A hundred and twenty-eight Chemistry text books later – first fortyish were about acids, the others about everything, because yes, it was yet another thing that interested her – Hermione realized it was nearing the end of December.
Looking out of her window from the tower, the whiteness nearly blinded her.
"—so it was a quite a distraction and besides... Hermione, are you listening?" Ginny questioned, climbing towards her on the bed, accidently pushing a stock of books to the floor. She blinked a few times out of surprise and then shrugged, not caring about the raw, scientific texts. "Sorry," she said without guilt, but at least she pretended to be sheepish about it.
Hermione shook her head, "Mhm, it's nothing. I've been just... thinking," and she resisted glancing down to her left hand. It was getting harder to hide it from others, Neville knew something was not okay, Luna, ever her dreamy self, bluntly asked during breakfast a week ago, and Ginny just... made it easier for her. She didn't try to baby her, like Theo and Blaise did, or as Draco tried to do so sometimes.
"Have you received a new letter from Harry and Ron?" she ended up asking before her thoughts would have wandered too far and became too dark for her current bearing.
Ginny beamed up at her, "Yes, he said we'd meet at the Burrow just after New Years! And he hinted he wants more than friendship, but I'm still not sure!" and she babbled on and on about the Chosen One, as if Hermione didn't know him well enough. After half a minute, she zoned out, her eyes wandering back to snow outside, wishing she could just bury herself there from the reality's ugly claws. "So yeah, I'm really pumped up!" And to that she looked back at the red-head who seemed to buzz with excitement, "Anyway, did they send letters to you? Are you going to the Burrow at Christmas?"
She smiled a strained smile, nodding, "Yes, they did."
No, they didn't – was screaming in her head. Since the Prophet published an article about her preposterous involvement to Draco, neither of the boys sent her more letters. She knew they were digesting the new information – which wasn't true, because she was clearly not infatuated with Malfoy, Skeeter's petty lies be screwed – and it may took them a few more weeks.
Since that article, most of the student body started avoiding her – minus the Slytherins of course, who assumed their rightful King would bring in his own Queen into their society – just as Pansy did with Blaise, involving her own King. And frankly, she didn't mind that that much – the younglings were always smiling at her, asking for advices and brightening her otherwise dull days.
Their time was slipping away slowly, and she was in no dreamworld. She would die, come the middle of January.
Yes, she'd accepted that – but that didn't mean the lump in her throat ceased to exist. She needed to gulp back the bile rising nearly in every hour when she had time to think. So it was easier to just shut down and pretend everything was okay.
She risked a heavy sigh, now concentrating on Ginny's bubbly-self. She was literally radiating the good vibes around. And Hermione desperately needed them – so she tried to concentrate.
"But I can't go to your place, sorry. With Vindico Parea... I can't let Draco down on this."
Ginny smiled at her, sympathetically and tenderly, nodding at her reasoning, "That's alright. But I'm sure everyone will miss you!" She had taken to an annoying habit of fiddling with her hair and just like during lessons, she occupied her hand with that activity as the next words rolled off her lips, "What's up with Malfoy and you anyway? You're always together," she added with an expectant smile, clear on where she was pointing with that sentence.
Hermione snorted.
"You said that like we were dating," she stated, the formerly so annoying blush didn't even appear this time – she was subjected to this question that often. "He still doesn't want to give it up, literally goes around the castle with a knife at ready and trying to get to Solana... but the damn horse is, sadly, not stupid. It's getting to be comical," she let out a half-hearted chuckle, "She always side-steps whenever he tries and bites him in exchange."
Ginny tried to smile, but it looked as if it caused her physical pain to do so, "So you still won't believe in his success?"
She nodded, her front teeth sinking in her lower lip. She didn't dare believe anymore – his promises seemed empty as they were no closer to the cure than a month ago. Her health worsened and she was constantly trembling, sleeping ten hours a day and living off by earl grey tea as it was the only thing she could stomach beside oatmeal and apples.
Just yesterday, she fainted while climbing up on the stairs. If it wasn't for Pansy, she would have ended up in the Hospital Wing for sure. The Slytherins nearly moved her out of her beloved tower just so she wouldn't need to go all way up twenty times a day. Draco even went for McGonagall for permission, but there was no news on the matter – which she was ultimately glad for.
Gryffindor tower was normal. And normal was good.
