to herself.
The sharp sound of her knocks rang offensively in the quiet air of the first-class corridor. She prayed that no one else would come looking in response.
"What if he wakes up and comes to find us? What if your mother does?" Lottie asked, voice pitching higher in fear.
"Lottie, please," Hermione said quickly, "we have to be quiet."
Her friend shifted uncomfortably beside her, and Hermione had to admit that she was also afraid. She thought of how she had left the two abusers: her mother struggling to open her mouth, an even mixture of fear, disgust, and loathing in her brown eyes... And Horace, who had been left lying on the ground, stone cold, no signs of stirring at any time soon. Hermione had tried to cast a memory charm on the woman before they had left, but to no avail. When she had tried to cast the familiar spell, no magic came to her. It seemed as though it had gone.
She swallowed roughly, despairing that she had managed to lose wandless magic as quickly as it had come to her. If she could manage to bring it back and learn to control it, it would be invaluable in the hours to come. Itching with anxiety, she reached out to knock again, this time for louder and longer. Her patience was wearing thin.
A few knocks in the door disappeared beneath her fist and a familiar voice greeted her: "Now what in Sam Hill could you possibly need at such an-"
A bedraggled Molly Brown halted in her exclamation the moment she laid eyes on the two girls before her. As she took in Lottie's bloody, bruised appearance, she gasped in horror.
"We need help, Molly," Hermione whispered, chancing a glance over her shoulder. Thankfully, there was no one in sight.
"Yes, I can see that you do," Molly said grimly, eyes concerned. She ushered them inside, and quickly shut the door, locking it behind her. A maid stood in the sitting room, gaping in fear as her eyes landed upon Lottie.
"Good heavens!" She gasped. "Shall I call for the doctor?"
Molly looked to Hermione, who bit her lip in hesitation. Should she? What kind of attention would that bring to them? Would it hinder her mission?
She looked at Lottie, who's eyes only reflected the hesitant indecision that she felt. Certainly, any official would believe Martha and Horace's word over theirs. This world did not seem to give the benefit of the doubt to young girls, especially when it came to family affairs.
Sensing their hesitation, Molly shook her head.
"No, Samantha. Fetch me a cloth and some water instead. Maybe there's some ice left in the icebox," Molly ordered, "it seems we have a bit of a pickle to take care of ourselves."
The girl jumped at the older woman's voice, and spun on her heel, fleeing the room.
"Thank you, Madame," Lottie murmured weakly, curtseying. Hermione couldn't help the incredulous laugh that escaped her lips. Why was she so polite, even in such horrible circumstances? She was bleeding, for Merlin's sake!
"Don't you worry bout a thing now, darlin'," the American woman said, moving closer to her. She sucked air in through her teeth as she closely inspected the bruise on Lottie's cheek and the cut on her lip. The older woman placed a gentle finger below her chin, tilting her face to get a better view. "You girls have been through quite a night."
Hermione nodded weakly, her exhaustion suddenly hitting her. It was difficult to stand up straight, and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold her body up.
"We can't go back," She croaked; even her voice was losing strength.
"You don't have to. You're staying right here with me."
It was then that Lottie began to cry again.
"Oh, honey," Molly gasped at seeing the young maid's fresh tears, and she pulled her into a hug. Lottie collapsed into her, and Hermione couldn't help but notice just how small and fragile she looked in her arms. "Lottie, is it?"
She nodded against her chest, still heaving with sobs. Another stab of guilt coursed through Hermione.
"Well, Lottie. I promise that whoever did this to you won't get away with it."
Once Lottie was tucked away in one of the spacious cabin's extra rooms- after being placed in a fresh nightgown and having her wounds tended to- Molly found Hermione sitting in one of the lavish arm chairs, too tired to do anything but stare into empty space. She would have been asleep, if not for the concern for her friend.
"How is she?" Hermione gasped, sitting up straight.
"She's as good as she can be, I reckon."
Hermione breathed a trembling sigh of relief and buried her face in her hands. What on earth had that night turned into? How had she made such a severe miscalculation? She had known Horace's abusive streak, but never did she believe it would be inflicted on anyone but her.
How foolish she had been. How naive.
"Now, are you going to tell me what sorry son of a bitch put her in that state?" Molly asked, settling on the love seat across from her. Hermione dropped her hands and turned her gaze to the woman.
"Horace," she said.
"That bastard," Molly growled, "I knew he was no good."
