Author's Note: Sorry for the nearly yearlong wait on this chapter too! I know what I want to happen, it's just not getting distracted enough to sit down and write : )
Anywho, hope this update finds you all well and if you are still interested that is : ) Thank you, so, so much for all the support thus far on this story! I really appreciate it!
Hope no one is too OOC and nothing is amiss. If anything is, please inform me so I can correct.
Disclaimer: Yeah, don't own and such.
Jar of Hearts
Chapter 5: Stained Glass Eyes
Hermione
Hermione paced her dorm room once more, trying to decide if she was going to do more than just contemplate the idea of meeting her rescuer as he had requested. I can't believe what I'm even considering, she thought, sliding into her jacket for the third time in ten minutes.
Unfortunately, Ginny had left her a quick note about meeting her brothers for lunch. Hermione didn't even have the younger voice of wisdom to endeavor to attempt to talk her out of the library engagement. She shrugged out of the onerous coat once more, sitting down with a huff on the edge of her neatly made bed.
What was it about that man? Everything about him flummoxed Hermione, and yet, she was still taking into consideration meeting him, notwithstanding the unthinkable risks. His eyes were so enthralling …she had been absolutely bewitched the night before.
There will be other people around, the less rational part of her brain enticed, and he was able to deal with Cormac. You're a university student for goodness sakes! Take a walk on the rowdy side! You're expected to do these things. Never mind the campus crime statistics running simultaneously through her brain.
Hermione stood up, shrugging back into the coat. She fluffed her hair from the collar, making a half-hearted attempt to restrain it with a red hair tie. For courage, she sprayed a light mist of the vanilla perfume her mother had given her as a going away present, to her wrists and neck. It had seen her through plenty of finals with merit.
However, the other night at the pub had been an exception that Hermione was ready to forget. She had thought it would make a good impression on Ginny's brother, but if he noticed, he hadn't cared. All the more reason not to date him, she reasoned.
Hermione grabbed her satchel just in case the whole encounter should prove sour then she would at the very least have something to keep her mind busy. Today, with the sun shining, it was only one degree warmer than the night she had been caught in the dark with Scabior. Spring was on its way.
Despite being an early Sunday afternoon, the campus was relatively quiet. She felt the comforting weight of the mobile phone in her pocket as she neared the building. Scabior wasn't lurking about outside, and Hermione discovered she wasn't sure whether she was elated or disappointed.
Of course, Scabior had not specified a particular time for their supposed meeting.
It was much too bitter to remain outside, however, so Hermione stepped inside her sanctuary. Round-faced Neville greeted her from behind the desk, an obvious indication that Madam Pince was nowhere to be found.
"Hullo Hermione," he called out from the desk.
"Hello Neville. I didn't expect to see you here today." Sundays were quiet on the campus, with those who attended the morning Mass gone and the other non-denominational or uncaring students working hard to complete projects before eight am Monday morning, they had put off in favor of pub hopping or clubbing. Things that Hermione rarely wasted her time on, with the exception of Friday.
Neville flushed unexpectedly with color. "Well, Madam Pince is preparing a new worker and needed me to watch the desk."
"Oh, so I see." A new worker? Alarms started ringing in Hermione's head. No…
Neville leaned in, his cheery voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have so much Chem homework; I really wanted to tell her 'no.' Snape's class is so difficult." His voice dropped a little lower, so that Hermione scarcely understood him. He used a hand to shield the side of his mouth, lest someone see the words he was about to say either. "And to be 'onest, the new guy doesn't seem… reputable."
Hermione added flashing lights to the warning bells in her head. "What do you mean Neville?"
"He looks like a bit of a rough." Neville glanced around them to be sure that Madam Pince had not suddenly materialized behind him. "A tosser."
"Red scarf?" asked Hermione. Neville nodded. "Wild, tangled hair? Plaid pants? Some sort of odd jacket and gloves? Jarring eyes?" Neville had gone quite pale as he continued nodding.
"You forgot to mention my charming personality, love," a rough but chillingly familiar voice behind her broke in. Hermione spun wildly around, wondering how exactly Scabior had managed to sneak up on her. His well-worn, ex-military combat boots should have made some sound upon the tile, unless he walked with feline precision. Poor Neville had been trying to warn her.
Scabior's hand rested on Hermione's shoulder for a moment, before Madam Pince appeared to escort him to her office for further instruction.
"Hermione," started Neville, "may I ask what brings you to the library today?"
"I was meeting someone," she confessed, "him actually." She nodded in the direction of Madam Pince's office, where Scabior had just disappeared. If it was possible, Neville's already pasty complexion skin grew one shade lighter.
"I saw him yesterday, you know."
"Yeah, Ginny told me."
"I'm glad he stopped McLaggen from hurting you."
"Me too," she agreed. "If that's the only thing."
"Hermione."
"Hm?"
"Please be careful." She wondered if she was going to hear some reworking of that phrase from the whole campus eventually.
"I will. I do not think much will come of my meeting him today." Though she said the words, Hermione didn't feel the conviction behind them. "Now, I have a few spare moments. I'll help you with Chemistry." She didn't ask Neville if he wanted help or not; she only jumped in.
