So, another post ... Has it been a week since the last post? Yes? No? Kind of lost track of time. It's been a long week. A good week. A good long week. Apple picking, haunted shacks, haunted trails, live events, and the possibility of finally owning a pet pig. So yeah ... It was one of those kind of weeks. I mean, seriously, who doesn't want to have a pet pig?
But I digress ... Moving on ... A new chapter is up ... Enjoy!
- Chapter Eight -
The Beetle Proposal
Hermione glanced cautiously around the corner, seeing Killian walking alone and unknowing. She had finally found him, having searched for nearly twenty minutes after leaving Harry and Ron in the Great Hall after breakfast. At the time, she had only forty minutes until her Arithmancy class, most of which she had now wasted running throughout Hogwarts.
With a quick flick of her wand, a copy of Defensive Magical Theory lying on a corner table at the end of the hall leapt through the air, striking Killian square in the back of the head. It was not Hermione's intended location, but it accomplished her goal well enough. Before the text had even hit the floor, Killian spun around, instinctively drawing his wand, only to see Hermione frantically waving him over from her relatively hidden vantage.
Dropping his arms with a look of complete befuddlement, then massaging the rising welt on the back of his head, Killian slowly walked towards Hermione.
"Have you gone mad?" he asked.
"I needed to get your attention," Hermione whispered.
"Had you thought of calling my name?" Killian asked on. "I've been known to respond fairly well to that."
"I was worried someone might notice," Hermione explained.
"I see," Killian surmised. "And assaulting a student with a piece of literature you believe to be less conspicuous?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbing Killian by the arm and dragging him down the hall to a vacant classroom. After entering and ensuring there was no one about, she closed the door and shifted off to a darkened corner.
"What has you all up in a fuss?" Killian asked. "Are you all right?"
Hermione looked at Killian, noticing the look of concern etched in his face. Feeling suddenly guilty for having pulled him along with absolutely no explanation, particularly after striking him with a book, Hermione released Killian's arm and stepped back.
"I'm sorry," she said. "No, everything is fine."
"Are you certain?" Killian asked, his concern still evident.
"Yes," Hermione assured. "I'm fine. Everything is fine."
Killian said nothing. He simply stared at Hermione with an unmistakable look of doubt. Hermione was often so in tune with what was flowing through her mind she did not realize that no one around her had any idea what was happening as she rushed off without a word or, as in this case, dragged someone aside for her own purpose.
"I promise," Hermione continued with a smile, now attempting to lighten the mood that had somehow become quite serious. "I just needed to speak with you."
"Speak with me?" Killian asked, having no reservations in regards to displaying his amusement. "Persuasive start to the conversation," he punctuated, again massaging the back of his head.
"I said I was sorry," Hermione apologized once again. "Come on, I don't have much time and I need your help."
Killian cocked his head, his eyes contracting and releasing ever so slightly. It was one of Killian's more subtle forms of body language, and one Hermione had never paid any amount of attention before. Now, however, she could not help but notice every time it occurred.
"All right," he said with a coy grin, now sitting back on one of the long desks that lined the classroom, his legs swinging back and forth. "How can I be of service?"
So annoyingly formal, Hermione thought with a shake of her head.
"So, here is the problem …" she began, now pacing back and forth as she so often did when her mind was racing. "No one really knows what happened in the cemetery. I mean, someone knows," she quickly corrected, "but no one wants to believe him. Which is completely ridiculous by all sensibility. Choosing to disbelieve something that you know may be true has no bearing on the actuality of it occurring. And now with the Ministry functioning under this stubborn refusal based entirely on fear, they are stopping at nothing to completely discredit everything and anything said about that night that does not fit the narrative they've presented. But I believe I have a solution. I remembered—"
"Are you talking about Harry and Voldemort," Killian interjected, looking completely lost.
Hermione froze. Was it Killian's causal mention of the Dark Lord's name without so much as a hesitation? Perhaps the fact she only just realized her words had been flowing like a water through a sieve, with no regard to the fact that she was jumping right into a rather complicated scenario with little to no details leading in? Or was it the lost look upon Killian's face. A look of someone who no longer wanted to be there, no longer wanted to partake in the company or conversation?
All could be true as a whole or any combination thereof. Regardless, Hermione felt suddenly and terribly out of place.
"Yes …" Hermione began, stopping once again as she attempted to gather herself. " … The night Cedric … I mean … I came up with a plan I thought …" Her pulse was racing as a knot arose in the pit of her stomach. "… And I thought you and I could maybe …" Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest. She felt as though she were suffocating, breathing air as thick as water. The look in Killian's eyes as they fell upon her seemed so foreign … She could not place the expression, could not define how it appeared. What had just happened and why did she feel this way? "This was a mistake," she went on, darting towards the door. "I shouldn't have—"
"No, wait!" Killian reached out and grasped Hermione by the hand.