"He's evil, Molly," Hermione admitted, tears blurring her world.
"Don't tell me he's laid his hands on you, too," she said, shaking her head in anger.
Hermione nodded, and it felt so good to finally tell someone that she couldn't stop the flood of hot tears from slipping down her cheeks. She had never been the kind of girl to allow herself to be victimized, but to be at the hands of such a horrible man had been a traumatic experience.
She didn't want to admit it. She didn't want to give him so much power over her disposition in life, but that night had changed her. The world was less bright, less kind. She was wiser to the cruelty in humanity, and she wished she wasn't.
"I'll deal with him myself," Molly said, moving to stand. "I'll go over there right now and-"
Hermione stood too, heart racing in her chest. She held up her hands, blocking her path.
"No! Don't!" She cried, "You don't want to be over there right now."
"And why's that?" Molly snapped, "give me one good reason I shouldn't go over there and beat the livin' daylights out of him!"
"I got to him first, I…" She began, and then caught herself, "...I knocked him out."
That stopped Molly, and she appraised the young girl with a keen eye.
"I see you can handle yourself," she said, nodding in approval.
"I can, and I think I may have a little too well," Hermione said, wiping at her face, "I think I might be in trouble. Real trouble."
"You? Heaven's no, child!" Molly said, "The last thing your mother would want to do is report her own daughter and tarnish her family name."
That stopped Hermione, something occurring to her.
"Then that means…" She breathed, her eyes going wide.
"They'll need to find someone to blame," Molly hinted, raising her eyebrows, "someone other than you. Someone that they would love to throw under the wagon."
"No!" Hermione gasped.
"I reckon Nicholas has a target on his back."
"You're right! They hate him! Oh, Merlin! Oh, no!" Hermione cried, clutching at her hair. She had sent him back down to third class... He was a sitting duck in his room! Certainly her mother had called on the ships' guard and reported Draco for her violent act by now- that is if her Silencio charm had worn off. She prayed that it hadn't.
The witch could clearly visualize him being thrown into some barren room with the door locked firmly behind him. Oh Merlin- Oh no! She had to save him!
"I have to find him before they do!" She ran to the door, but a hand clamped down on her wrist, halting her exit.
"Now, what in tarnation do you think you're doing?" Molly asked. "Slow your britches, child! You need to rest!"
"I'm fine, let me go!" Hermione cried, trying to yank her arm back from the American woman's steel grasp, "please, Molly. He won't stand a chance!"
"You can barely walk in a straight line," she reasoned with the younger girl, "you look like you haven't slept in days!"
"None of that matters!" She stressed, "I can't just sit by and do nothing."
"You don't have to do everything by yourself!" Molly told her, and Hermione felt a dizzy spell hit her, and she stumbled backward into the wall. "Now, look at ya! You're about to pass out. You're in no shape to be runnin' around. Samantha can be there and back before you can spell Mississippi!"
She looked at the woman, realizing that the room was indeed spinning around her. The floor teetered unsteadily beneath her feet as if the ship was being rocked by violent, giant waves. She had never gone this long without rest, and she knew deep down that Molly was right. She would be useless in this state.
"You'll send her right away?" She whispered, steadying herself on the wall.
"Samantha!" Molly called. The girl appeared in the room, obviously already knowing what she had to do, as evident by her shoes halfway on and her coat dawned over her uniform. "Atta girl! I knew your eavesdropping would come in handy one day."
The maid blushed in embarrassment.
"Off you go, child!" Molly ordered, "times a-wastin'!"
. . .
Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, lounging on his favorite plush green armchair. It was the one that he usually claimed, with Zabini & Knott typically populating the spots around him... yet, they were nowhere to be found.
The air was colder than usual, and he drew his robes tighter around himself as he surveyed the room. He was alone: the chairs, couches & tables void of any signs of life. He stood from his spot, turning in a circle to try and find anyone- literally anyone, even Millicent Bulstrode. It was eerily silent, he could pick out the characteristic sound of water dripping into a puddle at the other end of the room. Where was everyone? What time was it?
He rubbed his hands together, trying fruitlessly to stimulate some warmth into his icy palms. Why in the bloody hell was it so freezing? He looked to the large, ornate fireplace. The charred logs sat in a forgotten, crumbling heap. Which useless house-elf had let it go out?
Grumbling to himself, he reached for his wand, but the pocket he kept it tucked away in was empty.
