This is the first half of Deathly Hallows. Similarly to the previous chapter, I used aspects of the movies, the book, and a few creative liberties.
The way all of the italicized stuff was typed on my computer was also crossed out, but Fanfiction's doc manager does not appreciate my wishes. Anyway, the italicized stuff is basically the start of many, many letters that Draco or Hermione write to the other but never actually send.
*.*.*.*
Seventeen — The World At Large
I like songs about drifters, books about the same
they both seem to make me feel a little less insane
walked on off to another spot
I still haven't gotten anywhere that I want
did I want your love?
did I need to know?
why do it always feel like I'm caught in an undertow?
Draco,
I don't know what to say to you, and I don't know if anything you say will ever change anything.
Draco,
I wish you could know how angry upset frustrated hurt in love I still am.
Upon her arrival at the Burrow, Hermione didn't try to hide her sadness. Molly would take it to mean she was still upset about Dumbledore's death, and nothing more. She really just wanted to talk with Tonks and Ginny. But alas, with all the wedding planning for Bill and Fleur, and with the impending doom she felt every day, Hermione hadn't been able to talk with Tonks and Ginny together, just Tonks alone.
"How are you, Hermione?" Tonks asked over her cup of tea. The girl in question simply shrugged, playing with the tea bag that was steeping in her cup. "I know this was difficult for you … Dumbledore's death and … all of that." Tonks watched for any subtle change in body language, but the girl was stoic. She looked up at Tonks and saw her caring face, her maternal eyes, and her small smile … and the explanation just fell out of her mouth.
When she was done and Tonks still hadn't said anything, she added slowly, "But you already knew all of this, didn't you?"
Tonks sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, not all of it, but … I put a few pieces together here and there." Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm surprised at you, 'Mione. I didn't think you would, uh —"
"Lie to everyone I know?" She snorted. "Join the club."
"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that I didn't think you would allow a boy inside that pretty little head of yours." Tonks grinned.
"I definitely didn't allow it," Hermione chuckled. "It just happened, but I wanted it to happen. I got in too deep, before I knew it I was in too deep." She sighed. "It just happened."
"Sometimes things just happen." Tonks said whimsically, looking out the window at the men on the lawn.
The Weasley boys were out tossing around a Quaffle instead of de-gnoming the yard. Arthur and Remus were only half-heartedly playing along but the smiles on their faces were nice to see in times like these. Hermione followed Tonks' gaze to Remus and she smiled too.
"How are things with Remus?" Hermione asked teasingly.
"Things are good. We … well we're going to elope, because we don't take the attention away from Bill and Fleur."
"Oh, Tonks that's wonderful!" Hermione gushed and put her tea down to hug the older woman.
*.*.*.*
Draco,
I'm not mad anymore, I don't think. Now I just miss you.
During breakfast a few days before the Order was set to retrieve Harry from Privet Drive, the Hogwarts letters came. It was unusually early, but since McGonagall was now the Headmistress, things may actually be done in a more orderly fashion. Ginny excitedly ripped hers open to discover she passed all of the OWLs she took with various levels of good marks. Molly and Arthur were delighted to see she was also a Prefect. Bill gave her a kiss on the head and Fleur pinched her cheeks. Tonks and Remus applauded her accomplishments.
Then Molly looked expectantly at Ron and Hermione, as they had not opened their letters yet. They glanced at each other before slowly opening their letters. The first thing out of Hermione's envelope, which had felt abnormally heavy (even for the amount of classes she was — would be — taking), was a shiny red badge with the clean engraving of 'Head Girl.' Tears sprang to her eyes as she held the pin in her hand and read the letter quickly to see the crisp cursive writing of McGonagall's in the blank space next to "Head Boy:" which read Draco Malfoy.
"Oh Hermione, you're Head Girl!" Molly exclaimed.
Hermione abruptly pushed her chair back and hurried out of the kitchen. She heard Molly ask Ron what was wrong with her. He glanced at her letter and saw who she was partnered with and mumbled half-heartedly, "Maybe she's upset because Malfoy is Head Boy."
Ginny and Tonks shared a brief look across the table and Ginny threw her napkin on the table. "I'll go talk to her."
