Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K Rowling's characters. I am also not making any money off of this story. Just a poor college kid wanting something to do with the time normally used for sleep.
March
Hermione:
She woke with a headache that felt like the four walls of her mind were caving in. Her eyes lazily scanned the room and with a short panic she tried to remember where she was. She sat up-my head, my head-and saw Crookshanks at the end of her blankets, his stomach rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing. She relaxed and remembered.
Her feet gingerly touched the wooden floors of her bedroom and she gasped in surprise. Spring mornings in Ireland held all of the dew and promise that winter was still here. In the bathroom she looked at herself for a long time before turning on the shower. The mirror fogged and hid more and more of her face until she couldn't see him anymore; the corner of his lips, the dip of his red hair touching his eyebrows. She shook her head and tried to stop thinking about it.
The warm water hit her back in a million different places. Each drop untangled a knot in her back that she had forgotten she had. Sleepless nights left her tossing and turning, her back aching for hours after she woke. The water began to run cold and so she grabbed a towel from the hanger and wrapped its fluffy material several times around her body. She was suddenly overcome with inability to move. Her body sank down and she drew her arms around her knees. Just this once, she thought. I can remember just this one time. And so she did.
"Mione, Mione, Mione." She hated that abbreviation of her name, almost as much as the fact that her parents named her Hermione irritated her. It was a lazy excuse of a nickname- a cop out of the tongue's battle to say the whole thing.
He ran his fingers down her sides and she felt sleek, the water hitting his back first and her stomach next. She was comfortable like this. There wasn't pressure. They faced each other in a waterfall waltz.
His mouth trailed down her neck, brushed over her shoulder. He bit softly and she tightened inside. Not now, not now. But he was getting excited and his red chest hair was rubbing up against her breasts. She squirmed and he mistook it for excitement. He was inside of her quickly and through her discomfort she managed to let herself try and feel good. It was over more quickly that way. He came as he wrapped his thick arms around her. "I love you." He told her and she knew that in anyone else's case it would mean something entirely different. But Ron really loved her and for right now at least, she loved him too. It was only at nights, when she was alone, that she loved no one, including herself.
Draco:
The first time he tried to do magic was at the Malfoy manor. He was outside and it was cold for a spring day. His hands fumbled with the pack of Marlboros before one finally settled between his teeth. He craved the sweet release and his fingers moved towards his wand to light the cigarette. But the wand was gone.
"Fucking fuck."
It took him an hour of searching in his room before he remembered that he no longer had a wand, or magic at all, and by that time he was curled up on his bed. What could it mean that he had to make someone love him?
"I could name countless people who love me." he seethed.
But then, those people didn't love him…not really. They needed him. Even his own mother, who was entitled to none of the estate without a male member of the family, needed more than loved Draco.
His eyes shut and he started to breathe slower. He knew what he had to do. His father had a house near Lough Neagh in Ireland. It was a small place, furnished with elegant but simple pieces and although in the heart of Ireland, was isolated enough that it was quiet. Peaceful. He bought the house a year before the Dark Lord had fallen, and never used it. His mother didn't even know it existed and as far as he knew, no one but him knew about it either. He sat up and looked around his spacious room. He was reminded of last night, when the hag took everything.
But did she really? As Draco looked around, he saw everything. His large bed stuffed with owl feathers and sheets the colors of Slytherin. He saw a dresser and a wardrobe, all-full of expensive robes and clothing; books donned the shelves on his wall and trinkets of all varieties littered the floor, which was in fact made of plush carpet. He knew the rest of the house was the same. Draco had everything, even without magic.
It was only himself that remained empty.
Hermione:
Madge was an excellent cook, and she reminded Hermione of her mother, except where her mother used her hands to cook, Madge swirled items and ingredients around in the air with her wand, dropping them in different pots until smells surrounded her. The kitchen, in fact, became Hermione's favorite place to be.
Her days were simple. She woke late, showered, grabbed a book from one of Madge's selections and then went to the kitchen. Dinner took most of the afternoon to prepare and Madge never objected to Hermione sitting curled in a chair reading. They kept each other silent company, and it went like this for a little over a week before Madge finally objected.
"I'm very fond of you." She told her. "But you know, this isn't healthy."
Hermione looked up from Wuthering Heights and raised an eyebrow.
"My mother always encouraged me to read. She said it made for a well rounded mind."