"I have to go …" Hermione pleaded, attempting to pull away. "Killian, please …"
There was a tempest of emotions battling within her that made absolutely no sense. She had currently lost all notion why she went to Killian, no idea why she babbled on about everything she was thinking, and no idea why she was now crying uncontrollable, wishing for nothing more than to run away and hide.
"Hermione," Killian pressed on, now sliding off the desk and grasping Hermione's other hand as she continued to struggle, albeit with less effort, and look away in an attempt to hide her sudden outburst of emotions. "What is it? What did I do?"
Pressing her eyes shut and feeling the tears stream down her cheeks, she slowly turned back to Killian, no longer resisting. She felt his thumbs gently stroking the back of her hands, she could hear his breath amidst the silence. As she opened her eyes, she saw Killian standing there, biting the corner of his lip with uncertainty.
"Nothing," Hermione said. "You didn't do anything."
"No, I did something," Killian assured. "I … I …" he kept on, as if searching for the right words. "I reacted poorly. I was not prepared …"
Killian attempted to lock eyes with Hermione, but she was not ready to do so. Although the overwhelming sensations that had been pulsing through her only seconds before had begun to fade, she now felt ashamed.
"We've never …" Killian continued. "… You've never spoken to me of … Well anything you and your friends have gone through. I wasn't expecting it."
"I'm sorry, I—" Hermione tried to apologize.
"Stop apologizing," Killian said. "You've done nothing wrong."
Hermione was suddenly reminded of Killian's admonishment of William for apologizing the night he fell prey to the effects of the Unbreakable Oath earlier in the year. A sign of weakness.
"I dragged you in here without a word," Hermione pointed out. "I didn't prepare you to—"
"And that was my misstep, not yours," Killian cut in again. "One must always be prepared for anything."
It was clear Killian was not going to allow Hermione to shoulder the burden of blame. It was quite the difference from other relationships she had in her life where one person or the other strove to lay responsibility on anyone but themselves. At times, she, herself, had fallen prey to this common ensnarement of the human ego.
Oft times, even when one is taking fault, it is merely for show. An act enforcing sacrifice to establish some form of personal gain. Upon finally looking into Killian's eyes, however, Hermione could see this was no performance, no self-serving moment. She could see he wished for nothing more than ability to wash away the previous minutes and do it all again in a different manner. Yet even in realizing this, Hermione knew she, in the very least, shared in the blame. She had blindsided Killian with a subject they had never breached in the past and it, as one would expect had they been paying attention, went wrong. And like Killian, Hermione also wished erase what had just happened.
Now calm, Hermione took a deep breath, pulling away from Killian and setting herself aside a row of shelves containing books of varying degrees of wear. Killian followed, spinning a chair, straddling it, and resting his chin on his arms while adjusting his sleeves to hide his hands, the latter of which he had been making a habit of doing over the last several months.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
Hermione took another deep breath to choke down the tears that seemed ready to burst forth once again. What was wrong with her? In truth, she knew what it was. In part at least. She simply did not wish to admit it. In Killian's words, it would be a sign of weakness. But after what had just happened, it seemed silly to hide from it any longer.
"Yes …" Hermione explained. "It's just … All these things that happen. It's always something, it never ends. And I listen. I try to be helpful, I try to be supportive. The best I can be, all the time. But it builds up and I …" she faded off, biting her lip and looking away. "… I don't have anyone to talk to. I don't have anyone to help me. I don't have anyone who …"
Hermione did not finish her last thought. She felt as though she sounded like a self-absorbed child crying out for attention. It was not her intent. And her feelings would be considered more than valid by any reasonably minded individual. Still, it did not dissuade her sense of selfishness in expressing these thoughts.
As it turned out, nothing she was thinking, selfish or otherwise, truly mattered. Upon her utterances, Killian stood from his chair and approached her. Being aside a bookcase with her back to the wall, she had no escape, no means of retreat as Killian moved in.
"Hermione," he said as he placed his hand under her ear, cupping her head, his palm against the soft skin of her neck. "Don't look away …" he went on as Hermione again pressed her eyes closed, as if this simple act would somehow hide her from sight. "… Please look at me."
Hermione opened her eyes again as Killian wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
"You have me," he said.
Hermione offered a halfhearted smile of doubt. How could he possible say that? How could he possibly know what he was offering?
"I am being sincere," Killian went on. "There is nothing you can say, no subject you can bring forth that will change anything." He placed his forehead against Hermione's. "I will always be the complete ass you've grown to know."
Hermione rolled her eyes, now shaking her head with a more comfortable smile as she pushed Killian away. Killian smiled in return and retreated to his chair, awaiting the continuation of whatever it was they were supposed to be discussing before the conversation had gotten so far off its intended course. His purposeful humor had helped deviate away from whatever had been brewing inside Hermione for so long, recreating the focus she had when they had entered the classroom.
"You were saying …" Killian offered with a wave of his hand.
