CARPE NOCTEM / IN A QUANDARY / CH. 22
They were walking in silence. The unruly butterflies which had been intruding Hermione's stomach had finally subsided, dissolving in throbs of pain that demanded of all of her attention now. She was leaning slightly forward, keeping her hands mere inches away from the swell of her injured face. The gushing flow of the warm fluid was leaking everywhere: it broke into her stifling mouth, lacing over the sensitive teeth, dripping, salty and warm against her tongue; she could feel it pool in her palms, seeping through her trembling fingers into the sleeves of her robe, pestering the soft skin underneath.
Bellatrix's hands were still guiding her, making her turn into all sorts of directions. Hermione had no idea where they were going but knew with certainty it would be no hospital wing. Strangely, she didn't even mind—had it been the pandemonium itself, she would be glad to reach it regardless. Hermione desperately needed to repose; that horrible blend of a headache and nausea was gradually blunting her perception of time as well as space and she was starting to worry she wouldn't be able to make it without either vomiting or passing out.
If only she was granted at least a second to rest.
As though Bellatrix had heard her, she stopped right after, the sudden halt sending a fresh jolt of pain through Hermione's forehead while forcing an embarrassing hiss past her teeth. The pressure of the woman's touch on her shoulders fell away immediately and she could hear an energetic ruffling sound as if a wiping of hands against fabric.
"Straight ahead, Muddy," Bellatrix spoke and even though her voice kept the sweetness, it lacked the caring undertone she'd used earlier in the classroom. "Come on, move!"
The order was presented so boldly it instantly aroused a need to oppose. Unfortunately, Hermione was in no state to argue: her nose was persistently leaking and her gasping mouth yearned for oxygen more than any words.
It was a basic survival instinct suggesting compliance would be the most logical of her options right now.
Despite the fact she still couldn't see more than a blurred flush of colours in front of her eyes, she suicidally decided to trust the woman and follow her instructions. With her right hand kept at the same level with her chin and the other one outstretched to gain some perspective of her surroundings, she hesitantly moved forward. She was trying her best to edge as carefully as she could but lo and behold, after the first few steps her hands had somehow missed the stone, resulting in a meetup of her already hurting face with a rigid wall. The doubled blunt pain shot through her features, drawing a blaring cry out of her mouth, her body flopping down like a ragdoll.
Bellatrix gasped: "Oh my, did I say straight? I actually meant left," she purred in a voice full of clean uninhibited mirth which only managed to increase the scope of resentment Hermione felt for her. She couldn't understand it. Why did Bellatrix have to be so awfully callous all the time? How come the incident hadn't invoked at least a tiny bit of remorse in her? Being compassionate was a basic natural tendency; even animals demonstrated helping behaviour and not only towards their own species.
"Aww, does it hurt that much," the woman taunted, interrupting her musings. "Does little muddy girl want auntie Bella to kiss her boo-boo?"
Had those words been spoken some other time, Hermione would have blushed insufferably. Right now, it had but mere effect on her. She huddled closer to the wall, gingerly wiping the excess blood off her skin.
There was a tapping on her shoulder and she had a bad feeling it was Bellatrix's crooked wand demanding her attention but she wouldn't dare to let her hands move past her face and risk another form of attack; she doubted she'd be able to endure any more of that without actually sobbing like a child and maintaining at least a modicum of dignity; she stayed silent, determined to ignore the witch for all she was worth.
Bellatrix though was having none of that; she heaved a sigh and Hermione instantly tasted a horrible, dull pain smacking her marred face, feeling as though her bones were moving underneath her skin. It hauled another high-pitched cry from her dry throat but she wasn't even ashamed at that point; hopefully she could attract someone's attention and save herself from the further mutilation.
But the agony disappeared before she could dive deeper into the horrifying concept.
Hesitant, she took a moment and slowly opened her squeezing eyes, realising she was able to fully see again; there was no more flowing blood and she carefully tried breathing in and out through her nose so as to test the range of the healing. Her upper teeth touched the lower row, experiencing no more pain—even her chin was free from all the numbness. Her hands cautiously checked the rest of her face, finding no swelling whatsoever. Everything seemed to be back to normal, though the sight of the slowly drying blood painting her hands red suggested anything but. Her eyes jumped to the smirking Bellatrix standing all high and mighty above her, a few of her curls falling into her face.
The anger she couldn't have fully grasped due to the nasty injuries hit her with an incredible force now. She scrambled back to her feet, a mild, residual pain still shooting through her head. She bore her eyes into those proud ones with pure, unmistakable resentment directed at both of them; at Bellatrix for butchering her face like a damned steak, and at herself for knowing she'd let her get away with it despite the fact the whole thing was more than worth reporting.
"Don't be shy," the dark witch motioned toward the open door in front of them, observing Hermione's vibrant signs of anger with sadistic glee. There was not a hint of remorse in her face, just raw satisfaction and it was the most disturbing sight Hermione had ever seen.
What was wrong with this woman?
"I said," Bellatrix repeated slowly, her eyes focused and unblinking. "Move it!"
But Hermione didn't feel like doing so; her fingers reached into her robe, fishing for the wooden stick, ready to fight her way through if needed, but froze upon realising her pockets were dry empty.
"Looking for this?"
To her horror, her eyes spotted Bellatrix's hand waving the vine wood wand in front of her face. The back of her neck bristled with cold sweat, her hand immediately reaching out, but the witch drew hers away.
"Can I have my wand back?" Hermione more demanded than asked, voice trembling; she was striving to appear confident but was finding pulling that one off rather difficult for obvious reasons.
"Well, it depends." Bellatrix pouted, trying the flexibility of the thin wood by bending it against her palm. Hermione's heart leaped at the sight—if Bellatrix was to break her wand... but she couldn't do that, could she?! Of course not! She was just trying to instill fear in her so that Hermione would do exactly what she wanted. It was just another one of her mind games but... was she willing to risk that? Hermione knew she wasn't. There was no point in arguing or fighting; she stood no chance without any wand in her possession.
Bellatrix's lips were curling as she watched her come to the only conclusion possible.
She had no choice.
Swallowing hard, Hermione's feet reluctantly moved forward and entered the dark classroom. The thick floating candles above the door immediately sparked to life, revealing the empty desks and chairs huddled in the middle under the broad ceiling.
She turned to the witch who had followed her in, the dim light casting frightening shadows over her features. "I'd like to have my wand back now!"
Bellatrix smirked, her coal eyes scanning over the girl's unnerved form. She took her time but eventually tossed the wooden stick back to Hermione who caught it with great relief, partly taken aback the witch returned the wand at all.
"Are we forgetting our manners? I didn't hear a thank you."
Hermione almost choked: She didn't what? She didn't hear her say thank you? She would say her thanks, oh she would! Just—
A cold splash of water hit her face and she inhaled instinctively, filling her barely healed nose with a sharp pressure; she could feel the flow travelling through her nasal chamber into her mouth, leaving her coughing and tearing up all over again. After a few embarrassing seconds, she wiped the lingering droplets off her face, scowling at the unpleasant taste at the back of her throat.
Bellatrix waited expectantly.
"Still no thank you? Well, I thought I'd show some class by regarding your insolence with generosity and help you get rid of all that dirt but—uhm," she snickered and before Hermione had a chance to snap at her for regarding her blood as dirt, she continued. "Perhaps, being a mudblood and all that makes it difficult to understand certain ways of—"
"It is not difficult for me to understand any ways of approach!" Hermione cut in, finishing the sentence before Bellatrix had a chance to use the word that would make the whole statement twice as offensive. "Actually I can read them quite well!" Her trembling hand squeezed her wand tighter.
"And I'd definitely express my gratitude if only certain actions covered the basic definition of helping, which is being of assistance or support to those in need."