Madge shook her head and turned to face her. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled.
"There are ghosts between the words that you read, and one day you'll have to pay attention to them as well."
Hermione's eyes narrowed and then sank. Hadn't she come here to find something? No, she thought, I came to escape everything. She unwrapped her legs and rested her feet on the ground. The paperback slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. When she went to pick it up, Madge stooped to get it first and placed it in Hermione's hands.
"Don't loose yourself in the process of loosing someone else. You'll find that being alone, and without yourself, is worse than anything else you've faced in life."
Hermione stood and looked around uncertainly.
"So, then, what do I do?" she whispered.
"Find yourself instead. Go explore Ireland."
Draco:
The entire house smelled like freshly washed sheets; the china had never been used. Everything was unfamiliar, but the comfort of being inside a house kept him from leaving. It was better to stay inside- to sleep, to eat, and to watch the ocean- than to go and face the unknown.
Draco told no one he was leaving, and when he left he gave no notice either. He packed nothing and bought only a ticket aboard a boat, which would take him across the seas. He knew his mother would be worried. Worse, he knew she was in danger of being thrown off the Malfoy estate. But as he pondered how to handle the issue of leaving he found that the best option was to choose none. To simply leave and let everyone wonder. And they would be curious, he was sure of it.
But Draco couldn't stay inside forever. While initially he bought enough food to last for a week, he had stretched it to be almost two weeks. Now there was simply nothing left and he was hungry. Not just for food but human contact of any kind. He did not do well with loneliness. That was how he made the decision to finally leave the house.
It was with a heavy heart that he put on the ordinary Muggle clothes he had been forced to buy. The sweater was a deep blue and a made out of a thick wool and his pants were tan slacks that rested loosely on his thin frame. He slipped his feet into the heavy boots and then pulled open the door. He was greeted with a brilliant sun that never failed to impress him. The air seemed to be clearer here, as if the weight of the world no longer had impact on the people's everyday life.
It was a long walk, but Draco had grown used to walking since his magic was gone. His legs formed questions as they bent and then stamped into the ground. The roads twisted and wound around and within each other until he smelled, distinctly, fresh fish.
The market was a surprise to him, though he had been once before. The layout had changed, the stands facing opposite directions and offering different items. One stand smelled like spices his mother favored-not that she knew anything about cooking. He walked towards it and picked up the first thing he saw.
"You want parsnips?" the man behind the cart asked. "One pound, 3 euro."
He had no idea what to do with a parsnip. He barely even knew how to serve himself cereal everyday. But something about the weight of the parsnip in his hand was alluring. The ability to make the decision to buy the parsnips and have it affect him and only him was satisfying in a way comparable to sleep after days of not having any. He nodded to the man, who placed 3 or four parsnips in a brown bag and handed it to Draco. But what else? Whatever I want, he realized and looked around in frenzy. Carrots, beef, onions, peas; he moved around the market picking up cheeses and potatoes and sausages. He had a hole to fill, and it wasn't love that would wet his hunger. It was food and solitude that would nurse him back to health.
He wanted fish. He hadn't had seafood in years; there was no need for delicacies as such. But who would stop him now? He reached for the woman with the toffee colored hair; her curls were just tame enough to not hide her ears completely.
"Excuse me miss," He pulled on her shoulders, yanked her around to face him. "I need-"
And then an inhalation that left him winded. A thrumming in his head, and he was so close to exploding. His guts would lie on the bean sprouts to his right; his liver would rest with the fruit behind him.
"Granger."
Hermione:
She wanted to melt and sink into the roads. If there were a wall she would back into it until she was on the other side. She was repulsed and considered dry heaving onto his shoes.
Neither could say a word to the other and it was so awful, to just be standing near him after all this time, after all these years.
He looked as though he might unhinge his jaw and speak. He didn't. They were both frozen with fury in the middle of a storming crowd. Someone shoved into Hermione from behind and she knocked into his shoulder. Malfoy… she seethed. But it was only her mind and she had to get it out, she had to-
"Leave." She spat and turned on her heels. She didn't look back.
Draco:
He decided to forget he ever saw her. He picked his groceries up from the ground where he had dropped them in shock. He walked back home and his arms were aching. His insides were aching.
