AN: Please make sure to check the warnings as things start to pick up this chapter. I'm currently classifying this as 'Maimed Dove' as I don't think it warrants a Dead Dove tag right now but it is definetly dark.
October 1998
Hermione doesn't know why she's surprised by how quickly Crabbe's death is swept under the rug. She's spent enough years at Hogwarts to know it's hardly the safe haven most proclaim it to be, but for some reason, she didn't expect his death to be quite so easily dismissed.
Perhaps it's because she still sees flashes of it. His body in all its destroyed glory. It appears behind her eyelids for brief seconds before she manages to blink it away. Curdled blood, lumps of tissue, and Crabbe's wide, terrified eyes flickering in front of her before she can focus back on the moment. On Lavender at her side, or Ron's presence as he lays the weight of his arm back around her shoulders.
Or perhaps it's because she still feels uneasy. Still has those strange moments where her breath catches in her throat. Where she's forced to spin, to look around an empty corridor and find nothing despite a part of her that's sure something was there.
That part of her that wonders if she really had heard those screams. The ones that still echo in her ears and that Hermione thought sounded almost human that night in the library.
The ones she wonders if were Crabbe's.
The thought still makes her shiver. Draws goosebumps onto her skin as she recalls the terror in those distant cries. She's sure they weren't actually Crabbe's — that they were some figment of her imagination. Something she's grown used to as she continues to tense at random moments. React to something no one else can see.
They can't have been Crabbe's. Hermione needs them not to have been his because if they were, that means she heard his screams and did nothing. That she just let someone die. And for all the war has changed her, she doesn't know if she's quite ready to accept that.
Even if, like Dolohov, Hermione doesn't exactly mourn the boy's death. Well aware of what his intentions had been for Daphne Greengrass that afternoon. What else he'd done to warrant such warnings being passed around the girls' dormitories.
She isn't sure when this darker side of her developed — less sure of the world's rightness — but at some point, Hermione has grown comfortable with people dying for their sins. Years ago, the thought would have horrified her but having seen what darkness there is in the world, she knows sometimes it's best to purge it from existence.
Voldemort may have been evil, but Hermione isn't naïve enough to believe it died with him.
And while the thought she may have somehow heard Crabbe's death disconcerts her, Hermione also knows it's impossible. That it was simply too far for his screams to have reached her in the library, that they had to have been some distortion of howling Scottish winds and her overactive imagination.
A rationalisation that leaves Crabbe's death as much a mystery to her as it is to anyone else. One that was swiftly blamed on the Acromantuala's, never mind that it still doesn't make sense. His passing dismissed as a freak accident — a warning not to go wandering around the woods.
It's not as if anyone was going question what a boy who was nearly a Death Eater — and who had a worse reputation beyond that — was doing near the Forbidden Forest. All assuming he was down there for nefarious purposes and deserved whatever happened to him.
So not even a month later, the school has largely moved on. Not exactly shocking, considering Hogwarts' history. It isn't as if this was the first time a student has died on the grounds, and Hermione doubts it will be the last.
Besides, she can admit how little she cared whether Crabbe's death was adequately investigated. Barely pays it any mind beyond the way it haunts her dreams; she's instead been forced to turn her attention back to Lavender.
Hermione was relieved at first. After that night, the other girl was miraculously healed; it was almost like having the old Lavender back. She'd been beautiful and glowing for days — weeks even.
Walked through the corridors shining so brightly it hurt both to look and to turn away. Hermione would find herself just staring — watching the other girl, caught in the memory of Lavender's lips on her skin.
Even now, she catches herself watching. Still oddly entranced but for reasons so different to the beginning of the month. Hermione finds herself watching Lavender with concern again. She's dimmed in the same way she had through September.
Waning like the moon as the month dragged on. She seems to have faded out of existence. Losing the glow she'd had from that miraculous night, she looks like she did a month ago.
Sickly. Ill. Her skin's dry, and her lips are chapped when Hermione catches herself staring at them again — no longer thinks about how they'd feel pressed against her own. Finds herself looking at Lavender's exhausted appearance, her red-rimmed eyes and her hair that's lost the shine it had weeks ago and is left to wonder how her friend sickened again this quickly.
Part of her wants to force Lavender to see Madam Pomphrey. Sure the way she's waxed and waned, healed and deteriorated has to be caused by something, but the blonde has refused every attempt. Reassured Hermione that she's perfectly fine despite all evidence to the contrary.
Hermione's instead been forced to resort to the same methods she used last month. Handing her numerous cups of tea in an attempt to ward off the cold that seems to have seeped into the other girl's bones. Finds herself giving Lavender odd slices of oranges and whatever other foods should be easy in the hopes she'll eat something, but none of it seems to work.
She just keeps getting sicker and sicker. Ignoring Hermione's pleas to get help, Lavender instead inisting she spend time with the other girl. Encourages her to abandon Ron — something that Hermione can admit she agreed to all too easily.
