Chapter 9

Hermione's feet were sore when she finally was allowed to finish. Her shoes were made for beauty and not for comfort. Nothing about what she wore were things she'd ever choose to wear, but this was what was required of her. Throughout, she'd been quite successful at blocking it all out. She liked to dance. It wasn't something she particularly wanted to show people, but here she was, doing things she didn't want to do. Not that this was much different from how things had been the last few years. Her choices weren't considered in the things asked of her. Her only choice was to decide how tolerable she felt it was—not that it made a bit of difference.

For a moment while she'd been on stage, she'd wondered if she could manage to get her hands on some explosives and simply blow the place up with everyone in it. Flint, Malfoy, all the terrible people who were here, but there were also other people—people like her, who had no choice. Maybe they'd be better off dead.

Then she worried about the state of her mind if she was considering mass murder just because she didn't like any of these people or what they did. It wasn't something she could justify. There was a distinction in being repressed and wanting to fight back, to outright massacre—because she refused to lower herself to their standards. She was better than them, and at some point there would be a chink in the chain, a way to twist things. Granted, she didn't see it yet.

She wondered what potential Flint had. Their dealings had been curious. In some ways, he was categorically not interested in her. At home, he didn't seek her out until it was time for her to perform in this petty vengeance. Did she mind rubbing salt in Malfoy's wounds? Not really. Did she worry about it? Slightly.

Because what would be the end game? That was what she needed to work on—to convince Flint to put her completely out of reach. That her disappearance would serve his purpose. It was just a matter of framing it right. His objective right now wasn'tt for Draco to forget about her. So what could convince him that her absence was a heftier revenge than rubbing salt?

And what would it entail? Ideally she could be the caretaker on some distant property somewhere, out of sight and out of mind, where she could essentially live as she pleased. An even better outcome would be that she was officially owned by someone who didn't recognize their ownership between them. There were still people who respected her—she had to believe that. Someone who would help her live as she pleased.

"Come," Flint said, urging her out of the club and into the car her preferred as conveyance. Flint took his comfort over speed.

The car was blessedly quiet inside and she slipped her feet out of her shoes and took the screaming ache as she stretched them out.

It was quiet in the car other than the magical hum driving them alone.

"What do you think he wants from you?" Flint asked. In the darkness, it was impossible to see his eyes.

How in the world was she supposed to answer that? "I don't know. Humiliation, I suppose." Him wanting her physically was too confronting to think about. It was disturbing. And frankly, it just couldn't be that simple.

"Malfoy humiliates people all day long," Flint replied.

"Yes, but we have been enemies for as long as we've known each other. I guess I stand for something—something he doesn't want."

"Yet, he wants you. Have you ever fucked him?"

"No!" she said sharply at the ludicrous assertion. As if that would have happened. How could Flint even think so?

"He must have tried."

"No. Mudblood, remember. I'm disgusting in every conceivable way."

"Yet, you're not. Clearly."

That sounded almost like a compliment and she didn't know how to reply.

"Because he wants you."

No, her mind stated.

"Perhaps he plans to strangle you—after he's had you."

"Well, that's disturbing." Was that where Flint's mind travelled to? That was disturbing as well.

"I offered you to him tonight," Flint said. Goosebumps traveled up her arms at the words. "He said no. In fact, 'fuck you' was more his reply."

"Guess that's not what he's after, then," she said, her emotions battling between relief and discomfort. Desire did make sense on some level, still disturbing, but more so was that he was apparently after something else. "Probably to torture me to death."

"I can't see it. Irrespective, I won't let that happen."

Goosebumps rose up her spine this time. Kindness was so rare and this felt like it. Maybe not kindness, but run-of-the-mill care. In this mad world, it felt rare that someone would say that they'd refuse to let her be tortured to death.

"Thank you," she said, her voice a little thicker than normal.

The worst was that she didn't trust kindness anymore, and she hated that it was like that. The world had become so far askew that she didn't trust people being kind to her.

They arrived home in darkness. The Flint house was dark even in the day, but at night, lights didn't cast far.

"Are you hungry?" Flint asked as they walked into the large, silent house.

"Yes," she admitted.

"I will have something sent to your room. Goodnight."

Hermione watched him walk up the stairs, unsure what to make of these considerations. Then he stopped and turned. "I'm taking the sailboat out tomorrow. Would you like to come?"

Would she rather sit in her room all day, or go sailing? Was he potentially planning to sail her out to sea and throw her over? Again, she didn't trust the kindness. Then still, maybe if he drown her out at sea, she might be better off. Would he go that far to oppose Draco? No, she couldn't see it. But then again, what did she really know about him? "Alright," she said with a smile.