Tonks nodded in agreement and followed her. "Me too."
Hermione was too busy throwing rocks in the pond to hear them walk up behind her. She was sobbing, her attempts at stopping the tears were futile, and each rock she threw landed with an unsatisfying plunk in the water.
"I know it hurts, Hermione." Ginny said quietly as she approached the crying brunette.
"It's not fair," Hermione moaned, sniffling loudly, the last rock dropping from her grasp. "It's not fair," she whimpered.
Tonks pulled her into her arms and the three sank down to the dirt. Hermione half-laid in Tonks lap and cried. Ginny rubbed her shin and Tonks stroked her hair.
"The worst part is that I'm not even mad anymore! I just — I just miss him."
"It's hard to quit a person cold turkey," Tonks murmured, resting her head on Hermione's. "You're going to see him in September, you guys can talk about everything then and maybe try again."
"But I won't see him in September," Hermione started crying again, "I'm not going back to Hogwarts."
"Hermione, just because your heart was broken doesn't mean you aren't —"
"I'm not going because Harry, Ron and I are going to finish what Dumbledore started."
Ginny and Tonks looked bewildered. "The three of you aren't ... going back?" Ginny asked. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slowly.
*.*.*.*
Hermione,
Life without you is worse than I thought it would be. If I ever manage to get you back, I'm never letting you go.
Hermione,
I don't think I can do this without you.
"Draco, look, your Hogwarts letter has arrived!" Narcissa couldn't contain her excitement as she ripped it open in the kitchen before he had even sat down at the table.
"It's not even August yet," he commented as his mother dumped out the contents of the envelope, a heavy clunk stopping her movements.
Draco swallowed roughly and shifted the papers until his fingers hit the cool metal of the pin. He could feel the engraved 'H' before he even flipped it over to reveal the pristinely engraved "Head Boy". His mother waited with bated breath to see how he would react to such a fine achievement, and she was disappointed when she received no reaction at all.
"Isn't this exciting?" She asked, trying to keep her tone energetic and bubbly.
It really wasn't, Draco thought.
*.*.*.*
Draco,
What are the Head Dormitories like? Who's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? Is Hogwarts the hell the Prophet makes it seem?
Draco,
What's Hogwarts like without me?
"You shouldn't be doing the dishes on your birthday." Harry said softly, pulling the plate from her hand.
Hermione shrugged and grabbed the next dish, a silver cup, from the side of the sink. "It's fine Harry."
They had been staying in the tent for three weeks since the (disastrous) attempt at breaking into the Ministry of Magic and Ron's splinching. They couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place, so they had to set up camp, literally, where they landed in the forest.
"Let me do it, you go read a book," he suggested.
"Harry," her voice had a hint of annoyance. "I need you to just let me do this, okay? Just let me wash the damn dishes."
He put his hands up in mock-surrender, "Can I at least help you?"
"I suppose," she muttered. "I just … need a distraction."
Harry glanced outside the tent flap to see Ron sitting dutifully, watching for any possible intruders. "Are you, uhm … are you thinking about him?"
Her eyes flicked up to his face and back down to the silver cup that was most definitely clean by now. "And if I was?"
Harry shrugged, dunking his plate into the soapy water. "I'd say it's natural? I think about Ginny."
"You stare at the map in hopes of seeing her little dot," she retorted.
"Hey, if you wanted to stare at the map too, you could."
She stopped drying the cup, and then she put it down slowly. "Really?"
Harry's eyebrows rose along with his shoulders. "If you'd like to … while Ron is outside."
So Hermione let Harry wash the dishes as she crawled into her bed and made the map come to life. It didn't take long to locate Ginny, Neville, Seamus, and Luna. They sat together in the library. Shortly after, she found Snape in Dumbledore's — although I guess it was Snape's now — Office and McGonagall was descending the stairs from it.
Just before she ran out of hope, Hermione saw Draco's name appear on the third floor — he must have just exited the Room — and she watched him trek to the Heads Dormitory. He stopped briefly at the portrait hole, probably to give a password, and then entered.
Her heart fluttered a bit and the knots in her stomach untangled. A smile graced her features. This feeling must be why Harry looked at the map every night before bed — for reassurance that the person he loved was alive.
