Mudblood Sucker

by NightOfMine

At times one is certain of what is to come, yet when they are faced with it they are proven terribly wrong. People are unreasonable and challenges often come with pain. Hermione believes herself above such matters. Still, ever so slowly, she is being enchanted by Bellatrix, who wants nothing but to hurt and kill the Mudblood. That is, until... (See AN - ch.9 - for more information)

4. Ch 4, Duels and Wands

It was on the fifth day after the disastrous stroll that would be the first time she was allowed to go outside again. To her great surprise.

After dinner it had become a custom for everyone to take one last walk beside the shore, leaving Hermione - together with Griphook and Ollivander - alone in the house for about half an hour. And the Muggle-born thought that today would not be any different. She had already settled in the corner of the couch, whilst she stared out of the window with a forgotten book in her lap. All the while the group readied themselves in the hall. She listened to the noises they made and wished she could join them. Then she heard someone walk through the living room. Her eyes moved away from the window to observe the person.

Fleur stood at the other end of the couch, studying Hermione in return. A smile on her lips and with an aura of expectation about her.

For a mere split-second the Muggle-born looked confused, then her face transformed into a happy and hopeful expression.

Fleur's smile broke into a grin and she affirmed Hermine's suspicion by nodding her consent. She did not let a second go wasted, Hermione scrambled off the couch and rushed past the quarter-Veela to the coat hangers in the hallway were still waiting until the last person was done. She had her coat on within the blink of an eye, her boots - on the other hand - were another story. As Harry turned around to look at what happened, he saw her immediately and he too smiled, but she did not see, for she was busy tying her shoelaces.

"I was beginning to wonder how much longer Fleur would keep you in here," Luna said, her eyes on something behind Hermione, her demeanour warm and unbiased.

William commented immediately, quick to defend his wife, "Well, she is an excellent Healer, only did what was best for Hermione."

Hermione on her turn defended Luna, knowing that she would not do it herself. The Ravenclaw was more likely to be humming a tune or watch dust twirl around in the air. Thus, while she tied the last pair of shoelaces, Hermione countered, "Luna never even suggested the opposite, Bill, all she said was that she wondered about the length my confinement to the house." Her tone was almost one of indifference, for this discussion - if one could call it one - was unnecessary. She was of the opinion that William should not have acted as if Luna had just tried to burn his house down.

Normally she would have argued with a sharp tongue and a bite, but now she merely countered. One could almost say she was gentle. And most notable of all, she did not wait for a response. She beckoned for Ron - who stood nearest to the front door - to open it so that they all could move on outside. He did as he was asked. The fresh air greeted them as it filled the hallway, it made Hermione yearn for more. She wanted to taste freedom. To feel it on her skin and in her hair.

If William had wanted to say something Hermione did not hear his attempt, for she was able to manoeuvre around everyone and dashed out of the front door, without a care for his response.

It was a wondrous feeling to be outside once more. Exhilarating. After all these days of being holed up.

She almost felt like a child, one that jumped in the puddles on the street. The fact that she followed Luna around - who pointed at all which caught her eye and explained to her why one should stand still to admire the beauty of these particular sceneries of nature - only intensified this feeling. And she enjoyed it immensely.

Hermione would have loved to run over the dunes, to move as fast as she could. But she was not stupid, nor suicidal.

Fleur would not let her. And the Muggle-born was made aware of this for she had caught those dark blue eyes watch her a few times already. She averted her eyes when Hermione looked back the first half dozen times. After which their eye contact was no longer broken on the Veela's behalf.

A mischievous twinkle in dark blue eyes and an upward twitch of the corners of Fleur's lips were the response Hermione got when she lifted her chin slightly. All the while those lips moved to form words the Muggle-born could not hear, Fleur was in a conversation with William as the couple walked side by side with their arms entwined.

Hermione did not shy away from Fleur's mischievous eyes, though it did slightly confuse her, she would not show this. Instead, she raised one eyebrow, to convey a dare of her own. After that, the Muggle-born did not grant the French woman her attention anymore. She ignored her and deliberately looked the other way the remainder of the walk.

All she wanted was to feel the elements of nature have their effect on her body. Goosebumps and tangled curls because of the wind, a red nose and her condensed breath from the cold, eyes which could not see the details around her due to the intensifying darkness.

It was the perfect example of an early Summer night, one that reminded the people who still ventured outside that Winter should not yet be forgotten.

The walk ended way too soon, in her opinion, but Hermione did not protest, for she knew she should not push her luck. Not regarding her body, nor regarding the one who had helped her heal.

An hour of chatter and tea filled the living room. All were merry. And few thoughts were about the Wizarding War which, of course, never paused with their absence. Yet, despite the merriment, when Hermione went to bed she was still haunted by the Raven woman, the Faceless and all which accompanied the everlasting nightmare.

She awakened early in the morning, the sun was not even breaking through the darkness yet. And Luna was still fast asleep. With a Muffilation Charm Hermione made her way downstairs - after she had visited the toilet - and began to busy herself with preparing breakfast, which was not a small task for the number of people who resided in this Cottage. It helped to clear her mind from the last nasty vestiges of the horrible dream.

Slowly one after the other shuffled into the kitchen and began to help or sit at the kitchen table, they would be the ones to take care of the dishes after breakfast was over. To Hermione's surprise, Fleur was the last to enter the kitchen with sleep still evident in her eyes.

Not much was said. Most were still too drowsy to be talkative.

William would leave the Cottage for his work and some Order errands. He also said to be conducting a plan to move some of them to another residence in a few days' time.

When she heard it the Muggle-born nodded whilst she munched on her toast, her eyes wandered to the window and stayed there. She had wondered in the past few days how much longer these arrangements would last. She could imagine that this was not really William's optimal situation. Having so many people within his house could not be easy for someone with semi-werewolf nerves and senses. About Fleur's preferences, she was not sure, for the quarter-Veela could be as mysterious as the moon when she wanted to be.

Somehow Hermione had the feeling that she would not be there when the rearranging would begin. For she had been the only reason for the trio to stay here and the moment she could truly function again would be the sign for them to leave. And that would be soon, she was sure of it.

---

The moment the trio was outside the Cottage Harry heaved a sigh, finally, they could do whatever they wanted, on the domain that was surrounded by the Wards at least. This time they would not carelessly walk out of them. And he bumped his shoulder playfully against Hermione's. Who smiled back, she knew him well.

Harry's shoulder bump was a silent challenge for a run, however, Ron had already started it. Laughing heartily in the process. Both, Harry and Hermione, began their pursuit in earnest. And within seconds they had closed the gap, another few seconds and they were ahead of him. Something which Ron did not like and he made this obvious with a shout.

Birds flew up when they neared and ran past them. Their startled sounds warnings for the other animals in the dunes.

Hermione was the first to veer off from the path, the other two echoed her decision. Now they weaved themselves in between the trees. This was no longer a game they played, it had become a survival practice, something which they had started doing every few days whilst they had been camping.

They made their run as difficult as they could handle; jumping over fallen trees and big branches, dodging bushes, big roots and whatnot, or even going so far as dodging imaginary curses and producing their own defensive or offensive magic. Meanwhile, each ran as fast as they could, as if the Devil himself was after and close behind them.

Harry and Hermione kept it up for a quarter of an hour, but thereafter their pace slowed down to a walk, albeit panting heavily. Ron, who had stopped sooner with the exercise, caught up with them.

Meanwhile, the Muggle-born concentrated on their magical surroundings. Closing her eyes in the process. They were still within the Wards. There had been more than one reason for her to veer off the road. For she had also wanted to create more distance between them and the edges of their safe haven.

Now that she knew they were still within the Wards, she said haughtily, "Do you two care to show me your abilities in a duel?" Bellatrix' wand was already in her hand. This would be an excellent way to truly experience how much control she had on the will of the wand's magic.

"Ha! Not afraid in the slightest that we best you, are you?" Ron remarked. Sweat dripped from his forehead down his face and on the ground.

Yet despite their warm bodies and heavy breathing, Harry summed up the rules, "Everyone for themselves. No use of dangerous spells or curses, we don't want to injure one another, just Stunners and the like. When rendered wandless it's 'game over'."

Everyone nodded their approval and searched for a starting spot, in the end, they formed an equilateral triangle.

"Ready?" Harry shouted, "Set... Go!"

At once Hermione sprang from her place, avoiding a jinx from Harry. She ran to her right and watched as Ron took advantage of this distraction and shot a spell towards Harry. The latter had predicted as much and effortlessly produced a Shield Charm, which allowed Hermione the time for a small sprint to close the distance.

She tried to use the environment to her advantage as much as she could. Trees and bushes became a shield against the spells that were propelled her way. All the while she used them just as much for her attacks.

However, at the moment she used it as an object to hide behind, as she waited for the right time to jump back into the fight. She heard the sizzling of spells that flew through the air, Harry and Ron were momentarily focussed solely upon one another.

As she dared her entrance, she emerged from behind her hiding spot, shielding herself from potential treats with a Protego. Once she found her footing, she conjured offensive spells and jinxes and immediately shot them towards Ron. Harry chose this moment to fade into the background now that Hermione and Ron were distracted.

The Muggle-born made sure her attacks came at full force. Each Stupefy was closely followed by an Expelliarmus. And she spiced it all up with some innocent jinxes in between her onslaught. There was not a moment of rest between the spells, nor a moment for Ron to catch his breath before the next wave of magic was shot his way.