At least until tonight. Ron's unsubtle threat that he'll find someone else to come with him to The Three Broomsticks forces her hand as she doesn't want to make the others worry. But Hermione can't really complain — not when she's going to see Harry.
Instead, she slips out of the castle with the rest of the Eighth Years. Far more than Hermione expects; all heading down to the pub to see friend's who haven't come back to Hogwarts. Lavender's at her side despite Hermione's protests, but she barely gets the chance to voice her complaints before Ron drags her away.
The pair of them separated, Hermione loses track of the other girl as Ron pulls her into the seat next to him. Settles his hand around her shoulders, traces patterns down her arm and nudges his thigh against hers. No one's ever accused Ron of subtlety, and it's certainly holding true with the way he keeps glancing down her shirt.
She finds she doesn't mind so much tonight, though. His eyes still feel heavy; his gaze oozes over her, feels slimy and wrong the way it always does but with Harry back at her side, Hermione can breathe a little easier. Feels a piece of herself click back into place when he briefly wraps her in his arms.
The four of them are in one of the booths. Ginny virtually in Harry's lap, and Hermione doubts Ron would be so cordial had he not had several firewhiskeys, but she's not about to complain about the lack of arguing.
He still has his arm around her. Keeps touching her. His breath's overly warm on her cheek, and his jokes are just a little off-colour — making her tense next to him — but it's not worth the argument to try and get him to stop.
Instead, she listens to Harry's stories about Auror training. Has him explain what he knows of the DMLE's thoughts about Crabbe's death. Is unsurprised to hear they've assumed the same as everyone else. The answer that doesn't fit but at least is one.
Just lets herself enjoy being back in Harry's presence. Even if she has to grow used to a strange distance that's developed between them. His stories of the Auror department and adult life something she can no longer relate to when she's isolated herself in the castle.
Has the dark thought that may this is what would always have happened. She'd been so certain that the distance wouldn't make any difference, and yet, it has. Subtle changes that Hermione wouldn't notice where she not so aware of everything to do with Harry, Ron and their friendship, but changes, nonetheless.
Harry will always be her family. They've been through too much together to be anything else, but she questions if they'll always be as close as they were stuck together in the castle. Or if the pressures of their real lives — responsibilities, careers, families someday — will drag them apart.
It's a sad thought, but Hermione can't help but suspect it's true. She refuses to let them fully drift apart though. Will continue to send letters that he sends one-line notes back to, but they've always wanted different things from their lives, and it wasn't as if they were always going to be able to spend all day together anyway.
She's so distracted by the dark path her mind is travelling; she almost misses Ginny's pleading look. Distracted by Ron's fingers drumming along her waist and his lips as they brush her neck, she only sees Ginny's expression when she turns her head to try and get some space.
Hermione hasn't seen much of Ginny this term. The other girl disappears off with her friends, popular among her year in a way she could never hope to be, but they're still close. Have spent enough summers sleeping next to each other in The Burrow that it's difficult to be anything but.
They've always had to share a bed that was somehow so much more uncomfortable than any time Hermione has done with Lavender but that she would never dream of complaining about. Wouldn't do that to people who have welcomed her into their home, even if Molly has done so reluctantly.
Eyes meeting, they exchange the kind of knowing look they have time and time again. Exasperated eye rolls at something the twins have done, quick glances to catch the other's attention right before Molly loses her temper, Hermione knows Ginny is begging her to take Ron away so she can be alone with Harry.
Maybe it's the firewhisky Hermione's also indulged in. Or that even as unsettled as she feels about Harry and the revelations she's had about their friendship's future, she's still basking in the warmth of his presence. But somehow, Ron doesn't disturb her as much as he usually does. And when she turns to look at him, she manages to make herself smile and nod at his suggestion they head back to the castle while the rest of his dormmates are still at the pub.
Looking at him, Hermione doesn't get the rush of warmth she does with anyone else, but the usual wrong feeling of his touch and gaze is dulled by the alcohol, by her happiness, and by the fact Harry's giving her an equally pleading look.
Well aware that while Ron may have accepted his best friend his dating his little sister, he doesn't want any indication they're actually together. Has no desire to watch them disappear upstairs to the room Harry's rented for the night. Supposedly so he doesn't have to worry about flooing back to Grimmauld but in reality so he can spend the night with Ginny.
So, Hermione smiles back at him. Looks up at Ron through her lashes because she doesn't know what looking at him straight on will do. Whether it will turn her stomach if she sees the size of him compared to her, has the reminder that he'll likely take what he wants regardless of how much she wants it herself.
Nods, agrees to head back to the castle before she says, "Just let me run to the ladies. I'll be back in a minute."
She doesn't really need the bathroom. Mainly needs a moment alone to confirm she's really going back with him. A second away from the heat of the pub and the charade she's putting on for Harry and Ginny.
She splashes some water on her face. Looks at herself in the mirror and wonders when she became the kind of person to give into something she isn't sure wants just because she doesn't have it in her to fight against it.