"Vindico Parea is nothing without the unicorn blood as it is the main ingredient, Ginny," she muttered, her eyes back to the pure whiteness on the other side of the window. She had always liked the snow – it was cool, yes, but when outside, it meant a lot of fun, and was beautiful. She longed to be out of the four walls just now. "And even if the damn horse likes Draco, it hates me. I'm fucked – or with other words, I'm dead."
Her companion winced at her dry statement, her fingers awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her skirt as she contemplated her next sentences carefully, "Then if you think this way," the redhead started, a faint, mischievous glint in her irises, "why not throw caution to the wind? You should go for everything you hadn't before – try everything out which you always wanted! And—!"
Aha. She clearly didn't understand.
Hermione was hardly able to contain her bitter laughter, "Ginny, I'm in no condition to start Quidditch or a relationship for that matter. It'd just...," she took a shaky breath, her only functioning hand squeezed into a tight ball, "It'd just hurt the other party. I don't want that for anyone, especially not for Draco. He deserves more than a few happy weeks with a tragic ending."
Ginny's mouth hanged freely as she observed her friend, blinking up at her owlishly, in total confusion, "But... but!" That was the first time Hermione had confessed that there was something between the two of them. Everyone knew there was, yes, but hearing from her made it more real. The Weasley gulped nervously, "You shouldn't think of your life like a tragedy! You could be his beginning Hermione!"
She let a wry smile took control over her lips, "And I will be nothing else."
That was the moment when something snapped in Ginny. She looked furious as she swept away the remaining books from the bed and looked in Hermione's eyes, her expression morphed and her fiery emotions suddenly ignited a new light in her caramel eyes, the intensity of determination and want wiped out Hermione's thoughts entirely.
"Are you kidding me, Hermione? You used to be stronger, so much stronger than this! You were always fighting to the very end, and now? You're broken, you've given up and don't even believe in miracles! That's just not you!"
She snarled back an answer, her hazel eyes rolling, "The war did some things that's... I don't want to talk about those terrors, Ginny. And anyway, why should I believe in miracles, ha?" she questioned, unbelieving and stressed so much that her lips trembled under the weight of unsaid sentences. She was afraid to actually say the thundering thoughts out loud.
Ginny practically screamed the answer in her face, "We're living in the wizarding word and you don't believe in miracles?"
So she screamed back with the very same ferocity, "I'm tired of believing in none-sense!"
"That's bollocks," Ginny grimaced and abruptly stood up, leaving Hermione cuddled up in her blankets, flushed and angrier that every with her, "You're just afraid," she sneered, her eyes filled with contempt.
To that, she snorted, turning her head away. Outside snow was normal – so the snow was good. Everything was good. "Why do you think so?"
"Because you're just waiting for death to get to you. Like a bound of nerves, closing off from reality. That's not normal," Hermione winced when hearing that word, while Ginny strode toward the door with the firmness of a soulless soldier, shrugging as if they were just strangers, changing pleasantries. "You used to solve the impossible, Hermione. And I liked that version of you better."
So that she was left alone, in the cold and empty room with her thoughts. Dangerous thoughts while Ginny's words ricocheted in her head without break.
You used to solve the impossible.
Damn it! She was not herself anymore! Not normal – and just like this, she felt herself more real than any time in the last month. If she managed to do the impossible numerous times, she would pull through it once more.
Death be damned, she was stronger than this.
Okay, so yet again thank you for your amazing responses! It brightens my days! However, the thing is, I'll be off to Manchester at Saturday morning and will be there for two and a half weeks. So I really have no idea when I'll be able to start writing the next chapter. I'm kind of nervous because that will be a first to be away from my family for that long, or fly alone for that matter. Anyway, I hope you liked this, this chapter was quite a struggle for me.
(and now, I'll just answer guest reviews because I can't PM them)
To Guest#1, or nice Guest: yeah, I guess I over-complicated the explanation. Those constellation tattoos are like a new additition of freckles for Hermione - so I thought, why not make them more magical? They are covered glitters (similar people use on nails) - as I imagined -, and when connected to magic, they light up with the rainbow's every colour and just beautiful. I trust in your imagination with this, hope you see it in the same way! :)
To Guest#2, or not nice Guest: Don't you know that human transmutation is forbidden in alchemy? The word FMA rings any bells? (you know, if you have asked in manner that not suggest I should fuck myself sideways {not sorry for the cursing} for my none-creative idea, I would have explained why I decided to use a muggle-method on the Dark Mark. I'm sorry to say this, but you don't write this story. I decide on everything - even if you don't like that decision. If I need help with the plot I'll say so. But now? It was definitely not required.)