"What?" He asked, his voice echoing ominously in the empty common room. "Where's my wand?"
"Really, Malfoy?" A feminine voice came. He jumped and whirled around. It was Hermione Granger. She was dawned in her Gryffindor robes, her wild brown curls tucked back into a simple ponytail. Her arms were crossed over her chest in a disapproving manner, but her grin was light-hearted. "You need a wand to start a fire?"
"Granger? When did you get there?" He blinked, not really understanding why she was there, or why her presence filled his chest with a glowing warmth. She crossed to the fireplace.
"Don't pretend like you aren't happy to see me," she quipped, rising onto her tiptoes to search the fireplace's marble shelf. "Ah! There it is."
She pulled a small box down and opened it, revealing dozens of little sticks. She plucked one out and struck it against the side of the container. A small flame flickered to life.
"You really must pay more attention in muggle studies," she said and knelt down to light the logs. The flame grew and licked greedily at the wood until there was a healthy blaze once more.
"I don't need to pay attention in muggle studies." He tried to state the objection clearly, but it came out as a murmur. He swallowed. It felt like his mouth was full of sand.
Everything felt very odd. Why was Granger in the Slytherin common room? And why was she looking at him over her shoulder with that flirty glint in her eyes?
"And why's that?" She asked, standing and turning towards him.
"It's useless," he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. She began to saunter towards him, the swing of her hips captivating his attention. What was happening? Was she biting her lip on purpose? "I- erm, well I'd never need to know the ways Muggles live their barbaric lives."
She halted, only a foot away. Without warning, her hand grabbed his tie and tugged on it until his face was suddenly inches from hers. She was so close he could see the freckles dusting her smooth skin and feel her breath against his lips as she spoke.
"Now, that's not nice," she cooed, and his stomach flipped as he watched her pink lips form the words, "it would have been useful on our little 'ocean adventure.'"
"Our what?" He asked, dumbstruck.
Before he could get his answer, her lips were on his. All thoughts ceased, and he couldn't help his arms as they wrapped around her small frame to pull her closer. Merlin, he didn't know what was happening... but it felt really fucking good.
"Draco," a man hissed from behind Hermione, and Draco pulled away from the kiss as abruptly as she had pulled him into it. His stomach rolled violently at the familiar voice.
"Father," he gasped and pulled the Gryffindor Girl behind him, as if to hide her from view. The older man dragged his icy gaze from Hermione and up to his son's face. It was too late, he had seen her.
"How disappointing," Lucius tisked, unclasping his gloved hands. "I thought you were better than this."
"Wait- it's not-"
"I think it's exactly what it looks like!" He roared and Draco flinched away from his father, the sudden outburst taking him by surprise. "You knew better! You knew better and you have still forsaken your family!"
"I didn't! Father, please!"
"You didn't know better?" He snapped, rushing forward & pulling an object from his robes. A smoky orb was shoved into the young Slytherin's face. "Then what about THIS?"
Before Draco could respond, Lucius Malfoy threw the prophecy against the black marble of the fireplace, causing it to shatter. Once the trapped smoke had dissipated, a large crack in the stone was revealed. Draco looked to his father in shock, but the place where the man stood was empty. He whirled around to find Hermione- now clad in a stunning red lace gown and white elbow-length gloves- standing, frozen in fear as she gazed at the crack in the wall.
"When did you-"
"Draco," she breathed, "it's happening."
"What?" He said and looked down at himself. Gone were his robes, instead he was clad in the most hideous looking pair of tartan trousers held up by suspenders that looked like they hadn't been washed in years. The equally horrendous shirt seemed to be yellowed from the sun and age. Despite their sudden appearance, something about the garments rang a bell in the back of his mind. "What's going on?"
"We're going to die," she said behind him, her voice trembling in fear.
He looked at her, and saw the terror in her doe-like brown eyes. He followed her gaze until he realized what was happening: a small stream of water was leaking from the spot where the prophecy had shattered. Without warning, a massive wave burst from the fireplace, extinguishing the fire and filling the room with a violently cold pool of water.
"Fuck! What the hell?!" Draco cursed, grabbing onto Hermione and pulling her towards him. He didn't know why, but he had to protect her. The water rushed in, wrapping around their feet and calves. The freezing temperature bit at his skin and the cold seemed to permeate his bones. It was then that he began to tremble uncontrollably, his teeth chattering against each other.