Truthfully, though, Hermione knows not worth the argument. Heads back into the pub as she plasters a smile on her face. Starts walking through the crowd, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws; she thinks she even glimpses a few of the Slytherin's. They've all piled into Madam Rosmerta's for the night to celebrate Voldemort really is gone. That James and Lily's sacrifice wasn't for nothing despite how much it's felt like it over the past few years.
She's almost back to Ron when she sees it. Ernie Macmillan crowding Hannah Abbot against the wall. Neville's nowhere in sight, and as much as Hermione hates it, she knows Macmillian would likely back off if he was there.
Hannah and Neville had been circling each other all term. Both clearly interested but too shy to make a move. It had all come to a head after one enthusiastic girls' night and a midnight trip down to the greenhouses when Neville was supposed to be pollinating the Lover's Snare.
Hermione doesn't know the exact details, but she does know they had been found by an incredibly embarrassed Professor Sprout the next morning and that they've been almost fawning towards each other ever since. Adorable in a way that should irritate her considering it's so lacking in her own relationship, but instead makes Hermione oddly content to see one of her friends so happy.
Still, Neville's nowhere to be seen, and she's about to go and make up some excuse to get the other girl away from Macmillan when Hermione feels a hand clamp around her arm. Overly tight, she winces slightly and tries to shift it off her. Spins to see Ron looking down at her, something questioning and ever so slightly aggressive on his face.
"Where are you going?" it's more of a demand than a question.
"I was just going to say goodbye to Hannah."
"Why?" his tone implies she's stupid. That he can't understand why Hermione would ever want to talk to the other girl, and right as she's flailing for an excuse, refusing to leave Hannah to where she can see Ernie resting a hand on her bicep despite her attempts to shrug it off — the same way Hermione's failing to do to Ron — Lavender appears.
She still looks sickly. Drained. Exhausted, but there's determination painted on her features. A look that reminds Hermione of the last time they'd been in this situation, watching Daphne Greengrass disappear down an aisle trailed by Crabbe. Lavender's expression is as dark as it was then.
It should make Hermione shiver, but it doesn't. Instead, it reassures her the same way it had the library. Leaves Hermione to watch as Lavender wipes the look from her face completely while she turns towards Ron.
Beautiful still, despite her red eyes and dry skin, he's immediately entranced. His grip on Hermione's arm finally goes slack when the other girl smiles at him. Disarms him completely as she bites on her lip playfully.
Part of Hermione thinks she should be annoyed as she watches her friend flirt with her boyfriend — even as unsure as she is of the title — but she's mainly relieved to see her friend.
Lavender had disappeared as soon as they were in the pub, and Hermione hadn't seen her while she's been tucked away with Harry, Ginny, and Ron. Assumes she's been off seeing the Patil twins where Hermione spots them across the pub.
She's distracted as Lavender talks to Ron. Barely notices her greet him with a soft "Hi" and a teasing smile before she turns back to Hermione and asks, "You guys heading back to the castle."
Her tone suggests she knows exactly what they're going back for, and Hermione nods almost without thinking as she asks, "You going to be okay here?"
"Oh, yeah," Lavender confirms before she tilts her head in Hannah's direction — Ernie Macmillan still stepping into her personal space. His body bracketing hers, giving the girl nowhere to escape too. "Neville's been looking for Hannah, though, so I better go tell her."
Hermione knows she's lying. Something about the tightness of her eyes and smile that's ever so slightly wrong, but she's not going to question it with Ron next to them. And she was likely going to give Ernie the same excuse anyway.
Instead, Hermione turns to Ron and suggests they head back. The two of them tumbling into a carriage alone, he's pawing at her before they've even set off. His lips press against hers, too hard and too wet. His tongue plunges into her mouth and makes Hermione shiver uncomfortably.
Something that prompts him to ask, "You like that?"
She nods because she doesn't know what else to do. Let's him pull her into his lap and tries to take back control of the kiss. Hopes that if she's in charge, she can make herself like it. Join their lips in a way that makes her ache the way she wants to.
It works for a while. She focuses on the heat she can feel in her veins from the firewhisky, lets herself fall into that numb place it provides. Sits in Ron's lap and rubs herself against him as he groans. She can feel his lips on her neck — still too wet and altogether wrong, but she gets used to it.
Almost starts to like the feel of his hands on her waist because while they're just a bit too tight and somehow clammy even through the fabric of her shirt, Hermione knows she could escape them she had to. That at least in his lap, she's not underneath him.
By the time they're back at the castle, Ron's hard as he holds her to him. His length digs into her hip as he drags her to his room, and she's trapped inside the drapes of his bed before Hermione realises what's where they are — even if she'd known what to expect.
He's heavy — suffocating — as he crawls on top of her, and Hermione thinks she hears something rip as he tries to get her out of her clothes. Thinks of the tiny buttons on her blouse and knows he won't have had the patience to undo them.
