Sublime
Part II
sublime [səˈblaɪm] adj:
1. of high moral, aesthetic, intellectual, or spiritual value; noble; exalted
2. inspiring deep veneration, awe, or uplifting emotion because of its beauty, nobility, grandeur, or immensity
3. unparalleled; supreme a sublime compliment
4. Poetic of proud bearing or aspect
5. Archaic raised up
Both beauty and the sublime share the characteristics of a moral judgment in that they are disinterested, and universal, but unlike beauty the sublime shares the character of moral judgments as a concept of reason. The feeling of the sublime is derived from one's estimation of natural objects which relates a boundlessness and lack of form, and the realization that they are not equal to the expectations of one's moral ideas, which is at the same time our exaltation in the realization of our own capacity as moral and rational beings.
Immanuel Kant
Hermione let out a scream, her voice raw and broken from what felt like hours of screaming. She was unaware of Bellatrix's body straddling hers, holding her down as she twisted and thrashed under the Cruciatus curse.
"Pretty, pretty little Mudblood," Bella sang, the tip of her wand digging into the pale skin of Hermione's forearm. The pain was beyond anything the young girl had ever felt. Her back arched off the floor, cracking unnaturally. Her eyes rolled back into her head as Bellatrix carved the inside of her arm. She was sobbing, her chest aching and tight.
"Everyone will know how low you are," Bellatrix snarled, continuing to slice into Hermione's forearm.
Hermione twisted her face away from the sight of her bloody arm, fat tears falling rapidly from her eyes. She saw him standing there, staring at her. She saw everything in his eyes—every touch, every glance, and every regret—it reflected back at her. His expression didn't change from its careful blankness. Not a muscle twitched; he was controlled and careful but she saw his struggle.
As Bella cut particularly deep, Hermione cried out in agony and desperation. "Draco, please help…" she wept. She saw his wand hand twitch, the almost nonexistent bunch in his shoulders, and then his silent plea. She knew he was in the middle of a war just like the rest of them, just on the other side of it. She knew he would be killed for any form of disobedience, so she turned her head way from him and bit her lip, drawing the metallic taste of blood into her mouth.
"Draco, Draco…" Bellatrix taunted. "He won't help you, he hates you," she said, drawing the last cut with her wand and pulling back to admire her handiwork. The word 'Mudblood' was carved into her skin rudimentarily, the letters dripping blood. Suddenly the weight of Bellatrix's body was lifted and there was commotion from the top of the stairs. Hermione was too weak to do much but lay hopelessly. Someone was helping her up, and she went willingly. Her body was numb and buzzing with adrenaline washing through her veins, overriding the pain. There was screaming and shouting, a crash, and then they were on the beach. She crumbled to her knees, staring at the dead elf in her best friends arms. The pain rushed back into her body and she began to sob. It all felt so hopeless.
Hermione crumpled up the letter in her hand. It was risky, wrong, dangerous, but he had done it anyway. She memorized his words, the poem, that he had sent her. It wasn't signed but she knew he had sent it. No one else would send something so cryptic or so perfect. In flawless cursive he wrote,
Let such pure hate still underprop
Our love, that we may be
Each other's conscience,
And have our sympathy
Mainly from thence.
We'll one another treat like gods,
And all the faith we have
In virtue and in truth, bestow
On either, and suspicion leave
To gods below.
Two solitary stars-
Unmeasured systems far
Between us roll;
But by our conscious light we are
Determined to one pole.
What need confound the sphere?-
Love can afford to wait;
For it no hour's too late
That witnesseth one duty's end,
Or to another doth beginning lend.
It will subserve no use,
More than the tints of flowers;
Only the independent guest
Frequents its bowers,
Inherits its bequest.
No speech, though kind, has it;
But kinder silence doles
Unto its mates;
By night consoles,
By day congratulates.
What saith the tongue to tongue?
What hearest ear of ear?
By the decrees of fate
From year to year,
Does it communicate.
Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns;
No trivial bridge of words,
Or arch of boldest span,
Can leap the moat that girds
The sincere man.
No show of bolts and bars
Can keep the foeman out,
Or 'scape his secret mine,
Who entered with the doubt
That drew the line.
No warder at the gate
Can let the friendly in;
But, like the sun, o'er all
He will the castle win,
And shine along the wall.
There's nothing in the world I know
That can escape from love,
For every depth it goes below,
And every height above.