"Right," Hermione said as she, once again began to pace the floor, explaining her plan have Rita Skeeter write a tell-all article about the events that happened in the Riddle family cemetery. How to tournament cup had been turned into a portkey to lure Harry into a trap, how Lord Voldemort had arisen and murdered Cedric Diggory, and numerous other details the Ministry had attempted to sweep away from the public consciousness.
Killian listened as Hermione went on and on, back and forth, doubting herself, then reasserting her sense that it was the correct course. It was as if Killian was merely an audience for the voices that argued inside Hermione's head. In truth, that was all he had to be. Someone who would listen. Hermione knew what she needed to do, she did not need validation. She simply needed an ear.
Much had changed in the last several weeks. It was not long ago that Hermione was practically leaping from her chair in Hagrid's hut to assure Hagrid did not disclose to Killian that he had been away seeking help from the giants. And now she was in an empty classroom sharing intimate details, not only of what had been going on within the very tight inner circle of herself, Harry, and Ron, but the details of a very risky plan she had every intention of pursuing.
"Am I mad for believing this could work?" Hermione finally asked.
Killian rubbed his chin in ponderment. "You are aware those most of whom subscribe to The Quibbler are not exactly credibly distinguished, right?"
"Of course," Hermione answered.
"So if the Ministry of Magic is intent on making Harry out to be a mentally unstable pathological liar," Killian reasoned, "where is the good in having his story released in a periodical that is read by many who, themselves, are of less than a stable mind?"
"Because that's just it," Hermione explained. "His story will be told. And you, yourself, just said it. Most of whom subscribe are not credibly distinguished. Which means there are those who are. Perhaps they simply read it for their amusement, but they read it. And they will read of what actually occurred, what Harry actually went through. The Quibbler reaches a large audience. Which means a large number of people will see Harry's story. Credible or not, these people will be talking. And the people they talk to will talk to other people who will talk to other people and so on."
"Which is all well and good," Killian conceded, "with the exception of one very important detail. How, exactly, do you intend to get Rita Skeeter to write this article you have in mind?"
"She will …" Hermione assured with a devilish grin of her own.
"Confidence aside," Killian said. "How can you possibly know for certain?"
"She does not want to face the consequences if she does not," Hermione explained.
Killian's eyes lit up. "You have something on her …" he said with almost theatrical astonishment. "Do tell …"
Hermione grin broadened, glancing away and actually feeling a pinch evil as she pondered whether or not she wished to share her little secret. She knew inevitably she would, but relished the look in Killian's eyes as he eagerly waited on her response.
"Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus," she finally answered.
"She is not," Killian said with rhetorical doubt.
"She is," Hermione confirmed. "A beetle. And if she does not want to end up in front of the Wizengamot, she will do as I ask."
"Hermione Granger … Well done," Killian said approvingly. "A beetle? … That certainly explains her inexplicable source of information."
Killian stood and approached Hermione, who was feeling particularly proud of herself at the moment. Placing his hands in his pockets, he leaned in.
"You are brilliant," he whispered as he continued past Hermione and towards the door, glancing out through the small opening at eye level. "And it appears you have missed your first class."
Hermione rushed to the door and peered through the opening aside Killian. The corridor was filled with students passing through on their way to their next class for the day. A part of her had to know. They had spent far too long having what was meant to be a brief conversation. Still, a sickening feeling arose in the pit of Hermione's stomach. An agonizing sensation that was soon quelled and replaced with another when she felt Killian's hand on the small of her back.
"You can go first," he said. "I'll wait here for a bit."
As Killian reached for the door, Hermione blocked his hand, which he quickly pulled back and tucked away in his sleeve. She then turned to him as the clatter of a parade of footsteps echoed on the other side of the door.
"Do you really believe I'm brilliant?" she asked.
"If you don't move along, you'll likely miss your next class as well," Killian dodged, displaying one of his more annoying grins.
"Answer me," Hermione pressed on. "You say things like that all of the time. Do you mean it?"
Killian glanced to the floor, then back to Hermione.
"Do you really need my opinion of that?" Killian asked.
"No," Hermione asked simply. It was now her turn to look away before returned her eyes upon Killian "But I would like it just the same."
Killian reached out and grasped a lock of Hermione's hair that had fallen in her face, gently placing it behind her ear.
"Absolutely brilliant …"
For a moment, Hermione's next class did not seem all that important. In the next moment, however, she was exiting the classroom amidst a throng of her fellow classmates and continuing on unnoticed. Harry and Ron, no doubt, were waiting for her. She would have to come up with some excuse or another. Neither took Arithmancy, so claiming the class ran long would seem a suitable explanation that could not be easily refuted.
In truth, Hermione was not terribly concerned. There was so much going on in their dramatic trio at the moment, it was not likely either of them would pay it any notice if she were a few minutes late meeting for class. Someone else would notice. Someone who was neither Harry nor Ron. Someone who truly believed she was brilliant. And while Hermione did not need the validation Killian provided, she loved hearing it just the same.