Eventually, Scabior emerged from the office, looking only a little worse for wear after spending about an hour with Madam Pince. How he even spent an hour with the librarian, Hermione wasn't sure. She couldn't spent five minutes with the woman and not become frustrated.
"Ready, love?" Scabior asked, leaning over Hermione's shoulder and whispering in her ear, the hot air tickling the shell.
"Yes, in a moment," she told him. She addressed Neville, "If you require any more assistance, just let me know through the usual channels." She patted his doughy hand and turned to leave with Scabior.
They walked in silence for a little while, the air peaceful and quiet as they headed for the campus coffee shop. The sun had disappeared and the temperature had seemed to drop. Hermione let out a trembling breath of relief that they were going to stay in a public place.
"Cold, gorgeous?" he asked her, noting the white cloud of breath.
"Yes. Weather only for polar bears." He chuckled, drawing a cigarette and lighter from the breast pocket of his worn jacket.
"Fag?"
"No, those are horrid! Ruin your teeth, decimate your lungs, cause cancer-"
"Keep your lungs warm," he broke in.
"Temporarily. Heated tar and goodness knows what else!"
"You tellin' me, that you have no vices then?" He turned those spooky eyes on her.
"I am not claiming to be above vices. Smoking," she started, pulling the cancer stick from his lip and stomping it out with the heel of her boot, "is atrocious and ruins lives." Staring at the remains of the crushed fag on the concrete sidewalk, Hermione realized she might have made a fatal mistake acting on impulse.
She had completely forgotten that he was a stranger and possibly dangerous, and she had just crushed his fag on the sidewalk. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, only to see that no real emotion seemed to lurk there. He did not seem truly upset by her rash action, or truly amused.
That reaction frightened her most of all.
"No smoking then," he agreed, as they continued their leisurely pace. "But you never told me your vice."
"Well…" She tried to think of something that would really qualify. Was she genuinely trying to impress this man? "I speak out of turn, more often than not." It sounded childish, even schoolgirl to her own ears.
"That's hardly a sin."
"Well sorry for not leading a life of debauchery," she countered, the briefest smile pulling at her lips. "The worst toxin I willingly ingest is coffee."
"Alright love, no need to get your knickers in a twist there. Surely, you must have done something bad."
"I snuck out once."
"Really. Here I was, thinkin' you were a saint," he teased. "What for?"
"A concert," Hermione told him proudly, as they entered the shop. Rich coffee and exotic teas tickled and tantalized her senses. They queued up behind a group of giggling girls who were all holding magazines with the latest pop star on the front in color gloss.
"Oh?" His eyebrows rose slightly. "Anyone I would know?"
"Depends."
"Well, let's see. Adam Ant? Sex Pistols cover band. Something satanic and sacrificial?" They moved up a few steps.
"Well, not exactly…"
"Not exactly? What other sort of music is worth sneaking out for then?"
"There is other music…"
"Please, love, tell me it was at least something with a parental guidance label."
"No."
"No?"
Hermione said primly, "It was a very educational-"
"Educational?" He tasted the word out on his tongue.
"Yes, educational performance of Gregorian chants." She thought Scabior was going to burst a lung attempting to contain his laughter.
"Gregorian chants?"
"Yes." He wiped at his eyes as they stepped up another spot in line. "Oh, beautiful, you are a riot." Hermione was aware of the majority of the café staring at them. "So tell me, why did you have to sneak out?"
Her cheeks were stained with red color, partially from Scabior's teasing and partially because she was defending her tastes from someone who did not seem to understand.
"Well, if you are going to act in that manner, perhaps I won't tell you."
"Sorry gorgeous, tell me, why did you have to sneak out, for…what again? Greg-"
"Gregorian Chants," she finished for him, "and it was…" A tad embarrassing, is what it was. They moved up again. "Well, my aunt's wedding was the next day and my parents were afraid I would be tired." For the love of perfect grades as she telling this man this secret?
"I didn't realize chants could be so stimulating," Scabior teased. Hermione glanced at his face, seeing his smirk, and had to look away to hide her own.
"Intellectually, yes."
"You mean to tell me, love, that you've never been to a proper concert?"
"No, and could you address me by my name? Why do you always use a pet name of some type?"
"What? You mean, by Hermione?"
"Yes."
"Why that name?"
"What do you mean 'that' name?"
"Hermione."
"My parents liked the name. Why just Scabior?" she asked.
"Why not? One-word names have more respect." They finally reached the counter, giving the harried barista their orders. Scabior paid, despite Hermione's objections.
"I can pay for my own drink," she told him sternly as they waited at the end of the counter, other patrons bustling into them with their padded winter coats.
"I know. But I'm paying." She went to object again, but he countered all of her feminist protests, winning her over with "but I walked you over here in this now glacial weather." Seeing how she wasn't going to change his mind, Hermione resumed their earlier topic.
"Do you have a first name? Or is Scabior your first name?"