"We failed," Hermione murmured, gazing lifelessly at the water flowing in from the fireplace. It was getting higher and higher, yet she didn't seem to notice at all. The immense current began to push Draco back, yet she stood as still as a statue. She gazed at the flood. "It's all over."
"No it's not!" He snapped, reaching over to shake some sense into her. The water level was nearing his stomach. "We have to go!"
He tried to pull her along with him, but she stood frozen to her spot. Her lips were turning blue, her skin a sickly shade of white.
Like a punch to his stomach, he realized she was dying.
"Please, Hermione!"
It was then that the doors in the common room leading into the dorms burst inward as more freezing water exploded into the room.
"Oh Salazar!" Draco cried, the water rising to meet him. It was up to his shoulders, and the severity of the situation sank in. He was about to start swimming towards her when something Hermione said stopped him.
"Wake up," Hermione said, finally looking at him. But when he met her gaze he found himself staring back at nothing more than a frozen corpse: her skin was frozen and blistered from frostbite, her eyes were a milky hue, and seemed to observe nothing before her.
"Nicholas," she said through her gnarled, curled lips, latching onto his shoulders with her shriveling, blackened fingers, "wake up!"
Draco shot up in bed, crying out in fear. Coughing and heaving, he vaguely registered hands on his shoulders.
"Oh dear!" A feminine voice cried. "We must be quiet!"
"Oi, mate! It's just me," a familiar Scottish lilt jolted him out of his panic. He knew that voice. He knew that accent.
"Ma che cazzo?!" came from the other side of the room.
"Daaaiii per favore!" The other Italian chimed in. "Voglio dormire!"
"Sorry, he's just had a fright," Hamish said, "go back to bed, rest your wee little heads."
One mumbled a half-hearted insult before he collapsed back onto his pillow.
Draco blinked the sleep from his eyes and Hamish came into focus. He glanced around the room. He was still aboard the Titanic. It had just been a nightmare. He wasn't drowning. Hermione wasn't really a walking corpse.
"What are ye wearin'?l" Hamish asked incredulously, plucking at the white material of the stolen White Star Lines uniform.
"Long story," Draco grumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. He couldn't have slept longer than an hour. His head was pounding, and he could really use a glass of water. "What time is it?"
"I'm sorry, but we really must go," said a black-haired girl impatiently, and Draco noticed her for the first time. He vaguely recognized her, but couldn't put his finger on where he had seen her. By the looks of her clothes, she was a maid.
"This is Samantha. She says Hermione is in trouble," Hamish said, "you weren't waking up, so I had to give you a bit of a shake."
"Hermione is in trouble?" Draco asked, heart leaping into his throat. How long has he been asleep? He had been certain that she could make it back safely without him… had he been wrong? Had she been caught? Was it by guards, or maybe by Horace? Either scenario caused a hard knot to settle in the pit of his stomach.
Something must have gone horribly wrong.
"Not just her, also you," Samantha said, the urgency in her voice made Hamish's eyebrows raise.
"What did he do this time?" He asked.
"I don't have time to explain, they could be here at any moment," she hissed, "please, get your shoes on. We have to go."
"Nicholas, what have you gotten yourself into?" Hamish asked as Draco clambered down from the top of his bunk. He slipped his shoes on, jamming his toes in haphazardly.
"Does it have something to do with that uniform?" Hamish pressed again.
"Where is she?" Draco asked Samantha, the alarm bells ringing too loudly in his head to hear Hamish's questions.
"With Madame Brown," she informed him, and crossed the room to open the door. "She'll keep you safe."
"Take me there," he said, grabbing his wool coat from the ground on his way out of the room.
"Nick!" Hamish said and clamped a hand down firmly onto Draco's shoulder, effectively halting his exit. "Tell me what's going on!"
Draco tried in vain to shake him off, but his hold was too strong, "I already did, you big oaf! I told you everything and you didn't believe me. I don't have time to explain it all again!"
"Nicholas-"
"I told you, my name is Draco!"
"Madonna! Shut up!" One of the Italians snapped.
"Tranquilo!" Draco snapped at them, and turned to Hamish, shoving him roughly away. He didn't have TIME for this! Hermione was in trouble! He had to leave. "Let me go!"
At his intense outburst, Hamish retreated. Draco could see the hurt glimmering in his eyes, but he ignored it. He had tried, he really had. The ball was no longer in Draco's court, it was now up to his companion to choose to believe him.
"Please, gentlemen!" Samantha cried again. "I really must insist we go!"