He was surprised and disconcerted, for the impact of the spells which hit his shield forced him to stumble backward. He did his best to stand his ground, but he failed no matter how he placed his feet and body against the strength of offensive magic. Ron realized too late that he was completely at her mercy.

Hermione smiled triumphantly, confident in her victory. She had already planned how she would overpower him. The process had already started when an unexpected Expelliarmus shot her way. Harry had interrupted her attack successfully, for Hermione had to duck away from his magic. She thought in a split-second that she could use this for her escape and tried to jump behind the safety of a tree, but in mid-air, she was plunged backwards by an invisible rope around her feet, her wand fell from her grip. Game over.

Now she hung upside down and watched how Harry defeated Ron.

It brought her back to reality. As her adrenaline slowly faded. She knew which incantation Harry had used, Levicorpus, but the counter spell was unknown to her, which frustrated her greatly. Hermione could do little but wait. However, Harry made sure to entertain her.

He danced around Ron, who was obviously not pleased to be faced with another hurricane of spells. It did not take Harry long to defeat him though, something which pleased Hermione. For that meant she had done well in tiring Ron. She had made him bleed and Harry gave the killing blow. A Body-Bind Curse hit Ron's foot and his rigid form toppled backwards. The ground upon which he fell was uneven though and caused him to roll down the hill. Harry did not notice immediately for he had started to walk towards Hermione. However, when he noticed her wide eyes and expression he turned around to see what happened and dashed after Ron a few seconds later.

To watch Ron tumble down the hill with Harry running after him, desperate to catch up to him, reminded Hermione of old slapstick films. The ones she had watched with her father. And she enjoyed it immensely. When Ron finally stopped rolling with his face planted in the sand Hermione could no longer contain her laughter. Laughing upside down was a strange experience, yet it did not make it any less funny.

Ron was freed from his magical bounds and sat up gingerly, whilst Harry was already on his way to free Hermione from the invisible rope. And as he did she asked him to teach her the counter curse. He nodded and said he would after their next battle.

"Did Bellatrix' wand cause you any difficulty?" He asked.

"No, not really, though I doubt it will ever work willingly for me." She said and continued after a moment, "However, what I am truly afraid of is when I have to face the woman herself, how will the wand react then."

"If you will ever have to face her again." Harry said firmly, suddenly his eyes burned with a promise, "And that won't ever happen if I have a say in it."

She silently watched him as Harry looked around them, almost as if Bellatrix would jump out of the bushes right that moment. Hermione was not taken aback by his statement, for she had expected a reaction like his from Harry, he had always been one ready to defend and fight at any given time. Yet, she had slight difficulty to come to the right answer. A 'thank you' was all she said in the end, with a barely visible smile on her lips.

She eyed Ron who slowly walked their way, whilst he still dusted the sand off his clothes.

Her eyes turned back to Harry, his eyes were on her. To lighten the mood she said, "Even though I handled Bellatrix' wand relatively well, you still won."

He smiled, "That was only because you were too focused on defeating Ron. Try to keep your mind open to your surroundings; don't become fixated on solely one person."

Hermione nodded, imprinting the lesson in her mind. They started to walk towards Ron, who grumbled when they were together, "I don't get how you two do it."

"Do what?" Harry asked.

"I think Ron does not like to lose, Harry," Hermione offered, "Am I right?"

He huffed and crossed his arms, staying silent.

"Let's start the second round, shall we?" Harry said, desperate to stop this conversation.

Hermione was determined to win this round, for she felt that she had to prove to everyone - but most of all herself - that she truly did have power over the wand. The first battle round had just been a warm-up, she told herself. The adrenaline that had faded from her system while hanging upside down, slowly returned as they took their positions. Again they formed an equilateral triangle. All three stood in the correct duelling position.

Harry counted down once more and then the second round started in a chaos of red, yellow and blue magic.

In her head, she kept reminding herself that she had to be constantly aware of her surroundings whilst she battled her opponents. As a result, she immediately spotted Ron, who tried to sneak up on her. She waited for a few breaths, as she deflected some of Harry's jinxes by sending them straight back at him, and when the time was right she shot some distracting spells him. They would merely buy her enough time to get out of his sight, which succeeded.

Hermione twirled around and dashed right at Ron, as she did she threw half a dozen heavy spells at him. He was startled, to say the least, yet was able to protect himself in the nick of time with a strong Protego. Though he had not been aware that this had just been a sly diversionary tactic from the Muggle-born. For around his feet, the roots of the bushes and trees that surrounded him had come to life and currently curled around his legs. And a split-second later, with a simple flick of her wand, the roots tightened around him. During his fall towards the ground, he was hit by an Expelliarmus and she gracefully caught his wand in her left hand.

However, the moment her fingers held the wooden object she created a magical whirlwind around herself, one wherein she stood in the middle of it, the eye of the hurricane. She vaguely noted Ron's shout - sand and dust had probably gotten into his eyes - but she did not pay it any mind, for she had created this barrier to hide from Harry. Because as she had tackled and overthrown Ron, she had been aware of the fact that Harry had freed himself from the tree that she had hexed to distract and attack him. Now, with the whirlwind, she could move herself to a more secure area.

Though when she had almost reached the spot she had in mind her whirlwind was magically sliced in half. Hermione ducked away from his spells and conjured a few of her own in retaliation. Harry deflected them, seemingly without any difficulty.

Their dance started, it was fast and uplifting. Both determined to win. Spells were shot and deflected.

Harry had a smile on his lips, yet sweat dripped from his brow. And Hermione too felt the sweat on her face and body.

What Harry had not anticipated for was a sudden explosion to his right, in a haste, he jumped to the left, all the while he kept his wand pointed to the right. He suspected another living tree to emerge from the smog. Yet when he landed on the ground he was immediately sucked into the earth, Harry's body was completely enveloped by the ground, only his head protruded above it. In vain he tried to wriggle himself free, but when he looked up a wand pointed directly at him. And the one handling it had an arrogant grin on her face.

He could not help but laugh at the sight, and before he knew it the ground pushed him upwards again. The Muggle-born helped him up. As he dusted himself off he said, "You did very well."

Hermione shrugged modestly, but her cheeks betrayed her true feelings, "I learned from the best."

"You always have been a fast learner."

They shared a high-five and started to walk back to where Ron was supposed to be. They had drifted further off from Ron than they had been aware of, which granted them a few moments alone. Yet they whispered as they talked, both aware that they did not want anybody to overhear them. Even though all they did was tell one another their thought process throughout their duel. However, before long they stood next to a struggling Ron. He had tried to untangle himself from the roots this whole time but had obviously failed. Harry freed him and Hermione watched in amusement. She still had his wand in her possession and handed it to him, somehow it did not surprise her that he could not bear to even congratulate her. He is still a child and probably will be for the rest of his life. She could barely refrain herself from rolling her eyes, yet she did. Another accomplishment of which she was proud.

The trio walked in silence. Ron brought with him an icy feeling, he was obviously not pleased. Though as time trickled on he became less frosty and before they arrived at the edge of the pine forest there was an easy banter between them. In the distance, they could already see the smoke of Shell Cottage twirl in the sky.

This was the point where Harry and Hermione halted, Ron turned around with the question clearly visible on his face. Harry was the one who elaborated, "Hermione wants me to teach her the counter spell to Levicorpus, but we best don't do that near Bill and Fleur. Since we will be hanging upside down quite a lot."

"Right," Ron put his hands in his pockets and turned his eyes from one to the other. Then he looked at their environment. And while Harry started to explain the hand movement of the spell, Ron decided that he would not hang around, instead, he started to head to Shell Cottage alone. He said as much before he walked away.

Thereafter the training resumed, Harry continued with the theory as if he had never been interrupted. Instructions which Hermione understood after the first explanation, then came the practical part. This was not too hard for the Muggle-born either, after ten minutes she could cast the counter spell without any difficulty from Bellatrix' wand, as well as wandless. And the act of non-verbal was halfway learned. She had felt that Bellatrix' wand had deliberately made it harder to learn, nonetheless. Either way, the most unpleasant thing during their practice was, for both of them, to be hung upside-down.

Yet when they called an end to it Hermione had still enough energy to run all the way back to the Cottage, or so it felt. Being outside had never before been so important and satisfying to her.

"How is your Occlumensy going?"

She sighed and answered, "Honestly? I have no idea. There are times that I can easily let go of my emotions and then there are moments that all I can do is feel. And given the fact that I can't practice with you invading my mind makes it impossible for me to know if I am on the right track."

He was silent for a moment, looking at the trees they passed as they slowly walked back to the Cottage. After a few minutes of silence, he said hesitantly, "Perhaps... We should just try it right now? I have done it before... I can cast the spell." The last bit he said with a bitter note in his voice. The memories of his sessions with Snape were likely still too fresh, even after all these months.

Hermione had hoped he would say this and needed no time to consider the option. Yet now that it was about to happen she did feel somewhat hesitant. However, Harry was one of the very few people in this world she trusted with her inner thoughts and memories.

They searched for a good spot and sat down opposite of each other, both with their legs crossed. Harry had his wand lying before him and said, "I never really got the hang of Occlumensy, as you know, but I am certain that it was because of the way it was taught to me. So, I want to do this differently than I have experienced."

Hermione nodded and had the usual look of concentration on her features. Her eyes were focused solely on him. They were still themselves - the thickest of friends - but right now their roles had shifted; she was the student and he had become her teacher.

