He walked with her, through the great gates of their home and safe-haven, towards the finite world they walked upon.
She looked questioningly up at him as they exited--previous ventures had ended in the coves and gardens bounding the Forest, or in meditation spots designed by the founders.
He said nothing, ignoring her look, instead simply taking her hand firmly between hers and commenting, quietly, firmly, "Trust me."
And they were gone, flying, but falling, and twirling dizzily through the land in which space does not matter, in which you are where you want to be, in which possibilities seem endless. It was not a forgiving land, there were neither guides nor signs, but he knew where he was, and where he was going, and how, precisely, to register that place with this strange land.
And they were there.
He stood for a moment, slowly regaining balance and presence of mind, as she collapsed onto him. His eyes were closed, hers were wide, scared, and yet furious.
"Trust me? You can say nothing but 'trust me'?" Her eyes flashed at him as he opened his own, and he silently cursed that ability of the young to recover so quickly from experiences such as debilitate their elders. Facing Hermione Granger in a fury while nauseous was sure to be less than a pleasant experience.
"Yes. I told you to trust me." He closed his eyes once more.
"Oh... Blast you!" She gripped her wand and muttered a spell, then led him towards the sensible sofa that she had conjured.
"Sit."
He complied though a look of resignation crossed his face, and was only compounded by her following words.
"There's two reasons for you to tell me when you're going to do something like that--so I don't kill myself by jumping out of your reach when we Apparate, and so that I know that you're likely to faint on exiting."
He shook his head slightly--any more would only reduce any reasoning skills he had regained--and sighed. "It had to be like that for your first time."
"Oh?"
How long had she been able to convey so many levels of meaning with one word... certainly not during her first years at school, it was a skill he would have appreciated. No, it had to have been his teachings... his fault. A teacher knows himself to be successful when the student turns the tables...
"Yes?"
She raised one eyebrow, acknowledging the point. "Oh, as in 'oh, and why did it have to be like that for my first time'?--as I'm certain you knew quite well." The last part was not quite a mutter, though certainly quiet enough that he had to strain to hear it.
He decided that the time for a discussion of the precise wordings of questions would not end in his best interests until either a number of hours could pass or he had access to some chocolate, and answered her question--however poorly worded it was.
"Apparation is a skill which comes reasonably easily to most. You open your mind, find your destination, and will that you are there--it is only for the concentration required that it is not available to minors; a decision that I am sure you can understand."
She sat intently, not looking away, not letting her attention--her conscious--be drawn to anything else. If nothing else, he had taught her that there are things behind and beyond words that will tell you more than words ever can.
"That is as much as most understand about it. 'Open your mind, find your destination, and will that you are there'--and there you are. They have classes because nothing can be that simple.
"First, in opening your mind: There is a certain impulse against free flow of thought within your mind, a certain impulse that requires that you be in control of yourself, and apparition requires that you move beyond your mind and into a different area, where there are doors to other places. This can be taught, and is.
"Second, in finding your destination: Upon opening the mind, you find yourself in a land that appears to be filled with doors--doors which lead to any possible place within your powers. You choose a door, knowing that it will be to where you want to go--for confidence is the only way to be sure of success.
"Finally, you walk through the door, walk out into the world at the place that you wish it to be. And it is there, and it is complete, and it is the same world that you left less than moments before--except for where you are." He looked at her, checking comprehension; she nodded her understanding.
"This is what they are taught; how to find the door, choose the door, go through the door. You shall find it rather more difficult."
Joy.
His eyes caught her slight grimace of inner 'amusement,' and he smiled. Almost.
"Yes, genius is rather a trial. Unfortunately it is not brought about consciously, nor can it be got rid of. However, this particular trial you shall find quite pertinent. You see, man is aware of only so much. That which is within his walls is all that he can know, that which he can see beyond he will be able to recognize. The multitude of doors into which you travel while Apparating reflect the world within your mind."
Yes. Now she got it.
Her eyes were closed, eyes moving behind the shadowed lids. He wondered if she knew that she moved her ears as she thought.
"This, of course, means that when Apparating, you will have to choose from a seemingly endless number of doorways, options, places--even from those that you have never heard of, nor been, nor seen pictures of. Concentration and control are keys, for to spend to much time in that other, between land is healthy for neither the mind nor the body."
She nodded, slightly, slowly, letting his words sink in fully as she did so.
"You can gain great knowledge of yourself from the world you find yourself in when Apparating; I have received permission to be your instructor in that study. Be sure of this: I will train you in controlling your mind, and I will make sure that you do not lose yourself in the myriad of choices you will find yourself in. It all relates to your control."
Control. Yes, he would emphasize that.
"However," he added in a tone which was not as lecturing as it had been, "that is not the only reason that I brought you there. I also wanted to show you something... this way."