Had she known? Could she tell just by looking at him that he wasn't even in her league anymore? He was lower than a Mudblood, lower than a half-breed. He was ordinary, and hopelessly so.
But he was also hungry. The hole was growing inside him and if he had nothing than he had to make something.
But he didn't know where to start. Groceries lay out in front of him and all he could think was, this is just a puzzle. These pieces all have to fit, somehow.
And then his hands started to move, as if on their own accord.
He claimed a knife, and that knife cut the pound of beef into little cubes. There were many pans, but he chose one and took the beef, swirled it around in oil, and let it brown. He wasn't sure he was doing it right, but it smelled so good. Beef broth, water, parsley, salt and bay leaf; he mixed them all together and hoped, somehow, this would fit. That somehow these pieces would correspond together like everything else in his life seemed to fail to do so. He added carrots, prepared potatoes, covered it with peas and Parmesan. He wondered to himself how he knew to do it all in the order he was doing it, but let it go just as quickly. It was like potions class, where nothing was certain but in the end there was always a result. Right, wrong, new, old-there was always something to show.
And then he ate. He chewed and swallowed and enjoyed the silence.
Hermione:
Her heart didn't stop beating until she was in her room, hugging Crookshanks too tightly and breathing in the smell of his fur, which still smelled like home. She didn't eat dinner, she didn't fall asleep and when the sun peaked and came in through her window it was Madge that finally broke through the barrier.
"How about we go for a little walk?"
Hermione opened her eyes, slowly, like she was afraid of what she might see. White hair, flat gray eyes, a sneer-but no. None of it was there.
She agreed.
It wasn't exceptionally cold out, but Madge encouraged her to bring along a fleece, just in case. The soft material covered her shoulders and arms, giving her a strange feeling of being enveloped and comforted.
"Where are we going Madge? And why are we walking?"
"We just have to walk a little further and then we'll apparate. Can't just pop in and out everywhere-not even Irish folks are that understanding."
The ground crunched beneath her feet and she found that she had missed doing this. Enjoying the air, the trees, and the earth. Her parents had always wanted her to find the balance between magic and her life at home, but without them she had let it slide until she couldn't even remember the last time she had just…walked for the pleasure of it.
Madge stopped beside a hard old tree, with knarled branches and tiny buds that were the beginnings of a flower of some sort.
"Well, this is it." Madge said and touched a single finger to the bark. "Hold onto my hand."
"You're not even going to tell me where we're going?" Hermione bit her lip, worried. Splinching was so much more possible if you didn't know clearly where you were ending up.
"Don't worry, I could apparate to this place in my sleep." She extended her hand once more and Hermione took it.
The unpleasant feeling of being squashed and stretched, narrowed and shoved surrounded her and she hated it. She never really liked apparating. When she could see clearly, she noticed the flowers first. A sprouting of beautiful red and purple, yellow and blue flowers clustered together and apart, near and far, close and yet very distant. Then she saw the body of water that lapped near the surface. It invited her in and so she started walking towards it. Madge followed close behind.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Killarney National Park." She answered. "When I was little my Mum and Dad took me here."
"It's peaceful."
"When I was about 15 years old I told my Dad the same thing. It was a little after my Mum died of cancer, and I was so sad all the time. And then I came here with him for the first time since she left us and we had a little picnic packed but we didn't eat any of it. We just sat here. And he told me, "Margaret, it isn't the place that is peaceful but your soul." And I believed him."
Hermione said nothing. What could she say to the woman who barely knew her and yet understood her more than anyone she had known her entire life? She understood the loss that Hermione felt, without her even having to mention it.
"My parents died in the war."
Madge nodded and rested a hand on Hermione's shoulder.
"They never really leave us, you know. I used to think that my Mum gave up on me. That she couldn't try hard for me, but I see now that she left for me. To save me a place, wherever she is."
"You believe in God, Madge?"
"I do."
"Even though you're magic?"
"Well it only makes sense, don't it? Magic, after all, is a work of God. It's visible proof that God is real."
"That's never how I looked at it."
"Maybe you weren't trying to see further than your books."
It was quiet- still and even. Hermione and Madge stood side by side and looked at the water, which never grew boring or tiring to look at. Hermione spoke first.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me, Hermione Granger. Ireland is beautiful because she is cherished by her people."
And it seemed to Hermione that this was the first time she had ever been somewhere where the people belonged to the place, rather than the other way around.