"Close your eyes," Harry did so himself, the Muggle-born watched him and then followed his example, "take a slow, deep breath and feel how the air flows through your nose, into your body. In- and exhale like this for some time until you can truly feel it, put all your concentration in it. And when you are so far, when you are ready, you have to squeeze my fingers." After having said these words Hermione felt how Harry's left hand held her right. This was for practical reasons but she felt more secure with this. Now she would notice if Harry would leave or if he - God forbid - would be captured in complete silence. There were enough spells and charms to enable such an abduction. Thus, when she softly squeezed his fingers and felt them retract Hermione momentarily tightened her grip on them until she was certain that he would let his hand stay connected with hers.

"As you focus on your breathing, your mind will wander, but you have to let go of all those thoughts. And whenever you catch yourself thinking of other things just return to the sensation of your breathing. Don't get angry at yourself for getting distracted, just return your concentration back to breathing." Then he fell silent and did not speak again for a quarter of an hour. Around them nature still lived on, orchestrating all elements and noises into a melody. Yet she clearly heard Harry's whisper through it all, "I will cast the spell now, alright?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes still closed.

She heard the incantation and a moment later she felt a pressure around her; mentally and physically. Around her body, there was the slightest pressure, as if she was completely underwater. Instinct brought panic. She had to remind herself that this was not her nightmare, that she was awake and well. Yet an uneasy feeling stayed in her stomach.

Mentally she felt a sensation best described as a sort of prodding, an invisible force that tried to find her weak spots and to put pressure on them. Far more intrusive than the Sorting Hat.

The first time Harry was not yet able to handle the spell well, thus Hermione easily kept him out of her mind, but he got gradually better at it. Challenging Hermione to do the same, and, of course, she did.

During their training, Harry did catch glimpses of his friend's memories and thoughts, something which was a peculiar experience, for it was very different from his time in Snape's head. One reason was that Hermione had him out of her mind in the blink of an eye. The second reason was that these were mostly positive memories. He had known his friend had enjoyed a loving childhood, but now he could actually feel and see the memories – even if it was for just a second or two. Of course, she had also endured negative experiences through life, but he barely caught glimpses of those. Almost as if she had hidden them further away in the darkness of her being than her happy memories.

How long they had been going on neither one knew, but they had to merely look at one another to know that they had enough of it for today. Both had grown tired and were in desperate need of a shower and some fresh clothes. Something edible would not be unnecessary either.

Simultaneously they stood up and began to walk towards Shell Cottage. Both were deep in thought. One mulled over the snippets of memories from his best friend's life and the other had just realized how much Harry had grown from being a 'normal teenage boy' – something he had never truly been – to being a young adult. He truly was a natural teacher just as he was a natural duellist.

"So, what about you and Viktor?" Harry asked out of the blue.

Hermione presumed he asked this because he had seen a glimpse of the kiss they had shared on the night of the Yule Ball, yet she played dumb and said, "What about us?"

"Well, before we went on this hunt you two danced on Fleur and Bill's wedding and well," he hesitantly continued, "did you two break up after that?"

Hermione did not respond immediately, for she was momentarily back in Viktor's arms as they waltzed over the dancefloor together. She had felt so at home in his embrace. "No," her voice had become soft, "no, we are still together." She paused, then a small smile came on her lips, "He was being silly as we danced and made me promise to get through this alive. Of course, I promised him, but he would not listen when I said that my promises could be broken by another one's doing." Viktor had promised the same to her - that he would get through this war alive as well - and that he would fight against Voldemort from his country, he planned to form an Order akin to the one in Britain. But Harry knew the latter already, for she had informed him of it after they had successfully escaped from the wedding.

Harry patted her shoulder tenderly and smiled in a way he hoped looked encouraging. What was there to say? Naturally, he hoped that they all would survive, but would they be that lucky?

A heavy sigh escaped Hermione, she did not like to ponder over these subjects. She was of the opinion that she had cried over Viktor and her parents' well-being, and the state of the world in general enough of nights already.

"I am sorry, I did not want to make you gloomy."

She forced a smile, one that did not convince Harry at all. He did not comment on it, but Hermione saw it in his eyes.

She did not ask about Ginny since she had already heard the story. The first years of their friendship Harry had always been vague regarding his feelings - for Ginny and other girls - but lately, when Hermione asked him about it she got straightforward answers. He had even asked for advice on his own accord.

Both fell back into their own memories, their silence was not uncomfortable, not for a single moment all the way back to the Cottage.

Ron sat outside the house on a bench near the front door with a sandwich in his hand and a full mouth. He waved enthusiastically when he saw them approaching. A bit of decent food always did wonders to his temper. Harry sat down beside him, Hermione stayed on her feet and looked back at the forest. Despite her tiredness, she already wanted to go back and better her duelling skills.

The Muggle-born absentmindedly noted that Harry and Ron talked, yet she interrupted them by asking, "Could we continue practising this evening?"

Harry nodded and said he had been thinking the same thing, but first he thought it best for them to have a little break.

Ron grumbled at the two, his merry mood immediately lost, and said sarcastically, "Why not invite all the others as well, surely they would love to be blasted to the other side of the beach?"

"That's a brilliant idea, Ron!" exclaimed Hermione. "That would bring a variety to the duels, I mean, we can practically predict each other's next step as it is."

"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered darkly and took another bite of his sandwich.

Hermione heard this and narrowed her eyes at his voice, but Harry interrupted whatever was to come. "You don't have to join us if you don't want to, Ron. We don't demand your participation."

"Right," Ron drawled, "Anyway, I was being sarcastic, Hermione, you know, saying something without meaning it?"

"It does not matter how you meant it, nor do I care," Hermione said. She did not snap her retort - something which she would have done a mere year ago - her voice was void of any emotion, almost as if she was too tired for bickering. "What do you think of it, Harry?"

He nodded his approval.

---

Harry and Hermione were welcomed back by a lively Fleur as they entered the house. She had an endearing smile on her lips, one which told Hermione enough: the quarter-Veela had been worried. Which was not surprising, anyone would be when the previous time one of the 'hikers' had returned on the verge of being comatose from a mere stroll.

"Perfect timing. The soup ees almost ready to be served. Though, please refresh yourselves before you sit down, you stink of dried up sweat," Fleur said laughing. It made Hermione smile as she watched the quarter-Veela. Harry grinned and dragged the Muggle-born with him upstairs.

The lunch was enjoyed with small talk. Hermione kept to the background, a habit that slowly began to grow on her.

Everyone went their own way when lunch was over and the dishes were taken care of.

Hermione chose the living room as her place to rest. A book about dark magic in hand, yet as she sat down in the corner of the couch with her legs tucked underneath herself, all she did was stare at the cover. Her thoughts blank, something that did not happen often. Slowly she leaned sideways into the backrest and before long she was like a curled-up mammal.

The blankness of her mind evaporated like snow before the sun. In her curled-up state, her thoughts went a thousand miles an hour. She pondered about all the training and exercises she had done this morning, the tips and tricks Harry had given her. For the next duelling round, Hermione wanted new strategies, since she obviously wanted to win. She thought of different approaches and other, more difficult, spells to cast. But most of all her mind lingered on the Occlumency lessons. Harry's instructions had been so calm, if she would not know any better she would think him a master of the skill.

With her mind so far from reality the sound of another's voice startled her, even though it was in such a pleasant language. "You know, usually when someone tries to sleep they close their eyes and don't overwork their brains."

Humour was clearly evident in Fleur's voice.

Hermione felt the couch dip on the other side, she sat up so she could watch the woman in amusement, "And what makes you think I did not try?"

"Well, it looked more like you had a mental breakdown, in the way you laid there curled up like a kitten." Fleur was teasing, Hermione was sure of it, yet there was a certain glimmer in her eyes. The younger woman did not want to see it, she averted her eyes and kept the conversation light.

"I will warn you next time I decide to have a moment of self-reflection," Hermione attempted to smile, which earned her an eye roll. Thereafter they were silent, but she broke it soon enough, "Do you have any ideas on how I could become a better Occlumens? Besides the usual 'keep all your emotions at bay' part."

Fleur frowned a bit and looked at the fire that crackled in the fireplace. Hermione kept her eyes on her companion and observed every facial feature. She had not studied Fleur's profile that often.

Her eyes travelled from her chin along her jaw to her ear - only visible since Fleur had braided her hair today. A braid that hung over one shoulder, with a few loose strands of hair that were tucked behind her ears. Dark blond eyebrows were set in a frown. It was the eyes that made Hermione falter in her observation. As Hermione recollected Fleur's eyes from all her days of being holed up in the house they were very expressive. Of course, they mostly conveyed the French woman's arrogance, but if one looked carefully they could see a magnificent play of other emotions.

Strangely enough, Hermione had not been bothered by Fleur's arrogance since the very first time she had awakened here. Something which had been different in the past, during which Hermione had been affronted by the natural confidence the French woman carried. Now the Muggle-born could shrug it off and instead enjoy Fleur's other aspects; her witty remarks and sharp intellect, the incredible amount of knowledge she had and all the interests they shared, or the discussions whenever they differed in their opinions. Thereby came the fact that the arrogance was not an unjustified illusion, for Fleur was and would always be beautiful. Though Hermione could now see the curse it brought forth with it. She assumed she had been too young - and jealous too - to see and acknowledge this back in her fourth year and during the summers they had both been at the Burrow.

"Your look is very intense, 'Ermione. If you keep scrutinizing me like that you will make me blush." A wink accompanied the words. Being caught in the act made the younger woman blush and she averted her eyes. However, the gentle smile on Fleur's lips made Hermione feel less sheepishly.