*.*.*.*
'Mione,
Things are getting bad, and I fear it may get even worse before it gets better.
It was beginning to rain. The raindrops that fell onto the canvas of the tent grew larger and therefore louder with every passing second. And as the raindrops grew, the tension did too.
At the end of the conversation with Phineas Nigellus and after the back and forth communication between Harry and Hermione regarding the usefulness of the Sword of Gryffindor and where it could possibly be, they realized that Ron wasn't participating in the excitement. They looked around and saw him lying in the bottom of a bunk, scowling.
"Oh, remembered me, have you?"
Immediately, Hermione knew this wasn't going to end well. An argument between the two boys during fourth year was enough of a reference.
"Problem? There's no problem."
Hermione began to wring her hands together, afraid to step in, because who knows what would set one of them off.
"Spit it out, will you?"
"Alright," Hermione held her breath as Ron paused, "let's just add this to list of stuff you don't know."
"I don't know?" Harry repeated.
(Uh-oh.) The pit in Hermione's stomach grew larger. She acknowledged the look on Harry's face as anger settled in and Ron's chest squaring as each of them prepared for a battle that will make neither feel better.
"I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something."
"Ron," Hermione said his name, but in such a quiet voice that Ron could easily pretend to not have heard over the loud beating of the rain on the tent. All the bells and whistles were going off at once in Hermione's head, signaling to stop this from happening, to get the two boys on opposite sides of the tent, but words were already being spoken as she thought this, damaging words, and there was no going back. They both needed to say what they were thinking. Ron was frustrated and Harry was feeling like they were against him, and Hermione wasn't — she isn't — because she knew the realities of the situation while Ron just hoped for the best.
"We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"
"Ron!" Hermione said, clearly audible over the rain thundering on the roof of the tent, but again, unsurprisingly, he ignored her.
He continued to talk, with a tone of voice that honestly scared her, and he couldn't imagine him being angry at Harry for this, yes the situation is frustrating, but he shouldn't be able to cause this large of a —
He's still wearing the locket.
"Yeah, and we're no where near finding the rest of them, no where fucking near!"
"Take off the locket, Ron!" Hermione didn't even recognize her voice as she said these words. "Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."
"Yeah, he would." Harry said, not willing to make the locket an excuse. "Do you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? Do you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?"
"Harry, we weren't —"
"Don't lie!" Ron shouted at her, startling her. Ron was now making a bad situation worse. "You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on than —"
"I didn't say it like that, Harry, I —"
"Then why are you still here?" Harry was now speaking to both of them. His voice, which had been angrily raised because of the loudness of the rain, was steady, quiet, but still dominant.
Hermione's face was wet with tears, because she couldn't fucking believe this was happening, it was only the middle of November, they had been trekking for a little over three months. Ron's ears were red but not due to embarrassment, but for anger, seething anger. The excitement of a few minutes before had vanished as if it had never been, a short-lived firework that had flared and died, leaving everything dark, wet, and cold. The Sword of Gryffindor was hidden, they knew that, but not where. The only thing the three teenagers had accomplished was successfully pissing each other off.
Ron shrugged, "I guess I don't have a reason anymore."
"Then go home." Harry said with such disdain that Hermione felt the words hit her body one by one over and over again. "Stop sulking, stop being an insufferable arse, stop being a lump who does nothing but whine about Hermione's cooking. Go back home to your mummy who can feed you and keep you warm and you can pretend you have spattergroit so you won't be killed because of your involvement with me!"
"Harry —"
"Maybe I will! Then I wouldn't have to listen to the damned radio all night to make sure I don't hear Ginny's name, or Fred, or George, or Mum! I'll be right there!"
"You don't think I'm listening too? I know that feeling!"
"NO! No you don't know that feeling! Your family is DEAD!"
Harry drew his wand faster than Ron but Hermione was faster than both — thanks to wandless magic — and shouted "Protego" to send both boys to opposite sides of the tent, like she intended to do before this got out of hand. Both of them glared at her before returning to gazes of pure hatred pointed at one another. Their friendship was broken, shattered farther than anyone or anything can fix. Hermione felt it, the ache beginning in her own heart, that she knew the two of them would feel later if she could just get both of them to stay.