"But I've been of assistance!" Bellatrix pressed her hands to her chest as though hurt but Hermione caught a small smirk as the woman swept past her, making her way to the desks, hopping on one of them and sitting down.
"You've attacked me!" Hermione faced her and stepped closer, though still maintaining quite a distance between them. "You have deliberately—" Her eyes involuntarily slid over the contour of Bellatrix's thighs as her legs crossed under the ebony skirt. A sudden vision of the dream involving both of them in the Malfoy's library formed inside her mind and she could feel a feverish heat spread throughout her cheeks all the way to her ears' helixes; the words got stuck inside her throat and she quickly moved her head aside, absolutely furious with her betraying hormones.
''Couldn't pick a better time to remember, could you?! Sweet mother of Merlin, don't let her see it!'
"Oh, that? Sadly, it wasn't me," Bellatrix said, utterly ignorant of her unease; she sounded genuinely disappointed that somebody else had thought of cursing Hermione before she could have done so herself. "I had something better for you in store but the humiliation itself should teach you a lesson. It hurt, didn't it?" Hermione shot her a quick look, seeing her pout, which her stomach handled with a double flip.
How filthy sick was that?
Alarmed, she ran her hand through her hair, angrily pushing a few strands into her face. Why was she having all these feelings after having been treated worse than some dirty rug; was she getting off on that?
Her eyes didn't know where to go. 'Hermione Granger, you are NOT allowed to analyse this NOW! Actually, you're not allowed to analyse it ever!'
She should get out of here; it was just a matter of time before she'd out herself and that she wasn't far from it: blushing, not being able to look Bellatrix straight in the eye, blubbering like an idiot; maybe she could try to sell it as fear… maybe post trauma, but the woman wasn't stupid; eventually she'd come to realise what was actually going on.
Come on, she urged herself, move, please!
But she couldn't; it was like being paralysed by some strange vile feeling she'd refused to label or actually fully perceive—but there was no time for studying it even if she wanted to; Bellatrix had just confessed it wasn't her who made a meatloaf out of her face.
Clearing her throat, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest like an invisible shield; her brows snapped together and her eyes pierced a hole in the wooden floor under her feet. "Right, so who was it then," she asked in the frostiest tone she could muster.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you because I do not know myself but if you manage to find out, do make sure to congratulate them on my behalf—saved me a lot of time."
Hermione's teeth clenched so hard she thought they'd break; she had no idea what she was still doing here; Bellatrix kept blatantly hurtling the insults her way like ping-pong balls and the worst thing was that she was willingly taking all of that. She'd never noticed such self-destructive behaviour in herself before and it was something she really needed to look into.
"But enough of the pleasantries." The witch clasped her hands, sensing Hermione was concentrating on her own thoughts rather than her. "Let's get straight to the business. I came here just as you demanded, even dressed up for you," she joked, her fingers running down her corset, tracing the dark leather. "Will little muddy talk to me now?" she let out in a low raspy voice.
Hermione shivered. Her forehead frowned as she tried to ignore the things that the gravelly sound was doing to her. The situation was getting out of her hands and she couldn't help thinking Bellatrix might have had some clue about her not so innocent inclinations and was talking to her like that on purpose.
It scared the hell out of her and she knew it was necessary to fight back—the anger strategy was by far the best one working. With a famous 'Attack is the best form of defense', she shook her head. "Depends. Would you talk to someone who spent half of your summer vacation making your life a living hell?! Someone who likes to bully children half their age just to feel better about themselves?"
Bellatrix leaned in from the desk she was seated on, strangely expressing no signs of anger whatsoever. "What are you talking about?"
"You've assaulted me," Hermione almost yelled. "Numerous times!"
"I did what?!" Bellatrix let out a surprised laugh, rising her eyebrows as if that statement was the most ridiculous idea she'd ever heard. "You mean those harmless spells that not even once touched you, while you directly hit me with yours?"
"I mean that time you had me on the floor," Hermione's cheeks heated up like a teapot.
"Oh right, I've forgotten all about that!" Bellatrix waved her hand dismissively and scrunched her nose, perhaps silently cursing the intoxication which had made her do it. Hermione knew she didn't like making any kind of physical contact with her and that night, there had been quite a lot of that.
"Well, I didn't," she proclaimed frantically. "I couldn't have!"
'Shut up, shut up, shut up! When did you develop a habit of making things worse for yourself?!'
But it was too late.
Bellatrix's piercing eyes locked with hers and the blood-red lips curled into a disturbing smile. "Don't tell me I made such an impression," her eyelids lowered a bit, which made her gaze all the more intense. "Dear God, must have been quite an experience for you."
Hermione kept her mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to form a word. The statement had stolen the wind from beneath her wings and she would slap herself if she could for bringing this upon herself; she was so flustered, most likely crimson in the face and she was still yet to react! But what would she say? Maybe an expression full of hatred would do just fine!
"Awww, Muddy!"
It didn't.
"My name's Hermione," she blurted hotly, the adrenaline producing the venomous tone quite naturally.
"Did you hear that? It almost rhymes!" Bellatrix chuckled, biting the tip of her tongue. "So Muddy, sweetheart, tell me,"
Hermione's nostrils flared as her right hand curled around her wand even tighter. For a split second she considered retorting 'What is it, Bellatrix, sweetheart', but thought better of it and shook her head instead. "No, I'm not doing this. I'm not going to talk—I thought I made myself clear weeks ago."
Bellatrix seemed taken aback for a moment. "You made it clear you'd talk once I come as myself! You have me here so what's the problem?"
Hermione decided to ignore the last part of that question. "If I remember correctly, and I'm positive I do, I said a simple word maybe, so..."
"Ahaaa, clever little witch, aren't you?" Bellatrix bared her teeth and for the first time looked a bit irritated. "Do you think a little persuasion could help you decide," she asked, slightly tipping the corners of her lips down before parting them. Her wand was back in her right hand, its tip tracing the creamy skin of her neck.
Hermione gulped, squeezing the wand so hard her knuckles hurt. "Attacking a student at Hogwarts would—"
"Moralising again? Is that your defence mechanism," the dark witch asked, getting down from the table.
'Quick, Hermione think!' she urged herself desperately as Bellatrix licked her lips, slowly approaching.
"Well, what—what do you want to talk about anyway?" she blurted, all the words blending together as one but it was enough to make Bellatrix stop from coming any closer. "Venor floccus? I don't think so. I mean, what is the point, it's not like you—you and me—" That sounded so bizzare. "We don't necessarily get along and yet you'd want to help—oh!" Her lips parted at the sudden revelation.
"You don't want to help me," she breathed slowly. "You want my help!"
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself!"
"You do!" Hermione couldn't believe it—how bloody ignorant and stupid must have she been for not taking such possibility into consideration! Blimey! It should have been clear to her since the beginning! Bellatrix had kept deliberately seeking her out and it sure as hell wasn't because she'd missed Hermione's company; she must have wanted to know about her dreams... The question though was why?
"I don't want your help, mudblood! What I want is a compensation!" Bellatrix barked but it didn't stop Hermione from forming a small, victorious smile, which obviously left the older witch seething.
What a paradox. She bloody needed her! Hermione's mood scooped ten levels higher. Now this changed everything. "Compensation for what," she asked succinctly, eyeing Bellatrix's tensing jaw. Let's just not overdo it with the brass, she decided inwardly. Maybe she seemed to be the one with the upper hand but she wasn't as stupid as to forget who truly held the reigns here.