"Anyway, let's return to your question. No, I don't think I can add anything of interest to your knowledge. Other than that both skills are not taught at Beauxbatons. Which does not mean I have not mastered Occlumency, of course. I can perform it quite well, actually." At this Fleur presented a proud smile, "Though I did it with the normal training material: keep your mind far apart from your emotions and envision yourself in a fortification. Maybe you should try just that? Create for yourself a set of walls as strong as you think you need to keep others from penetrating your thoughts? I bet you have not tried that yet, hm?"

Hermione thought about it and slowly shook her head, she had not yet tried such a tactic. The Muggle-born stared at nothing whilst she mulled it over in her mind, only when she blinked did her eyes focus again and saw that Fleur had turned her attention to her journal.

At some point these past few days the French woman had told Hermione about the journal she kept on Hermione's whereabouts and the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse in general. At first, she had not known what to think of it. Since she had not been really comfortable knowing that what she experienced was being documented in detail. However, after a night's sleep, she had grown eager to help. This journal was not about her, but about what ailed her. It was for bettering treatment. And that was something Hermione would always encourage.

With curiosity written all over her face, Hermione leaned closer to read the open pages. That they were in French did not surprise her one bit. Fleur's handwriting was as flowing as the language sounded.

When she caught a waft of the famous Veela odour Hermione slowly sat back in her seat. She made sure her movement was not in haste, as to not alarm Fleur, but she did find it puzzling that the odour penetrated the air so sporadically. Normally Fleur was perfectly able to keep control over it, or at least that was what Hermione assumed. Except during their argument, of course, but those were moments wherein control over emotions - thus, also her Veela's abilities - was easily lost.

For a moment she observed Fleur again, who did not look any different than before Hermione had caught the Veela's odour. She almost started to doubt her own senses; then again, she could never make the scent up in her fantasies. Still, it could be Fleur's natural scent, something one could only smell when coming close enough.

Hermione took the forgotten book on her lap and opened it. Yet even before she read the first word she said, "I bet I could beat you in a duel." She suppressed a sly smile, she did not move her eyes from the paper.

Fleur's pride was prodded, with one raised eyebrow and unbelieving eyes she said, "You don't know what you are talking about, 'Ermione."

"Well, what about a duel then? This evening?" Light brown eyes sparkled with a promise, Hermione wanted to show Fleur what she is made of, that she could fight and defend herself just as well as Harry or any other duellist. Now that Hermione knew she could truly handle Bellatrix' wand she wanted to show what she was capable of. To Fleur most of all, because she had seen and tended to Hermione at her weakest. Of course, she would not say this, she did not even acknowledge this to herself.

"You are taunting me, I am aware, but if I did not know you any better I would teach you a bit humility right here and now, 'Ermione." A shake of the head accompanied the words.

"So you say," the younger one said happily.

---

As evening fell the two women made their way on the shore. Fleur groaned when she learned that she and Hermione would not be the only ones to be duelling. All the others already stood chatting on the sand, William and Dean included. They obviously talked about the upcoming duel, for Dean was posing in fighting stances and the others pointed at several things in his position.

"And you said that I am evil? All the while you lure me into a trap, making me believe it will only be the two of us battling, yet here I find out that I have to win from all these boys as well." Fleur shook her head and looked sideways at her companion.

Hermione chuckled, "You will survive, I have no doubt in your abilities."

When they arrived Hermione could not help but feel more secure with Harry beside her. It was still weird - even after being here for all these days in Shell Cottage - to be apart from him. And she knew he shared her opinion about this since they had both voiced these feelings to one another a few nights before. They had also acknowledged that it was just something they had to get used to after so many months being constantly around each other. However, this did not mean it was easy.

Right after the exchanged 'hello's' Harry noted aloud that Luna was not with them. Fleur shook her head and motioned to the pine forest, "She went on a stroll about an 'our ago."

Hermione caught the sparkle in his eyes and even before he took the first step she already knew he would search for the Ravenclaw and most likely return with her. A knowing smile appeared on her lips, which she covered with her hand, pretending to yawn.

Meanwhile, the group did not take long before they started their first duel.

Everyone for themselves, no use of dangerous magic and once one is rendered wandless they lose. The same rules as before. However, certainly not the same battles as before. With so many people to battle, all at once, Hermione felt as if chaos had ensued. Yet she was able to defend herself, to battle and to win.

From the handful of battles that took place in Harry and Luna's absence, Hermione was not once the first to be rendered wandless. In fact, she came out as the winner two times, had one draw with Fleur, was placed second once (with Fleur being the triumphant winner) and one time being third (with William flashing a dangerous grin as he caught Hermione's wand, however, he had not anticipated Fleur's harsh speed, which gave her the first place once again).

To say that she was proud of her accomplishments was quite the understatement, the Muggle-born practically glowed with happiness. However, this accomplishment made her realize that their departure was due a few days. She made a mental note to stop postponing a certain conversation she wanted to have.

The group had started with these battles more than half an hour ago and Hermione began to feel tired. At first, she thought she was the only one, but closer observations made her notice the sheen of sweat on William's forehead and the other's too showed signs of feeling a little battered.

Yet, another round started. Hermione promised herself that this one would be her last for today.

William overruled his younger brother fairly soon. Even whilst being in combat Hermione noted the growing frustration in the youngest Weasley. Dean was defeated soon thereafter, being disarmed by Fleur, stealing the beautiful victory from Hermione, who had been battling the boy fiercely.

Then William, Fleur and Hermione battled each other all at once. The colours of their spells and hexes created a weirdly shaped triangle.

It was Harry's completely unexpected entrance which had Hermione off balance and ultimately on the losing end. She was able to produce a strong Protego against both Fleur and William's magic, but Harry was too fast. His Expelliarmus had her wand flying right into his waiting hand.

He flashed her an apologetic smile before his eyes hardened and his whole concentration was set on the battle.

Hermione sighed in defeat and made her way to where Dean and Ron had been sitting. However, Ron was no longer there and instead her dearest Ravenclaw had joined the sidelines. With a sudden jump in her trot, the Muggle-born made her way to them.

---

While Harry ran right into the duel, Luna decided she wanted to wait for the next round to start and instead joined Dean. She sat down beside him and together they watched magic fly through the air.

After some time she asked, "So how have the duels been going?"

Dean had a bitter note in his voice, though he did his best to hide it, "I was not able to win once. Well, I did win from Ron, but so did he from me. The others, on the other hand, are impossible to defeat."

Luna nodded and looked around them, searching, "Now that you mention him... Where is Ronald?"

"Erm, he went back to the house, saying something about getting us some water." Dean was silent for a moment as if he was not sure if he should indulge Luna with his own thoughts. In the end, he must have decided it safe enough, for he continued just a tad bit hesitant, "Though I got the feeling that he was having a hard time. Wanted to be alone for a moment, I suppose..." He trailed off. Dean's form tensed. His eyes grew restless, he glanced from one place to the other. And his hands became fidgety. Luna assumed this was because he felt partially responsible. She observed it all, yet said nothing.

However, the Ravenclaw was completely unaware that her silence gave Dean the impression that the matter was of no interest to her. The air between them grew awkward and it stayed like this even when she averted her eyes back to the battle. To her happy surprise, she witnessed how Hermione was able to defend herself against three opponents at the same time. The Muggle-born had learned to trust her instincts better, she had grown faster since the last time Luna had seen her battle. However, Luna could still practically hear Hermione's thoughts; knew how she constantly thought of every possible escape, different footing or the next spell. And this made her still a fragment too slow. One of Harry's spells hit her and made Bellatrix' wand fly from her grip.

Luna pondered about Hermione's movements. There still lacked something, a last bit of trust in herself. Her movements were always calculated, every step that she took in battle had gone through various tests in her head. It made her a (split-) second too slow. Is there a way to undo this, to make a difference in the way to think?

The Ravenclaw watched Hermione's step get a little jump when their eyes met.

At the same time, Dean said that he would go after Ron, to help him with the water. She nodded and he stood to leave. His vacated seat was filled again within the blink of an eye.

---

Hermione sat down gingerly, her body had begun to feel quite sore. "Hey there, you were on your own for quite some time."

Luna hummed, "I lost track of time while I was in the forest."

The Muggle-born wrapped her arms around her legs and let her chin lay on her knee. After which she forced herself to in- and exhale slowly, to return some calm to her body. As she did this she grew aware of loose strands that had escaped her ponytail during combat and how they were plastered against her sweaty skin. I am probably a sight to behold, the sarcasm was heavy in her own mind. Yet she did not do anything about it. Instead, she focussed her on the battle. Whilst she watched she could not help but ask, "Why didn't you join the duel like Harry?"

"Dean sat here, all by himself. So I thought, why not join him instead?"

Hermione hummed since she was unable to nod. When she let go of her legs she crossed them and settled her hand on her knees. Though soon she had found a small piece of wood to fidget with.

She wanted to ask something but knew Luna would immediately know the feelings behind her question. Yet she also knew her friend would not judge her for them. In the end, Hermione mustered enough of Gryffindor's bravery to give voice to her inner demons, "If I may ask, did Harry find you soon?"

Bleak grey eyes turned to the Muggle-born and observed her in silence. Neutrality and serenity were all that they radiated for a moment, then, a split-second later, apprehension. "Your eyes have this genuine curiosity in them, but your fidgety fingers and shifting body tells a different tale. I detect a bit of jealousy."

An embarrassed grimace graced Hermione's face.

