"Listen up, you lot!"
Hermione settled in the Gryffindor stands to watch the show. Quidditch was by far the most oxymoronic aspect of her life. She, herself, would never get on a broom, nor did she have a real interest in the sport. Yet, found herself in the stands every time her friends were on the pitch.
Ginny stood in the center of the field, hands on her hips, dressed in full gear. Her hair was tied back, the expression on her face more severe than she had ever seen it. She was in her element, a warrior in her own right. Hermione worked to hide her smile. The sight was a shining example of why Harry loved the girl.
She tuned out the Gryffindor tryouts for a while with a camouflaged medical text in her lap. Hermione wanted to immerse herself in the morning birdsong. She wanted to drown her lungs in the freshautumn air that smelled of freshly mown grass. It reminded her of home.
A flash of blue light caught her attention. Her gaze fell to her bag, where she noticed the gem socketed in her quill glowed. After a quick glance at the pitch, where Ginny was directing the aspiring players, Hermione decided that a moment to find out what Ink wanted wouldn't hurt. If Gin needed her, it wouldn't take long to let her know. She pulled a scrap of blank parchment from between the pages and took up the quill.
The magic involved in making the ink move and form script would never cease to fascinate her.
.
Sometimes we only live for the here and now.
Sometimes we're lonely.
Sometimes we feel we need a place to be grounded,
Or fly away again.
I will fly away again.
.
Hermione stopped it before it could write out anything else to say,
As fascinating as your prose is, I think you're using the wrong quill.
She could physically feel the abrupt halt in her hand, and she rolled her eyes. When the stone blinked again, she wanted to laugh as she let it go.
I swear to Merlin if you show that to anyone
Hermione snorted and interrupted once more to write:
Who am I going to tell, honestly? And what is there to tell? That my pen pal enjoys poetry? That's hardly a scandal.
The quill sat still for so long that she wanted to groan out loud. Men! Honestly!
Fine. If you feel so out of sorts, I'll tell you something that you will also have to keep to yourself. It's not like it matters anyway since neither of us knows the true identity of the other. My secret is that I love to paint, but I gave it up a long time ago.
Why?
.
Hermione glanced back up at the field. Everything seemed to be going well so far. If anything, Ginny seemed to be having a blast. Even though the witch trying out for Keeper wasn't doing so well, there weren't any irritable faces. Gin was practically glowing, loudly shouting encouragements as she batted the quaffle toward the girl again. The tone was certainly a bit harsh, but that was just her.
.
Hermione wasn't even down there and she felt her spirits rising.
Because the world needs my brain more than they need my feelings.
What she read next made her smile.
What you read was supposed to be lyrics.
Oh? You're a musician then?
You could say that. I've played the guitar since fourth year.
.
Suddenly, she was gripped by a strong impulse. It took her a few moments to process it, but the more she pondered it, the more potent her memory became. She could almost hear and see her mum humming along as she played the piano in the living room like she was still there with her. The ghost of her mum's happiness might as well have written the words for her.
That's lovely! I wish I could hear you play.
That would require actually coming out with our identities.
Not necessarily, but I wouldn't want to put you in a situation you're uncomfortable with.
You need to understand right now that I don't do anything I don't want to do. With that being said, I would have to think about it. Not even my girlfriend knows.
Hermione felt her head tilting with confusion.
Why on earth wouldn't you tell her? I'm sure she would be delighted.
She, and my mother for that matter, need me to stay level-headed more than they need things like feelings. You can't be naïve enough to not know what things like vulnerability can cost you.
She didn't need him to finish that thought to know what he meant. Even so…
I'm aware. Listen to me when I tell you that everyone has their own form of expressing themselves. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I believe we all have a lot to say, but half the battle lies in finding a way to say it. Yours just so happens to be in the world of music.
You must be mental if you think I let you see those lyrics on purpose. The fact that you don't know who I am is the only reason I told you anything.
Despite the calm lightness that held her like an old friend, Hermione rolled her eyes at the page. "Feeling a bit vulnerable, Ink?"
I'm aware of this as well. The people you love are supposed to be the ones you can open yourself up to. It's strangers like me that you shouldn't allow to see you as you are. However, I promise to burn this parchment if I must. Anonymity is the sole reason you know about my love of art.
It seems we have something in common.
So it seems.
I'll burn the parchment on my end too.
Thank you.
Have you been drinking the tea I told you to make?
.
