Magnanimous Chapter 9 – Feeling

Disclaimer: Not Mine. JKR owns all the characters, unfortunately.

Thanks for 174 reviews goes to: Chiinoyami-chan (x2), willowfairy, Lyra Silvertongue2, Georgina, Emerald Raven, Wormmon ABC, Saotoshi, animegirl-mika, Oz1, airotci, Kou Shun'u, chintamani, KrystyWroth, Sam8, Hermione182, Rebecca15, mutsumi, angkat14, Flexi Lexi (x2), willowwiccantara, cuppy, Vfoxy713, bella orchid, Jade-Jaganashi.

A/N: This chapter has a special dedication: to my sister, Lydia, who was married last year and recently told us that she's pregnant!!! My little niece-or-nephew will be here around late May. I'm very, very, very excited, unsurprisingly!!!

Onto more fic-related notes: I made an advertising-poster for Fallen. If you go to my profile and click on the link under 'Homepage' it'll take you to the poster. Hope you like! I've not done much writing lately, being at my sisters all weekend, and thus my efforts are concentrated on this fic. As it should be!

I have to say this is one of my favourite chapters – for the end scene alone. Am pleased with that scene; normally bad at scenes of that type. But that would be giving it away…

Enjoy!

~*~

They hadn't run into many obstacles in the past half-hour or so, something that put both Ron and Harry even more on edge. Glancing around themselves, they both half-expected some new and horrible curse to attack them without warning, or a vile creature to be lying in wait.

An icy winter's dawn was approaching, which meant it must be around seven o'clock. The stars were fading, and the black velvet of the sky was lightening, turning grey. Around them, the birds were beginning to awaken, chirping their dawn songs like the beginning of any other day. Suddenly it all seemed very silly, trudging through the pleasant, familiar grounds at dawn, the grass damp with dew and the birdsong all around. It ought to have been a dark and scary wood, silent and menacing, with distant rumbles of thunder punctuating the mood.

It looked like a perfect winter's day, crisp and cold. The strange, sharp beam of light still hung above their heads, shoring the way, the only thing out of place.

Ron glanced up to the beam, his eyes following the long line to the horizon, distant and half shrouded in the morning mist. But there was something odd… Yes, he realised with a surge of excitement; it was real. He could see, distant but plainly visible, the point where the strand of light separated; one strand leading them to the tower, and one heading off in another direction, surrounding the school.

The prospect of what they were doing suddenly became very chillingly real. What were they thinking? Going up to the tower and turning off the power source? Impossible! But… The alternative was to let the entire school, students and teachers, lose all their magic. The alternative was to leave Hogwarts powerless to stop the murder of each and every one of them by Voldemort. There was no choice; however insane their actions were, it had to be done.

Oddly fortified, Ron kept onwards, eyes fixed firmly on the junction, as the pale morning light spilled across the sky.

~*~

The same light was tentatively slanting its way into Hermione and Draco's cell, spreading across the white surfaces, stretching towards the place where they were. It touched Hermione's face first, causing her to stir slightly in her sleep, but not to wake. She still lay where she had fallen asleep, her cheek resting on Draco's shoulder, one arm reaching sleepily across him. His arm was still around her.

And now, as the dawn light melted the shadows to nothing, it slanted softly across Draco's face, lighting his pale skin and revealing his open eyes.

He hadn't slept all night, he realised as he glanced towards the golden glow. Strange. But then, he had been thinking… and time was so easily forgotten when a thousand questions and ideas and vague, half-formed thoughts were whirling through his mind.

Hermione shifted slightly, the movement drawing Draco's attention away from the impending morning and back to the girl half-lying on his chest. How long ago was it that they'd been bitter enemies? Again, he'd lost all sense of time. It could have been a minute, it could have been a thousand years; it felt like both.

If she'd been an enemy, however long ago it had been, then what was she now?