Luna continued, her voice as gentle as always, "I went to the forest to search for seeds. At some point, Harry found me and told me of the duels. So together we walked to where he had come from. During which we talked about several things; Dumbledore was a tough subject for him, thus we talked mostly about the Deathly Hallows. He was eager to hear my opinion about them."

Hermione hummed again. And pondered if it was weird to feel jealousy - though it was barely worth mentioning - because her two friends were being friendly with one another. Yes, it must be weird, she sighed and scooted closer to Luna so that she could hear her whisper, "I am sorry for being silly."

Luna sighed as well, though hers sounded as if there lingered tiredness within her. "Please, don't be sorry, Hermione." There was silence, they both had their eyes on the spectacle before them. Fleur had the two men dancing around, her victory was almost inevitable.

"When one person goes through an intense experience with another being they tend to bond on a very basal and intimate basis, even if they are complete opposites in character. And since the latter is not the case between you and Harry, that bond is easily able to form itself into a relationship - or friendship - that is best described as being intense. You even seem to communicate without words at times.

"So yes, you were silly, but that is only healthy after all that you two have gone through. Stop apologizing for your protectiveness."

The Muggle-born laid her head on Luna's shoulder blade and closed her eyes. She heard and felt the vibrations of Luna's soft chuckle.

They sat like this for a minute, but Luna's voice broke their moment. "Hermione, Fleur is coming."

The Muggle-born briefly wondered what would happen if she would just stay like this, but as soon as the thought entered her mind she discarded it and sat upright. Why would I even think of such a thing? Hermione mused about this when her eyes settled on the quarter-Veela. The woman looked annoyed. And to be honest the Muggle-born was actually surprised to see that she had been defeated, the last time she had watched the duel it had looked as if she was on the verge of winning the round.

"You did well, Fleur." Luna chimed when the French woman sat down at the other side of her.

An annoyed hum was the response; one Hermione could barely hear. She could not help but lean forward so that she could see Fleur, and in a teasing tone, "Did they hurt your pride?"

Fleur raised one eyebrow, and asked rhetoric question, "Are you familiar with the proverbial phrase 'the pot calling the kettle black', 'Ermione?"

"Auch," Hermione showed her an innocent smile.

The older woman narrowed her eyes, then she stuck out her tongue and looked back at the duel between her husband and Harry. It made Luna laugh, who had watched the exchange.

All of a sudden Fleur said, "Let's ambush them."

Hermione's surprise was evident in her features, "But they are still -"

Luna cut her off, "Death Eaters are not people who play fair," she pointed out, "In some way, it is only realistic if we choose to ambush Harry and William now. Unfair it is, but realistic all the same."

The Muggle-born bit on her lip, a frown settled on her face as. She had promised herself that it had been her last duel for today, but quitting now... "You are right, let's kick their arses!"

Both Fleur and Hermione did not have their wands, for those sat securely in Harry's pockets, thus they had to assault with wandless magic.

Hermione smiled at Harry's shocked expression as she shot a warning spell at his feet. Fleur had a wicked grin on her lips as her eyes locked with William, she loved to challenge him. And Luna hummed happily as non-verbal magic shot from her wand and crashed right into both men's Protego Duo.

"That's not fair ladies!" Bill shouted as he deflected Fleur's jinxes.

"'Ush, mon loup, what gave you the impression that life ees fair?"

And with that, a whole different sort of duel started. The five of them battled, but there were humour and joy in their features. They could smile about their own mishaps and actually pointed out weak spots of the opponent before exploiting them.

This did not eliminate the fact that they all wanted to win, of course.

The most significant difference was that they had, unconsciously, formed two groups: the classic male versus female. This would have been unfair if both Fleur and Hermione had their wands, but since they did not, the formations were quite equal. For their magic may be just as strong as with a wand, but conjuring and directing it was a lot harder. Stray spells and jinxes were no longer rare occurrences.

At some point Hermione saw that Ron and Dean approached the battle at a run, likely wanting to play the rescuers of the male group. It did not seem as if Harry or William had any clue of them coming to help since they had their backs turned to them.

A sly glimmer emerged in her eyes. They made it too easy for her. For a few moments longer, she pretended not to have seen them, and shot more stray charms towards Harry, but, in reality, she made sure the spells strayed from the battlefield and hit the sand, in the direction of the two newcomers. She could not defend herself at the same time, for these spells had difficult movements that needed to be repeated several times over. Luckily Fleur and Luna covered her.

Then she shot a few easy jinxes, ran a bit to the left, dodged all that was shot her way and that was when she threw a handful of Expelliarmusses towards Ron and Dean. Both thought to be able to dodge them by speeding up forward, but the moment their feet hit the ground in the radius of Hermione's 'stray spells' the sand beneath them sucked them down till slightly above their knees. Arms of sand shot upwards and grabbed their limbs and clothes. And a second later two Expelliarmusses hit their marks.

Hermione did not have time to catch their wands, thus they dropped unceremoniously on the ground around her feet, for William was determined to triumph over her in her moment of weakness. A frown of concentration was on her face as she blasted each jinx away and even managed to stir a few right back at him.

Her breath was shallow and sweat trickled down her body. At the moment she could not do anything but defend herself. To start a new attack so soon was too much to ask from her body.

The duel was still fully alive, everyone blasted spells and conjured shields. They all had the drive to win within them. Smiles of a daring nature or frowns of concentration were on all their faces.

Yet an angry shout made everyone pause in their movements.

"Bloody fucking Hell, Hermione! What is your problem?!"

She did not turn at once, for she wanted to be sure no last spells would hit her. When she concluded it safe she turned slowly around to face a very angry Ron. She already felt annoyance flare up for the youngest Weasley, yet managed to ask in a neutral tone, only slightly raised so he could hear her, "What did I do wrong, Ron?"

All the others kept silent and watched the scene unfold, though they began to close the distance between them all. The duel was completely forgotten. Now that the clamour of battle had disappeared everyone grew aware of the howling wind coming from the ocean.

"You know perfectly well what I mean!" Ron screeched, he tried to free himself from the sand by pulling and struggling, but nothing worked which only added to his ire.

The Muggle-born narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaws. She had seen this outburst coming for days. And all this time she had tried to navigate around and away from Ron to not be the one that would trigger his anger, but, of course, all this caution had not been enough.

Her self-worth would not allow that he could disparage her. Thus, she decided to let the sand's enchantment dissolve. However, William had clearly thought it best to help the boys sooner, with a flick of his wand and a simple command the charm broke. The dozen arms that kept both Dean and Ron in their place all turned into lifeless heaps. Dean straightened and dusted himself off. He did not share the same accusations as Ron had against her.

The youngest Weasley came several steps towards her and yelled, "Every time we start a duel you are determined to -"

She did not let his idiotic rambling continue, "No! How dare you accuse me of purposefully ruling you out?! All I want is to win, just like -"

"Without playing fair!" He spat and pointed at her with an aggressive finger in her direction. "You won't even give me a chance!"

"What you try to accuse me of is actually called strategy, Ronald! One eliminates their opponents one by one, defeating the weakest first. Besides I am hardly the only one to render you wandless." Her snide remarks had passed her lips before she could keep her mouth shut.

Seconds ticked on, the howling wind was all that met her words. She had verbally lashed out at Ron's Achilles heel. He was shocked. Then his anger returned in his features, accompanied by pain and doubt.

Hermione did not try to take her words back, nor did she show any remorse in her features. She did not say a thing. Yet Ron yelled at her to 'Shut the fucking Hell up' as if she had tried to apologize nonetheless. Still, she did not stir a muscle; her eyes did not move away from his. She would not budge and she was not scared. Bellatrix had been far worse.

At last Ron decided to have had enough, he turned his back on her and stormed away, towards the Cottage.

The Muggle-born did not do anything, she stood still and let the wind pull at her clothing and hair all it wanted.

Meanwhile, the others were not as stoic. Dean looked uncertain between all of them, pointed towards the two wands on the ground and said in a miserable voice that he would take care of that. William sighed heavily, his 'fatherly frown' back in place. It was obvious he had enjoyed the duels and regretted that he had to be the elder brother once more. He said that Hermione should not worry, that it was not her fault and then ran after his younger brother.

Harry, Luna and Fleur came to stand next to her. She was not the wounded party, for she had slashed back with harsh words, purposefully hitting Ron where she knew it hurts him most.

"Pardon my language, but that boy needs to grow up." Fleur sniffed and crossed her arms defiantly, as she watched her husband run after Ron.

Harry simply shook his head and shrugged; he knew it was not that simple. Hermione and Ron had years of arguments behind them. His friends had always had this weird way of communicating. Though this outburst of Ron had certainly not been fair. Harry had noticed the agitated tension between the two and knew that it came from Hermione's evasive nature regarding Ron. But this was not reason enough for Ron to act the way he had just now.

Harry looked at her, "You alright, Hermione?" He stepped closer and caressed her shoulder tenderly before he let his hand land on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She nodded and finally looked him in the eyes. That was enough for him to know that she wanted to be alone for now. He sighed, yet nodded all the same. He did not like the idea of her being alone, but then again, he knew exactly how she felt. Thus, he made sure she could hear and see his concern when he said, "I will go to Ron. Please don't wander off too far." He gave her Bellatrix' wand back and started to walk to the Cottage.

Both Fleur and Luna had followed every single comment and gesture between these two. The latter did not hesitate to follow Harry, for if he gave Hermione space she knew that this was truly what the Muggle-born wanted. However, before Luna followed him she leaned against her friend and stayed like that for a few seconds without saying anything. Then she hummed and skipped after Harry.