It waits, as waits the sky,
Until the clouds go by,
Yet shines serenely on
With an eternal day,
Alike when they are gone,
And when they stay.
Implacable is Love-
Foes may be bought or teased
From their hostile intent,
But he goes unappeased
Who is on kindness bent.
-Henry David Thoreau, "Let Such Pure Hate Still Underprop"
How the plain tawny owl had managed to find her at Shell Cottage she would never know, but when she'd gotten the unmarked post she knew immediately who it had been from. She stood at the edge of the sea, water rushing across her feet and soaking the bottom of her jeans. The sun was rising over the rough water in a splash of red and gold. She ripped the letter into pieces and let them flutter into the ocean. She watched the scraps dissolve into water as she stared out at the choppy grey waves. They rolled and pushed the foam bubbling around her toes. There was a fog rolling in quickly and a wet chill was setting across her arms. Wrapping them around her waist, she turned and headed back toward the house, the poem she had just memorized on loop in her brain.
Hermione stepped inside the cozy beach cottage, quickly spotting Luna curled up by the fireplace. She fell onto the couch next to her friend, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and pulling it around her chilled body. They were silent for a moment before Hermione spoke up.
"Luna…do you believe in fate?" she asked as they both quietly observed the flames.
"Somewhat, all our decisions individually effect our lives. I don't think anything is predetermined." Luna replied with a surprising lack of whimsy.
"I think I agree with you," Hermione said softly as they listened to the slow awakening of the people in the cottage. They could hear the creaking of beds and soft footsteps as everyone begin to wake for another day.
"What do you think of love during the war," Hermione asked her wise friend in a hasty whisper.
"Love is the most powerful magic Hermione and it's always worth pursuing," bright blue eyes turned from the fireplace to regard Hermione in a way that made her feel naked and torn apart. "What if it's impossible Luna?" she replied, staring into the caring face of her friend.
"When it comes to love, nothing is impossible," Luna said softly just as the boys came rushing into the kitchen ripping open cabinets in search of food. Both girls got up to help cook but Luna's wise words never left Hermione. And when she lay at bed each night she held them close to her heart, the mantra that kept her hope alive.
Nothing is impossible.
Hermione could hear her blood rushing as she ran through the corridors of a crumbling Hogwarts castle. The smell of blood and fire filled her head as she skidded around another corner. She had become separated from Ron in the Great Hall and she was on her way to find Tonks who was stationed on the Astronomy Tower. She passed bodies lying bloody on the ground, too late for any kind of savior. The sound of her breathing was the only thing she could hear as started to pound up the stairs to the tower. Suddenly, the wall next to her opened and she was pulled into a hidden alcove. She started to scream, but the person wrapped a hand around her mouth.
"Shhh…" he whispered in her ear and she relaxed against the body behind her.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?" she hissed turning to face him in the small outlet. He didn't answer her. Dark eyes studied her intently. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the fragile skin underneath her eyes, one thumb brushed down the curve of her nose to rest on her bottom lip.
"Draco…" she sighed helplessly. He shushed her softly, his hands sliding down the sides of her pale neck, just feeling her blood race through her veins before traveling back to thread into her wild curls. He tilted her head forward slowly and she felt her eyes drop closed slowly. His fingertips ran across her eyelids before she felt the soft pressure of his lips on her forehead. His mouth skimmed down the bridge of her nose to linger almost pressing against her lips, their breath mingled together and he wiped away the errant tear that slipped down her cheek. He mumbled two words against her lips, and she let out a dry sob.
"Hermione, goodbye."
Suddenly, the alcove was cold and he was gone. She slipped back into the staircase, twisting the fabric of her shirt in her fist, wishing the tightness in her chest would disappear. She didn't have time for this; she didn't have time to feel. Why did he always do this to her, make her feel so much and then leave her? The Astronomy Tower was deserted, so she turned around and ran back out onto the front lawn, seeing everyone gathered around. She rushed to the front, grabbing onto the back of Ron's robe. Seeing her best friend comatose on the ground, she buried her face into Ron's shoulder for a second before turning to face the man who had ruined so many lives. He was gloating, smirking with victory and her eyes met Draco's across the lawn. A world of apologies, regrets, and hope passed between them, and then suddenly Harry was alive and the lawn broke out into chaos.
Soon Voldemort lay dead along with what seemed like hundreds of others, and it was over. Finally over, and it seemed like everything and nothing lay ahead. And time suddenly seemed like such a large concept. Life was only now beginning.