He didn't know; it was just another of the myriad questions that plagued his mind. He sighed softly, so as not to wake her, looking down at her again and searching for a question he could answer.

He had told her everything. Why? Ceros had been his secret, something he'd never told anyone, hiding the old but never-forgotten pain deep, deep inside himself until even he had almost forgotten it. And then the Dark Lord's plan had awakened the old promise and with it, echoes of the pain. Dulled, but still unbearable.

Maybe he was going mad. That would explain it. Why he'd told her such things, why there was so much he couldn't work out… But even as he thought it, he knew he was completely sane, just trying to rationalise something he didn't understand.

She looked different when she was sleeping. Most people did, probably, but he didn't spend much time watching them. Hermione looked… peaceful. Happy, even. It was quite a contrast to the way he'd seen her lately, in the eternity or the heartbeat since this madness had begun. She'd been worried, shocked, upset, terrified, angry… but he hadn't seen her like this yet, so simple and serene.

Childlike. Ceros had looked the same, when she'd slept.

He wondered what she looked like normally, when she wasn't caught up in some mad scheme to single-handedly save the whole of Hogwarts from Voldemort. He really knew very little about her. She was good at school, loved her work… perfect Miss Hermione. Did she spend long hours slaving over books, or did learning come naturally to her? If she worked, then why – out of an urge to perform well, a love of learning, what? Which subjects did she take? Did she do her homework religiously, every piece finished on the night she got it, or did she sometimes leave things to the last minute? What did she do when she wasn't working? More accursed questions, he realised.

And another question, perhaps the most important, but also the most unanswerable – why did he care?

A strand of her hair had fallen into her eyes; absentmindedly, he brushed it back, his fingertips skimming her smooth skin. One point in her favour – she wasn't prone to spots, unlike some of the girls he'd seen. Her eyes were quite pretty, if you bothered to look, and her hair wasn't that bad once you got used to it… And her teeth didn't stick out anymore, why hadn't he noticed that before now? She was quite intellectual as well, not like the group of girls he cruelly labelled as, 'ditzy airheads'…

… and what was the point of all this?

Any more of these random questions and thoughts and he'd have the mother of all headaches, he thought grimly. And by now, the light was streaming through the windows, lighting up the room. He ought to sleep.  He ought to. But, of course, he couldn't, not until these questions had stopped plaguing him. Sighing, he went back to staring at Hermione's face, a myriad shards of thought crashing through his mind, shards which he could reform into a whole, make sense of, if only he could figure out how they all fit together…

~*~

A few hours later, the initial glow of happiness Ron had felt at seeing the sunrise had completely vanished. The low winter sun was shining right in his eyes, far too bright for the time of year, half blinding him. Added to this were the seeming miles they had walked across the wilderness; he was sure they would never find their way back again. And then, of course, there was Harry; the pain of which it seemed would never diminish…

Harry's goal in the obstacle-laden trek seemed to be to ignore Ron as much as possible. He would speak when absolutely necessary, when the circumstances grew life threatening – which happened a lot – and intervene to help only if Ron was about to die, such as the situation on the bridge. The rest of the time, it was eyes straight ahead, tense against any kind of speech or attempt at smoothing things over, ignoring him completely.

It was not a pleasant feeling, being despised, Ron thought miserably. Half of him was getting quite fed up with this treatment, and kept strongly hinting that they should do something, anything to break the oppressive tension. A screaming argument with Harry would be good, or simply walking away and leaving him to do it all alone…

But the other part urged patience. After all, an argument would only make things worse. And how could he leave Harry? For one thing, it was his fault that Harry was even here; he'd insisted on finding out about the teacher's plans. And they would be far more vulnerable alone, more prone to danger…  Harry would be dead if Ron hadn't saved him from that Lethifold, and Ron would be dead if Harry hadn't saved him from that bridge.

