CHAPTER 19: HAZELWOOD
Malfoy crossed the circular expanse of the Eighth year common room in large, effortless strides. Hermione hastened her step to catch the blonde as he approached the portrait hole. She reached out placing her hand upon his forearm to halt his exit. Even through the cloth of his shirt she felt the warmth of his flesh against her palm, the sensation caused her breath the hitch in her throat. Swiftly she retracted her hand, balling it into a fist against her chest protectively. She witnessed an obscure emotion flash across Malfoys facial features before his face returned to its usual, indifferent mask. How she wished she could identify that fleeting expression, ponder its meaning. But she had already tarried too long in this moment.
She cleared her throat. "You should have your wand, just in case."
Extending her arm, she turned her palm skyward as she offered the wizard his hazelwood wand clutched loosely in her grasp.
He reached for it at an agonisingly slow pace, his quicksilver eyes locked with her own. Hermione felt tension coiling within her, threatening to breach the surface of her composure. She inhaled sharply, holding the air within her lungs tentatively. As he grasped his wand the pad of his thumb caressed the soft skin of her upturned palm briefly. She observed the Slytherins pupils dilate by an increment and the blue hue of his iris deepen subtly in response to their contact. A shuddered breath escaped her parted lips.
Malfoy secured his grip on his hazelwood wand and withdrew his hand from hers. As the warmth of his flesh left her skin it was as if the world around her returned to focus. She sucked in a deep, steadying breath and squared her shoulders.
"Follow me. Stay close." She announced as she brushed past him and crossed the threshold into the dimly lit hallway.
Withdrawing her own wand Hermione cast a nonverbal Lumos, illuminating the stretch of corridor before them. The castle was silent at this hour, the rhythmic thud of the pairs footfalls the only audible noise to disturb the slumbering quietude.
An abrupt explosive commotion assaulted Hermione's ear drums, her movement coming to a swift halt. Shit, Peeves. Malfoy too had frozen behind her, swearing coarsely under his breath. She hushed him, reaching out to grab his hand without consciously deciding to do so. Turning, she tugged him away from the encroaching racket and back down the way they had came. Their frantic steps gained pace as the destructive sounds of the poltergeist grew ever nearer.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, dropping Malfoys hand from her grasp she turned on her heel to face him. She glanced at the tall portrait over his shoulder briefly before her eyes returned to focus on his face. A small crease of the porcelain skin between the wizard's brows was the only indication of his concern. Hermione knew now however that for there to be a single crack in his perfect mask the Slytherin must truly be alarmed.
Placing her open palms against the firmness of his sculpted chest she threw her weight against him. Evidently shocked by the advance Malfoy stumbled backwards, Hermione tumbling after him. However Malfoys back did not meet with solid wall, instead the pair slipped through the illusion that was the paintings facade.
The enclosed space behind the portrait was incredibly narrow, no bigger than a broom closet. Hermione wedged herself against him to ensure no part of her body was visible through the barrier. Immediately she became distinctly aware of her soft breasts pressed firmly against his chest and the feel of his chiselled abdomen against the slight swell of her stomach.
"What the..." Malfoy started.
Hermione swiftly silenced him, cupping her hand over his mouth. Peeves was directly outside the portrait now. She held her breath anxiously, unwilling to move a single muscle lest risk their discovery. Gradually the poltergeists calamity subsided into the distance and she allowed her body to relax. She let her hand slip from Malfoys mouth and slide south to rest against his chest. Exhaling a relieved breath, her forehead fell forward to rest against his shoulder.
"How did you know about this place?" Malfoy whispered.
"I told you, I'm actually quite good at this sneaking around the castle business." She mumbled into his shirt before lifting her head off his shoulder to glance up at him.
His pupils were blown wide, naught but a small sliver of molten silver encapsulating them. Feeling his hot breath upon her lips with each rise and fall of his chest against her own, it dawned on her suddenly their proximity.
Hermione felt a scarlet blush tinge her flesh and she averted her eyes from his. Turning her head to the side she announced. "We should get going now."
She poked her head out to ensure the coast was clear and stepped out from their hide away. For the most part she relished the renewed distance between herself and the Slytherin, yet she could not fully silence the flickering ember of desire that longed once more for his touch.
They arrived before the entry of the Library without further interruption. Her eyes traced the intricate patterns carved into the closed ancient door before she lowered her wand, angling it towards where timber met stone. Hermione cast a swift Muffliato knowing from experience the fickle things tendency to screech when nudged ajar.
She forced the door silently open just enough to facilitate their entry. Once Malfoy had slipped into the room behind her she swiftly closed the ornate door and dispelled her silencing charm. It simply would not do to have someone stumble upon their afterhours activities, the door would act as an alarm of sorts.
Spinning on her heal wordlessly she set out towards the depths of the Library. She knew each nook and cranny of the labyrinth before her intimately, scarcely requiring the dim lighting of her Lumos. Arriving at the selection of shelving she had sought Hermione turned down the aisle, Malfoy trailing closely by her heels. Her finger tips traced over the leather spines of the assorted volumes lovingly as she made her way down the tome lined passage.
