Hermione felt the unfamiliar tugging, the falling. Into the dream - finally.
The sky was a dark canopy of lightning and rain clouds. The ground was in a similar state of dirt and ruddiness. Hermione considered it for a moment, and decided that however ugly it was, it quite matched her current temperament.
"And what took you so long?" She greeted, not bothering to force him to come out of hiding.
"You won't humor me?" the disembodied voice asked amusedly.
"No, I bloody will not." She stood her ground. Her ground flagged. The dirt on the floor melted under her, enveloping and drowning her with its closeness. It finally gave way and she fell through it into mid air. For a frightening few seconds, Hermione's mind went blank after she had registered that she was falling and she was going to die.
Amazingly, she landed on a solid, yet somehow thickly rubbery surface with the impact of a feather on the moon. She bounced once, and then caught herself on an arm. Arm?
"Ah well." The voice came from directly behind her, causing her to reel around and gasp. His hair was still that amazing shade of gold streaked with red - just like the apple he had given her. He was still graceful like a dancer.
"H-hello." She was suddenly nervous, faced with this intimidating and beautiful creature that she had thought up. To think, she - who couldn't draw stick people properly - had created this image.
"Good evening." The man said, walking toward her. She realized that they were on water, on the lake that he had made for her during his last Visit. "Don't worry, you wont sink again."
She lay rigid against the water that somehow supported her weight. He offered his hand to her and she took it, grateful for the anchor. Slowly, she stood up on the water. It was terrible, feeling as if she would fall into the lake at any second and never again see the light of day.
"It's interesting, isn't it?" He asked, understanding her wariness. "You wont fall, I've made the water solid, but look, it ripples if you touch it."
She bent down and touched a finger to the water, watching the resulting wrinkles expand to the edges of the lake. Interesting.
A picnic appeared before them, and she stared at it dubiously. They'd be eating out on the lake. Literally, on the lake.
"Don't worry, you wont fall through." He reminded her, taking her hand and easing her gently onto the water.
Hermione steadied herself warily before remembering all the things she'd wanted to ask him. Narcissa Malfoy.
"There's… That is, I need to ask you a few things." She blathered, trying not to sound like a complete moron and failing miserably.
"Hm." He said, noncommittally.
"You, why did you stop after Narcissa Malfoy?" She blurted, unable to find some nice, clean way to put it.
"I didn't stop after Narcissa Malfoy. I have never Visited Narcissa Malfoy. That was just a rumor she spread for attention." He seemed pensive. The light of the day somehow dimmed, and the sun disappeared behind the canopy of forest to the west.
Hermione didn't like that much. She willed the sun out of its hiding place and smiled as it peeked up from the trees, assembling itself comfortably in the sky. The day had brightened. The man looked up at her in surprise. Astonishment.
"You did that consciously." He said, through a face of hopeless mediocrity.
"Yes. You made it dark." She complained, waving herself with a fan that she had conjured out of the water. His smile broke even and he kissed her hand with delight.
"That, my dear, was very impressive. This calls for something…" He concentrated on a spot in the water.
She was currently struck dumb - he had called her dear. Her blush didn't quite reach her toes.
Something was changing in the water though, it was rippling a little too much. Hermione looked up from the water that lapped dryly at her legs and spotted the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Pale rose coloured dress, 18th century, Hermione surmised. Curled brown hair topped upon her head magnificently. Low, square cut, lace ruffled neckline.
Hermione spent a minute or two admiring the beautiful woman before she realized that it was actually herself. Herself, two shades paler, hair curled and gleaming, waist cinched into a tiny corset, and smiling beautifully at the couple sitting on a picnic blanket fifteen feet away - on a lake.
She had just spent the last few moments ogling herself.
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by something beautiful. She looked at the man beside her for confirmation, and he nodded at her encouragingly.
The tender trickle of notes was distinctly baroque. High and low, jumping between near octaves. It was beautiful, and skilled, and Hermione knew that outside of this dream, she would never be able to squawk through that astounding aria. She didn't recognize the song at all. Opera, definitely, but Hermione had never heard it before. It sounded vaguely Italian, before she realized that it was, of all things, Latin. Latin - like wizards.
Oh.
Hermione could vaguely pick out the words - something of a lover who had left her to fight in a war. Something something Goblins, Something something undying love.
The words didn't matter - it was the music. An invisible orchestra attempted to catch up to Baroque Opera Hermione's trills and swells and purposeful vibratos, yet they failed astoundingly. It actually sounded as if the orchestra were supposed to just play some childish dissonant attempt at harmony, but Hermione knew better. The woman was too good.
She lifted her pale head dramatically and let loose the most taunting melody Hermione had ever heard. Hermione felt herself giving her heart to this woman, this woman who had lost her fiance in an unfair war, to an unfair curse. And it was a beautiful and painful swell next. A careful ascension, and then she had gone so quiet as to have nearly stopped, but the note came back, stronger, willful. Hermione held her breath when the woman seemed to have paused in her sad song.