Ron's musings were rudely interrupted when he heard an unusual squelch from below his feet. Looking down, he saw that the grass was soaking wet and soggy. Strange. It had only been damp with dew earlier, and there had been no rain lately…

Then he looked closer, and his eyes widened. The grass was dissolving, fizzing slightly as it turned into piles of wet, formless green mush. Ron knew what this was; his father had been obsessed with it for a brief period, before the Muggle science had got too complicated for him and he'd moved on to electricity.

'Harry,' he said, quite calmly, 'we're walking in acid.'

Harry didn't even look up. 'There's not much. And it's not very concentrated.'

Ron wasn't exactly sure what he meant by 'concentrated', but Harry didn't seem too worried, so presumably they weren't in any great danger for now… He tried to remember what he'd picked up from his father's enthusiastic ramblings. There were indicators which changed colour – Dad had made a homemade kind from boiled red cabbage, the kitchen had stunk for weeks – and some measure of acidity. PE? PH? And it had looked strange, too, in the kid's textbook his Dad had excitedly shown him. The capital letters were funny. pH?

Still, whatever the letters were, it wasn't going to be much use here. And, he noticed nervously, the level was rising, and an ominous smell was beginning to rise from the ground…

'It's eating my shoes.' He remarked. 'Uh, it might not be anything to worry about… I don't know much about it… thought you should know…' His voice trailed off as the smell of melting rubber increased.

Harry stiffened.

'There's a rock over there.' He said at last, pointing to a place where a huge rock jutted out of the ground. 'We can climb on top of that for now.'

Relieved to be getting away from the acid-soaked ground, Ron complied, walking hurriedly after Harry to the rock. His shoes were beginning to feel rather thin; no doubt Harry's were too…

They reached the sanctuary of the rock, scrambled up onto it, safe for now. Ron unlaced his shoe and took it off to get a better look at the sole. It looked as though it had melted.

Suddenly aware of just how dangerous this stuff was, he shuddered. Imagine what that could do to skin… He kept a cautious eye on the level, and was alarmed to see that it was moving higher and higher. An inch high by now, no, more than that… two inches…

He clambered higher up the rock in alarm; beside him, Harry did the same. A horrible thought filled Ron's mind; what if it didn't stop, what if it kept on rising and rising and rising until it ate Harry and himself away…

And then, he chanced to glance over his shoulder, and the sight turned him cold.

A wave of the stuff, deceptively water-like but deadly as knives, was rising from the horizon, a distant rumble approaching steadily with it. Ron's throat went dry with fear, everything suddenly numb.

'Harry…' he moaned in horror, pointing. 'The acid…'

Harry looked, freezing in fear like Ron. 'A barrier…' he said simply, as soon as he found his tongue, eyes never leaving the growing wave. 'A Shield charm… If both of us do it together…'

Ron nodded, getting a grip on himself, taking deep breaths. 'Alright.' he said, pulling out his wand and pointing it in the direction of the wave. 'Ready when you are…' The wave was getting worryingly close, the roar of a single sheet of acid rumbling ominously as it hurtled towards them…

Harry nodded. 'Now.'

'Praesidium!'

A shimmering blue light shot out of the ends of their wands, merging together to form the magical shield. It didn't look like much, not to protect them against the wave of acid that was steadily approaching, arching over their heads…

It crashed over the barrier with a noise like the shattering of Heaven. For one awful, terrible moment, the shield flickered; Ron thought it was going to break under the pressure, but it held… For how long?

And then the acid was gone, hurtling on towards the other horizon, leaving the two boys gasping in relief. The shield, never a long-lived charm, splintered, gave a final flicker and winked out.

'That was close.' Ron gasped, still staring after the receding wave. Harry didn't reply, and a horrible, bitter twist steeled once more in Ron's stomach as he remembered that however much they cooperated when danger struck, they were still not friends…

They waited on the rock for about half an hour, until Harry remarked casually, as if speaking to himself, that the acid appeared to have dried from the ground, and it was probably safe to carry on. Ron was the first to clamber down, and was glad to find that the ground was indeed safe. The grass, however, was utterly gone, leaving nothing but dirt behind.