"Let's go," Draco said, exiting the room without a backward glance.
. . .
Hermione sat at Lottie's side, the young girl had finally managed to fall asleep, and she watched her with trepidation. Before she had nodded off to sleep, Hermione had told her the whole truth: about Hogwarts, about Draco, about their fateful fall into the portal. She hesitated when telling her about the tragic demise of the vessel, but she knew she couldn't keep it from her anymore. It would happen in a mere 20 hours, and she had made a promise: no more secrets.
Surprisingly, Lottie had taken the news with a brave face. She had nodded and listened intently to Hermione's explanation of the tragic night. She had swallowed and squared her shoulders when the witch continued and promised that the two of them had a plan and would stop it from happening.
"You tried to escape the first day. I should have listened to you... You already told me everything."
"You couldn't have known."
"Well, I'll do anything I can to help you two."
"If you really want to help me you'll rest up and get some sleep."
She watched Lottie's face as she dreamed. Her expression was troubled, even in sleep. When would this nightmare be over? Just as soon as she had thought she'd made progress, the whole journey had taken a dark, dangerous turn. The worst part about it all was that she wasn't even the one to suffer the worst circumstances: it had been her sweet, caring friend. Hermione studied the maid's bruises, the green and yellow skin already starting to take on a purple tinge. She swallowed roughly, wishing that she had her wand so that she could heal her.
Although, she thought to herself, I performed wandless magic earlier, perhaps it would be possible to do it again.
With a steadying breath, she outstretched her hands until they hovered inches above Lottie's face and neck. She closed her eyes, focusing on the girl below her.
"Episkey," she whispered, trying to summon the same magical energy that had burst from her core not even an hour earlier. Where had it gone? Surely it could come back!
She had done it before, she could do it again.
She repeated the incantation over and over, willing the familiar warmth of a healing spell to wash over her friend.
"What are you doing?" Lottie murmured and Hermione straightened up with a jolt. The blonde gazed at her, and with her eyes open, Hermione realized that her left eye was beginning to swell shut. It hadn't worked, she still looked worse for wear. Hermione swallowed and smiled sheepishly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered.
"Was that magic?" Lottie asked weakly.
"Well, it should have been," Hermione sighed, "I was trying to heal you, but I don't have my wand."
"You can't do magic without a wand?"
"No, not really."
"...but you did back in the cabin."
"I know, and I don't know how I did it or how to do it again."
Lottie turned her head until she was gazing out of the window at the sky. The morning sun would be peeking over the horizon soon, and the sky was no longer an inky black. It was a dusky purple, and soon it would be a soft pink hue as the sun would rise on what could easily become their last day. Hermione distantly wondered when Draco would arrive. Surely he was on his way by now. She took a calming breath, trusting that they were smart enough to return safely.
Lottie was silent for several moments before she spoke again: "I can't believe magic is real. It's like a fairytale."
Hermione couldn't help but smile, "yes, it is a little like a fairytale, isn't it?"
"Are you like a fairy godmother? Or a witch?" Lottie asked, bringing her attention back to Hermione. She studied her, as if she was seeing her for the first time.
"Well, technically I'm a witch, but it isn't like in the stories. Witches can be good. Most witches are."
"Is Draco a witch?"
"He's a wizard."
Lottie nodded, and then winced. Even that slight movement caused her an immense amount of pain.
"You should rest," the Gryffindor said. She clicked off the light beside the bed, and stood from her chair, moving it back to the desk she had taken it from.
Lottie remained silent as Hermione crossed to the bedroom door, but as soon as she was about to close it behind her, she heard a faint: "Hermione?"
Her heart skipped at hearing her real name from Lottie's lips, she didn't think she'd ever get used to it. She creaked the door back open, tilting her head.
"Yes?"
"What happened to Annabelle?" Lottie asked hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer, "... you know, my Annabelle."
Hermione took a shaky breath, wishing she knew the answer.
"I don't know," she said honestly, "but once I find my wand and we all make it off of this ship alive, I promise I'll bring her back."
A/N:
Please forgive any typos or clumsy sentences. Also, I hope the dream sequence felt cohesive. I feel like I can write dialogue & basic action pretty well, but the moment I get into dreamy- symbolic vibes I lose my footing.
Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, it is truly what fuels me to continue this story. From this point on in the story the amount of fluffy moments will be few and far between, so buckle up friends!
Review & let me know what you think!
