Author's Note:
The Houses Competition (or THC) Round 1
Story Type: Standard (up to 3,000 words)
House: Slytherin
Class: Ancient Runes
Prompt: 5. [First Line] "The smell of thawing earth tickled [his/her/name's] nose"
8. [Weather] Gentle rainstorm
Word Count: 2,146
Disclaimers/triggers: Bittersweet Romione- TW for arguments, potential deadly situations and injury, as well as strained relationships.
Beta Love: Thanks to FirstSilverKing and DeepShadows2 for looking over my story!
The Garden Guardian
The smell of thawing earth tickled Hermione's nose. She tugged on her hood to cover her face more fully as droplets of gentle rain dripped down onto her cheeks and chin. It was an unpleasant sensation, but Hermione was used to unpleasant situations, and as such, she bore it in silence. Before her lay the hated garden. It hadn't been her idea to put it in. Ron and the children had abandoned the venture after a week of cajoling Hermione into setting it up.
"It will be educational!" Rose had argued.
"Yeah, and delicious," Ron had added, patting his belly.
"Bugs!" Hugo had exclaimed, excited to add to his collection.
Hermione had glared, but she already knew her counterarguments would fall on deaf ears.
Before she knew it, the cursed thing had been erected with a bit of magic and a lot of elbow grease. Ron had, at least, been involved in that capacity, and his brothers had come to help. It was only after they'd planted everything, Hermione all the while taking plenty of "candid" photos of the children and her husband, that the true drudgery of maintaining the garden became apparent to all. The children rolled their eyes and dragged their feet when Hermione asked them to degnome the garden. Then Ron, who had sworn up and down that he'd step in if the children balked, had predictably abandoned the venture by being conveniently absent every time she put on her gardening robes. Hermione, then, was left alone to weed and degnome, and find clever little charms and spells to keep insects from the cabbage. She'd never been a fan of herbology, or of getting her fingers dirty, but at this point, she had become involved.
It had been with begrudging reluctance that she'd stomped out the door of their home in her charmed rain boots that still leaked, and her brown gardening robes that always smelt a bit musty no matter how thoroughly she washed them.
"Don't worry, you accursed things. You'll be safe," she muttered aloud, very aware of how unhinged she looked talking to inanimate vegetables.
Luckily, she knew that nobody would be in hearing distance.
She glared back at the cheerily-lit windows, imagining her family enjoying themselves with reading or play while she lumbered about in the muck and protected a garden she'd never asked for to begin with.
"But then again, now that I'm in it, I can't bear to let it go to rot," she continued, and went back to warding the perimeter of the garden.
Hermione squinted, surveying the thriving tender greens, the tiny green pumpkins lying on sodden straw, and the rather sad-looking tomatoes that Ron had told her she was mad to attempt to grow in this climate. The green tops of carrots and the bushy leaves spread over the ground, where the potatoes dreamed their subterranean dreams. All seemed peaceful, but Hermione knew better.
This gentle spring rainstorm was only a portent of the siege to come.
The Weasley home sat nestled between two gentle mounds that Ron affectionately called "the Tiny Tetons."
Hermione had rolled her eyes, but even she had to admit it was somewhat amusing. The problem with their home was that, when they'd raised it with the help of the other magical families in the area, nobody had realized that the cheerful little creek that bubbled nearby was a resting ground for migrating kelpies. When the spring rains hit, herds of dangerous murder-horses traveled from the sea, leaping from creak to pond to river on their way to their original spawning grounds somewhere in the Scottish highlands. Apparently, nobody had thought to tell the Weasley family that the little grassy rise where they'd built their garden was a temporary thoroughfare for these magnificent, deadly creatures once a year. And, due to the slope of their property, this was really the only semi-flat surface where a garden could be grown.
"If I die protecting their bloody veggies, then it'll serve them all right." Hermione gritted her teeth with bitterness and tightened the grip on her wand.
She'd only have one chance to keep these hooved interlopers from destroying the garden she had bruised and bled to nurture. With a small sniff of annoyance, she blasted a small gnome that had dared to wriggle back towards the squash plants. Usually, she was happy to catch-and-release, but her nerves were growing frayed and she needed to let off steam.
She glanced back at the warm, inviting house more wistfully this time, and nearly abandoned her post. After all, why did she have to stand out here in the gentle, freezing downpour? Why should she have to get inundated with the earthy mud in her very skin? Ron would complain later about it, she knew, and then complain when she made a pillow barrier between them in the bed so she could get her reading done in peace.
"I can only do so much on my own," she said, hating how choked up she got when she didn't have anything else to distract her from feeling miserable and abandoned.
She hadn't really realized how lonely one could feel when surrounded by people, even if those people claimed to love her.
'But then again, what is love other than needing someone to do things for you?' she thought, annoyed at the fact that she gave and gave of herself without anyone thinking to do the same for her. 'Of course, it has always been that way. Once again, my books and cleverness are required to keep everyone else happy, and here I am, ready to play my part.'
The rain was steady and gentle as the ground began to rumble under her boots. She heard a chorus of screams, high and haunting, in the distance.
'Here they come,' Hermione thought darkly.