"Is it really necessary to answer that?" Bellatrix shook her head in disbelief, her eyes radiating so much hatred Hermione felt her smile melt away like smoke. "How about I start with you being born? Hm, muddy?" Her eyes were deadly serious. "Then I could continue with you surviving and growing up, discovering you can do magic... Attending Hogwarts and befriending that traitorous boy my sister gave birth to! What else? Oh," she gasped dramatically. "Perhaps, the breakage of our family and the fall of our status!" Bellatrix's lips curled in revulsion. "Thanks to you, our name is less than MUD! Have it ever crossed your mind what could that precious friendship of yours do, you selfish little punk?!"
Small ghosts of tears formed in the corner of Hermione's eyes, but she refused to shed them. "I'm sorry—but this is hardly anyone's fault!" she objected and blessedly, her voice stayed firm and clear. "Of course, I cannot say it may partially—"
"No, we're not discussing this!" Bellatrix cut her off. "You've asked for the reasons and I gave them to you—end of story! Now we'll talk about venor floccus!"
Hermione shook her head. "No."
Bellatrix looked as though she'd been slapped. "No," she half-whispered, her eyes glowing dangerously.
"No," Hermione repeated, heart racing. "Not quite yet."
"What? Do you need gold to get your lips moving?"The dark witch snorted loftily. "I'll give it to you; I don't care how much."
"I don't want any gold!" Hermione snapped, feeling grandly offended. "But—" a sudden thought sprang inside her mind. "I'd like to ask for something else."
"Oh really? And what is it?"
"You—you being civil to me," she let out in a soft voice. "Just talk to me like to a fellow human being. Drop the demeaning nicknames. That's all I'm asking for."
Bellatrix's eyebrows shot up as she let out a short-lived laugh. "You want my respect?"
"Tolerance would do just fine," Hermione clarified, her gaze firm.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then it's no deal."
"You do realise I could make you talk if I wanted to?" Bellatrix gave her a challenging look, clearly meaning to scare her off but Hermione stood her ground.
"It wouldn't suffice in the long run considering I have new dreams every single night," she replied, doing her best to keep still; she wanted to appear as serious and certain as she possibly could. "I don't suppose this is going to be just a one-time thing."
Bellatrix was unmoving for a couple of seconds but then turned on her heal, meandering toward the large empty cage in the corner of the room; it looked as though she was considering each step, probably trying to buy some time to think. Hermione's eyes slid over the cascading curls snaking along Bellatrix's shoulders and back, glistening in the faint source of light.
She was unable tear her gaze from her (mainly for safety reasons) while battling the confusing row within herself. She wondered when exactly the transition from a total refusal to talking to Bellatrix to 'sure we'll talk but under my conditions' happened. How did she even get to that point in her head when she said to herself, okay, we'd do this? What was the breaking point? It couldn't have been the desire to solve the bloody venor flocuss business even if she wanted it more than anything in the world! She would rather ask Dumbledore than accept Bellatrix's help; she'd been stubbornly repeating that over and over every single morning after waking up clueless again.
If only Dumbledore would bother showing up for more than couple of seconds. The old man was the only one worth trusting and if she truly was to share her burden with someone, it would be him and him alone; she'd be a fool to put her hopes into someone who kept stabbing her back over and over again and wouldn't feel an ounce of guilt about it.
Still she'd already given her consent. 'Stupid, stupid, Hermione! Will you never learn?!'
All she was left with was a hope Bellatrix would find the condition too degrading to actually go with it; it was far too bizarre to even imagine her being polite.
"All right."
The cinnamon eyes widened. Bellatrix made it back, stopping four feet away from the gulping Hermione.
"I'll do it but let's get something straight before you start getting any ideas," she proclaimed, folding her arms. Hermione blinked, a bit too distracted by the dark spots circling Bellatrix's eyes and the unhealthy pallor of her skin—she seemed profusely more exhausted than Hermione remembered. "This relationship will be purely professional—I don't want you thinking we're friends now or anything for that matter, is that clear?"
Focusing again, Hermione nodded—Bellatrix's state of health was none of her concern anyway.
"All right if this is settled." The dark witch walked towards the mass of chairs and tables and with just a flick of her hand made a pair of them lift and move forward. "Shall we actually get to the real talk? We have lost enough time already with this stupid quarrel." She let out a bored sigh as the wooden furniture stopped right next to her and flopped down, causing just a faint ghost of a noise.
Hermione found it amusing how Bellatrix always seemed to be in a hurry. Even back at the Manor when teaching her, Draco, and Zabini the Occlumency. She claimed she wouldn't waste her time with definitions and small talk because she was more for a practical approach person, yet with Hermione she always seemed to find some time for a nice chat, especially if a chance to humiliate her was at hand.
"What are you waiting for? I'm not going to scream over there so you could hear me!"
Hermione realised Bellatrix was already seated and expected her to take a seat as well. Slowly, she moved forward, considering her options. She sure as hell wouldn't be sitting anywhere within Bellatrix's slap range but knew she needed to get close enough to give off an impression she also wasn't afraid of being near her. She opted for the place a table away from Bellatrix's, the choice earning a knowing smirk from the carmine lips.
"Of course, we could have done this weeks ago if you had some respect for a fellow human being's time," she pointed mockingly, referring to Hermione's earlier remark, but then used a surprisingly casual tone. "But since we're finally here, let's cut straight to the chase. Tell me, how much do you know already?"
Hermione parted her lips, exhaling. "Well," she began, her eyes roaming around the room. She was still in doubt whether to trust the woman, especially with something so delicate, but realised it was already too late to chicken out now. Besides, she didn't have to reveal everything, did she?
"Honestly, not as much as I'd like to," she confessed finally, placing her hands onto the cold desk, her fingers never leaving her wand. "I've gained a great deal of knowledge studying the related subjects, yet not a single one of them has actually offered any decent explanation. Just recently I've—I've been told to look into venor floccus."
"By Dumbledore. Draco mentioned him in the letter," Bellatrix pointed and Hermione felt a fresh wave of anger rising at her best friend for ratting her out like that; she told him that this piece of information was confidential and she would prefer to keep things that way.
"Forget about the boy now," Bellatrix barked, making Hermione flinch. She immediately raised her mental barrier even though it was probably the frowning look on her face that had given her away.
"Did Dumbledore tell you anything else?"
She shook her head. "Nothing and I have no idea how he found out in the first place. Nobody beside Draco knew." Pausing, she licked her dry lips, a lingering question on the tip of her tongue. "Do you—do you think it is possible Professor Dumbledore had read my mind?"
"Absolutely." The tips of Bellatrix's lips curled slightly down, her gleaming eyes full of unexpressed thoughts. "But I suppose he's known about your issue for quite a while now."
Hermione's jaw slacked. "What do you mean?"
"Well, Dumbledore's an old manipulative gaffer; he is insane, no doubt, but nothing's ever that simple with him. Do you think he would just tell you out of the kindness of his heart? Just because he saw your sad little face and decided to make it all better? No dear, he's dropping the clues," Bellatrix proclaimed in a silky voice. "I think he's got something to gain from it, too. I'm almost positive he'll come to talk to you again once the time is right," she added, eyeing Hermione's arms of which the girl suddenly became aware of. She adjusted them slightly, her gaze lingering over Bellatrix's veiny eyelids.
It was hard to believe such admirable, considerate man as Dumbledore could be as calculated as the woman described him; it sounded more like she was talking about herself rather than him.
Hermione wasn't convinced. "What and most importantly why would he—"
"You can ponder about that in your free time," Bellatrix interrupted harshly. "We need to move on! So he told you to look into venor floccus—have you?"
"Yes—well," she replied slowly, still wrapped up in the thought about the possibility Dumbledore could be using her like that. "I've read about them before and while it's the closest I've ever got to solving the puzzle, the definition doesn't quite apply to me."
