Summary: One night before the War, two foes share a moment of peace.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters and places are not mine; they are most certainly owned by JK Rowling.
Author's Note: Written for the spring fic exchange. Thank you to Onzie, who was my unofficial beta and who so kindly suggested the titleof this fic. Lol.
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Midnight Snack
By Erythros
Seventh year was nearing its end, for the winter winds had finally died out to give way to the fresh spring season. The air was no longer brisk and chilly, turning gradually as the days passed into a comforting, cool air; the blanket of white snow which was grandly spread out on the grounds was gone for it had been melting since February, and soon enough, everything was once again a fresh green in color, for everything was growing anew, and the grounds of the castle no longer looked barren and hostile. Spring showers came and went as it pleased, especially during the evenings, and these were more than welcome to come upon the land.
And now it was May, and there was about a month of school left, and the younger years were nothing but overjoyed that classes would come at end soon - there would no longer be any exams, tests, projects or homework as soon as June rolled by. But for the seventh years, it was a most sorrowful thing that this would be their last term in this beloved school, their last spring in the walls of the castle, their last year in the institution they had come to admire and consider a safe home for seven years of their lives. Even then, the War was not yet done; still it raged on outside the confines of Hogwarts, and once they were out, they were expected to come and fight – either for the good or for the bad.
One such girl was invigorated yet frightened at the same time, not knowing how to handle the real world she would step into in the coming months. As she walked silently through the darkened hallways of the castle, relishing in the comfort that the shadows and the pounding rain offered her that late night, she could not help but wonder what the future had in store for her. Would the War end once and for all? Would she and her beloved friends, the great Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, get to survive through the battles they were sure to face? Would they come out victorious, triumphant over the defeat of the Dark Lord, or would they perish, trounced upon gloriously by Voldemort? Would she be able to smile after everything was done, glad that her dearest friends made it alive, or would she herself face death in the middle of it all?
She shook her head vigorously, determined to keep away these horrible thoughts and concentrate alone on the present. As her slippers padded against the stone floor, she frowned sadly, her lips quivering, for she knew that those she treasured the most would suffer in the War, and that it was sure that someone among them would die. That was why she needed desperately to cherish these times she had with them now, for who could know that right now would be her last time seeing them smile or laugh, filled with life?
She stopped in front of a grand painting of fruits in a bowl, and any sign of moisture in her eyes she wiped away fiercely, resolute that she would not break down into tears in the hallway. Her brown eyes fixed on the lone pear, she reached out and tickled it lightly; she stepped backwards to see the pear shaking in giggles and transform into a wooden door, which she gingerly opened so as not to make any creaking noise.
And when she stepped inside, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it and sighing contentedly as she closed her eyes for a bit – the familiar hustle and bustle of the kitchens somehow comforted her, as it had for the past four years, for this was her comfort place, the little 'haven' she had aside from the library and Common Room, for here she could eat her worries away or listen as the kindly house elves bickered away in the background. She recalled her countless trips to this vast room whenever she found herself stressed with work, and as a cure she'd eat her favorite midnight snack: a bowl of cereal and cold milk, which she'd eat eagerly until she felt at peace.
But right now, a strong voice interrupted her reverie, one that seemed so familiar and so annoyed, which caused her eyes to flutter open in surprise.
'Midnight snack, Granger?'
And there he was, the boy who was once so scrawny and thin, only to grow into a fine young man, with the loveliest set of slate eyes, pools of gray which reminded her of beautiful rainy days, which seemed to calm her down whenever she looked into them. They were always devoid of any pleasant emotion when they were turned on her, but whenever he wasn't looking anywhere at her, they were exquisite, candid. Tonight, he did not wear such a look or any of his fine robes, but instead he had an almost pleasant expression and his emerald pajamas, with his beautiful fair hair hanging loosely without the normal presence of gel.
It was not a most unusual sight to witness the Slytherin in the kitchens during midnight, for she had seen him many previous nights, sitting quietly on his usual seat, eating what seemed to be cornflakes and milk, the very same snack she loved to devour every time she was here; he was a regular visitor of the school kitchens just as she was, always there before she arrived, only to leave several minutes later in silence when she did finally come. They had never talked, but merely acknowledged each other's presence, as the girl always sat right across him, and sometimes they even passed a tissue to each other if one needed it. She never asked why he always came at the same hour, knowing that he could completely avoid her as she was a foe and soon enough a person he would have to kill in the midst of War. Nevertheless, he came and each time she was there, there he was, a bowl of cereal and a spoon in front of him and another empty bowl and another spoon laid out right across him, intentionally for her.
They were not friends in the evening, just as they were not acquaintances in the day; but they, too, were not either Gryffindor or Slytherin, nor were they enemies whenever they were here in the kitchens – merely, they were two people who seemed to pretend as if they did not know each other; they were just a boy and a girl who loved to eat the same kind of food in the middle of the night, only two beings who found a strange solace in the kitchens of the school.