But staying was not Ron's intention.
"Leave the Horcrux." Harry said.
Scoffing, Ron wrenched the locket from over his head the threw it to the floor. He turned to Hermione. "What are you gonna do?"
At this moment, Hermione's brain seemed to malfunction. "What?"
"Are you going to stay?"
Was she going to stay? Of course she was, she promised Harry, she didn't give up on being Head Girl for nothing. Harry was her best friend and she wasn't going to leave him to his own devices! He'd be dead within the week. She also wouldn't have a place to go. She would feel guilty every minute she was away from Harry.
She opened her mouth to tell him "yes" because she promised Harry that she would help him bring down Voldemort, but nothing came out.
Ron took it was a yes anyway and said, "Fine, I get it," and he left the tent with a huff.
"Wait, Ron!" Hermione shouted, but her Shield Charm stalled her. By the time she exited the tent, Ron's silhouette was nearly impossible to see because of the rain. She stayed by the opening of the tent as she shouted his name and "come back" over and over. Harry pushed past her, shrugging his jacket on, already shouting his best dueling curses at trees that couldn't fight back.
Even though it was raining, everything around her seemed to be burning. Her throat burned, her eyes burned, the air burned, the rain burned, everything. The trail Ron left out of the tent was burning, the trees Harry were "fighting" were actually burning, her heart was burning.
*.*.*.*
Draco,
Happy Christmas Eve. Has it really been a year?
Going to Godric's Hollow was, she admitted, not a totally great idea, but she knew they had to talk to Bathilda Bagshot. What she hadn't anticipated was Bathilda already being dead and Nagini being inside her. Now Harry was unconscious and injured.
She tried to focus on what she could do to help him, but the Horcrux had been stuck to his chest, nearly fused to his skin. Separating it was difficult, and he will most likely be in pain for a few days, but it was no longer attached to his body and was sitting lifelessly at the other end of the table.
She sat in the kitchen area of the tent, rolling a cup of water around and around and around on the tabletop, staring at the offending locket. She almost didn't want to wear it anymore, but there was something about the way that it latched itself onto Harry's body.
It was like it was trying to connect with another … Horcrux.
Shaking herself from thoughts that would lead to an inevitable realization, she focused on the day.
Hermione couldn't help but feel the familiarity of the scene — sitting in a kitchen, wearing pajamas, on Christmas Eve. (Although, it was now Christmas Day).
But this time, she was alone.
(Well, mostly alone.)
Harry had been unconscious for hours now, but he started to make noises. It could just be a nightmare, so she doesn't immediately go over to him. She returned her gaze to the locket and squinted at it. The yellow gem shined in the dim light and it taunted her. How could it sit there, so innocent-like, like it wasn't just attached to Harry?
She could hear Harry mumbling "no" over and over again and deduced it may be more than a nightmare.
*.*.*.*
Dear Hermione,
I wish we had run.
Ron had somehow managed to find them, and while his story of a "tiny ball of light" was cute and all, Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him why she said his name at all.
She and Harry had been talking about possible next steps, now that Bathilda was dead and therefore had no helpful knowledge to give while they were in Godric's Hollow. Their future was uncertain.
"We should be moving soon, we can't stay in one place for too long now," Harry said.
Hermione sighed, "I suppose we could move west. But eventually we'll hit water, and then Ireland."
"Maybe they won't look in Ireland." Harry joked half-heartedly, and he looked up in time to see the smile fall off of Hermione's face.
"They'll look everywhere," she whispered, "may take more time, but they'll keep looking."
"You say that with such certainty," Harry commented, sipping his water.
Hermione glanced at him momentarily, mentally weighing the outcome of bringing up Draco. "We talked about running away to America."
Harry was surprised to hear her talk about him, as she hadn't mentioned him since her birthday. "You did?"
"Yeah … we talked about Ilvermony, and New York, and the subway," she chuckled as she said this. "Clearly us running away together didn't happen."
"Well, obviously," Harry smiled in spite of his mixed emotions about their relationship. "When did you talk about this?"
Hermione smiled sadly at his question and shrugged. "A while ago."
Harry didn't know how to respond to her vagueness. "If you weren't friends with Ron and me … would you have run?"