The wooden desk squeaked as Bellatrix leaned in, her left hand supporting her jaw. "What makes you think you've read the right definition," she suggested, almost whispering. "There's always more than just one correct explanation—besides, I wouldn't trust books on this one."
"Venor floccus cannot be anyone who hasn't trained!" Hermione objected, aggravated as always when somebody dared question the credibility of books.
"That's precisely why it's so interesting." Bellatrix's eyes widened momentarily. "You've never practiced and yet, you still possess a mind of a trained venor floccus."
"Impossible," Hermione objected, ready to argue as much as needed. "The abilities of venor floccus are gained, it is not a talent! I couldn't have just had it all along, could I?
"Well, maybe you are special," Bellatrix taunted in a silvery voice, smirking.
Hermione couldn't help herself and gave her a dirty look which subsequently surprised both of them.
"I'm sorry but is this another way how to get to me," she bursted, feeling wild tides of paranoia washing over her. "If so I'm not interested in taking any part in it, not that I've been before but—"
"My, my, aren't you one egocentric little thing," Bellatrix tsked, shaking her head. "Snap out of it," her hands clasped, making Hermione flinch. "I got better things to do than compliment mudbloods just so that I could drag them later."
"You've broken the agreement!"
"The hell with the agreement! Don't you wanna know anything? So far you've been such a nuisance I'm starting to wonder if I really made a right decision coming to you! I don't know what I was thinking; you're just a bloody kid after all. What could you possible do to help me!" Bellatrix leaned away, her arms folding.
"So you do need my help," Hermione decided for a retaliation and strategically pinpointed the one thing which could actually hit the right nerve.
"It just happens that you need that of mine, too." Bellatrix replied after a couple of strained breaths and Hermione's eyes widened at the indirect confession. She had expected any sort of reaction—even a curse—but this went far beyond her imagination. "Now if you're done making stupid remarks… ?" Bellatrix raised her left brow and since Hermione remained silent, she went on.
"Considering you weren't properly educated in Occlumency—yes, it is linked—I'll try to break it down to you as plainly as possible." Her fingernails scratched just below her collarbone and Hermione's eyes lingered over the thin angry marks which were left behind; Bellatrix's skin seemed so delicate, as if the softest touch could bruise—
'Bloody crap-filled hell, stop thinking about her skin and focus! As if you hadn't dreamed about figuring this out ever since you were thirteen!"
"...different areas of substances reside in the human brain; normally there's five of them—"
Hermione's slipping attention finally decided to collaborate—she had read about this!
"Those are hopes, dreams, opinions, fears, and memories—they each vibrate at a different frequency, that's how it's possible to tell them apart!" She had almost jumped from her seat, eager to spit her knowledge, clearly forgetting this wasn't just another lesson and there were no points awaiting, just a loud slam against the table.
"I'm sorry…"
"As I said," Bellatrix raised her voice. "There's five of them. Your little brain, however, has got six of those areas."
Hermione parted her lips, petrified. She'd never heard of anything such as the sixth area. What was it for? When it came down to her, dreams, obviously—but those already had their own place, didn't they? Why the extra sphere? Had it been there all along or had her brain somehow created it once those odd dreams started coming to her?
"You hadn't always had that additional area, though." Bellatrix proclaimed as if having read Hermione's mind, which she truly hoped she hadn't. "I'm guessing maybe two or three years prior was the breaking point."
Clearing her throat, Hermione nodded. "Yes, it's been precisely three years since I started dreaming like that. Something must have happened at that time then, something that brought the dreams to me. I've been trying to figure it all out but—"
"But couldn't," Bellatrix added, yawning, keeping her palm close to her lips. "Well, now you have."
"No, I haven't!" Hermione objected, frowning. "I don't know anything about how it happened, neither do I know what the dreams truly mean or why I have them!" She was breathing hard, considering whether to ask Bellatrix or not but decided to go for it; there shouldn't be any harm in seeking answers, even though with her one never knew…
"Can I ask you something," she ventured, her heart practically punching her ribcage. "Do you—do you happen to know anything about it?"
Bellatrix didn't say a word, only kept looking into those eager eyes, her lips slowly twisting into a cruel smile.
"No," she replied finally, her voice soft as pillow. "And honestly, I don't even care. I did my job; I helped you understand, now it's my turn."
Hermione drew closer, her eyes exasperated. "But I didn't learn anything new! I'm still—" She inhaled sharply, eyes closing. "You must know something! Please, just tell me what it means! Why do I have them, what is it I keep seeing every single night?" She couldn't stand having the answers so close and not being able to get them.
Bellatrix, not at all eager to respond, smirked as Hermione's tone became utterly desperate. She stood up from her chair and slowly came to the front of her table, much too close for Hermione's comfort. The young girl was sure if she tried outstretching her hand, the tips of her fingers would brush against the leather corset. Gulping, she leaned back into her chair but wouldn't let her eyes slid from the woman's face.
The plump lips had finally parted.
"Have you ever heard of multiverse?"
Hermione suppressed a disappointed gasp. "Why, yes—but that—that's just a theory, just like a million other theories, isn't it? No scientific research could confirm its existence."
"What about venor floccus then? What are those realms they keep visiting?" Bellatrix feigned confusion and Hermione was all for it.
"That's different!" She shook her head. "I'd say those are rather spiritual places, you can't physically get there, right? There's no real concept of time or space!"
"Do your dreams have any concept of time or space?"
Hermione bit her lip, her hand scratching the back of her head. "Yes but that's still no proof!"
"Tell me the definition of a multiverse," Bellatrix demanded, partly sitting down on her desk.
"It's a theory," The girl emphasised stubbornly. "A hypothetical collection of an uncountable amount of universes. Supposedly, anytime we make a decision, our own universe splits, creating another one where we went with the other option. So theoretically, there's one where I didn't choose to speak to you today, then another where I didn't leave the Three Broomstick…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry but it's just a bit too bizarre to imagine tons of venor floccus Hermiones somewhere trillion light years away."
"Well, I don't fancy the concept of countless little mudbloods myself but that's the sad reality," Bellatrix tilted her head, her lips twitching, threatening to crack a smirk. "What can you do?"
Hermione blinked a couple of times. That was a punch straight to the gut. It was as though she had forgotten who was she actually talking to and started losing herself in the conversation, sort of enjoying the little back and forth bickering… She wondered whether Bellatrix possessed some extrasensory perception telling her to insult Hermione anytime she was starting to feel a bit more comfortable around her.
"Those dreams you have are actually no dreams, but glimpses," Bellatrix went on as if she hadn't said anything offensive. "Somehow—I don't know how—you've gained the ability to access the mind of a version of yourself from another universe."
"That doesn't make any sense!" Hermione let out, her voice strangely upset. "Why—what for?"
"Well, that goes beyond my knowledge," Bellatrix shrugged indifferently, blowing away a curl, which was blocking her view. "I've told you everything I possibly could, now it's your turn."
Hermione adjusted in her seat, a bit alarmed she didn't get these things straight before offering her help. "What would you want me to do?"
Bellatrix tilted her head. "I need to see them," she said, making Hermione freeze on the spot.
No, no, no!
Panic struck through her like electricity. She didn't like the idea of Bellatrix being inside her head, not at all! It wasn't a place to wander around like some garden, it was a haunted graveyard with no desire to let the skeletons out of the earthy tombs! She suppressed a shudder upon imagining every little thing Bellatrix could possibly see.
"What for," she blurted, feeling her cheeks heating up.
An arrogant snort made it past Bellatrix's parted lips. "Do you seriously think I'd tell you?"
"I have a right to know to what cause I'm going to be contributing," Hermione objected firmly.
"Actually, no, you don't. As I said, you're doing me a favour. I, on the other hand, don't owe you anything! Quite easy to comprehend, isn't it?"