A boy who appeared to be a fifth year was at the goal on the pitch. She hadn't seen such a serious expression brought on by a sport in a long time. Hermione answered without even looking down at the page.
No. Why?
.
For a few moments, she watched this kid's tryout with Gin carefully. He blocked the first one. Then the next. Hermione could see her friend's spirits rising with every protected goal.
He just might have what it takes. If the other candidates did as well as he did, they just might have a good year this year. No doubt the Gryffindor common room would be seeing more parties than studying if that were the case. Gin would be happy, though.
.
Her grip on the quill was loose when it started moving again.
There is someone I know who's been using glamour charms since term started. I guess it made me think of you and I was wondering if you've been sleeping.
.
A bit of movement closer to the stands caught her attention. There was a strange shuffling between three different boys who looked like fifth or sixth years. Hermione leaned forward. What were they doing? Her gaze flickered to the page and then back to the scene.
.
I've been managing. Thank you for your concern.
Listen to me when I say that you should paint again. And try the tea. It's time to tell the whole bloody world to fuck off and start looking out for you.
.
Not now, Ink!
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I can't do that. If you knew who I was, you'd understand.
.
One of the boys reached into his robes, while the other two stood with their heads cocked to the side. Were they attempting to get a look under Gin's broom? It wasn't like they'd see anything, but… it looked like they were perving.
Then one of the boys turned so that she could see their profile. He had a twisted grin on his face that was anything but friendly. People with such a smile were not about to do anything honorable. The other made a motion that looked an awful lot like a sexual gesture. That was when the one in the middle's shoulders shook as if he were laughing. He reached into his robes and Hermione saw red.
Her things crashed to the floor as her wand shot from its holster. "Expelliarmus! Oppugno!" She barely heard the screeches around her as dozens of small birds angrily swarmed her targets. Her gaze was only locked on one person as she stormed down the stairs.
The wandless git was too busy protecting his face with his arms, running away like a spineless coward for her to care about anything else.
Her nose was unexpectedly assaulted by the pungent odor of broom polish.
"Hermione! Hermione! What are you doing?"
The Gryffindor Captain was suddenly hovering in her way, but it didn't do anything to erase the violent trembling in Hermione's body. It didn't give the world its normal color back either.
"Out of my way, Gin."
"Not until you tell me what's going on! This isn't like you."
Hermione jabbed her wand past her friend, toward the cloaked dots in the distance. "Those vile excuses for humans were planning to attack you. Judging by the way they watched you before their friend reached for his wand, I'd wager they wanted you to be too embarrassed to continue as captain this year."
Ginny's sharp intake of breath was quiet, but it cut through the rage that boiled Hermione's blood. She abruptly spun toward the crowd forming at the base of the stands. "What are you all looking at? Tryouts are cancelled!"
"No, they're not."
.
Every head on the field turned toward the smooth yet commanding voice that silenced the rest.
.
Hermione swore that something was burning behind the smoke in Malfoy's eyes. Despite his habit of keeping his hands in his pockets, his posture was stiff and his shoulders were drawn back straight. There was a rigidity to Malfoy's jaw, as if he had clamped it.
"This school's quidditch schedule doesn't cater to the hair-brained ideas of students, if you haven't figured that out yet. No matter how famous their boyfriends are."
Thankfully, Hermione's reflexes were as fast as Ginny's wand arm. Steam might as well have been rolling out of the redhead's ears. "Having a job here isn't going to protect you forever, ferret," Ginny seethed. "I should have known that you would still be the same lousy git you've always been!"
"You might want to watch it, Weaslette," Malfoy said coolly. "Being Potter's pet isn't going to keep saving you, either."
With her hand firmly wrapped around Ginny's wrist, Hermione moved to step in front of her. "Why don't you do your job instead of harassing Ginny? In case you haven't noticed, she was very nearly attacked a few minutes ago! We'd have worse problems than postponed quidditch tryouts if I hadn't intervened!"
"So that's what you're calling using attack birds to solve your problems?"
Hermione lifted her chin in defiance. "When the situation calls for it. You should also note that I wouldn't hesitate to do it again if need be."
Hermione's resolve was strengthened tenfold when she felt Ginny squeeze her hand. The younger witch then let go and shifted to her side, her arms folded across her chest. She didn't utter a single word. Rather, Ginny twirled her wand between her fingers, seemingly unconcerned, except for the fact that she kept a hardened gaze fixed on Malfoy.
"Granger, go get your stuff. You're coming with me."
Hermione balked. "On what grounds?"