Tonight, however, the boy spoke to her, and her heart beat a great deal at hearing such a lovely, deep voice amidst the usual squeaks of elves in the room. She smiled slightly and replied, 'Good evening, Malfoy.'
Draping her black robes on a hook by the door, she strode towards her usual seat across him in her faded periwinkle pajamas and fluffy slippers, sat down and grabbed the box of cereal, pouring some of its contents into her bowl. Afterwards, she poured in the milk from a pitcher, seized her spoon and ate cautiously, glancing up once in a while to find that he too was devouring his own cereal with such graceful gusto.
There they ate for as long as an hour or so, with no words exchanged between them, continually pouring either more milk or cereal into their bowls until at last the cereal box was finished and the pitcher of milk was nearly empty. As the girl ate quietly, the boy gazed at her in wonder, observing the way she took in the spoon into her mouth, licking her lips in delight and the way her russet eyes seemed to grow brighter and brighter as she took in more of her snack, thus extinguishing the darkness they once held whenever she entered the kitchens. He was curious, he admitted, on why she came here every night, looking so lifeless whenever she arrived and suddenly looking so much happier when she was already in the middle of finishing eating; what was there in this cereal that could make her seem so happy? That was why he came every night, trying to find out the reason why, trying to know what secrets this Gryffindor should hold. He was intrigued.
And as the nights passed that he watched her eat, his heart grew fond of such a peaceful sight that the spectacle of seeing this Gryffindor in front of him every night warmed and calmed him; the kitchens, he admitted, would not be the same without her, and at times when she did not come, he felt rather empty and sad as he continued on to eat his midnight snack. They had never spoken with each other, and the boy had to admit that it was such a great loss, for they could probably have been good friends, even if it were only in the evenings that they were such a thing. Coming here every night was the one normal thing that happened during seventh year, for most of his classmates were too apprehensive on the coming War and here in the confines of the kitchens was where he was detached from the ongoing troubles of the outside world, where he could solely focus on his cereal and the girl whom he loved to be with, even in this silence.
And now, it was spring, and all this would have to end in a matter of weeks, and they would have to stand on the battlefield and forget that such peace had once existed in the world.
'Are you going to fight?' he asked her quietly.
The girl did not look up. 'Yes.'
'Are you prepared?'
'Yes.'
'Are you afraid?'
'Yes.' She set her spoon down. She looked up, and he found that her lips were quivering, her pretty brown eyes teary. 'I'm afraid that I'll have to fight and kill. I'm afraid that those I love will suffer. I'm terrified that Harry, Ron or the others might die in this War. I'm frightened of the thought that I might be alone after everything…'
But she did not mention that she was terrified of her own death. And he was confused, for he terribly was afraid to die. Did she think that she was going to live through this battle? The boy knew that he was going to die in this War and as prepared as he was, he was frightened. Either in the hands of his allies, or in the hands of his enemies, he was not going to live. The girl, instead, was terrified of watching her loved ones perish or die, and this he found strange. Was she this confident about her life? It was truly Gryffindor. He was confused as to why she did not worry about her own precious life just as he was.
The boy smirked sadly as he took in a mouthful of cereal. No one like her would worry about him, he thought, no one would miss him if he disappeared from this earth. No one would cry for him, just as this girl would mourn for the loss of her friends. And then he realized that such a thought of everyone forgetting him was scarier than death.
He took another mouthful angrily, turning away from the girl who was gazing at him sympathetically. He did not see her take a napkin from the table and lean in, just in time to wipe a trace of milk at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her in surprise as she smiled nicely and said, 'You're a refined slop, Malfoy. You're just like any hungry boy, huh?'
She returned to her cereal and ate quietly, and the boy, confused as to what had just happened, stared at her with an unreadable expression. He looked away, overwhelmed with such a feeling he was not used to – it could have been warmth or guilt, but he wasn't entirely sure. 'I'm going to fight you, you know.' He said softly, unable to shake off the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. 'You and your friends.'
Her spoon tinkled against the bowl. 'Yes, I know.'
'I'm going to be on the other side of the battlefield, attacking you because you're the enemy.'
'I'll be doing the same.'
'I might be one of those who will make your friends suffer.'
'I know.'
'I might be the one who kills them.'
'I know.'
'I might kill you.'
'I know.'
'I might laugh in triumph that I killed you because you're a Mudblood.'
'I know.'
'But why aren't you afraid of me now?'
'Because I know you won't do anything to me now.' She said quietly. 'You like my company.'
His eyes widened at her reply, his cheeks turning pink as the girl looked up at him. 'Is that why you insist on coming?'