"I—"
"Shhh, none of that!" The dark witch leaned in and Hermione slided on her chair a couple of inches backwards. "It's far too late to back down. I did my part in this, now it's all you. You do remember how you let me inside your head for the first time, don't you?" Bellatrix smiled charmingly, sending a mild trail of goosebumps down Hermione's arms. "How about we do that again?"
"Wait, there's no need for Occlumency!" Hermione leaped from her seat in a swivet. "I— I've been keeping track of the dreams. I wrote it all down—in a diary, there are all the details!" Some of which she'd really like to keep to herself but it was either that or letting Bellatrix in. "I could lend you it if you like."
"No, I'd prefer to see, there's something you might have missed."
"I never miss anything!" Hermione objected almost hysterically.
Bellatrix's eyes glistened in a light and her lips parted. They were looking at each other without a word for a couple of seconds and Hermione stupidly almost thought they were having a moment until Bellatrix barked: "What are you waiting for then, go get it!"
"After… after you tell me—"
"Don't you dare blackmail me," Bellatrix shrieked, making Hermione move a couple of steps back. "I promised to be tolerant but if you try my patience one more time I swear your little brain will lose its sixth area!"
Hermione couldn't believe she'd actually moved and went to fetch the item. She thought of staying in the girl's dormitory without actually coming back but knew it wouldn't be the smartest of ideas; Bellatrix would always find a way to get to her and retaliation wouldn't be pretty.
"Oh Merlin, Hermione! Are you alright? That looked positively scary!" Padma Patil squealed as soon as she saw her enter the common room; Hermione merely smiled, brushing the question off by murmuring she was fine and quickly climbed the stairs leading into the girl's dormitory. She ran straight to her bed, snatching the thick diary from beneath her pillow and turned on her heel, dodging more questions on her way back. She specifically had to threaten Colin Creevey with taking twenty points away from Gryffindor if he didn't stop bugging her but eventually got rid of him. By the time she'd reached the third floor, she was left completely alone.
Bellatrix was waiting for her at the door; once Hermione was inside, she took the book out of her reluctant hands and immediately started flicking through the pages. The girl regretted bitterly having not erased at least a few pages regarding the tender feelings the other Hermione held towards Ronald Weasley.
"Is this the first dream you've ever had?" Bellatrix turned to her, holding the open diary in front of her face, the dark ink still shiny against the yellow pages.
"Yes," she nodded, watching the woman slowly move back towards the tables; a faint beck of Bellatrix's hand made her follow. She took a seat behind her old desk while Bellatrix leaned against hers, still buried in the diary. Hermione's eyes curiously travelled over her face. She looked different while concentrating; the feverish glow that had spread through her features transformed her overall look completely. In quite a positive way.
"You've missed a couple of days here," Bellatrix stepped forward, placing the diary on the table, and inclined over her. Hermione's stomach jumped as a couple of dark, silky curls brushed against her cheek, a rich, dizzying scent planting fluffs of mist inside her head. "And look, there are whole weeks without a word right after you'd left the Manor!"
'Focus, Hermione, focus!'
"I didn't—" Her voice came out raspy. She cleared her throat, bravely going on. "If there's nothing, it means I didn't dream those nights.
"You didn't? Why?" Bellatrix asked almost childishly and even though Hermione kept her head lowered over the blank pages, she could feel the warmth of the question against her right cheek, penetrating the sensitive skin, making it produce the heat on its own.
"I don't know," she squealed, embarrassed of the sound of her own voice. She felt a desperate urge to swallow, but fought it with all her might, clearing her throat again.
"Strange," Bellatrix commented, finally moving away, and Hermione realised her nails were digging into her thighs; she quickly released the grasp. Standing up from her chair, she finally swallowed the excess saliva and moved a few steps aside.
"Well, this will be useful." The slender fingers drummed against the leather binding and Hermione suddenly felt a great deal of unease over leaving the item in Bellatrix's hands. "I'll give it back tomorrow once I've read it... Do write down the next dream though—or don't. You may show me, instead." Bellatrix formed one of her deeply disturbing smiles but her eyes stayed rooted to the diary.
'Unlikely…'
Hermione shrugged, awkwardly shifting on her feet. Now what? Should she leave or go for more questions? She kind of wondered what would happen if she asked Bellatrix about her motives again.
"So…" she started, hoping to sound casually. "How exactly are my dreams—?"
Bellatrix looked up from the diary, eyes narrowing. "I think your nose is starting to bleed again," she interrupted Hermione's unfinished question. "You should see someone about that or would you prefer my help?" She smirked, prowling closer.
Hermione smeared her hand against her face but saw nothing. She got the point though and stepped back, almost tripping over her own foot.
"Go now."
There was no point in arguing.
Head buzzing with thoughts, Hermione couldn't bring herself to return to the Ravenclaw common room just yet. She nestled in one of the obsolete classrooms on the first floor, right next to Professor McGonagall's office, hoping for no disturbances. Seated at the largest window, one leg hanging down, she was tracing the fogged up panes with her fingertips, drawing tiny stars all across the glassy surface.
The more she thought about Bellatrix's explanation, the more anxiety fizzled inside her belly.
Hermione had always found the multiverse theory deeply disturbing. It suggested a futility of decision making and a complete loss of control and freedom. She didn't like to think of her life as some sort of an experiment—a hazy image of a pondering faceless being standing over an ocean of universes formed inside her mind: Since Hermione nu. 5353456 didn't do this, let's try with Hermione 20005 and see how it plays out.
Her stomach let out a distressing growl.
She loved to read and learn about lots of things but this particular field was something she'd always tried to stay away from. Drilling into theories of universe or life and its meaning in general was utterly pointless; assumptions without any empirical validity were nothing but fairytales. Why fill the mind with twaddle when—
The door she'd carefully closed behind her half an hour ago creaked, letting in a soft stripe of a dim light.
"Granger?"
Hermione froze, her mouth agape. That drawling voice, peppered with a hint of concern and calling her name into the dark space, unquestionably belonged to none other than Draco—that Draco who hadn't been acknowledging her existence for precisely twenty seven days and eighteen hours. Hermione didn't know what to do; should she reveal herself or ignore him in the same manner he had been ignoring her? Four seconds had passed and her feet dropped to the floor—if the bloody multiverse truly existed, she could talk to him in this one while still ignore him in the other.
"In here!"
The door was pushed further, welcoming in more light and the sight of a tall figure of her best friend. "Why are you sitting in the dark," he asked, hesitating, his hand still gripping the handle.
"Any problem with that?" Hermione folded her arms. "If so, you may close the door from the outside!"
"No, it's fine," he said quickly, closing the door against all sources of light but the pale moon coming through the window blocked by Hermione's torso. Her eyes watched the silhouette amble forward. She wondered what could possibly have happened to make Draco get over his ego and see her. She'd bet ten galleons on her recent accident.
"Heard what happened today, are you okay?"
She won.
Hermione slipped from the windowsill and settled right under, the stone wall freezing against her back. "Sure, hadn't it been for your aunt, I'd have bled to death. I guess I was wrong about her all this time," she proclaimed sardonically, pulling her knees toward her chin.
Draco let out a deep exhale. He stepped a bit closer and sat down, his frame blending with the darkness of the room. "About that," he started slowly but Hermione interjected.
"It's fine, I don't need to hear about that or about how you tattled on me everything you possibly could. Really, I don't hold it against you... I just wonder why you couldn't find an ounce of integrity in you to face whatever happened outside the Three Broomsticks and talk it over with me," Hermione finished, grateful for the surrounding blackness; she was certain it would be three times harder if not impossible to address the issue in broad daylight with a clear view into Draco's eyes. Her directness was a punch straight to the gut, no doubt, but if they wanted to move on, they needed to communicate and figure things out once and for all. Biting her lip, she waited for an explanation, however painful or unpleasant, but Draco kept quiet.