"On the bloody grounds of costing Gryffindor fifteen points if you don't!"
When Hermione turned on her heel, it felt like chainsaws were slicing her brain apart. Regardless, she stalked back up the stairs with her head held high. Hermione could vaguely hear what sounded like an irate Ginny blowing a cork. A chilly breeze bit her cheeks and hands while her pulse thudded in her veins. However, time froze for her the moment she knelt to grab her bag.
Something slick and warm started oozing over her lip. Hermione instantly wiped under her nose. When she pulled her fingers back, she froze.
They were red.
Hermione was horrified and hypnotized in equal measure. She rubbed her fingers together, drawn by the blood on her fingertips, and wiped her nose again on her sleeve. "Fuck," she whispered.
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
She silently prayed to whoever would hear her that her next move would be discreet. Hermione sat on the bench behind her, her bookbag tucked between her legs. She reached for her medical book, attempting to appear as if she was putting her things away. Hermione couldn't recall ever being more cautious as she paused, keeping her hand over her bag, pointed her wand at her face, and nonverbally cast a healing spell. She only took the span of a breath to allow the magic to work through her nasal cavity before following it up with a silent scourgify.
The last message on her parchment jumped out at her before she closed the book and shoved it in her bag.
.
Tell me something. How are you supposed to babysit anybody else if you can't even babysit yourself? It's common sense, _ Blood.
.
In a way, it seemed fitting that a few droplets of her blood landed right on the space next to her pseudonym. The large gap between 'sense' and 'Blood' was odd, but she didn't have time to analyze that right now.
.
"What are you doing up there?"
Hermione wiped her hands over her robes one last time before she closed everything up and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. When she turned to take the first step back down, Malfoy looked positively furious. Her lips pursed at the sight. "Just gathering my things, Malfoy."
She tried to convey silent reassurance to Gin as she passed. Whether it worked, she wasn't sure. All she knew for certain was that the moment she stepped up to Malfoy's side, his mouth pressed into a thin line, he turned on the spot, and she nearly had to run to keep up with him as he walked away.
"Malfoy!"
His name seemed to fall on deaf ears. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, not bothering to say a word.
"Malfoy, what on earth is all this about? Why were you even there?"
It took several moments too long for Hermione to realize that his pace had slowed to match hers.
"Malfoy," she said again, this time trying a gentler approach, "talk to me. Surely, you're not this upset over a jinx."
He continued to remain silent. Hermione ultimately gave up on the idea of talking things out like a rational person. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and began playing her and Robert's game: people watching. She'd sneak a peek up at the man beside her now and then, only to swiftly look away to avoid getting caught.
Those stolen glimpses gave her pitifully little information to deduce anything from. A constantly dipping line of his mouth, a steely edge to his jaw, and a stare that refused to veer from the castle were obvious indications of restrained irritation. His shoulders, on the other hand, had relaxed considerably since they had left Gin at the tryouts. It seemed equally obvious that, since his arms hung a bit looser, a more fruitful course of action would be to wait until they got to the castle to ask him again about his foul mood.
She found it interesting to note that walking with Malfoy like this wasn't uncomfortable. Her fury actually dwindled with every passing minute, allowing her more logical thinking to surface. Was it the same for him? Or was she completely off-base?
All notion of analyzing anything came to a complete stop the moment they set foot back onto the stone floors of Hogwarts. The halls were mostly empty, as one would expect on a bright Saturday morning, but Malfoy still checked the corridor in both directions before his hand shot out and gripped Hermione's wrist.
Her first instinct was to try and yank her hand out of his hold, but the moment she tried she was met with a look that stole her breath. Malfoy looked as if he were asking her to trust him.
There was no other choice for her. They had made progress, but she was at a precipice. If she made the wrong choice, they might never come back from it. So, Hermione nodded. His grip on her wrist eased when she did.
Despite Hermione's concern about what nearly happened to Ginny, she wondered why her skin tingled where Malfoy touched her. That sort of thing never happened to her before. She didn't think it was a form of wandless magic. Her mind and body—apart from her wrist—didn't feel any different.
Maybe it was a physical reaction. For all she knew, he could be using a soap to which her body was reacting. It was also likely that he may have been experimenting with a potion that required shellfish parts as a component. That would certainly explain it. Hermione made a mental note to see Madam Pomfrey for an allergen test soon.
The Defense classroom came into view much faster than she expected. Malfoy swiftly dragged her inside, wasting no time in locking the door behind them. Hermione rubbed her wrist, trying to erase the prickling sensation he left behind. She'd expected him to throw a fit. Maybe yell or scold her for her actions, but instead, when he turned to her, he was eerily composed.