The quarter-Veela, on the other hand, would not follow their example.

"Please do not shut me out, 'Ermione."

Hermione looked sideways, her eyes gave away the puzzlement she felt towards the French woman. Where did this come from?

How long had they known each other? A few years. Yet, they had truly started interacting these past few days. Nevertheless, this woman had waltzed right through all Hermione's mental walls as if they were made of nothing but thin crepe paper. And now Fleur pleaded that she did not want to leave her, even though Hermione had indicated that she wanted to be.

Stranger still was that Fleur had apparently become dear enough already for Hermione to actually consider relenting. But after a few seconds, she averted her eyes to the ground and shook her head.

This hurt the quarter-Veela, and it was easily read in her blue eyes, but Hermione did not see it, for she was not brave enough to look back at her. Instead, her brown eyes roamed over the unruly sea and slowly they travelled to the pine forest. She longed for Hogwarts' Library, the one place where she had hidden herself a hundred of times after one of her many arguments with Ron, or, on rare occasions, after an argument with Harry or Luna.

At last, she opened her mouth and moved her lips, "I will return shortly, don't worry, I won't venture too far." She met Fleur's eyes and tried to convey her sincere apologies, but doubted that it did any good.

Fleur sighed and walked away without another word. It made the French woman all the more a mystery to Hermione.

The Muggle-born felt incredibly lonely. Which was exactly what she had wanted, though it still stung. She turned her back towards Shell Cottage and walked a bit over the shore, further away from the others. Her thoughts kept repeating the last quarter of an hour. Had she done right with verbally defending herself against Ron as she had? Was she truly shutting out her friends at this moment, or was Fleur just being silly?

As her thoughts repeated, battled and pondered an uneasy feeling settled inside her. Something more stirred within her. And she wanted it all gone.

Slowly other things - her worst fears and most embarrassing and angry memories - mixed themselves with her current struggles. Old shadows were reawakened within her and grew in intensity with every step she took as if they had all happened this last hour. The further she walked the more she felt unsettled. Unconsciously the young woman felt the need to unleash it all, to give all the reigns up that kept her rational mind together since the morning after the torture session. Ron's outburst had set something in her alight. She did not know what, but it burned her from inside out.

A spark could be enough to set fire to a complete forest, as long as it was dry enough.

Despair made her suddenly sprint with renewed adrenaline in her body. Her surroundings got blurred, her eyes were unfocused.

And just as suddenly, she halted, for she realized that this feeling would not simply disappear, no matter how long she would run.

With a sigh filled with exhaustion, she tried to rearrange her thoughts. Her arms hung at her side, her hands restlessly twitching. What was bothering her, and more importantly what was happening to her?

Images of all her loved ones, dead. The reality of the war that was actually happening right now, while all they had done these days was hide and train and have some fun. Meanwhile, people were hunted for their blood and ideals, tortured, raped and mass murdered. Innocent people died. If not by someone's hand then by hunger.

Hermione closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, tried to focus, but all that she could register in her mind was the chaos within and the onslaught of prickles that travelled over her skin that came forth of it. Her magic had begun to be just as unruly as the thoughts and images in her head.

And a burning pain in her left forearm did not let her forget that she was hunted as well.

Hermione was having a panic attack.

She was completely in the ban of her own sensations and thoughts, unaware of the growing strength of the wind and the rapidly darkening surroundings. Grey clouds circled above her, the sun's light blocked out. Not a single bird dared to share its song, there were no animals around at all.

The woman grew unaware of even herself. Shadows danced before her eyes and blank was her mind.

---

The lonely figure on the shore stood in the eye of the growing beginnings of a storm.

Seawater lapped at their shoes, drenched all it came in contact with.

In the air, an invisible force shifted and made ripples disturb the environment.

Their hands no longer twitched, they were ready to create an outburst of magic.

Suddenly a scream came from their mouth. One that could only be described as inhuman, yet it came from a person nonetheless; for the sounds came forth of all the horrible feelings one could experience in a lifetime.

And as they screamed their hands shot upwards as if to curse the sky itself. From their fingers came magic of an uncertain colour. It crackled and then exploded.

The loudest thunder ripped through the clouds and it shook all that was beneath it. Soon followed by more.

The lonely figure stood not only in the eye of it all, but this broken person was also the creator of this chaos.

---

Her hands fell down again. The thunder had awakened her from whatever trance she had been in.

Around her, the world was covered with a million droplets, rain.

A flash. And a split-second later a horrendous bang. Lightning and thunder followed one another in fast succession. One after the other.

Hermione granted herself a moment of weakness. She had not cried herself to sleep for a long time, had only an hour of grieving over Dobby, thus she let her shoulders shake and her body tremble whilst tears fell from her eyes and sobs came from her lips.

---

Fleur tended to the herbs in the garden. Hermione took to stand beside the fence and watched the quarter-Veela work. The older woman had a charm conjured that protected her from the onslaught of raindrops. Hermione could have done the same but she was too exhausted to care.

There was not anything in Fleur's behaviour which indicated that she knew Hermione was there, yet the Muggle-born doubted that to be true.

Hermione was aware that her watching could be considered creepy, but she did not know what to say or do. In the end, she decided that she should take the initiative either way. "Please, do not be mad at me, Fleur."

Said person did not stir in her proceedings, nor did she look up. At least not at once. When she finally straightened herself, Fleur turned and observed Hermione for a while.

"Of course I am not mad," she said and walked to her, though Fleur did not step out of her garden. They faced each other, stood in each other's personal space, yet the fence kept them apart. Dark blue eyes told of what the quarter-Veela did feel. It made Hermione uncertain, she averted her eyes, unconvinced that she could handle the disappointment - or was it hurt she had seen? - and concern any longer.

"If one would not know you, they would say that you are quite the drama queen," Fleur tried to lighten the mood, yet still wanted to let Hermione know that she knew this storm was not one made by nature.

The Muggle-born read between the lines and knew when she was caught red-handed. She chuckled, though the sound was hollow and unconvincing, "Isn't that more your forte?"

Fleur's smile was a sad one. "May I hug you?"

Her surprise was visible in her features before she could suppress it. No one had ever asked her if they could hug her, people usually just did. After a moment of hesitation - forthcoming from her confusion - Hermione nodded.

Arms were wrapped gently around her shoulders, with the body came warmth. And as Hermione sneaked her arms around Fleur's torso she felt how several charms worked their way over her body and clothing. A tingling over her skin accompanied them.

Her clothes, of which every single fibre had been drenched by the sea and rain, dried from head to toe. Her hair no longer hung down, dripping from all the water, but was its curly self. No raindrops could hit her anymore, as she had now the same shield against them as Fleur.

Silver-blonde hair tickled her nose but also brought Fleur's scent with them and Hermione could not help but enjoy its aroma's as they filled her nose. Then a strange realisation hit her, this was the first time that they shared an embrace. Despite everything that had happened she had never been this close to Fleur.

---

"I am back," she said in the hall and got a chorus of 'welcome back's'. Though as she kicked off her boots and hung her jacket back on the coat rack she made her way straight to the stairs. She wanted to shower, but as she walked past the bathroom she heard that someone else was already enjoying it. Hermione ran a hand through her hair, feeling slightly disappointed. Then she made up her mind and ascended the second staircase to the top floor of the Cottage.

The Muggle-born had not been here before, yet she knew from Fleur's stories that the door to her left was of Griphook's room. Thus, the only remaining room for Ollivander to inhabit was the one on her right.

She stood before the door in an uncertain manner. Could she just interrupt the wandmaker like this? What if he was sleeping? This was the conversation she had been postponing all this time. And here she stood in front of the wandmaker's door.

A moment later she knocked on the painted wood, the silence that followed felt deafening to her ears. Despite the feeling that she was completely out of her comfort zone Hermione opted to knock a second time on the door. And this made noises come to life on the other side. As it opened a soft squeak came from the hinges.

The man who opened the door looked definitely older than she remembered. When she had bought her wand in his shop he had a mix of grey strands within his dark brown hair, in the years that had followed, it had become completely white. Though despite his age he still had quite a tuft of hairs on the top of his head. And it sprouted in every direction. All in all, it was quite a funny sight.

"Ah, Miss Granger! What a pleasant surprise." His voice, on the other hand, had not changed one bit. "It has been some years since I last laid eyes on you, hasn't it? I have been wondering if I would see any of the youngsters that roam in this house, but until now only Fleur and William have visited for a chat. One of them must have scared you lot off, for my wellbeing I suppose. A bit too concerned, don't you think? They mean well, of course, and I appreciate every effort they make. I haven't been the best company either, I sleep a lot you see..." His ramblings went on until he noticed that his guest still stood in the doorpost, unsure of what to do, while he had already repositioned himself in his chair near the window. He looked at her expectantly and waited, but as nothing happened he beckoned for her to walk into the room and make herself comfortable.

She did so by closing the door behind her and transfigured a vase into a stool for her to sit on. Meanwhile, the man told her about the different dreams he had been having lately. Though when silence fell Hermione took her chance, "Good day, Mr. Ollivander. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions?"

"Of course, girl! I was of the impression that was already obvious, isn't it?" He smiled broadly, showing off the teeth he was missing. "I hope you don't mind the curtains closed, the weather is dreadful outside." A flash, mostly obscured by said curtains, and the loud bang of the thunder emphasised his words. One could hear all the raindrops that hit the roof.

A blush spread across Hermione's cheeks, this went unnoticed by the wandmaker, however, for he was telling her of other enormous storms he had experienced in his life.