She lifted her wand and activated the runic symbols at each compass point around the garden and house. It had taken hours to get them right, and hours more to keep them free from mud or rain without affecting the larger spellcraft. Ron hadn't even offered to help, and she hadn't bothered asking him because she knew he'd just give her another half-baked excuse.
Now, she could hear more screams on the wind, which began to blow as thousands of lithe, sharp-toothed creatures streamed around the hill, coming straight for the garden. Hermione waved her wand in a wide arc and began to hum under her breath, a strange watery wave emanating from the tip. The bitterness that had threatened to make her voice crack and her stinging eyes leak was held at bay by her laser focus on the task ahead.
"Aquae Ponte Fortis!" she shouted, and all at once, the rain curved in an unnatural angle until it had reformed into an ornate, watery bridge over the back garden. Everything beneath was covered with water droplets, but not a single drip fell from the spelled bridge above.
Hermione's boots dug into the mud as she hoisted the weight of the spell on her shoulders, knowing that the strain on her magical core could only take the pressure for a matter of minutes. And then, the first kelpie stepped onto the bridge, screaming to the others in delight as its clawed hooves found purchase on the watery path. The others followed, and Hermione could feel the strain on the spell as more began to climb and cross it to the other side. Her boots were sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, and she felt as though her back might snap at any moment.
She imagined her family, warm and ignorant inside, not knowing or caring what she was doing to protect them, and despair circled around her heart.
The last kelpie was enormous, and it slowed as it stepped onto the bridge. She could see its scarred flanks, hooks buried in its flesh. One glowing eye was fixed on her, but the other was hollow and empty. Something in that dark socket drew her in, calling to her despair and bitterness. Without thinking, she noticed herself pulling her foot free from her embedded boot and stepped forward into the squelching mud. It was almost as though she was looking at her body from outside herself. She heard the sound of pattering water as one side of the bridge began to drip, signaling that her strength was nearly spent. She took another step forward, her stocking feet now soaked with freezing mud.
"Just move!" she growled with effort. "Get!"
The kelpie stepped forward, its hooves gently sinking into the water as it began to lose its firmness. The spell wasn't going to hold.
Hermione a sharp pain as she gritted so hard that a tooth cracked in her mouth, and she pushed every last bit of herself into holding the spell. She glanced at the garden, at the hard work that she'd put into it, and then she thought of how kelpies were drawn to despair and sadness. The kelpie stepped closer to her, its hooves nearly breaking through the water again.
Hermione's vision began to blur, then, and she could feel her body growing fuzzy and indistinct. She had failed to protect the garden, and the worst part was that she was probably the only one who would care when it was inevitably trampled.
But then, just as she tipped forward, a strong arm wrapped around her, holding her upward, and a familiar voice shouted, "Aquae Ponte Fortis!"
A small hand grasped hers, yelling a soft, poorly-enunciated version of the spell. And as she lost consciousness, she heard retreating hoofbeats and someone crying, "Mummy, wake up! Mummy, wake up!"
Hermione slowly came back to herself, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her whole body ached dreadfully, and from the look of the pile of discarded pain relieving potions on the side table, she'd been out for awhile.
"What time is it?" she asked, only to have a very worried-looking Ron leap up and nearly squeeze her to death. His eyes were brimming with tears as he finally pulled away.
"We were so worried," he said, sniffling. "You wouldn't wake up, and then we had to get a mediwitch who tried to get us to take you to St Mungos, and then Mum came and you wouldn't believe what she's—"
"Ron, slow down," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Where am I?"
"You're at home in bed," he replied. "We got the fever under control, and I've been monitoring your magical core every hour for the past five days while it heals. Merlin, Hermione, we almost lost you."
A wave of something bitter pitched in her stomach. "I was protecting the garden. You know. The one that you and the children were so adamant about having."
"I…" He trailed off, looking utterly ashamed. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I know we promised, but why didn't you ask for help with the garden?"
Hermione's eyes flashed, and she sat up with a painful lurch. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I have asked?"
"Please, you're still injured!" He leaned forward to gently push her back onto the pillows, wincing at her livid expression as she fought to escape his touch.
"You know bloody well that this isn't about the garden!" Hermione's voice broke, and she was mortified to feel warm, wet tears on her cheeks. "And don't you even start with saying you're sorry. You probably wouldn't care if I died. You're just so used to reliable old Hermione coming and taking care of everything that you don't want to do!"
Ron reeled back as though he'd been slapped, his cheeks reddening with anger. "Hermione…you don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying, Ron," Hermione replied, her voice trembling with fury and despair. "I'm saying that you can't just come in and rescue me at the last minute. I don't need a hero or a savior. I need a husband who shows he loves me by being my partner."
Ron gaped at her in shock.
"Just…just leave me alone, Ron," Hermione said, turning with a grunt of pain and mashing her wet, messy face into the pillow. It was going to be gross later, but she was too exhausted to grab a tissue. She heard him leave, his dejected steps creaking slowly down the stairs, and felt a surge of relief that she wasn't sure she would feel sorry for later.
She turned gingerly until she was facing the window on her side of the bed, and looked out at the gentle curtain of rain that still poured from the sky. She wanted to go back out there and sink into the mud until nothing remained of her. Maybe then, once the sun shone again, she could grow into something better than the wretched thing she'd become.