Without a word, as usual, they carried on.

~*~

Hermione floated in the vague wordless state that exists on the border of sleeping and waking, where dreams and reality intertwine. There was light, shining on her eyelids, pleasant warmth surrounding her, and something comfortable but peculiar on which she was resting. Strange shaped, with oddly placed hard bits… The one thing you mustn't do in the half-dream state is to think too hard, because if you think, you wake up.

Hermione thought: what am I lying on?

And then, in the instant between slumber and wakefulness, she knew the answer. She was leaning on Draco.

Her eyes flew wide open as the memories of the previous night streamed back. She was half sitting, half lying on Draco, who was leaning against the wall, stopping her from slumping painfully to the harsh floor with one arm around her back. The other arm was loosely rested on top of her. Her head was on his shoulder, and she could feel his breath tickle her hair.

Her reaction to this was one of acute embarrassment. She could feel her face flushing, and she was aware of a strange tingle in her stomach…

'Morning.' said Draco, sounding… amused? Irritated? Bored? She couldn't tell.

'Morning.' She replied, feeling her face burn even darker. She remained silent and unmoving for several seconds, feeling flustered, embarrassed, and… dizzy. The last one of that group didn't make sense, but it was there; a peculiar light-headedness, like the world was only half there. Maybe she had caught something? She was breathing too fast…

'Maybe I should get up…' she suggested softly. Draco, who had been motionless up till now, made no sound – presumably he nodded – and moved his arm, allowing her to scramble out of the awkward position.

Hermione sat down a short distance away, leaning against the wall and trying to catch her breath. She must be ill, she frowned… she was breathing as hard as if she'd just run a race, and her heart rate, when she pressed two fingers to her wrist, was the same. She considered voicing this to Draco, but kept silent… It might be nothing…

And indeed, after a few minutes she realised that her pulse had dropped to a more normal rate, and her breathing was once again calm and controlled. Odd. Maybe it was the embarrassment… yes that would explain it…

She glanced up at Draco, and was startled to see his eyes flash quickly away from her.  He'd been looking at her? She frowned, eyes on his face – which was annoyingly blank – as she tried to puzzle it out. Well, it probably wasn't surprising… she was the most interesting thing in the room. Not much of an achievement in a bare, white-walled cell.

He glanced up at her again, and she jumped guiltily, tearing her eyes away. Then she realised she'd just done the exact same thing that he had, and defiantly raised her eyes again, but he had already looked away. She decided to break the silence with an attempt at conversation.

'Are you alright?' she asked, referring to his injuries of the night before – and anything emotional, of course, but she knew he'd never talk about that kind of thing. Draco gave a short but elegant nod, glancing up at her, and again her eyes shied away from his.

There was a strange tingle to the air, like the charge before a thunderstorm. Hermione's pulse kept beating oddly – at times it settled down, only to pick up again. Her breath would catch in her throat. She felt restless, and kept shifting on the floor, and it was only after half an hour that she realised she was curled up defensively. Defending herself against what?

Draco was acting oddly too. He kept looking at her and glancing away when she glanced up. From what she observed, staring at him out of the corner of her eye, he was trying to puzzle something out. Something to do with her. But that was nonsense: he was the puzzling one… He'd notice her gaze, sometimes, causing her to look quickly away and pretend to be staring into space.

Several times, she tried a brave stab at conversation; but he seemed untalkative. When Malevium shoved the meal in through the narrow doorway with a curse and a foul glare, Draco had little appetite; he barely touched the soup. After half an hour, Hermione realised that she'd been so caught up watching him that her own soup was cold; she ended up leaving more than half.

And all the time, that odd, restless air hung over them both, making them edgy. It felt as if some force was building in the room, some power, and that soon it would explode. Something big was building.