Reassures herself that she'll at least be able to repairo them, so it's not as if he ruined it. But there's something about him literally tearing her out of her clothes that doesn't feel so much like the romances where the heroine's ravished but something else altogether.
She's at least left to take off her own trousers. Wiggles them down her legs with her knickers as Ron strips above her. He's slightly clumsy but nowhere near the bumbling mess she knows he becomes when he's truly drunk.
If anything, he's close to sober. His gaze clear as he looks down at her. Hermione tries not to let her unease show as he lowers himself but feels her limbs turn to lead while she lies there. Her breath stops as she tries to look into his eyes, and she feels one of those moments of panic washing over her again.
Suddenly sure something is wrong; she doesn't get a chance to protest before she feels him press into her. A sharp stretch she's in no way prepared for, she winces over his shoulder. Relieved, he can't see the way she clenches her teeth, scrunches her face and bites her lip to keep from making a sound.
Only it's not the pain that has her biting back screams. It hurts, the intrusion aching, almost burning. Uncomfortable and unwelcome rather than pleasurable and filling but somehow, it isn't Ron forcing his way into her body that causes tears to form in Hermione's eyes. Makes them sting as the salt gathers and can't escape with how she's still trying to muffle her terror.
Her stomach clenches and unclenches, blood curdles in her veins and Hermione swears she can see Lavender. The girl's outside somewhere, surrounded by trees like she's in the Forbidden Forest, but that's far from the only thing that's wrong.
The vision somehow of her friend, but also not.
The other girl doesn't look right. Almost animalistic. Predatory. Her face distorted in some way. There's something wrong with Lavender's eyes as she stares out into the trees, like she can sense something out there, and Hermione's breath starts escaping her in quick, uneven gasps that do nothing to alleviate how her lungs scream for air.
The lack of oxygen makes her brain haze, and silent sobs tear through her chest. Her whole body shakes with the force of them, and yet she's still frozen. Her stomach flipping when she sees Ernie and knows something bad is going to happen.
Certainty washes over her with Hermione's terror, and she's distantly aware of Ron as he thrusts in and out of her. The drag of him within her lessening through repetition. Logically she knows it's her body trying to protect itself, but she still tastes bile at the thought she's somehow aroused between what she's seeing and what Ron's doing to her.
She's barely aware of his grunting. Can hear him confirming to himself how much she likes what he's doing as he misinterprets her gasping breaths, but she can't reply. She's stuck — frozen — as she watches Lavender and Ernie.
Tears should be blurring her vision, but they're not. Like what Hermione's witnessing is beyond the physical. Something she has to see, despite how little she wants to. She's forced to watch as Ernie realises he is in danger.
Sees how unnatural Lavender looks look she turns back towards him. She's nothing close to the flirtatious girl Hermione's sure he followed into the forest. Instead, he sees Lavender as the predator she is. The other girl's expression enough to force the last bit of warmth from Hermione's bones.
An icy feeling washes over her as the blonde asks, "Are you scared?" and amid everything else, Hermione flashes back to having those words whispered against her neck. To how helpless she'd felt in that moment and how she was sure everything was about to end.
She's brought back to the present as Ernie's cocky façade disappears. Watches as the boy immediately knows something is wrong even if he can't tell what. His expression switches to something more like what Hermione recalls from Crabbe's lifeless face. The two of them one and the same for just a moment.
Still, he tries to play it off. Scoffs like Lavender's stupid; assures her he isn't. The girl smirks in response as she lets out a short, acerbic laugh. The sound still hanging in the air as she moves faster than either Hermione or Ernie can comprehend. A sharp snapping sound as she grips his wrist and twists.
The boy's cries are muffled by Hermione's own. Ron's words about how good she feels drowned out by Lavender's. Her voice is distorted. Deeper than it should ever be and certainly not her own — it almost reverberates.
Makes Hermione tremble as the other girl speaks, "I need you frightened—"
She shoves the boy to the ground. Crawls over him like an animal as he frantically tries to escape. Moves on her hands and feet, her back curved almost in half she's so hunched over. She looks like she had that night outside the castle where she'd shovelled jerky into her mouth, only so much worse.
She barely looks human as she grips hold of the boy. Halts Ernie's desperate attempts to escape with unnatural strength. Ignores his pleas as she speaks in that distorted, wrong voice again.
Her words twisted with anger, "I need you hopeless."
Ernie's screams echo in Hermione's ears, but all she can do is watch as Lavender's face rips open. From the corners of her mouth like some twisted version of the Joker — the flesh tries to fight as it comes apart.
Cheekbone and jaw cling to each other in strings of tissue, snapping in half with tiny explosions of blood as her mouth opens unnaturally wide. Reveals teeth that aren't her own. Pointed. There's far too many, and they remind Hermione startlingly of the images Professor Lupin used to show in Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Her heart's racing, her breath coming in gasps, but she barely feels like she's in her own body. Feels it shuddering but somehow feels distant from it too. Almost doesn't hear Ron as he continues to assume her cries are from pleasure. Like the sounds escaping her are anything close to what he thinks they are.