Hermione hadn't thought about it. She allowed herself to say, "Maybe," and then the subject was dropped. "But then Ron would've asked a whole bunch of questions, and I don't know if I'm ready to answer them."
*.*.*.*
'Mione,
Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas are in the dungeon of my house. What do I do?
It was still snowing around midnight when Draco left his bedroom and wandered into the kitchen. Dinner has been a disastrous affair as his father told him some Death Eaters had recently captured "the Lovegood girl" and are ransoming her. When Draco asked where they were holding her, Lucius didn't answer immediately.
That was Draco's answer.
He grabbed some bread and an apple for a midnight snack before trying to sleep, and on his way back to his room, he stopped at the door that hid the stairs that led down to the dungeon.
He stared at the door for a long minute … everyone was asleep or doing their own thing, no one would be going into the dungeon until the morning, if they are even feeding her regularly. His eyes darted from left to right, and then he opened the door.
It was dark, and it was dusty, and it smelled damp and a bit like blood.
"Shh, someone's coming," he heard a very familiar voice say.
On the last step, Draco could see the silhouette of two, maybe three people, and he reached for his wand to provide a light source.
"Lumos," he whispered and light flooded the space.
"Draco?" Luna had her feet and hands bound with rope and her lip was split open. "What are you doing here?"
"It's still Winter Break," he responded, "but I am going back in a few days." He noted Dean Thomas and a goblin in similar states of disarray. "Are they keeping you here?"
"They being your fellow Death Eaters?" The goblin spit at Draco and Draco's eyes cast downwards.
"Harry said that you didn't kill Dumbledore," Dean said, uncertainty clear in his voice. "And …" He stopped before he said anything because even though the relationship was over, it was still a secret that couldn't be voiced. "And I don't think you're a real Death Eater."
Draco split the bread and broke the apple in half to give to them. "If it weren't for my mother being Bellatrix Lestrange's sister … I would be down here with you too."
Luna looked up at him while he crouched down and mended her lip. "You're different than you were …"
"Yeah, well," Draco scoffed, "I guess people can change." The goblin still didn't look amused. "I thought it was just you down here, but I can bring more food."
For the rest of the nights he was home during the break, and all the other times he was home, he snuck down to the dungeon to give extra food to the "captives."
*.*.*.*
Draco,
If anyone had told me how much I would end up loving you, I would have laughed. But here I am.
As soon as Voldemort's name exited Harry's mouth, Hermione knew they were in trouble. There wasn't enough time to pack up and leave, the Snatchers would be there any moment.
"Harry — here." She threw him his jacket and quickly threw anything she could find in the beaded bag.
They heard the pop-popping of people Apparating all around them. "Come out of there with your hands up!" Someone shouted from the darkness. "We know you're in there, you've got half a dozen wands pointed at you and we don't care who we curse!"
There's a scuffle and punches are thrown and Hermione doesn't know what's going to happen next. She said her name was Penelope Clearwater, half-blood, and with Harry's face bloated and his eye puffed up, no one could see the scar. Just when it looks like they're going to be fine, Scabior comes out of their tent with a copy of the Daily Prophet that happens to have a picture of the three of them on the cover.
"You know what, girlie? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."
"It isn't — it isn't me!" The squeak that emits from Hermione's mouth is as good as a confession.
There's a silence that settles over the Snatchers until Greyback mutters, "Well this changes everything, doesn't it?"
What does he know that I don't? Hermione began to tremble as Greyback looks directly in her face and then moves over to look at Harry's. "You know, Vernon, what's that on your forehead?"
"Don't touch it!" Harry nearly screamed, and Hermione recognizes that he must be fighting off images from Voldemort's mind because he never acts like this unless he's in serious pain.
Greyback tilted his head to the side and said, "I thought you wore glasses, Potter?"
The glasses …
"I found glasses!" One of the other Snatchers exited their tent and sang these words gleefully.
Seconds later the glasses were being rammed onto Harry's head and Greyback audibly gasped. "We've done it boys — we've caught Potter!"
The Snatchers start excitedly yammering about where they need to go — the Ministry? The hideaway? Or directly to the Dark Lord himself?