'I suppose.' She shrugged and pointed at her bowl. 'Besides, I like eating breakfast food in the middle of the night.'
He smiled at her answer and she smiled back.
'Why do you come?' she asked.
He shrugged. 'You.'
'What?'
'I come because of you.' He frowned. 'Like you said, I like your company. I've grown fond of this habit of having to see you every night and it's one I can't seem to shake off.'
The girl blushed, looking quite flattered and embarrassed at the same time. She took the last spoonful of cereal into her mouth, wiped her mouth with a napkin and stared at the boy. 'Then it's too bad that it'll all end soon and that the next time we'll see each other it'll be when we're trying to blast each other's heads off.'
It was a dreadfully sad thought to think that this boy she had despised all throughout her adolescence was someone she had grown fond of in her last year, and that one day in the near future, they would have to try and kill each other. Would they remember these little moments of theirs in the school kitchens when they would see each other in the battle? Would they smile before they attack, calling to mind one single memory when they sat across each other, eating the same kind of food in a peaceful solitude? She never should have ever insisted on going every night she could, because, no matter how things would happen, it would be hard – rather, painful – to end the life of one who seemed to have subtly become important to her. They were not good friends, indeed, but the girl would not be surprised if one day, she would cry when she faced this boy at War and have to fight him to the death.
Setting her spoon down, she gazed at the boy who seemed to find that gazing right back at her was a most interesting thing, and slowly, hesitantly, he reached at her face, grazed her cheek with his thumb and simply said, 'Granger, you're crying.'
And indeed she was, and she herself did not realize it. Were these tears because of him? She did not know and did not care.
She smiled, wiped away the tears that were beginning to fall down her cheeks and carelessly said, 'Oh, I don't know why I am! Honestly, what's gotten into me tonight?' Here she was, crying for a boy she hardly knew, and she didn't understand why it was suddenly so painful to look at him.
Staying a bit longer would not be a good idea, and so the girl stood up, saying, 'I think I'd better go, Malfoy.'
The boy, too, seemed to think that it was best. 'Yes, I think that'd be good.' And he watched as the girl strode towards the door, threw on her school robes and gave him a sad, curt grin. This would be their last evening together in the kitchens, he knew. He should have been glad, knowing that this way, it would far be easier to go on through the War and not have any attachments to anyone else. This was, after all, how it was intended to be. His 'friendship' with the girl was merely a coincidence, a mistake, a flaw that occurred this last year in Hogwarts. But why, when he watched her smile, was it somehow hard? They barely knew each other and were made to be adversaries, but why did it seem like it was distressing to watch her almost walk out of his life as she made for the door? He was certain that these little, quiet moments with her were memories he wouldn't be able to forget when he would have to face his death on the battlefield.
No… he did not want to forget at all.
'Granger,' he suddenly blurted out, causing her to look back at him curiously.
'Yes?'
'If we get out of this War alive…' He paused reluctantly, unable to find the right words to tell her. He took a deep breath and frowned. 'If we get out of this War alive, do you mind if we eat breakfast together one time?'
It was a queer thing to ask, for he was certain that, one way or another, it would never ever happen. He was dictated to die in the War.
She blinked, apparently surprised at his little and rather impossible suggestion; nevertheless, she smiled back and nodded graciously. 'Yes, I think that's a lovely idea.'
And with that, she departed the school kitchens, leaving one boy looking immensely and honestly glad for the first time in the year, with a rather pleased look plastered on his face. As he took in a mouthful of cornflakes and milk, he looked at the empty seat the girl had previously taken just hours ago. There across him lay her empty bowl and spoon. There, just a few minutes ago, was a foe whom he would have to face again sooner or later. There, just moments ago, was a girl who could have been special to him in some mysterious way. There, in that empty seat, sat a girl who had given him a moment of peace.
When he was to go to War, he would not forget. He would make sure that he came out alive, no matter how he'd do it, because in some way, he wanted to see the girl again – only this time, he'd see her when times were safe and calm – and he wanted to keep his promise, or he would have to die trying.
The boy, with his gray eyes soft and tender, smiled to himself and continued eating his cereal.
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Author's note:
Name/Pen Name: Cassiel Oliviari
LJ Username: cassieloliviari
E-mail: you over 18:
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Rating(s) you're willing to write: up to R
Rating(s) of the fic you want: PG - R
One tone/mood you want your gift to include: Confusion
One element/theme/item you want your gift to include: breakfast cereal
One common cliche you don't want your gift to include: A Draco/Hermione/Ron love triangle
I seriously apologize if you hardly see any confusion in the fic –I'm not at all good at applying such a mood in stories. :P I tried, though. I hope you spot it. :D
I hope you're tempted to push that little Go button down there to review - reviews are the food of us fanfic writers. :D Heh.