She wondered whether she should say more just so that she could slip a bit of benevolence into her voice and ease the tension. She decided she would.
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered after her lips parted. "I shouldn't have done it, I don't know what came over me."
Like salt to a wound, a memory, still vivid and painful, sprung in her mind: the cruel warmth of Blair's shoulder covered by a chiffon top and her disappointed tears—right in that moment Hermione had been this close to making the same mistake as Draco. Her hands shifted involuntarily, as though wishing to pull him into her embrace. She finally understood the reasons behind Blair's gentle comforting; sadly, it wasn't the need for Hermione's proximity to relieve her own frustration of being unable to reciprocate her feelings for the moral reasons. No, she felt guilty because she had caused so much pain to someone she cared about deeply and there was nothing she could do about it.
"I do," Hermione let out softly, bowing her shoulders. "And it's all right."
What followed was another period of silence in which Hermione set her mind. She released a shaky breath, feeling her heart rate increase rapidly. Her palms became sweaty as she pressed them together and her stomach turned into a wobbly gelatine.
"I," she whispered but subsequently closed her mouth. Three seconds had passed and she cleared her throat, trying again.
"Draco, I... I think I like girls."
As soon as the last syllable left her tongue, she felt like taking it all back. An unimaginable wave of shame washed over her, as though she had said something vulgar. Her teeth sunk into her inner cheek, almost drawing blood. She didn't dare expect Draco's reaction; it was a well-known fact pureblood families resented the idea of a different sexuality. Based on everything Hermione had read, they considered it an illness worth the harshest of treatments.
"You wouldn't let me explain back then," she went on quietly. "Draco, please, say something!"
She heard him shift. "Why didn't you tell me earlier," he asked in an emotionless voice, which managed to ease Hermione's anxiety at least partially.
"I don't know—I mean I didn't know, I've just recently..."
"When?"
"In summer," she confessed, her cheeks burning.
"Summer, huh," Draco repeated, irritation creeping into his voice."That makes let's see... June, July, August... ta da da seven months, wow, that's so recent!"
"You know, it's not that easy to acknowledge something like that! Besides, you yourself didn't say anything about your feelings! Maybe I should be angry too," Hermione fired back.
"Are you serious right now," he growled. "You don't give a damn about my feelings so why do you care whether I told you or not?!"
"I deserved to know," she snapped back. "Because—because those feelings are beautiful! It's good to know—!"
"Beautiful!" Draco seethed, jolting up. "It matters shit!"
"Don't say that!" Hermione, too, leaped to her feet. "It matters a great deal to me. Even if my feelings aren't the same, I still appreciate yours! So, so much! Draco, you are amazing, the most amazing boy I know! If I could change the way I feel, I'd do so in a heartbeat—just like this!" She snapped her fingers, feeling the first few tears escape her eyes. "But I can't!"
"Have you tried?"
Hermione's heart broke upon hearing that. "Of course I have! Do you think I like being queer? You have no idea how hard it is to deal with something like that," she pointed her index finger at the dark figure in front of her.
"Well, we all have our cross to bear, don't we," Draco proclaimed coldly and stepped towards the door.
Hermione's cheeks were completely soaked at that point. "So—so my feelings don't matter anything," she called out in a desperate attempt to stop him.
Draco hesitated, turning back to her. "I appreciate them," he said cruelly and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Hermione stayed alone in the quiet dark classroom, feeling completely abandoned. 'Draco didn't understand.' She drew in a strangled sob, her hands covering her cheeks. He didn't understand and it hurt more than she had imagined when rehearsing the moment in her mind over and over again during all those long weeks spent without his presence. She thought of the bloody multiverse again and envied the other Hermione who was still leading the conversation with the other Draco, who understood.
Her breath hitched as someone opened the door for the second time tonight and Hermione hastily wiped her cheeks, praying for it to be anyone but Bellatrix Lestrange or Professor McGonagall; she didn't feel like dealing with either of them.
"I'm an idiot." Draco stepped in and closed the door, scuffling toward her. He sat down on the same spot, leaving Hermione absolutely speechless. "I'm sorry, Granger, I shouldn't have said that," he added. "Of course your feelings matter."
"Just like yours do," she said quickly, copying his movements, and she too plopped down to her previous spot. "And correct, you are a jerk!"
"I'm sorry," Draco apologised again but all the harsh words were already forgotten. "Just... why didn't you tell me earlier? Why keep it to yourself? I probably wouldn't have..."
"I know," Hermione gulped, wiping the last traces of tears. "I should have but like I said, it's not easy to confess something like that. Besides I still haven't completely figured it out."
"What do you mean you haven't? You just said, not a minute ago, you can't change and—"
"It's complicated," Hermione gasped, tugging her hair behind her ears. "I mean, I don't really find boys interesting but nor girls."
"You've said you like girls," Draco drawled. "Are you screwing with me or what?"
Hermione shook her head but realised he couldn't see her. "No, I'm not, perhaps I should have put it in a more comprehensible way. I was thinking about some level of sapiosexuality or I don't know... some kind of you know—queer sapio-demisexualiy, if that's even a thing."
"Explain, Brain," Draco demanded and Hermione's stiff cheeks experienced the first tugs of a smile after a very long time.
"Well, the term sapiosexual is derived from latin sapiens which means 'wise'," Hermione recited, squaring an ankle over one knee. "The most attractive trait you find in a person is their mind, their intelligence."
"I'm not smart enough, is that what you're saying," Draco asked in a playful voice.
"No! God, no! That sounded wrong." Hermione chuckled. "Well, I do find intelligence really really attractive but that's not the only—"
"Bona fide, de facto, ergo, per se... I can tell you the first few digits of pi 3.141eh..5?... Feeling something yet?"
Hermione burst out laughing. It felt so good to be able to relax like that, so bloody good. She wished with all her heart she was straight and had this boy along her side all the time.
"I'm not only attracted to the intelligence," she clarified as she calmed down. "I'd fancy Dumbledore, too, then, wouldn't I?"
"Gross!"
"Listen," Hermione licked her lips, slightly shaking her head. "The other term was demisexual. Demisexuals don't feel a sexual attraction unless they form a strong bond with another person."
"Come on, Granger!" It sounded as though Draco had slapped his thighs. "I'm both intelligent and have a bond with you!"
"Somehow it applies only to w—well females," Hermione shrugged, careful around the word 'women'; she was not quite comfortable confessing the object of her desire was a woman seventeen years her senior just yet.
"So tell me finally, who is she?"
Hermione's froze for a moment; she turned to Draco with a hesitating look but again, he couldn't see anything beside the stripe of light coming from the window above her. Thank God. She would never scoop up enough courage to spill the beans otherwise.
"Come on, tell me, I've known you were hiding something for quite a while now!"
"I—"
"What is she like? Screw the fact she's a girl," Draco uttered. "Just be honest with me. Tell me the first word that pops in your mind when you think of her."
"All right," Hermione cleared her throat, an unexpected wave of excitement spreading through her chest. "If I had to pick one, just one word to define her," she started softly, her eyes unfocusing. "I don't think I'd be able to. She's a contradiction of traits; charismatic, too charismatic for her own good—she's like a magnet, you cannot help but be pulled in; she's got this ability to make people think they're the most important in the world; the attention she gives them; it's scary how attractive that kind of persona is and what it does to men, well, women too, obviously," Hermione paused for a second. "She's just so glamorous while plain cra-zy." She cracked a smile, taking the laces of her shoes in between her fingers. "I've never met anyone who can pull it off quite like her."