He asks again before she can stop him, "You like that?" His voice gruff; she thinks he's close to finishing but can only choke in reply.
A strangled sound as she can barely vocalise with the way it doesn't feel like she's in control of her body. And yet another sob escapes her as she watches blood splatter across the canopy of Ron's bed.
It should blend with the red, but it doesn't. So much darker than Gryffindor crimson, more and more of it keeps coming as she watches Lavender tear the boy to pieces. Sees her dig her fingers — long and clawed — into the boy's chest. Hears the last of his screams die as she rips him from sternum to navel.
Watches as the other girl breaks his ribs open, pulls them apart like they're nothing. Sinks her hands into his organs as blood spurts everywhere, and Lavender laughs. Almost cackles as she pulls the entrails out of Ernie's body.
Bites into them and rips off chunks with her teeth. Savage. She's feasting. Gorging herself. Lowers her face to shovel more into her mouth. Barely pauses between swallows, she's covered in blood. A thick film that tints her skin red and has her hair hanging in clumps around her face again.
She takes bites before tossing pieces of him away. Other's she scarfs down so quickly Hermione barely realises what she's doing. Just stares, unable to look away, as she watches the creature Lavender's become.
She's careless. Messy. Isn't bothered by the carnage she's creating as she devours the boy's body. Scoops up handfuls of his blood and tries to drink them. Red running in rivers down her hands and arms, Lavender doesn't seem to notice. Licks along the trails it leaves behind, slurps it as best she can her cupped palms. Doesn't seem to care she's literally dripping with Ernie's blood.
Hermione's so focused on the mirage of Lavender, she only shakes out of it when her lungs start to burn and she's forced to take a deep, heaving breath as tears stream down her face.
Her arms and legs are trembling. Shuddering. Shaking uncontrollably, they're weak as she tries to push Ron off her. Desperately needs to get out; she has to get away from what she's just seen. From where she can still see dark stains on the canopy of his bed even though she knows they're not there, but he's so caught up in his high, he doesn't notice her attempts.
Keeps her pinned beneath him as Hermione's stomach churns. The bile that was trying to escape her as she watched Lavender makes her mouth both dry and wet at the same time.
Her throat twitches as she tries to keep the contents of her stomach down, and she finally hears Ron groan. Feels him finish; warmth splattering her thighs that makes it that much harder to avoid giving in to the desperate heaving of her stomach.
Finished, he's looser. No longer needs to keep her trapped beneath him, and her pushing finally works. She manages to shove Ron's weight off her before she leans over the side of her bed and vomits between choked cries.
Distantly hears Ron screaming, "What the fuck," but doesn't reply.
Leaps out of his bed. Grabs whatever clothes she can find, barely understands any of Ron's hollering. Her mind's moving too fast. Spins dizzyingly with flashes of Lavender's unnatural teeth, echoes of Ernie's screams, and blood splattered across Ron's bed.
Her legs shake as she tries to pull her jeans up. Drags Ron's t-shirt over her head rather than trying to fuss with the buttons on her shirt — never mind that she'd technically need to repair it. She's too unsteady to focus on any spells. Her wand essentially useless with the way she can't focus, can't get her breathing to slow, and can barely hear over the pounding of her heart.
She's distantly aware of Ron still yelling. Some part of her brain registering how angry he is she's just thrown up by his bed, even if the most conscious part of her doesn't notice it.
Hears him scream at her, "Where the fuck are you going? Christ, did you really have that much to drink?" but doesn't register the words.
She rushes out the door as he bellows. Screams at her to come back and clean up her mess like she's not sprinting from his room in tears, but Hermione can't bring herself to care.
Just needs to get out of there. Away from everything — she's doesn't know where she's going as she runs. Leaves the castle without realising it. The late autumn chill should make her skin break out in goosebumps, but it can't match the shivers already running through her. The night air nothing compared to ice cold turning her limbs to lead even as she's rushing across the grounds.
She's so distracted. So confused by everything that's happened, everything she's seen, Hermione doesn't realise where she is until she gets there. The shore of the black lake. She's run along the waterline right around the other side, the forest between her and the castle; she lets out a choked cry as soon as she realises.
She's not safe here. Hermione isn't sure how she knows, but she does. That same way, she knows what she saw in Ron's room was real. That it wasn't just some horrific creation of her own terror. She's sure of it, and the forest is the last place Hermione should be considering what just happened there.
Her blood runs cold in her veins as she thinks about it. So preoccupied, she almost misses the footsteps as they sneak up on her, but Hermione somehow still knows what's coming from between the trees. Spins in the direction of the forest, remembers what happened the last time she was in this position and knows who's coming.
Can tell it's Lavender even through the tears burning her eyes. Realises she looks exactly as she had in Ron's bedroom. Hermione doesn't know why she saw it, but the other girl's appearance confirms what she already knew was true and makes her freeze as the blonde approaches her.