"Scabior is my first name, Hermione." He put emphasis on her name, where he would have said beautiful, gorgeous, or love. "Moran is my father's name. I dropped it." They found a table for two near the rear of the shop, away from the door. "I will have to take you out one night. To a proper show."
The thought thrilled and terrified Hermione. Going to a concert, with an actual band and instruments, always seemed like something for other people.
"I'm not sure. They can be quite dangerous."
"Therein the fun," Scabior told her before taking a long pull on the piping hot coffee. She supposed a hot drink was nothing compared to a cigarette. She was still allowing hers to cool, the lip of the lid popped open. "Crowd surfing, mosh pit, a fight. Essential parts of a night out in a proper pub show."
Hermione couldn't imagine letting complete strangers lift her above a crowd, putting her absolute faith in a moving body with many arms, to hold her up.
"And a pint, you've got to have a pint of the house brew, even if it tastes like piss."
"I don't drink."
"Lemme guess, health nut reasons? Love," he said, forgetting her earlier request, "a bit of alcohol never hurt anyone." She watched his eyes as he spoke. Whatever he was saying, with whatever emotion, it always seemed genuine but somehow reflective – as if it were only what she wanted to see there. But, that couldn't be right.
Hermione had listened to recounts of all the shows Ginny had been to with friends or her brothers. She had always wondered what it would be like to abandon her studies for the night and head off to the pub, like people her age did on a regular basis. She was supposed to be the new, more dangerous Hermione.
"I could take you to one Friday," Scabior told her. "You can bring a mate or two if you want."
"Perhaps, but on one condition."
"There is no simplicity with you, is there?"
"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction."
"What is that from? A movie?" Confusion crossed his rugged features.
"Newton's three laws of physics."
"Right."
"If I go to a show with you, then you must come to something more intellectually stimulating with me."
"There you go again with that intellectual tosh," Scabior smirked at her. "Not everything can be learned from a book." He did have a point. "Even your precious Newton knew that, what with that apple knocking him on the noggin."
"I thought you didn't know Newton."
"You jogged my memory."
Despite herself, Hermione laughed. "So, do we have a deal?"
"Alright, love." They sipped at their coffee and Scabior picked Hermione's brain for advice on working in the library. The café was beginning to clear out. Hermione glanced at her mobile, to see that it was much later in the afternoon than she had thought.
"Something the matter?" questioned Scabior, as she stood up and began to shoulder her rucksack.
"I need to be going," Hermione told him, "classes to prepare for tomorrow." She tried to fluff her thick hair out from where it had been trapped in her coat and beneath her shoulder strap.
"Not sneakin' away from me to go see some more chants are you?" His eyes seemed to contain real enough mirth, as he gazed at her with hooded eyes and a languid expression.
Hermione tried not to snort. "No. I've got to check in on my roommate and be sure all my out-of-class work is completed." It was already, she knew.
Mostly, she needed time to collect her thoughts and recap with Ginny.
"Can I have your mobile number?" It was an innocent and practical enough question. Hermione could not think of a single convincing reason why he could not have it.
"Yes." She wrote the note on a spare bit of paper.
"Thanks, love." He folded the paper and jammed it into his breast pocket.
"You don't have a mobile?"
"Charging, at home. Give me your pen for a mo." Reluctantly, Hermione handed him her favorite blue ink pen, gasping as he took her hand too. "This is my mobile. Don't go giving it to all your friends," he winked.
His hands were rough, Hermione doubting that he used moisturizer, but pleasant and expectedly manly. The pen dug into her skin as he wrote the digits across her palm, with looping strokes.
"Your handwriting…"
"Yes?" He grinned up at her from his seat. "One of the few things I passed."
"It's beautiful, actually."
"Actually? What were you expectin'? Chicken scratch?" Hermione didn't answer, because she had been expecting something of the sort. "Caveman letters?" He held her hand, gently stroking the skin with the pad of his thumb. Color kissed her cheeks.
"Not exactly…"
"Everyone does," he shrugged, keeping hold of her hand. He brought her fingers to his mouth, planting a very gentle kiss on the knuckles, the scruff of his stubble scratching and tickling the warm flesh. "Friday, Hermione. Meet me at the library, with your mate, around six."
"O-oh, alright." She would write it into her day planner later. They exchanged goodbyes and Hermione set off into the frigid air again, programming Scabior's number into her phone, before it was lost. She realized, once she was back at her dorm room, he had kept her pen.
X
Author's End Note/References:
1.) Chapter title is reference to a Pierce the Veil song (which you need to go to youtube and find as soon as possible as it reminds me of their relationship in some way).
2.) Adam Ant is another reference, for those of you who have not hopped over to youtube yet – you must see Nick Moran as Adam Ant in the short Ant Muzak (2002), because it is priceless!
3). And, since no one seems to be sure whether Scabior is his first name or last (or at least last time I checked), I'm going to make it his first and use Moran (a fairly common surname).
4). Gregorian Chants. Weirdly, I can see Hermione sneaking out to something like that. At least, this version of her.
Another chapter from only Hermione's point of view. Next chapter will have other character perspectives.