Then suddenly the man cut himself off mid-sentence, the faraway look in his eyes replaced by the twinkle of happiness. "Since the moment you walked out of my shop with your newly bought wand I have wondered when you would reappear on my doorstep - of my shop, of course."

"Why is that, sir?" Surprise and intrigue evident in her voice.

He clapped in his hands, "Ha! I like to surprise people. Oh, but nothing I said is untrue. No, no, no. Certainly not."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, she was slightly puzzled by Ollivander's behaviour. Had he gone bonkers whilst being a captive in the cellars of Malfoy Manor? Or was he simply teasing? She decided that she would look for articles about his life and find out his age once she had the time... and the resources.

All this time she stayed silent and granted the man to collect his thoughts. A faint smile was still on his lips as he began his tale, "A wand has its own magic, its own energy. And it is the wand who chooses its witch or wizard, not the other way around. Or - if one is of the opinion that such truth is too harshly formulated - they, the wands, search for the most fitting harmony a wandholder can give when both their magics have to work together.

"But you are aware of this already, am I right, Miss Granger?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "However, what you don't know is what I am about to share with you. I am willing to part with some facts few people other than wandmakers know of, thus I expect you to be very discreet with this knowledge. Can I trust you on your word?"

Hermione sat on the edge of her chair. This was far from what she had expected when she had decided to pay the visit to Ollivander. Her curiosity had been sparked, to say the least.

As an answer to his question, she took Bellatrix' wand from its holster and conjured a silencing spell around the room.

A grateful nod from Ollivander, yet his voice was but a whisper, "Indeed, secrecy is most important these days.

"One cannot become a Wandmaker, one is a Wandmaker. It is in their blood, their very DNA, their being. Thus it should not be of a surprise to you that it is often the case that a whole family practices the profession. Whole family trees are filled to the brink with Wandmakers. All have these magnificent abilities.

"Usually parents are able to observe if their children have the required skills. Most often this is in the early stages of the child's life, say from one to four years old?

"The education begins as early as possible, there have been cases in which the child was but two years old.

"Albeit this has also lead to some dark pages in the history of Wandmakers..." Ollivander patted himself on the chin, his thoughts had probably sunk far into the realm of memories. Hermione could barely keep from nudging him back to the present. At last the man continued, "Maybe a story for another time.

"However, starting early with the education required to become a Wandmaker makes it possible for the profession to become second nature to the person. They do not know any better, nor do they want to - that is, most of them... Another something I will not be telling you about, not today.

"Don't you worry though, it isn't a horrid act. For a good wandmaker feels this sensation - a certain pull - regarding the lore of wands. It makes them want to continue on and on. Maybe it could be best described as a form of an addiction?" As he pondered over these words his eyes fell on Hermione and he laughed at the expression on her face.

"You don't have to look at me like that, sweet girl, it is no illness I speak of! It's a blessing!" Enthusiasm radiated from the little man, seeing and hearing him now could make anyone interested in wandlore. "We are blessed with an ability few others are able to understand. No sensation comes close to that of making a wand. There is nothing as fascinating!"

Ollivander rambled on, too caught up in his story to see a slight frown on Hermione's face. For she started to feel like this was no longer an unbiased source she listened to. What intrigued her more was the fact that children were educated as soon as possible, was that even responsible? Ollivander had said that there were some 'dark pages' because of it.

"...You could compare it with the desire a bookworm has to read and understand, there is never enough curriculum to gather, am I right, Miss Granger?" The wandmaker smiled warmly, his feet - which dangled in the air; he really had shrunken over the years - bounced happily up and down. Their subject obviously delighted him.

She nodded absentmindedly, thinking of all he told her. Then she cleared her throat and said, "I don't want to be rude, sir, but you haven't answered my question yet..."

"Of course, you are completely right. It is not very abstract, really. With the education a wandmaker enjoys, they learn to 'read' the wands they create. With the creation of a wand, certain energies settle within the wood, we like to call this the 'will of a wand'. Which is said to be the most important aspect of wands."

"So the wood and core have a chemical reaction? Which is the energy that comes forth during the creation, which equals the wand's will? But then how is it's 'will' confined to the wood? Is it of such a nature that the energy awakened stays within the materials?" Hermione asked, truly fascinated by this piece of information.

Ollivander nodded but did not otherwise answer her questions, "Our observation skills regarding human beings have to be trained as well. In order to know what is best suited to the energies of the holder and their potential wand, in the hope of creating the best possible harmony. Thus, simply put, we have to know that A+B=Z, but to achieve this we have to study the customer thoroughly. And to think that we, most often, succeed to 'read' our customers within a minute or ten; quite impressive don't you think?"

"Yes, definitely, Mister Ollivander. But -"

"Yes, yes. You are right." He waved her words away, "I haven't yet answered your question. Let me tell you why I have been wondering when you would reappear in my shop.

"So, the first time you walked into my shop the surname 'Granger' did not stir any memories, nor knowledge. Thus, I already knew you were either a Half-Blood, Muggle-born or a foreigner; the latter was very unlikely though, with your excellent vocabulary and pronunciation at such a young age. However, I soon knew you were of Muggle birth, the way you looked at all things magical with a constant surprise in your voice. Adorable really.

"Before every start of a new school year, a wandmaker makes sure to have refreshed their memories regarding Pureblood and important Half-Blood families, knowing all the children they could expect in their shop by name. It is part of the services we guarantee, you see.

"Anyway," he hastily continued as Hermione opened her mouth to point out that he was going off-topic again, "when you were in my shop I knew of your intelligence in the blink of my eye. It sparkles in your eyes to this very day.

"Thus, I was certain that I had to bring you a wand with the core of a Dragon's Heartstring. Yet, one wand after another denied you a good harmony. All the wands that we had gone through and none could sync their magic effortlessly with yours. Then, finally, came the moment I handed you your wand. And at once we could all see that you two belonged together.

"But... I knew something I couldn't tell you back then. Your wand had been in my shop for many a year, not accepting any of the witches or wizards I brought it in contact with. And as it lay securely in your hand I saw something that both saddened and intrigued me. For I knew it wouldn't be long before I, or another wandmaker, would see you. I don't know how wandmakers are able to read this from a wand, we just do."

"Do you truly not know this, or are you not allowed to tell me?" Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, though she kept her voice gentle.

A twinkle of mischief was visible in Ollivander's eyes, but his jovial expression vanished the moment he continued. "As I was saying... Wands are more than mere sticks to give more precision to one's aim. And they are always right, it can only be the wandmaker who is wrong. Unfortunately, that does also mean that it is very unlikely that your wand..." He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. A wand's existence was obviously of importance to him. Hermione would have wondered if that was so with every wandmaker, but the news she had just gotten had her mind in its grip.

Ice ran through her veins. She did not want to believe his words and said as much, "I can't believe you, sir, I... my wand... Gone?" Hermione shook her head in disbelief, her eyes pleaded for him to say he could be mistaken, but the man before her shrunk away in his chair, sadness evident in his wrinkles as the corners of his mouth drooped downwards.

It was a knife to her heart, her hopes shattered. The knowledge hurt her far more than she had thought it would.

Ollivander's sad eyes went to the curtains; rain still splattered heavily on the roof and against the windows and the thunder and flashes still created a dark symphony to the otherwise calming sounds.

Hermione did not want another wand, she had hoped that if they would win this war that she would find it in the possession of one of the many Snatchers.

She gulped, not wanting to hear it, yet she asked, "How can you be so sure, Mister Ollivander?"

His eyes returned to her. "I wish I could have told you something else, sweet girl. But after all my years in this profession, a lifetime filled with the creation of wizard's most beloved possession, I can tell a wands life-spam without much difficulty." He breathed out softly, then he continued with a dampened warmth in his voice, "The pain is something I cannot take away with this promise, but I want you to know that when this blasted war is over and if I am still among the living, then I would be honoured to help you in your search for a new wand." His small smile held sincere warmth, but as he had said himself it helped nothing against the pain Hermione currently experienced. She nodded nonetheless and tried to smile back, though she knew it looked as hollow as she felt.

A long silence lasted, both completely engulfed in their own thoughts. Hermione fidgeted with the seams of Fleur's vest, her eyes on the candle that burned on the table beside her. The flame danced around, wax dripped down on the steel candleholder underneath it. The Muggle-born wiped some stubborn curls out of her face, tucked them behind her ear. Her eyes went to Ollivander and observed him. He had his eyes closed, his arms laid on the armrests whilst his fingers plucked at the fabric. The latter being the only sign that he had not fallen asleep, yet.

He had grown old in the years she had not seen him. All those years ago, when she had come to get her wand at his shop, he had been so vibrant and full of energy. Thinking back, she would say that Ollivander would have been about 80 years old; an age, for a wizard, that could be best compared to a Muggle being in his late forties. But now... As she looked at this person she would say he was far above the hundred, this was probably his true age all along. It made her wonder how he had eluded people regarding his age for so long; had it been his genes or were there charms involved? Either way, Hermione did not doubt that his stay at Malfoy Manor had greatly influenced the change in his appearance.

She rubbed her eyes, a tired sigh escaped her. Her body felt sour from all the exercises of today. A longing for the shower bubbled up again.

"Mister Ollivander," she spoke softly, "could I ask you one last question?"

The man opened his eyes and nodded, a smile on his lips once more.

Hermione licked her lips. Would he give an answer? Did she actually want to know? This was the question she had come to the Wandmaker in the first place, she had to ask this.