Draco murmured something but Hermione didn't listen. "She's goofy and witty; doesn't give two damns about anything... Once." She giggled, her eyes closing. "Once she talked me into this karaoke event; a couple of guys started hitting on her—they just wouldn't leave her alone until she agreed to sing with them. She'd made the DJ play some chirpy Italian song, grabbed our tablecloth and tied it over her shoulders. She danced and sang in a way I'd never seen before—I seriously doubt I will ever again," Hermione laughed. "It was the wildest and funniest thing I'd ever witnessed. It didn't scare anyone off though, just attracted more male attention; I think it's her curse to look good even if she's trying her best not to."
"She seems pretty mental to me," Draco teased.
"No, she's hilarious! Also really really intelligent and well-educated!"
"So she's already finished her studies, right?"
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat—careful now. "Uhm, yeah. Art degree."
Draco snorted. "A muggle."
"Yes," she affirmed defensively, eyes narrowing.
"A pretty one?"
A surprised gasp leaked from her throat. It took her a couple of seconds to recover from the shock Draco didn't say anything offensive but asked a relatively sweet question instead.
"Well, it's rather her persona that makes her so beautiful but God," Hermione bit her lower lip. "She's gorgeous regardless. Such a melting smile and her laugh is bloody contagious!" Hermione rubbed her hands against her cheeks, hot with emotions. "She's got two beauty marks, one over the other right here." Smiling, she pointed to the skin just beside her nose but again, Draco couldn't see. "Doll-like eyes and plump pouty lips... blonde bob with bangs."
"Bob," Draco repeated, confused.
"Her hair; it's cut like," Hermione moved into the light coming from the window from above. "Like this." She lifted her hair until they were slightly above her shoulders and then sat back. "She sings and dances too; her physique is amazing and she's got the best pair of legs you'll ever ever see." Hermione let out, lost in her own world; it was already too late when she realised what had come out of her mouth.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I… I mean—"
"I know exactly what you mean." Draco let out a chuckle. "I see we won't have fights over girls. I'm more into eyes."
Hermione laughed, relieved he didn't take the piss out of her in a more taunting way.
"How did you meet?
"I've known her for quite a while now," she admitted carefully and hoped her voice sounded less guilty in Draco's ears than it did in hers.
"Is it someone from Greece," he went on.
"Technically not but yes, I mean we—uhm"
"Granger you're stuttering... that's so unlike you!"
"I know," she squeaked, angry with her sudden inability to talk.
Draco shifted, moving slightly closer. "What the hell is going on? Why are you nervous?"
"I've just come out to you, what should I be nervous about?"
"You tell me," he challenged and Hermione suddenly felt like a child, guilty of having broken her mom's favourite vase. "How do you know each other?"
She let out a deep exhale, inwardly deciding for the truth. "Promise me—if I tell you—promise me, you won't think I'm weird!"
"As long as it's not from something dangerous… that way I'd have to feel deeply offended you hadn't let me tag along!"
Hermione chuckled. "Promise?"
"Yeah."
"I..." For some strange reason, confessing to liking an older woman was like coming out for the second time in a row for her. She let out a frustrated sigh which made Draco lean forward and nudge her arm.
"Come on!"
"Okay... eh... apart from being my friend, she also happens to... well, happens to be the best friend of my mother." Stammering, she finally managed to get it out, feeling as though her heart was trying to run away from her chest.
"What?" Draco let out a forced laugh and she could practically sense him raising his brows. "Granger, how old is she?"
"I mean..." she shrugged slowly, her lips opening and closing.
"You mean? Tell me, she's not my mother's age!" Hermione stayed silent, feeling hot flashes washing over her. "God… Okay..." Draco blowed out his cheeks. "That's one hell of a weird crush I guess," he proclaimed in a strangled voice.
"It's not a crush," Hermione objected. "I really really like her..."
"Does she know," he asked, moving into the light, his eyes as wide as plates. "Have you told her how you feel?"
"Oh yes but she doesn't feel the same way. Besides, She'd never... you know." Hermione blinked, still playing with her shoelaces.
"Well, on one hand that's a relief," Draco frowned, his eyes focused exactly where Hermione's were hiding in shadows. "On the other—hello?! How could she not?"
Gratitude mixing with an odd form of sad happiness washed over her upon hearing those words; it brought drops of tears to her eyes. "Draco, thank you... for everything. You listening to me sing her praises like a complete nutcase and... getting it, being understanding. It means so much to me!" She leaned over to embrace him but he moved away.
"None of this just yet unless you want me to start reciting similar poems about the girl I like...I'm telling you, it would be kind of awkward," he snorted, smudging Hermione's relief with guilt.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "You have no idea how much I—"
"Forget about it, we have a more pressing issue on the menu right now," he cut her off and Hermione tilted her head in confusion. "Tell me what I do now," Draco went on. "I'm in desperate need of a girlfriend; Zabini's been teasing me like crazy since our 'breakup."
"He's been on my back, too, " Hermione nodded eagerly. "He's such a git, I never really understood why girls liked to hang out with him so much."
"Maybe it's his appearance," Draco curled his lips down, shrugging. "I always thought he looked kind of exotic; you know... something between an ostrich and an alpaca."
Hermione burst out laughing until teary eyed. How had she missed moments like these. Against all Draco's protests she threw herself on him, hugging him so tightly he started complaining about being strangled.
There was little time for any further conversation; it was almost curfew and they really needed to get a move on if they wanted to avoid running into an irritated Professor McGonagall. They made plans for tomorrow afternoon and with that promise parted their ways.
With a smile plastered across her face Hermione made it back to the Ravenclaw common room where she immediately became surrounded by all its occupants asking for the details regarding her 'flying lesson' in DADA's class earlier; she freed herself from Parvati's half-hug, saying she felt alright but a bit exhausted and with that slipped into the girls' dorm.
Six hours later she lied supine in her bed, still wide awake, thoughts swirling inside her mind; Bellatrix, Dumbledore, Draco, but it was mostly Blair who wouldn't let her eyes and heart rest. Reliving the moments today, reminding herself of all the details she didn't even dare say out loud triggered a deep longing inside of her.
Hermione thought of their last evening together; they'd been sitting next to each other on the floor, slumped over the wool velvet sofa; two crystal bowls stuffed with Matcha gelato lay on the table in front of them, the silver spoons jutting over the edges. It was her last night in Greece. Blair had offered to take her to a gay bar and dance the night away, which Hermione flatly refused, not at all comfortable with such bravado just yet; she'd asked for a simple evening spent in her company instead.
She remembered no perfume radiating off Blair's pulse points that night; her face didn't have any traces of foundation and the crepe shirt wasn't hugging her body in the manner her clothes normally did. The change pushed heat into Hermione's cheeks; Blair was obviously trying to make things easier for her, though her efforts hadn't done anything, if only made the situation twice as difficult.
Without the expensive makeup, her olive complexion had become less dewey though it still looked positively radiant; her hair, usually coiffed and glossy, had been handled in a careless messy way and her bangs had been pushed aside; Hermione thought the laid-back look suited her even better than her usual sleek glamour.
"I remember my first crush," Blair confessed, putting her elbow on the sofa, supporting her chin in her right palm. "He was an exchange student, really handsome and so so... dumb; God, I learnt to speak Italian for him; then I learnt spinning back fist." She nodded, lips curling down. "Also for him."
Hermione smirked, closing her eyes. She reached for the bowl of ice cream and placed it onto her stomach, scooping a spoon of the melting emulsion into her mouth. It tasted slightly bitter but she liked it very much regardless.
"You know, this lesbian idea doesn't sound so bad actually."