"What are we looking for?" Malfoy queried with a hissed whisper.
"I found it!" She declared, pulling an age worn book bound in dry, cracked leather from the shelf. She pried the text open tenderly before she began to flip through its pages with deft, practiced hands. Her eyes darted from side to side rapidly as she scanned the ink scrawled sentences.
Her eyes falling on the very page she had hoped to discover she smiled triumphantly. Straightening her spine a degree she swivelled to face Malfoy and read aloud, "A sensitive wand, hazel often reflects its owner's emotional state, and works best for a master who understands and can manage their own feelings. Others should be very careful handling a hazel wand if its owner has recently lost their temper, or suffered a serious disappointment, because the wand will absorb such energy and discharge it unpredictably. The positive aspect of a hazel wand more than makes up for such minor discomforts, however, for it is capable of outstanding magic in the hands of the skillful, and is so devoted to its owner that it often 'wilts' (which is to say, it expels all its magic and refuses to perform, often necessitating the extraction of the core and its insertion into another casing, if the wand is still required) at the end of its master's life (if the core is unicorn hair, however, there is no hope; the wand will almost certainly have 'died')."
"Reflects my emotional state? Works best for those who can manage their own feelings? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Draco exclaimed angrily, throwing his hands into the air in an exasperated manner.
Hermione could pinpoint exactly the cause of his sporadic magical ineptitude in an instant. He was repressing his true emotions, pilling them behind walls built long ago. How was she supposed to even begin to help him overcome such a substantial obstacle?
"At what age did you first start utilising Occulmency?" She queried thoughtfully.
Malfoy tilted his head to the side and arced a single eyebrow inquisitively as if to challenge her questions relevance before responding. "I studied under Bellatrix the summer before Sixth year."
Flinching at the mere mention of the deranged witch Hermione's fingertips ghosted over the branded flesh of her inner forearm. Malfoys brows knitted together into a concerned furrow as his eyes traced the path of her roaming digits. Hermione caught his eye just in time to observe a distinct flicker of regret flash across his face, before he schooled his features once more.
Dropping her arm to fall loosely by her side she squashed the rancid memory down into naught but a shadow hanging by the fringes of mind. This was about his issues, not her own.
"I do not mean when you were formally trained in Occulmency Malfoy. I am asking you..." She paused, inhaling deeply, overcome with a wave of sympathy for the Slytherin wizard. "I am asking you at what age did you start forcing your emotions behind mental walls."
Malfoy simply starred at her, blinking slowly as if struggling to comprehend her words.
The realisation struck her suddenly and she was near overcome with melancholy for the blonde before her. His behaviour was so ingrained he did not even view it as abnormal.
"You are allowed to have emotions Malfoy, it isn't normal to keep forcing them back into the depths of your psyche unresolved."
Malfoy looked defensive, "I have emotions."
"Really?" Hermione challenged as she folded her arms across her chest.
"When was the last time you allowed yourself to feel something that was neither angst nor despair?"
Malfoy was silent for some time before his shoulders slumped in defeat, clearly unable to muster a credible rebuttal.
Hermione pressed the matter further. "So, tell me the truth. When was the last time you allowed yourself to fully embrace an emotional response?"
Unable to hold her gaze Malfoy mumbled his confession. "Seven."
Hermione inhaled sharply. Seven. Such a young age. Far too tender an age for one to dissociate. She doubted if Malfoy even knew how to acknowledge his own emotional responses at this point, or if the suppression had become too far an entrenched response.
"You need to let yourself experience emotions Malfoy. You can't keep bottling them away. You saw what the book said, if you can't learn to understand and manage your feelings then your magic will be hindered."
"I can't..." Malfoy growled through gritted teeth.
"You have to acknowledge these emotions."
His tone guttural as the strangled words escaped his throat. "If I release this rage I have kept caged Granger, I will hurt someone."
She spoke from a place of unwavering certainty. "You won't."
"You don't know that!" He spat.
Hermione reached out tentatively and placed her palm upon his rigid upper arm, a gesture of comfort and support. "I do know that, because I have seen a glimpse of who you are behind that mask. You are a good person Malfoy, let me help you."
Malfoy's eyes locked with her own and she could have sworn she saw something within them. Something that resembled longing. As swiftly as the fleeting emotion came, it was gone. His silver orbs once again dull and indifferent he shrugged his shoulder violently. His jagged movement caused her hand to fall away from him as he announced flatly, "no one can help me."
He turned abruptly and retreated down the aisle in large, solemn strides. Suddenly she was alone. All alone in the dark solitude of the vast Hogwarts Library. She clutched her hand to her chest, feeling the lingering warmth their brief contact dissipate.
With a quick shake of her head to clear her thoughts Hermione turned on her heel and raced down the aisle in pursuit of the fleeing wizard. Departing the library she tried in vain to locate him in the halls, but the blasted Slytherin was swift. Hoping he had chosen to return to their quarters rather than recklessly wander the castle post curfew, Hermione too decided to retreat to the Astronomy Tower. With practiced footfalls her body guided her silently back to the Eighth year common room, her thoughts for not but Malfoy. He was damaged, that was clear. Damaged just like her.