"This is Bellatrix' wand," she said and slipped the object in her hand, "I have had to work with it since our escape from Malfoy Manor. At first, it protested, but it gradually started to listen to my will, extremely grudgingly, I might add. It still has the tendency to try and bite my hand with sparks or the sort. Nonetheless, it listens, as long as I don't let my guard down." A heavy sigh escaped her, whilst she ran one hand through her curls and rotated the wand with her other. "Either way, what I want to ask is, how is it possible that the wand actually listens to me, despite all odds? I mean, Bellatrix - " the name felt weird on her tongue, " - and I are complete opposites regarding our heritage, ideals and beliefs. I am literally everything she wants to kill and enslave..." The idea felt surreal, yet the realist in her knew it to be true. That did not mean she would ever understand how someone could want to kill another merely because of their different origins.

The wandmaker was silent for a long time, in which he studied the young woman opposite of him with the skills he had gotten from working over a century in his profession. He noticed things others would not and these affirmed what he had already suspected. His fingers were still restlessly fidgeting with the fabric of the chair. He cleared his throat, "Is it truly a surprise to you, Miss Granger?"

A hesitant nod was his answer.

"Haven't you heard stories of Mrs Lestrange from her time at Hogwarts? You haven't been the only 'smartest witch of her age', many a woman has had the honour of carrying such a title. Mrs Lestrange née Black being one of them.

"Thereby comes the fact that this wand is made of Walnut," he said and took the crooked wood in his hands with the utmost care, "and Walnut wood is known to bring forth wands with peculiarities. Mind you, it is not as unpredictable as Black Walnuts, but let's not side-track, shall we?" He winked at her, knowing all too well that he had done nothing but that during their conversation. "Where was I? Hum... The Walnut, yes. There are two abilities the wood of this tree demands above all else, which are, as you may have guessed already, intelligence and skill. Which, no matter how you look at it, you have in common with Mrs Lestrange.

"However, common knowledge among wizarding kind is that wands, once they have chosen their wandholder, are not easily commanded or - depending on the wood and core - not at all by other individuals. The exception is when the other individuals are considered friends, lovers and family.

"Of which you are none regarding Mrs Lestrange.

"What is not as widely known - why this is, is a mystery to me - is that a wand can accommodate, once it is for a certain time span within the grasp of a new holder. But this is only known to happen when the old and new wandholders resemble each other in a lot of ways, thus it happens seldom.

"As a result folk often take another's wand with force and aggression, at times even resorting to killing the old holder, in the belief that only then the wand will listen to them. Which is not a necessity."

"I forced and still force it to listen to me," the Muggle-born looked worried, afraid that she has approached Bellatrix' wand in completely the wrong way, that it could have been so much easier.

"Yes, sweet girl, that you did, but..." Ollivander rotated the wand around once more and let a heavy sigh escape, "I doubt it would ever willingly work with you. Mrs Lestrange and you have most certainly abilities and personality traits in common, but you differ from one another all the same. Greatly so. And these are things she nor you could change. Take both your heritages for example.

"And don't forget that this wand has worked with Bellatrix since the very day she walked out of my shop. In all that time a lot of dark magic has been conjured with it, magic to hurt others with. Most likely hundreds of Muggle-borns and Muggles have felt her wrath through this..." Sad eyes looked up at her as he handed the wand back to Hermione.

She looked lost for a moment, she felt torn between breaking the stick right there or throwing it into the sea. Of which she did neither, of course. Her rational mind took control of her weird impulses. She took it gently from Ollivander's grip and put it back in the holster she had strapped on her forearm.

Her words were tentative, "In what way do I resemble Bel - " she halted, this time unable to say the witch's name, "Mrs Lestrange?" And as she voiced her question she wondered if she truly wanted to know. A second later, even before the wizard could think about her question, Hermione shook her head and murmured, "No, I don't believe I want to hear the answer to that. Please, forget I ever asked you."

Ollivander had a look of surprise on his face, he studied her intensely during the charged silence that followed. Because of this Hermione felt awkward and fidgeted terribly. She was about to excuse herself, no longer able to withstand the scrutinizing look of the wandmaker, when he spoke at last.

Apprehension dawned on his features, he had seen and laid the connection, several theories sprang to life. None pleasant to hear. He doubted the Muggle-born was ready to listen. Thereby came the fact... He cleared his throat again, "Miss Granger, no matter if you want to hear or not, I can't tell you the answer to that, for you asked, involuntarily, about the technique used in the wandlore to specify and dissect one person's being within a few hours' time. Thus, I can't tell you... Yet. For if you would give me some time to think about it, then maybe I could find a way to enlighten you."

"Of course, take all the time you want, sir, I doubt I will ever ask about this again."

He nodded as he entwined his fingers and watched her pensively.

"I sincerely thank you for your trust, Mister Ollivander, I couldn't have hoped for more. I bid you a good night."

He nodded once more. She stood up and walked to the door, with a flick of her hand the spell surrounding them disappeared and her stool transformed back into the vase it had been before.

With the door handle in hand, Hermione turned back to the wandmaker, "I suspect that Harry, Ron and I will take our leave soon. So, if I don't see you before that... Well, all I want to say is that I hope to see you again." She felt vulnerable saying this, making her doubts in the future so obvious to a stranger, yet she felt like she had to tell him this. To show him that she had appreciated his company and all the information he had given her.

His smile radiated warmth, his eyes grew watery. Though Hermione could not handle this for long, she looked down at her socks, turned to the door and walked out of the room. Careful to close the door softly.

As she walked down the stairs she felt her muscles pull and protest. She may have slightly overdone it today. To her delight, the bathroom was vacated, she grabbed the fresh clothes Fleur had laid on her bed and marched into the room.

Half an hour later she emerged refreshed, serene and tired. Ready for bed. Yet she opted for a cup of tea first, Fleur would want her to eat something as well.

The quarter-Veela sat reading a book at the kitchen table, whilst a pot filled with the beverage of that evening simmered on the stove. Hermione yawned and stretched as she walked inside and took a seat beside the French woman, leaning her head on one hand, she summoned a cup with the other and poured herself some tea.

The kitchen window gave a clear view of the weather outside; it rained still and the howls of the wind created an airy atmosphere, at times it even made some of the windows in the house rattle. The lightning and thunder, on the other hand, were slowly disappearing into the distance.

"I hope the herbs in your garden won't succumb under this storm," murmured Hermione as she traced the ear from her cup with her forefinger.

"They won't, dear, I charmed the earth surrounding them, it will repel the superfluous water," Fleur told airily and turned a page.

Hermione's eyes had not left the window, she watched the dark clouds drift Northeast and how the rain pelted down angrily. She wondered how she had managed to create such a storm. The events after the argument were a bit blurred, she had acted mostly on instinct, letting her emotions take the upper hand. Looking back at it she realised she had charged all her pent-up frustration into the sky. Something that would have been disastrous had somebody wanted to invade her mind - Hermione berated herself for her carelessness. For in her chaotic state of mind people would have demolished her defences easily.

A sigh left her. Her thoughts swirled around in her mind. She pondered about her conversation with the wandmaker, the fallout with Ron and about all possible solutions for her nightmare. The idea that the latter is a side effect from the word carved in her arm becoming more plausible with each passing day.

A hand curled around Hermione's, it effectively stopped its movements.

Unbeknownst to herself, she had been tracing the word through the fabric of the sweater she wore. Mudblood. It was still a fresh wound, even after all these days. For it reopened with the slightest of touches or the littlest of a stretch of her skin. Luckily, until now, it had not bled profusely. She just had to refresh the bandage every night.

The pain that accompanied even the slightest of external pressures which pressed against the flesh of and surrounding the word was not as forgiving. Every time she placed her left forearm too forcefully - which meant just the slightest notch harder than one normally would - onto a surface, or when she leaned with it against something, or when she would do anything else unexpected with it - a prickle of pain would electrify her flesh.

Now the wound was calm, though if she concentrated she could feel her torn skin throb against the bandages with each heartbeat.

Seconds passed before she met dark blue eyes. Her own conveyed her question as to why Fleur held her hand. The French woman elaborated, "I have a difficult time accepting that the word still won't heal, despite everything we have tried."

During the past days Fleur had come with all sorts of potions, salves, charms and chants, one scarier than the other, but none had worked. Partly because some needed more magic or knowledge than the woman alone could offer. Yet the quarter-Veela had still not given up on finding a remedy she could provide. "Please, don't ever let that word define your self-worth, you are so much more than a Muggle-born, 'Ermione."

Hermione nodded. She knew that in her weakest moments she was inclined to believe that she was worth less than the general witch, fortunately, those moments were very few in her life - she could count them on two hands. Nonetheless, Fleur's words warmed her, made a small, yet tired, smile minutely break through her gloomy mood. She shifted her hand so that she could hold Fleur's hand in her own. Their fingers intertwined.

The Muggle-born could not help but study their connection, meanwhile, Fleur had averted her eyes back to her book. Hermione thought it was remarkable how fast their friendship had grown, scary even. At times she could get nervous thinking about it. She had noticed how weird it sometimes felt when she merely walked into the same room.

Fleur's thumb started to caress Hermione's skin underneath it, it made the younger woman return to reality. Her eyes were on Fleur's face again. Who ignored her, still reading the book in her other hand, magically turning the pages so that their hands could stay connected.

They sat like this for a long time; one lost in her own thoughts, the other read and kept the younger one from entering a negative, self-destructive, downward spiral in her mind.

---

Reviews are treasured.