Lavender's steps almost bounce where she'd stumbled last time and Hermione unwillingly makes a whimpering sound as the other girl comes towards her. Her body rocking back and forward, like she's trying to comfort herself,
Her nails dig into the bare skin of her arms where they're wrapped around her torso, but the pain is distant. Barely registers with how her body is almost going numb. Shudders wracking her form that Hermione almost doesn't feel.
She still can't move as Lavender gets closer. Wishes she could. That her limbs would respond to the desperate screams of her brain, but it's like there's a disconnect. Something stopping the messages from reaching her extremities.
She wants to run more than anything — even if part of her knows it's useless — but she can't. She's forced to stay there as the other girl starts to smile. Shows Hermione her blood-stained teeth.
She's close enough now Hermione can see where blood has dried in paths down Lavender's chin and neck. It's still wet on the rest of her, though. Her hair almost glistening in the moonlight — the blood coating her skin almost looks shiny it's so thick.
She's still motionless as Lavender closes the last of the distance between them. Brings her hand up to Hermione's face and cups her cheek. Replaces the tears that had been cold and wet with something warm and sticky, Hermione stomach wants to revolt again at the thought of it, but somehow it doesn't. The rest of her body fighting that desire.
Her eyes are stuck on Lavender's as she touches her. Familiar and not at the same time, the look in them keeps Hermione frozen as much as the terror. Makes her swallow against the other girl's hand as she drags her fingers down Hermione's neck.
Plays with the chain of her necklace before she digs her nails into Hermione's skin. Drags them across the flesh but gentler somehow than the one's Lavender had left on her wrist. Almost like they're a warning.
One that keeps her still until Lavender rests her hand over her sternum. Suddenly shoves her with the same strength Hermione just saw rip open Ernie, she goes stumbling backs was Lavender as whispers, "Run."
June 1996
Hermione knows she's in pain before she's even fully awake. The ache that radiates through her chest the first thing she notices. It makes her muscles tense, and she can feel herself grimacing as she blinks back into consciousness. Almost reluctant to do so, knowing the pain will be worse when she does.
She's pulled out of it anyway. Feels the last of dregs sleep drain away from her despite her protests, she's left to try and recall how she got here. Remembers the desperate rush to The Ministry, Sirius not being there, the Death Eaters, and pain. Purple flames and burning. Her skin scorching around her bones, it makes her gasp again, even with just the memory of it.
The noise draws the attention of whoever's at her bedside. The one thing that makes everything better — the voice she hears.
Lavender's hand sliding into her own as she asks, "Hermione?"
Barely a whisper but still one of the most beautiful sounds Hermione's ever heard. Partly for the reassurance it provides — the knowledge she's likely back at Hogwarts — but also for the comfort that Lavender always brings. The other girl Hermione's touchstone amid the chaos that seeps into every other aspect of her life.
As she opens her eyes, Hermione takes in the blonde's appearance. Notes how dishevelled she looks with confusion. Rarely having seen Lavender so poorly put together outside of their dorm. Her hair's a mess, she's still in her pyjamas despite the sunlight streaming in through the windows. She looks exhausted.
So tired, Hermione almost thinks she should be the one in the hospital bed instead of her. Her eyes are red, and there are tear tracks down her face, but she still tries to smile when Hermione manages to reply, "Lavender?"
The two of them just stare at each other for a moment. Like they're both reassuring each other they're okay, and Hermione's taken back three years. Recalls waking like this to a much younger version of the other girl. How confused she'd been then when now she feels only relief.
And then, suddenly, just like last time, Lavender moves. Throws her body towards Hermione's only instead of wrapping her arms around her, she brings her hands up to Hermione's face. Cups her cheeks and presses their lips together.
It's instinctual. Something they both want — need — even if neither of them have said the words. Their lips move against each other clumsily. Unpractised outside of that single kiss at the Yule Ball. Hermione's blood sings even with as unsure as they both are.
Gasps when she feels a hesitant tongue brush over her bottom lip, lets it in unthinkingly. Tentatively brushes it with her own and feels a shiver run through her at the contact. Her chest pressing up towards where Lavender's leant over her, carefully keeping her weight away from Hermione.
She somehow tastes sweet and tart at the same time. Like strawberries and raspberries but with something distinctively Lavender that seems to ease all the pain making Hermione's bones ache.
The throbbing in her chest disappearing the longer their lips touch. She doesn't know at what point she brought a hand up to Lavender's head but tangles her fingers in the other girl's hair and finds she can't even focus on how soft it is.
Unable to concentrate on anything but how good — how right — it feels to have Lavender's lips moving against Hermione's own. Her brain's quiet, almost cloudy, as it's overwhelmed by the other girl, but for once, she doesn't care. Revels in it. The way her breath has started to come in gasps, how she can feel Lavender's chest heaving against hers and knows she's having the same effect on her that Lavender is on Hermione.