Hermione glanced over to Draco once more, and decided to brave the attempt at another conversation. 'Are you sure your nose is alright? It looks a little swollen…'

He did look a little alarmed at this, causing her to laugh; a strange, foreign laugh that wasn't her own. 'Don't worry, Draco, I'm sure it won't mar your good looks.'

She blushed a furious crimson, holding a hand to her mouth as if not believing what she'd just said. Draco looked up at her, grinned, then laughed aloud.

'Which, of course, are my top priority.' He'd used some of the glass of water they'd had with the chicken to make a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the blood from his face, with partial success. Now he reached up a finger and tentatively prodded the appendage. 'I see what you mean, it does feel a bit swollen…'

Hermione smiled despite herself; it was the most he'd said all morning. 'I'll come and look at it for you.' She offered without thinking, shuffling along the floor to Draco's side.

This close to him, she began breathing too quickly again, and the strange electrical feeling doubled. She could hear her pulse throbbing in her ears. Tentatively, not quite sure of what she was doing, she reached out to his nose.

His skin was warm, and soft. Somehow she'd never quite appreciated how much detail a fingertip could feel. Every millimetre of his skin was filled with features, standing out bold in her mind. Suddenly, she felt quite light-headed, as if the world had fallen away from her.

'It feels alright.' Hermione said softly, barely able to speak in more than a whisper. She was suddenly aware of just how dry her mouth was. Glancing upwards, her eyes met his with a shock; his silvery-grey eyes glistened in the sunlight, so pure, so blank on top, and underneath… Underneath sparkled a myriad things, and the things were thoughts and feelings, too complex and too sacred for anyone to put more then the broadest of names to. She couldn't have broken his gaze even if she had wanted to.

She was aware of her hand, sliding – not under her control – away from his nose, across his smooth skin, down his cheek. She was aware of his hand, coming up to cover her own as she pressed it to his skin, and of his other hand, coming up behind her and tangling itself in her hair, the back of her head, and then moving forwards…

Their lips met.

It was an explosion, the explosion promised by the mounting electricity, which had suddenly reached a critical mass and melted into this. This was fire, this was ice, this was blinding light and absolute darkness, this was black and white. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Every second glittered and sparkled and burned as though an eternity had been compressed into a heartbeat, every touch, every taste was infinity.

Well, this explained why her pulse had been so erratic…

The kiss broke – who broke it, she didn't know – allowing her to gasp for breath and try to stop the world spinning. Her eyes flew open – she hadn't been aware of closing them – and a kind of reality returned. She could taste copper – his blood, the blood which still marred his lip.

'Draco…' she whispered, when she had breath enough to do so. 'Why…?'

There were a thousand possible whys she could have asked, but Draco interrupted. 'I don't care why.' He told her, leaning in once more.

This kiss was harder. A bolt of lightening thundered through her at the meeting of lips on lips, and she let herself dissolve into the frightening, fearful sensation. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as though she'd run a marathon, taste the copper tang of his lips, smell the reassuring smell of his skin close to hers. She was clinging to Draco's shoulders, as though she'd fall and lose herself if she didn't hold on to something real, something sane; the fabric wrinkled under her grip. The kiss brought out something dark in her, something not evil but not good, something that had existed before man invented the concept of good and evil. It was frightening, but she didn't want it to end.

When the kiss finally did break, she was amazed to find both herself and Draco lying on the floor, side by side. They didn't speak –what could be said? – but lay together, side by side and pressed together. Hermione closed her eyes, arms around him, listening to his erratic breathing calm. The kisses replayed themselves behind her eyelids, explosions in her mind, until memory turned into dreams and she slept once more.

~*~

Latin: 'Praesidium' means 'shield.'

A/N: *very big grin* I'm normally very, very bad at kissing scenes. But I'm pleased with that one. It went well.

I'm not going to guilt you into reviewing; hopefully the kissing was enough to persuade you to drop me some feedback…