He looked at her for a moment longer, then disappeared out of sight.

Confusion sat with her for a while. She didn't understand what was happening here. The teasing Malfoy was pretty self-explanatory, but what else did he want from her? He hadn't taken advantage of her in any way. It wasn't as if he had to sail out on the ocean to do it. He seemed to swing from plain not caring to polite consideration.

Perhaps he just wanted company.

Returning to her room, a meal was waiting for her. Oh how she missed magic. The urge itched in her fingers sometimes. She missed it like a part of herself. Maybe being thrown in the ocean wouldn't be such a bad thing, because hope that things would get better was so hard to sustain.

She'd slept deeply and woke up not knowing where she was. Her head ached, probably from being dehydrated. The weather outside her window was light, ubiquitous grayness. The kind of weather that didn't spell rain, but no sunshine either. Maybe that made for a good day for sailing.

She dressed in her warmest clothes, that weren't going to be warm enough, so she packed a blanket just in case.

Looking around the room, she considered her possessions. They weren't valuable to her. Everything that was had been taken away already. The possessions of her past life had been the first thing they'd stripped away—her wand, her photos, mementos, books and journals. It had all been burnt and they'd made her watch while at the same time putting the tracker charm on her that kept her hostage.

Flint was downstairs in the dining room. "Sit, eat," he said and she took a seat. It was the first time she'd been asked to eat in the dining room, and it certainly wasn't somewhere someone like her belonged. A plate was laid down in front of her by one of the serving staff. It made her conscious that there was a chance she would be deeply disliked for this special treatment she received.

"Do you sail often?" she asked.

"When the wind's good. I don't believe in magical sailing. It defeats the purpose. Sailing is about understanding and reading nature, about acting in partnership with nature. Mastering it."

Spoken with the arrogance only a Slytherin could manage. "And have you mastered it?"

"I have been sailing my whole life. I can hold my own. There's a certain peace you get out at sea that you can't get anywhere else. People are either people of the sea or they're not. It calls to you and feeds your soul. Do you hear it?"

"I sailed a little with my parents, but I can't say I long for it."

"What do you long for?" he asked.

That was a good question. One she wasn't entirely sure she had the answer to anymore. "Freedom. Peace."

"Similar to the things I seek from the sea."

This made her wonder if this society was draining for him as well. As Slytherins, she'd always wondered what drove them. The competitiveness, the fierceness, and ruthlessness. Maybe it didn't suit them perfectly as she'd always thought—as if they were a different race who thrived on such things. It had been her standing assumption, that they thrived on it. It had never occurred to her that they endured it like the rest of them endured the Slytherins.

"Then I look forward to it," she said with a smile.

"As do I."

She ate as quickly as she could, then they apparated to a calm bay where a building stood, a boat house. Flint walked ahead of her towards it, and she could see the lightness in his step, how pleased and eager he was to do this.

The door to the building was old and heavy, but inside were two boats and a walkway over the water around the walls of the building. They were going to the far boat, a sleek, black thing that floated calmly as if asleep.

Flint jumped onboard and then held his hand for her. It was warm as she took it and stepped across. Instantly she felt the movement of the water underneath the boat, an almost imperceptive shifting. As she waited, the boat was untied and soon they smoothly glid out of the open side of the building into the open air. This part was magical, as was the raising of the mast, but then the sail had to be extended. It had a silver shimmer to it and of a thinner material than calico.

She felt when the wind took it and she sat down along one of the benches. Looking back, she saw Flint at the helm, his eyes in the distance. "The winds are northernly. Cool and sharp. Less turbulent when its colder. Sometimes warm air comes up from the south and mix, which is almost like sailing through a battle, so for a first outing, you are lucky."

The wind was sharp, but still nice. It felt fresh and clean, almost as if it was washing the nastiness away from her. Out here, the restrictions on her felt far away. Society, Draco, the tracker, it felt unimportant, and this was a feeling she cherished.

They sailed out of the bay and her problems seemed further away.

"Do you ever think of not coming back?" she asked. It was a throw away comment that just popped into her head.

"Yes," he admitted.

The answer surprised her. "Where would you go?"

"We both know there's nowhere to go. If you didn't, you'd be long gone already," he said. "We're the ones keeping you here."

"Yes."

"For all we've said we don't want you here, we're the ones keeping you here. Why do you think that is?"

"Because I'm dangerous."

Flint smiled. "You were never stupid."