She doesn't know how long they've been entwined. Tasting each other. Reassuring each other they're okay with soft touches and brushing lips, but the familiar slap of Madam Pomphrey's footsteps forces them apart.
Makes them separate — even if they keep their hands entwined, unwilling to let each other go completely. Lavender's somehow even more dishevelled than she was before. Her hair more of a mess, her cheeks flushed where they'd been red with tears. Her lips look swollen, and Hermione can only assume she looks the same but finds she doesn't care.
Instead, they exchange secretive smiles as Madam Pomphrey enters. Disappointed ones when the Matron forces the other girl to leave Hermione's bay while she explains the details of her condition.
Hermione barely hears her, though. Finds her mind caught on the feel of Lavender's lips against her own and remembering the first time they'd done it. They've never discussed it. Left it as some tiny, unspoken moment between them, but it's a memory Hermione's played over and over in the months since then.
Finds herself thinking about when she's drifting off to sleep. Remembers the softness of the other girl's lips — realises she's never going to be able to forget the taste of Lavender's tongue.
Hermione still doesn't entirely know what to think of the whole situation. What to make of the way something in her chest and stomach flutters in response to Lavender the same way it does when Ron's kind-hearted and gallant, but she can't bring herself to care. Not with the heat of Lavender's body still warming her own.
She nods in feigned understanding when Madam Pomphrey asks if Hermione understands everything she's just told her. Truthfully, she doesn't remember any of it and will have to ask again later — claim she was still disorientated from waking — but she agrees anyway.
Asks the Matron if she can send her friend back in to keep her company. Madam Pomphrey gives her a kind smile as she departs, and Lavender appears through the curtains a moment later. A wave of uncertainly washing over Hermione as she does.
It makes her stay silent as the other girl sits back in the seat by herbed. Means she doesn't react when Lavender keeps her hands in her lap rather than threading her fingers through Hermione's the way they had before.
Instead, they're both quiet for a couple of seconds. Asses each other with level gazes like they're not sure what the other's reaction will be after some time apart to think. Moments pass, and Hermione can't take the silence any longer. Feels it echoing around her — pressing heavily on her already aching chest.
Forces her to ask, "Are we — are we okay?"
It's timid. Some part of her doesn't want to show how nervous she is about the answer, but Hermione can tell Lavender knows anyway. They're too well-attuned for the other girl not to have noticed her stuttering words and the slight hitch in her voice.
She doesn't have to worry long. The blonde smiles softly at her, and Lavender's eyes are gentle as she replies, "Of course we are. As if we'll ever be anything but."
She pauses for a second as she seems to weigh her next words. Thinks them over before she lets them pass her lips, a precaution the pair of them never usually need. "I don't know if we should do that again, though."
Hermione's heart stops as she says it and Lavender notices instantly.
Leaps to reassure, "It's not — it's not that I don't want to, or that I didn't like it…or anything like that—" her cheeks flush. Darken from their usual light pink to a deep red, Hermione doesn't think she's seen outside of the night of the Yule Ball, but that she can't really judge Lavender for. Not when she can feel the same heat radiating off her own face.
Still, despite how awkward they clearly both feel, the other girl continues on, "It's just…I don't know if it's a good idea."
She goes silent as she says the last part, and while Hermione knows Lavender's not wrong, it still makes something in her sting to think about it. The reality of their attraction — something she can finally admit to herself.
Thinks of the questions she's always had about how soft the other girl's hair would be. What her skin would feel like under Hermione's fingertips and thinks of the desperate way she'd shove those thoughts to the side when she was younger.
How they'd confused her, so she ignored them. Focused on something else — anything else. Instead of trying to muddle through the confusing swirl of emotions, she felt towards the girl opposite her.
There is a reason she shoved them to the side — tried to forget about them. Two women being together isn't quite as taboo as it is in the muggle world. The magic of werewolf and veela mates — the way they're bonded by their very souls and yet same-sex couples still exist, makes it difficult to argue over whether or not they should exist — but there's still some of the same hesitance.
Perhaps not the outright hostility there often in the muggle world, but it wouldn't make either of their lives any easier. And considering she's already a muggleborn — condemned for one thing Hermione can't control — it doesn't make sense to add to the number of factors that could work against her in the future. Even if the thought hurts her, and even if it's not really something she can control.
And when she's not just thinking of herself, Hermione knows Lavender has almost as difficult a path. The Wizarding World runs on nepotism, and while her father may be a half-blood, he's not an important one.
Has no links to the families who run most of the world they live in. Which means Lavender barely has any more connections than she does. Is perhaps 'purer' in the eyes of some of the most zealous blood supremacists, but it's not enough to make any real difference in their lives beyond Hogwarts.
Lavender keeps her eyes on her as Hermione thinks. Blue meets brown when Hermione looks up and a moment of understanding passes between them as they grasp the reality of their situation without ever having to exchange words.
Hermione still feels she needs to say something, though. Perhaps protest. Claim that it shouldn't matter even though they both know it does.