As the portrait of Lady Clair De Lune swung aside she stepped over the threshold to find the large common room barren, not a soul present. Unable to banish the blonde from her thoughts she crossed the room to stand before his closed door. She brought her fist up as if to knock but her hand froze, her knuckles falling short of contact with the plaque that displayed his engrave name. Confidence faltering she dropped her fist to her side. Sometimes she wondered if she would have been sorted into Slytherin if it had not been for the houses deep seeded blood prejudices. Her sense of self-preservation ultimately overriding her Gryffindor courage she decided it best to let the sleeping Hippogriff lie. At least for now.
Turning her back on his room with the hope that he truly had found his way back to his own quarters she made her way over to the common rooms small kitchenette. She set about making herself a hot chocolate, replicating as much of the methodical process without magic as Hogwarts would allow. As she swirling the teaspoon through the dark liquid she recalled how her mother had always told her that hot chocolate soothed the soul.
Carefully selecting a plush seat before the fireplace that placed Malfoys door out of her sight, she sat alone in the dark cooling her mug of steaming liquid with soft little puffs. Her thoughts returned to her mother. Dear Merlin she missed her parents. A tear escaped beneath her lashes, yet she made no effort to wipe the salty drop from her skin. A second tear fell to join the first and Hermione allowed the emotions to ripple through her. She cried in earnest, cried until her tears ran dry and the soft hues of impending day break danced across the circular expanse of the Eighth year common room.
The abrupt sound of the portrait creaking open ripped through the silence of the room and Hermione startled, jumping and spilling the remains of her now cool beverage across her lap.
"Shit Granger! Are you ok? I didn't mean to frighten you!" Anthony Goldstein called out.
He raced across to where she perched atop the couch and started to move his hands frantically as if to assess if she had been scolded. Flinching away, she recoiled from his impending touch as a tight knot pulled in her stomach at the thought of his contact. She calmed herself, recalling that he was no threat and willed herself to address his concerns before the moment grew notably awkward.
"I'm ok Anthony. Really. The drink had gone cold." She traced her wand in anti-clockwise motion above her thighs, vanishing the liquid.
It occurred to her taking in the warm tones of sunlight that kissed his skin that it was early morning now. Curiosity overcame her and she could not help but wonder where the Ravenclaw had been sneaking back from at such an hour.
A smirk pulled at the corner of her lip and her brow arched in query, "Where have you been? Sneaking off in the night to see someone special are we?"
As Anthony's face fell it became apparent to Hermione that she had indeed misread the situation at hand.
"Not exactly." He confessed, his eyes dropping from her face.
Sensing his distress Hermione pressed, "What's wrong Anthony? I know we have never been particularly close, but I want you to know you can talk to me."
The wizard remained silent for some long moments and Hermione could see him gnaw at the inside of his cheek anxiously. At last deciding to confide in her some detail he whispered softly, "I have been sleepwalking."
Hermione being a Gryffindor had not shared living quarters with the Ravenclaw before this year. She wondered if this was an affliction he suffered from childhood, knowing it to be not all too uncommon. However sleep walking was dangerous at the best of times, let alone in a magical castle with staircases that moved no less.
"Has this been something that has troubled you since childhood?"
Anthony shook his head from side to side in a slow lament, before he began to speak in a sombre tone. "It only began once I returned here, back to this place. I thought I could handle returning Hermione. I need to achieve my NEWTs, I know you of all people will understand that. But I clearly underestimated how much returning to Hogwarts would affect me.
I often wake to find myself in the corridors with no recollection of how I arrived there. The corridors are not so bad, not really. It is when I awake to find myself alone in the dark in those other places that it affects me so. Twice now I have awoken in the dungeons, for a moment I don't know where I am. Unable to see my surroundings and my sense of smell overcome with the suffocating damp. Tonight I woke on the grounds. I try to avoid them you know, the open spaces outside."
She knew he was not the only one to avoid the open grounds. There were those like herself who had taken place in the Battle of Hogwarts. Those that remembered all too well the chaos and slaughter that had taken place, the blood of the fallen that had seeped into the now green grass. Others avoided the open expanses purely to keep the sense of an anxiety and vulnerability it brought at bay.
It was clear that Anthony's night wanderings were just another in the countless repercussions of war. For a time they spoke of his harrowing experiences at Hogwarts the year past, a tale now all too consistent amongst her peers. He spoke of his time hiding away in the Room of Requirement after being on the receiving end of a Cruciatus at the hands of one of the twisted Carrows.
They spoke until there were simply no words left to truly express the ongoing torment that haunted their minds. So many of their generation had suffered the consequences of war. The toll taken on their psyche too great, and their care in the wake of such tragedy near non-existent.
A/N: The wand wood description used in this chapter was written by J.K. Rowling and published on Pottermore on August 10th 2015.