Lead dropped into her stomach. She had no idea what to do with a calm Malfoy.
"Granger, why is it that you are always there whenever something dodgy happens?"
Just like that, Hermione relaxed. It wasn't the first time someone's asked her that question. "I wish I knew. Really. How did you know about that, anyway?"
Malfoy let out a hard, bleak chuckle as he leaned against the door. "I made the mistake of thinking if I opened the window, I could enjoy a bit of fresh air while I 'did my job.'" He cut a mocking glare in her direction, and Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "Clearly, Gryffindors need adult supervision just to play quidditch."
"You listen to me, Malfoy! If I hadn't acted when I did—"
"I know. I didn't say you were wrong. I just think you used the wrong spell."
That drew Hermione up short.
"You were far too easy on him," Malfoy said seriously. "I don't particularly like Weaslette, but any manky sod who thinks it's funny to attack witches is worth less than the dirt on the Dark Lord's rotten tooth."
Hermione blinked for several moments. "Voldemort."
The man before her let out a heavy sigh. "I know his name, Granger. The whole fucking world does."
Not for the first time, Hermione saw something in him that reflected in herself. The defiance in his tone and the steel in his glare might have been cause for a fight before the war. Now… she knew what this was. He was protecting himself. Despite the warmth that swelled within her over Malfoy's rage on Gin's behalf, Hermione found herself searching for the right words to say.
"He can't hurt you anymore," she said gently.
"Not everyone is ready to say it."
"Okay."
Malfoy pushed off the door, leaving Hermione to tip her head back to fully look at him. He towered over her, more composed and commanding than she had ever seen him before. There wasn't a shred of life to be found in his eyes, and a large part of her wondered if he was occluding. "You didn't fool me back there, Granger. Are you hurt?"
"What?"
Malfoy cut her a glare and turned her hand over. Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face. Her fingers were still red.
"Are. You. Hurt?"
Each syllable felt like another stab to her pride. Hermione quickly pulled her hand from his and vanished the blood. "It's fine, Malfoy. Just a nosebleed. It's perfectly normal for this time of year."
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione was quicker to speak. "The more pressing matter at hand is what will be done about Ginny's would-be attackers. I'm not familiar with their identities, but I am prepared to provide a memory—"
He shook his head. "I'll handle it. Unfortunately for them, I got a good look at their faces while your birds were chasing them off."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing Azkaban-worthy, if that's what you're worried about." A beat of silence passed. Then two. Several moments passed before he sighed and said, "I swear. Nothing that will have the Aurors beating down the castle doors."
Hermione's brows furrowed. "Malfoy, what spell would you have used, had you been in my position?"
The piercing look Malfoy gave her sent chills down her spine. "Something much darker."
She wrapped her arms around herself and focused on the now-closed window. The brutal honesty with which he spoke gave her a sense of peace, rather than fear. "You know, I would be lying if I said that the notion wouldn't be warranted." The side of her face burned from the intensity of his stare. "I trust that you will get some justice for her. Hogwarts is supposed to be safe and—"
"And it's becoming clear that it never has been? That knowledge shake your perception of the world?"
"Malfoy, it was shaken long before then. I just want to finally see this one lie become a truth."
"I hate to break it to you, Granger, but I don't think it ever will be."
"It doesn't mean that we stop fighting for it."
"And what happens when you get tired of fighting?"
Hermione took a deep breath. "You pick yourself up and do it anyway. You keep going until this one little piece of the world becomes the safe haven every child is promised. That we were promised." Like a magnet, she sharply turned back to him and said, "Promise me that you won't stop fighting for it."
Her friend suddenly felt a thousand kilometers away. "How? It's a bit late for people like us to change their stripes. I'm a Death Eater. You don't just come back from that and suddenly join the 'good guys.'"
Hermione took a step towards him. "Really? Because the person who apologized to me and got riled up over a witch he doesn't even like seems pretty good to me."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You really are mental. Do you really want to know what spell I would have preferred to use in your position?"
"Please. Do share with the class."
"A curse that makes Unforgivables look like a walk in the garden. The sort that, seconds after being cast, makes a person beg for death. And even then, I would have to deliberate on whether to grant that gift."
Hermione didn't hesitate. "And you would have ensured they never raised their wand to harm a woman again in doing so."
"Bloody hell, Granger! What happened to you?"