It was only then that she began to process their surroundings, beyond the hastily conjured sofa (which she glanced down at with some embarrassment as he stood and began to walk away, and then immediately banished).
It was a glen, shimmering with shadows and leaves. Above was thick with swells of heat and humidity, around a coolness had settled as clouds passed before the sun. It was... peaceful.
Lilac infused air swept around her as she walked quickly behind him. Lilacs, and lavender, and violets, and redbuds; trees in various stages of bloom and fruit.
He crushed a berry indolently, the black-red pigments staining long, pale fingers. His nails were kept cut short, clean, and utterly devoid of any sign of indulgence. No fingernail buffers for him.
The thought of nail buffers, let alone polishes and manicures, was not strong enough to survive in the presence of thoughts of him. Pity, really. I imagine that, as a potions master, he could do quite amazing things for the female beauty industry.
They continued to walk, weaving between the strong, thick, towering tree trunks and walking softly on the delicate grass that seemed to have taken over this stretch of ground.
She continued to look around from her position behind his lead, watching the surroundings, listening to the careful footsteps crackling on the ground.
And then the trees were opening up again, flowing into an opening, a rift in the trees, a... a garden. Flowers and grasses, wild rippling grasses, trees, and berries, and fruits and flowers. Colors blended together into swirling hues of amazing variance. Color. And flowers.
They stopped, and he gestured to what she had not noticed in the vibrancy of the garden: two carefully cut stone benches, each looking somehow much more comfortable than their padded counterparts, and much more at home in the general natural aura.
He sat first, claiming the bench which was shrouded in vines of greens. She went on to the second one and, seated, looked at him. "I never figured you for a gardener."
She found herself the recipient of one of his more piercing looks. "Prejudices are a reflex of the lazy mind in order not to be required to formulate an educated opinion. Divest yourself of them, if at all possible."
She bent her head in realization and acceptance of his words, but then returned to looking to him expectantly.
He leaned back into the bench. "You'll find that stress is relieved in ways peculiar to the person affected. I garden." He sighed. "As you can see, my life has thus far been... unusually stressful."
"Rather."
They sat in silence, allowing the wind to be their silent companion. Winds ebbing and flowing, caressing and soothing. Whispering in a language long lost to man, perhaps telling stories of the places, people it has seen.
And then it began to change.
Subtly.
Subtly, but persistently.
She looked at him, at where he sat, eyes closed and lines relaxed, then up at the sky.
The sun's harshness was gradually being hidden by layer after layer of cloud. Storm clouds grew, tall, majestic, imposing, spawning more clouds to expand further throughout the sky. The Heavens are far beyond the barriers of the clouds, and, indeed, the clouds seemed to be conquering all the sky.
And with the rising clouds came a certain rising tension that she faintly remembered from days spent in the country. Standing, looking up into the sky, seeing no one and nothing that could remind her of man and it's culture--standing, left to nature, whatever She may choose to do with her winds, and her waves, and her clouds and rains.
Standing with that feeling filling the air around, that something was going to happen, something was going to break, the deluge was about to begin, it was impossible for her to think of anything beyond what she could feel, for she was connected to the skies and the clouds, and the rain droplets beginning to fall, and the trees beginning to shake, and the lightning flashing and thunder echoing.
And she was connected to him, by virtue of his feeling the same thing... He was there, and he was underneath the same skies, underneath the same tumult of energy clashing and waging battle for the once blue, now cloud-sown stretches above.
They sat as the eternal battle played out above them, each feeling as though they were far more than themselves. There were souls within the forest surrounding them that were drawn to the same storm, and something stronger than they were present, commanding the forces of water and air.
Wind splashed water into their faces, clothes, bodies, bringing with it rifts of chill and occasional bursts of warmth. Grass bowed down before this far superior power, laden with water and battered by air. Delicate flower petals tore and fell under the weight of the assault upon them, releasing still stronger perfume into the air.
The scent of the power of the storm was the most appealing, though; the smell of rain and lightning and energy--for energy has an original smell, recognizable when you're surrounded by it.
They sat, underneath it all, feeling it all, connected to it all. And even after the storm had fully passed, taking with it the uncontrollable impulses of the clouds and skies, they sat, quietly.
He was the first to break the silence, the silence hard won after the sounds before.
"I wanted you to feel that... needed you to feel that. That sense of being more than yourself. That sense of power outside of yourself. Because you are going to be exposed to that more and more as your walls come down."
He caressed a petal, once vibrant and brilliant in color, now tattered in strips.
"I need you to know what that feeling is. So that you know when it is coming--for it will, nature can summon storms within our minds just as in this world--and you will know what to do."
They both looked at the petal, then at each other.
His eyes were clouded still, hers were bright and clear--like the water cleaned by falling rain.
And she nodded slowly. "I will."