"Are you going to summon him?" Scabior asked Greyback, sounding awed yet terrified.
"No," Greyback snapped. "They say he's using the Malfoys' place. We'll just go there."
All of the oxygen in Hermione's lungs suddenly leaves her and she can't breathe. Harry must notice between his scar stinging and the triumphant laughs of the Snatchers. She can't breathe and her heart was hammering against her ribs. She shook her head slowly and tried to inhale, but she couldn't. Or she could and she was breathing too fast.
Regardless — she was terrified.
They Apparate and land outside the gates of the Malfoy Manor and it's just like how Draco described it all those months ago. Dark and dreary. Eerily silent. Frustratingly clean. Greyback was shouting at the top of his lungs, "We've got Potter!" and the gates swung open to allow their entrance.
What day was it? Had the Easter holidays begun? Would Draco even be there? Would Voldemort be awaiting their arrival and kill Harry — kill all of them — on the spot?
They were welcomed into what was probably one of the five parlors and Narcissa Malfoy inspects Harry's face with scrutiny. She said, "I cannot say for sure, but …"
Oh god oh god oh god —
"My son Draco is home for the Easter holidays. If this is Harry Potter, he will certainly know."
Narcissa led them to the drawing room where two blond men rose at their entrance.
"What is this?" The dreadfully familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on everyone's ears.
"They say, they have Potter," Narcissa explained. "Draco, come here."
Hermione felt like throwing up, but that would cause a scene, so she stood behind Harry, still trembling, as Draco slowly approached them. He was pale as ever, perhaps more so than before that fateful Christmas Eve. She couldn't dare continue to look at him and yet she couldn't look away.
It seemed that Draco was having a similar internal dilemma as he nearly stopped breathing at the sight of the Golden Trio in his house.
Harry's breathing quickened as Draco came nearer and Hermione was slowly realizing there was no way out of this situation. She stared at the back of Harry's head until Harry, on purpose or otherwise, moved ever so slightly to the right — until the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy met her brown ones.
She inhaled sharply and yet couldn't find a reason to look away (although there were about ten really good reasons surrounding her). She blinked slowly and a tear rolled down her cheek without permission. Harry moved back in her line sight, but only halfway.
"Well boy?" Greyback practically bit the question, startling them all.
Looking at Hermione once more, he said, "I … I can't be sure."
But Greyback and Lucius were having none of that. "Look again!" and "Take a closer look!" were among their continuous requests for Draco to say yes. Lucius even dared to come right up to Draco's side, inches away from Harry's face. Hermione found herself noting the similarities between their faces — Lucius' was full of abounding excitement while Draco's held resentment and … fear.
"What about the Mudblood then?" Greyback growled. Harry found himself being pushed to the side and all the attention was suddenly on Hermione.
"Wait," Narcissa commanded, "I remember her being in Madam Malkin's with Potter, and her picture has been in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
Hermione looked at him once more, trying to convey there's no way out of this situation and just do what they tell you and it's okay.
He took a deep breath. "I … maybe … yes."
"Then, this must be the Weasley boy!" Lucius shouted with victory. "Isn't this Arthur Weasley's son — what's his name, Draco?"
In a very noncommittal tone, Draco shrugged and said, "Yeah … it could be them."
The door swung open behind them and Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered in the drawing room. She stopped at the sight of all the people crowding around one area. "What is going on, Cissy?" Before Narcissa could answer and before the blink of an eye, Bellatrix was in front of Hermione. "But surely … surely this is the Mudblood girl? This is the Granger girl?"
What did Bellatrix know? Certainly she wouldn't act like this unless she knew something? Or maybe Hermione was overthinking it because Bellatrix just really hated Muggleborns. Bellatrix's gleeful look was hardly unnoticeable.
Hermione looked past Bellatrix and caught Draco's eyes again. He had resumed his sitting position in the armchair by the fire and he looked rather distraught.
"Take them all downstairs to the dungeons, Greyback." He jutted forward to follow her demand, but he stopped when she spoke again, "Wait …"
Hermione knew what was coming, the way she was piercing her with her stare, the snarl on her lips, the white fingers dancing in the air …
Oh god oh god —
"The girl stays."