Starts to say, "I mean, it might be difficult—" but the thought of exactly how difficult makes her stop midsentence.
She doesn't know why she's never considered it before. Why it hadn't been among the reasons she'd shoved those traitorous thoughts to the side but she supposes considering it even that much would mean admitting what she felt to herself. But thinking now she realises they'd have to tell their friends, their families, everyone. It's not an impossible hurdle, but it's yet another obstacle blocking their path.
"It's not just that," Lavender cuts in before Hermione can try and get herself out of the corner she's backed herself into. "There's the others…there's Ron."
She almost whispers his name, and Hermione's suddenly reminded of who she's overlooked in their conversation. That for all her heart flutters when she looks at Lavender, it often does the same for Ron. And because they can't seem to keep anything from each other, Lavender knows that much.
Just like Hermione knows Lavender's flirting with the rest of the Gryffindor boys, with some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too — even Blaise Zabini during one of her braver moments — is harmless exploration that she almost envies her friend for. Even if she knows she'll never quite be bold enough to put herself out there the same way her friend does.
The truth is they're both confused. Desperately so. Neither quite understands why they can't seem to choose, but it frustrates Hermione more than it does Lavender. For some reason, she feels like it shouldn't be this difficult, that there should be an obvious choice — but there isn't.
She feels differently towards them both, but not so much, so Hermione doesn't realise it's the same sensation. Feels the same warmth low in her stomach when she watches Ron stretch as when Lavender's hand moves just a little too high when they're lying next to each other in bed.
For all Hermione's sure she shouldn't feel this way towards them both, she can't deny that she does.
It had been easier when they were younger. When she was still dismissing anything she felt towards Lavender that wasn't the familiar warmth of friendship, and when Ron had been cutting and cruel.
Last year, with the tournament and the ball, there were so many things that angered her. Made her genuinely believe he wanted to ruin her night. But she can admit he's changed since then.
Matured when Harry came back from the graveyard screaming with Cedric's body. Smiled at her with fond eyes that made tingles run through her while they were alone together at Grimmauld. Listened to her complaints about Sirius's treatment of Kreacher without arguing. They're a long way from where they were even as fourth years, and she's only grown more confused as time drags on.
Watches him help with prefect duties, assist the younger years in Dumbledore's Army and slowly change her opinion of him. Shift the feelings she has towards him until she's left in the warm, slightly fuzzy place she's in now while recalling his kind smile.
Lavender draws her out of it before Hermione can dwell too long. Continues, "He's been good while you were asleep. Worried about you while you were here — even as he's been with Harry. And, truthfully, I just don't know if now is the right time."
Hermione hears her unspoken question over whether they'll ever be a right time even though Lavender doesn't ask it. Wonders if they'll be stuck with these strange emotions forever. Feelings relegated to curling around each other after bad dreams. Hooking their pinkies together so they don't lose each other while wandering through Hogsmeade — both imagining what it would be like to appear as anything other than friends.
As much as she wants to dismiss everything Lavender's said and that they've both thought — it's practicality that stops her. She wants to be brave. Embrace the bold Gryffindor stereotype they're failing, but Hermione is, at heart, logical and knows it'll likely end with pain for them both in the end.
That either things work, and wizarding society punishes them for it. Or things fall apart, and they lose each other and likely the lives they're both hoping for anyway.
So, she nods in agreement that nothing can come of the spur of the moment kiss, at least right now, and tries not to show how much it hurts to do so. Knows she's failed when Lavender offers her a tight smile in return. Nothing happy about her expression as they both accept reality for what it is.
Hermione's at least comforted when Lavender finally joins their hands again. Threads their fingers together — a tiny piece they allow themselves while they deny everything else. They're quiet again for a few moments. Still processing their acceptance as knowing something's the smarter choice doesn't make it any easier.
Neither of them speak. Just keep holding onto each other like they're afraid of what may happen if they let go. Eventually, Hermione has to distract herself from the ache in her chest. One that isn't physical but hurts all the same.
Let's herself ask the question that's been on the tip of her tongue since she woke and first saw Lavender, "Why are you in your pyjamas?"
She expects the other girl to flush. To have some ridiculous explanation as to why she's anything less than perfectly dressed outside of the tower, but instead, the blonde raises her eyebrow in challenge.
"You disappeared with Umbridge for hours, and when you finally reappeared, all they told me was that you were in the Hospital Wing, and the odds didn't look good. Forgive me if I didn't wait around to perfect my glamour charms."
It's snippy. Her irritation at Hermione's recklessness finally making its appearance as she's reminded of Lavender's fussing when Viktor had pulled her from the lake.
he memory makes her smile as she asks again, "I've been fine for hours now, though, Lavender. And asleep for most of them, you could have at least gone to put on clothes."
"And leave you here to probably find some other danger while I'm gone. No — I think not. You're stuck having me at your bedside until I get the chance to save you from whatever peril you find yourself in."