"I got a wake-up call!"
Hermione's abrupt confession lingered in the silence. She shook her head, shame crashing over her in waves. "I've got to go."
.
Hermione tipped back two phials of Calming Draught with a phial of Draught of Peace as a chaser before popping one of Robert's sugar quills in her mouth. The day she'd just had could only be described in one word: chaos. Between tryouts this morning, the disappointed looks from her professors, stares in the corridors, and the Hogwarts rumor mill being in full swing over multiple expulsions so early in the year…
The glow from her Twinned Quill's gemstone appeared to be Salsa dancing on her bedroom wall while a very different set of images was twirling in her head.
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The sorrow on Molly's face when she told her Ron wouldn't see her.
A bar in muggle London, where nobody would know her…
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What is your favorite color?
.
She didn't know which was shaking worse, her hands or her legs. Did it really matter anymore?
.
What kind of barmy question is that?
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It was her fault. It was always her fault when things fell apart.
She should have known better than to get so drunk. Especially alone…
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Look, I need you to prattle on about something unimportant for a while, if that's alright.
.
All she could see was the bastard who'd cornered her.
She'd been paralyzed.
.
Don't you have friends for that sort of thing?
.
If Harry almost got locked up when he used magic to defend Dudley, she knew she would end up in Azkaban faster than you could say library if she so much as stunned one.
It was just like Bellatrix, but it was also worse.
.
Just consider it part of the Headmistress' assignment or something. Please.
.
This time she couldn't scream. He used one of his hands to smother her mouth.
His filthy hands pawing and groping her…
She could still smell his foul, bourbon-drenched breath…
She jabbed her knee into his groin, only to be brutally thrown to the ground.
.
Are you okay?
.
He stalked toward her like a predator about to devour its prey.
Fear of him overpowered her fear of Azkaban.
When she finally drew her wand—it turned out he had one, too.
She would never forget his glee when he slurred, "Finally, a bit of fun—"
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Yes. I'm fine. I just need someone to talk to.
.
If it hadn't been for Harry's patronus…
Hermione shivered.
It gave her just enough time to grab a nearby brick and knock him out.
Bought her just enough time to cast an incarcerous. To cast one last glance at his bound and unconscious body. To get away before he woke.
.
Blue. Funny thing, that, because I find most people in Ravenclaw annoying. There. Happy?
.
Hermione focused on nothing but the words in front of her and breathing.
This was a good start. She could work with this.
.
Why blue?
Why does anyone like anything?
.
The tempo of her personal light show seemed to ease slightly. This was good. Just two more minutes. That was all she needed.
.
I can't explain the science behind it, but everyone has a reason for finding something appealing, even if they aren't consciously aware of it. For example, my favorite color is green, yet I find nearly everyone in Slytherin abhorrent. The color reminds me of vibrancy and life. Grass, trees, even an apple before it ripens.
How is it that I'm not surprised you put a ridiculous amount of thought into the most basic question ever asked in recorded history?
If you must know, color holds a lot of symbolism. It is also one of the aspects that define the world. Earth would be quite a different place if everything was only seen in black and white by the whole of humanity.
Blue simply reminds me of clear skies and freedom. Not too much of that going around these days.
.
The dancing slowed. Hermione twirled what was left of her sugar quill around on her tongue and finally looked up from the page. A bruised sky greeted her. Shadows crept ever closer, trying to be sneaky by hiding under her bed and in the corners of the walls, though it was impossible to tell if they wanted to greet her like an old friend or consume her.
.
I think I know what you mean.
I highly doubt it.
Do you still see it?
Every time I close my eyes.
Then I know what you mean exactly. It's called PTSD.
What are you on about now?
What we are both experiencing is a mental condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There is evidence that suggests that your brain chemistry changes during a particularly traumatic event in certain individuals. In our case, it would be a series of events due to the war against Voldemort.
.
Not to mention anything after… but she wasn't telling anyone. Hermione would literally take that to her grave. Who would believe her anyway?
.
Has anyone ever told you that you come off as a bit of a swot?
Regularly. As far back as I can remember.
Do me a favor.
That depends on what it is you want to ask.
Don't change. Ever.
.
.
.
A single teardrop fell onto the parchment. It was already too late for that. "Right," Hermione sighed. With her nerves settled, she was finally able to take the invisibility cloak and wrap it around her with some modicum of confidence.
It was time to go up to the seventh floor. Or try to, at least. Hopefully, Malfoy wasn't lurking around up there again.