Hermione almost gulped the spoon; her heart skipped a few beats until it started galloping for dear life. She straightened her back, swallowing the ice cream much sooner than she'd intended; maybe thanks to that she didn't blush.
A few murmured words interrupted the reverie; Hannah Abbott sleeping a bed away from her was talking in her sleep, asking Anthony Goldstein to lend her a quill. Hermione sighed in her bed, turning to the wall, putting her right hand under her pillow. She missed Blair so much; her deep rich voice, broad smile, and her winking eyes.
Her arm shifted, hesitating; it was creepy she figured as much but—God, how she wished to be near her at least like this...
Slowly, she slipped from her bed, tiptoeing toward the wardrobe that had all of her clothing; she dug up a plain mint-coloured top and returned to her bed, throwing the covers over her. It was the shirt Hermione was wearing the last day of her vacation in Greece, the last day Blair's wrists and neck were pressed against her; she had been keeping it in her suitcase ever since, never wearing or touching it.
She placed the shirt right next to her face, her stomach tightening as she inhaled the still lasting gardenia perfume. Hermione would have given the world to see her right now. Closing her eyes, she let out a forceful yawn and went back to the scented memories, suddenly much more vivid and exhilarating.
"I mean," Blair continued, her sapphire eyes narrowed. "Men would be no trouble. I'd go to a pride and sing 'You Think You're A Man' all day long. Tell me... how do I transition?" She turned to Hermione but her smile froze. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to offend you in any way, sweetie!"
"No," Hermione protested as she placed the ice cream back on the table, away from the danger of her trembling fingers. "You didn't—I just—" The words failed her; she tried her best not to look for any double meaning behind Blair's statement but it turned out to be impossible—her state was impossible. Stupid stupid infatuation for making her blind and deaf to the flattest of no-s and scrambling for the faintests of yes-es even though they were meant as a joke.
Blair's satin hand slipped over Hermione's cold one, making the breath in her lungs hitch. Blinding hope intoxicated her entire being, the electricity of the touch erasing yesterday in a matter of seconds; when Hermione thought about it, Blair'd never openly said she wasn't interested in her like that; only had expressed it wasn't a right thing to do—perhaps she...
Hermione's hand stirred. With a beating heart, her fingertips brushed against Blair's, hesitating, but upon meeting no resistance they slipped in between her fingers, slowly sliding down until they pressed tightly into the back of her hand.
She didn't dare look at her—didn't dare move in fear she'd ruin the moment; only after a couple of seconds did her hand slacken its grip as the tiny drops of sweat formed in between their palms.
So far the touch didn't look like anything but an innocent consolation of two friends. Hermione could leave it at that—she should have left it at that; forcing herself on Blair or doing something she wouldn't be comfortable with was the last thing she wanted but the sensation of the skin beneath her fingers wouldn't let her hand move away completely.
Instead, she moved higher, tracing the smoothness of Blair's wrist, making flutters of butterflies leap from every corner of her body. She pressed her trembling fingers firmer against the warmth, waiting, terrified that Blair would pull away but she didn't move an inch.
With two clumsy shifts, Hermione turned her body more to the side, her hand still lingering over Blair's lower arm. Breathing hard, she looked up, resting her eyes on the beautiful profile of the woman in front of her; in that moment she could be easily mistaken for one of Michelangelo's sculptures, as still and breathless as his Madonna.
Hermione tried inching closer, then a little bit closer until her leg touched the tight slacks, radiating so much heat she had to bite her lip to halt the gasp escaping her lips. Her eyes closed, praying Blair wouldn't say or do anything to stop her.
She wished for nothing else than to grab her pliant waist and pull the woman into her lap to feel her body tightly against hers; God, she wanted it so much it made her stomach hurt. Her hand involuntarily reached out, meeting the curve of Blair's hip bone.
Liquid heat spread through her lower belly as Blair's blank face slowly turned forward, her big eyes glowing upon meeting hers; Hermione couldn't concentrate on anything else but the neverending depths, surrounding her like the infinity of the sheer universe. She got up from the floor, acting purely on the blazing desire, straddling Blair's lap, her legs wrapping around her slender body. The burning sensation dispersed into her veins like a strychnine and Hermione couldn't reason any longer.
She pressed her face against Blair's neck, inhaling the maddeningly sweet scent of her skin. Her lips parted, letting out the short audible gasps she had no chance to control anymore. Her upper body was slightly rocking back and forth as she struggled for oxygen, her head spinning uncontrollably.
"I love you, Blair, I love you so damn much..."
She kept her eyes closed and nuzzled the silken skin with her face, moaning, moving up until they were cheek to cheek. A few excruciating seconds of control and Hermione pulled away.
She needed to get closer; desperately needed to feel Blair's lips against hers; God, she thought she'd die without her touch.
Gasping she leant forward.
Her stomach tightened in indescribable pleasure as her groaning mouth pressed against the pillow soft lips, so hot it burned through her skin; she could feel the thick flames bursting inside her chest, moving into every inch of her body like a river of fire; never in her life had she experienced something so electrifying, so divine.
She ached to move even closer to blend into the softness; she pushed forward until her loins met with the wide hips and pressed tightly against them, inducing another frenzied moan.
She needed more, so much more.
"Please," she whispered feverishly against the stiff mouth. "Please, let me..."
As the luscious lips parted, sensually breathing into hers, she felt a jolt of excruciating heat spread inside her lower belly.
Panting, she surged forward, her mouth meeting the moisture and heat of Blair's, leaving her both dying and springing back to life at the same time. The fuller lips brushed against hers so fleetingly and slowly that the desperate Hermione had to grab onto Blair's smooth arms, pulling her even closer to get the full contact. Their lips slipped in between each other's and she couldn't help moaning upon the sweet taste of Blair's saliva.
She almost fainted. The touch, taste, smell; it was all too much yet not enough.
Her hand slipped into the soft hair but Blair pulled away, their lips parting with an intense sound, driving Hermione senseless. She wanted to kiss her again, she would spend her entire life kissing her if she let her.
They stared into each other's eyes and Hermione felt like perishing a little with each passing second. Blair was breathtaking, her eyes, her beautiful glowing eyes; they were killing her.
The prominent jaw lifted and Hermione immediately placed the first sensitive kiss on her neck, feeling drops of tears forming inside her eyes; she dragged her mouth lower, ready to press all the kisses she could onto the warm inviting skin when something as equally soft as Blair's whole body pressed against her back.
She stirred, trying to glance behind her back, but only managed to move her head to the side. Her eyes landed on Blair's glistening lips just mere inches from the crimson ones, framed by the thick veil of jet black curls. She watched the darker lips lean in closer, grazing Blair's from the bottom up, the pressure making them plump up before the tongue darted out, slipping into Blair's hot open mouth and Hermione had to grab onto the sofa to endure the sight of the sensual act in front of her; the full lips sliding over each other slowly, too slowly, the doused sounds unleashing something dark within her.
She woke up moaning, her pyjamas sticking to every inch of her body. A throbbing sensation burned inside her lower belly and she felt wet moisture soiling the skin between her legs.
Frightened, she jolted up in her bed, looking all around. The room seemed still, only the soft breaths of the sleeping girls resonated through the air.
Hermione wiped the lingering beats of sweat from her forehead, her trembling hand reaching into her pants. The shaky fingers slided over the wet thighs; she pressed harder, pulling her hand out, rubbing the moisture in between her fingers, hoping for menstrual blood.
In the pale moonlight she saw nothing but the gloss of disturbing arousal painting her fingertips with even more wanthom and shame.
"Do write down the next dream though—or don't. You may show me, instead."
Hermione shuddered.
Thank you for being sweet & patient; I appreciate you so much & I CANNOT wait to hear what you think!
All my love, AP