A ripple of violins resounded clearly as the water beneath them echoed it wonderfully. The woman sang again. And she was singing softly at first, but then it built, and she layered one note on top of the other, so as to ascend into such a feverish tone and pitch. And she reached it. That note that had Hermione nearly crying. It was yet a sad song, but somehow strong. Somehow ready.
The woman took in a deep, inaudible breath before some last bar, and carefully unfolded in her palms something light and valuable. It was a pale perfume gem, fleshy peach in colour. The last two measures of music ended in a swell, an aching, yearning swell full of desire and sadness. Hermione caught herself swaying to the music and blushed appropriately. The man was watching her.
The woman, finished with her aria and not looking a bit put off at the lack of clapping and Brava! walked gently across the water toward them and kneeled down, skirts billowing and frothing around her magnificence.
A moment later, Hermione found herself kissing her own mirror image. Or being kissed by it. And it was a passionate kiss, full of the song she had sung and heard. Hermione opened herself to it, amazed at the strength and surprising tenderness surrounding her. She opened her eyes and stared right into them. She felt soft hair curtaining around her hands, where she had reached up to hold her pale reflection's face. Hermione smelled something - for the first time in dream, she smelled something sweet and spicy and rosy. Hermione placed her hands firmly upon the Baroque Hermione's shoulders and pulled apart from the kiss, trying to be gentle about it. The scent had intoxicated her, much as the music had.
Her twin had brought her hand up, exposing the pale gem that had been swathed in her palm. Hermione felt the tendrils of scent creeping up to meet her, teasing and playful. She brought up her own hand and took the yellow gem from the woman, looking from it to her own bright, pale face. The second she touched it, though, the woman vanished without a sound, and Hermione found herself leaning into the air that had been occupied by her twin. Recollection found her.
She stared horrified at the man who had seen her Narcissistic display. Oh God.
And then, "Why did you make her look like me? And why did you make her kiss me? And how did you make this?" she gestured at the gem. It was the only thing she had ever scented in the Dream Visits - as she called them.
He looked stricken, then horrified, "You think I'd make you kiss yourself like that?"
She flustered for a second, embarrassed. Could Dream People act of their own volition?
"You are stronger than I thought." He continued, noting her silence, "It's something to create flavor in an apple, and an entirely different thing to control a person. Not a real person, mind, but it is that I had created her to sing for us. And you…changed her. And you made that." He regarded the gem in Hermione's hand.
"I didn't." She said, somewhat disappointedly, "I didn't do that. I didn't make her kiss me, and I didn't make this." She lifted the gem.
"Not consciously, you didn't. But it might have been the music. It's not always something you can control. When you came into the dream today, I was surprised at what firm control you had over your surroundings. Much of it was still rudimentary," He said, and Hermione flinched at his choice of words, "but that you were able to so immerse yourself in what you created…" He trailed off.
Hermione stared at him in shock. She couldn't have wanted to kiss herself. That's sick. And the perfume gem was welcome in this scentless place. Hermione was glad that she had been able to subconsciously create it. At least she was progressing to her goal.
"So you brought me back here." She said, surprised at her own words.
"Well, I didn't want to have to share a dream in that place. There was lava." He huffed.
She looked at him again, and noted that his eyes changed. They were dark. Too dark. She smiled at that.
"I have so many questions, but they only seem important to me when I'm awake." She laughed, "And when I'm here… they all just fade away."
He didn't respond, opting to measure her with his stare. She averted her eyes to the water, shy again.
"So you never Visited Narcissa Malfoy."
"No."
"And you've Visited me. Twice."
"What is it you need?" He asked, moving slightly toward her.
She remembered what he had said, the choice he had given her a week ago. A father, a lover, a son.
"A lover, I think." She responded, bringing the scented gem to her lips and placing it in her mouth. It was sweet. She kissed him.
………………………………..
So yeah. This was a fun chapter to write - I like writing about music. I hope it was accurate. And I made Hermione slightly assertive, and at the same time not. Oh well, tell me what you think.
Anyway, if any of you are freaked out about Hermione kissing herself, well, here's a belated apology. Apology.
And if any of you are freaked out about Hermione kissing - uhm unknown (yeah right) mystery man, then you really shouldn't be here. So no apology.
As for the rules for this challenge, I can't give a link! It's at WIKTT, which is a restricted yahoo group, and I can't really link from it. So if you're really interested in the link, I'd advise you to join yahoo groups if you haven't, and then join WIKTT if you haven't, and then look up the "I'm Just a Gigolo" challenge under the files folder. Or you can just enjoy the story as it is. Or you can email me directly, and I'll send you a copy of the rules.
If anybody knows about a real, working link to the challenge rules that I haven't come across, please review or email me at veruslumen at hotmail . com with the information, Thanks.
A big thanks to Maria, who's really an awesome beta. Thanks so much for your help and advice! And I'm sorry for the ungodly long AN I have going on here, but I just couldn't help myself. Remember folks, reviews force me to write faster. They're a magnetic force. I am physically and mentally attracted to them. winks at reviews So if you leave me some, you know you'll get a piping hot chapter out of the mental oven vewwy vewwy soon.
-Jenny