To the anon reviewer who asked me why I 'made Hermione so weak' ...
I didn't. I also didn't make her 'not like she is in the books.' Perfect, never cries, isn't hurt by anything Hermione is the work of fanfiction, not canon. I'm insulted by your insinuation that because she suffers PTSD, she's weak. Hardened soldiers suffer PTSD, it isn't sign of weakness. You mistake flaws & vulnerabilities for weakness, and, at the risk of being blunt or rude, that's a you problem, that's not on me. Hermione Granger was an 18-year-old girl, fighting in a war against people who wanted her dead or controlled because they considered her 'less-than', watched friends die, witnessed atrocities most can't even imagine, and (in this fic's backstory) was repeatedly 'almost' murdered by a madman attempting to choke the life from her for funzies. I don't see how being affected by that makes her 'weak.' If you don't like how I write Hermione, I can deal with that. I can deal with people forgetting book Hermione was imperfect, that she cried often throughout the series, that she was vulnerable, that she had moments of emotional fragility, that she struggled with things. Yet, that's what made her great & complex character; she was strong, not despite these things, because of them. She's a layered character who knows what it's like to hurt, which is why one of her flaws is her capacity to be compassionate to a fault—the flipside of which is another of her flaws: shortsightedness. But if you're going to say you don't like the way I write Hermione because I've shined a light on her vulnerable side, then I kindly suggest my stories aren't for you.
SEVEN
HERMIONE COULD FEEL the thudding of her heart against her ribcage quite distinctly, just as she could feel a hollowness in the pit of her stomach and the weight of the air in her lungs as she stared back at Jacob. As she waited for him to say . . . anything. And as she did, there was that little voice in the back of her head again, insisting how it was madness that his emotions should have such an effect on her. Yet, mad as it was, she knew it would tear her heart out to think this concession—to think that having to hear about her trauma from Edward Cullen of all people—had hurt him.
Swallowing hard, her lips shivered as she fought with herself to speak. "I wanted to tell you, I just . . . ." She sighed and her shoulders drooped. "I suppose I was just hoping it would never have to come up."
He could see it in, well, everything about her just now, how hard this was for her. He didn't need to smell the acrid twinge of anxiety tainting her scent. It was in her posture, the set of her shoulders, the unshed tears that crowded her chestnut eyes. It was enough to reel himself back in; enough to remind himself that however low it made him feel to know she'd suffered so at the hands of one who was in any way like him, it didn't come close to what she must feel having lived it.
Jacob shook his head, those impossibly broad shoulders slumping as he opened his mouth to speak. Yet, his offer of assurance—that he understood even though he didn't quite, that he would never harm her in any measure, let alone as grievously as the bastard who'd done that to her—was cut off by Edward speaking from the other side of the trees, again.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low.
Hermione and Jacob both turned questioning looks on the trees.
"I think I can help," a gentle voice, tinged by a lilting Southern drawl, answered. "If she'll permit."
Edward sighed audibly. "Jasper wants to control your anxiety so you can think about the incident openly without being retraumatized," he explained.
It was only now, only as the copper-haired vampire sounded as though he was bracing for her to say no that Hermione realized she'd already closed her mind to him. So reflexive, she'd not even recognized the way her magical guards had slammed back into place.
Her brows pinched together as she considered that. Hadn't she just earlier thought how interesting Jasper's ability was? She was ignoring fully that something about his voice—sweet and patient, and yet she could somehow hear the imagined sound of him growling—made her feel warm. And perhaps just a bit like her insides were trembling.
Jacob's dark eyes narrowed as he watched her, as they all waited for her response. Something had flickered through her just then. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but . . . it wasn't entirely dissimilar to the scent he'd detected from her when they had first met.
God, how could yesterday afternoon seem so friggin' long ago?
It made him edgy, somehow. Even not quite comprehending the feeling, himself, he felt a stirring of agitation directed at Jasper. Edward wasn't sure what was going on anymore as, rather than quelling the werewolf's riled state, Jasper got angry, himself.
Jasper didn't get angry.
He turned his head, finally pulling his attention from the trees as though he could see the two standing on the other side, to look at his brother's face. Just now his ability wasn't helpful, as his target's thoughts turned muddied and incoherent again. Jasper, for his part, appeared confused, his features pinching in bewilderment.
Edward glanced back toward Bella, who'd been standing closer to his brother for the bulk of the conversation. She met his eyes, cognizant that he was looking for some explanation, for anything Jasper might've indicated. She could only shrug, shaking her head.
So, no one knew what was happening. Great.
Hermione, unaware of the strained interaction going on between the vampires, met Jacob's gaze in question, seeking assurance.
Oh, God, did he want to tell her to say no. To tell him to fuck off and leave her alone, she'd said enough. But it wasn't his decision to make. He could only tell her if he trusted the offer, and let her decide the rest. It was just something in the mere notion of Jasper—who only ever seemed to use his ability to benefit a situation—utilizing that emotion control bullshit on Hermione unsettled him. He could feel a bleak sort of negativity crawling around in his gut.
He was impossibly grateful his mind couldn't seem to scrape together words about the feeling. Nothing for Edward to read.
On the other side of the trees, Edward winced and touched one hand to his temple. In a creature that slept—ever—it would certainly be read as a gesture of exhaustion. First Jasper's scrambled thoughts, now Jacob's? He tried to keep his frown to himself as he puzzled over what was going on. Could the witch the actual, physical source, rather than her presence simply being some point of confusion for Jasper? Since Bella was the only other person present, he had no way to gauge the probability of that.
"Both of you relax," he snapped, trying to get a handle on his own thoughts in this tangled mess.
Bella moved up beside him, unable to help herself at his tone. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Edward opened his mouth to respond, turning to meet his wife's gaze, but then just as quickly closed it again. If he were to let on about Jacob and Jasper's thoughts seeming scrambled, it wouldn't take much for Bella to leap to the conclusion that the witch was to blame, regardless of whether or not it might be true. He didn't want to consider what her reaction would be, what with her overprotective streak.
"Nothing's wrong, this is all just . . . weird. There's a lot of confusion, is all." He forced a smile, but he knew his expression's believability was questionable at best. "I'm fine."
"What is going on over there?" Hermione asked, troubled by the 'both of you' comment. Did he mean her and Jacob? Jacob and Jasper? Was there something else entirely going on over on the other side of the trees?
"Oh, bloody hell, this is stupid," she muttered in tone loaded with resignation, taking it upon herself—drawing a deep breath and stilling her nerves—to turn and start back around the treeline. "We can hardly have a conversation like this."
In a flash, Jacob remembered the way she'd reacted the first time she'd seen them. That wasn't fear in her scent then, well, it wasn't only fear. It was rage, too. Her hands had shaken as she'd forced herself to still before she'd run off. Now that he understood, she'd probably stopped herself from drawing her wand and hitting them with . . . some kind of magic attack, fucked if he knew what that might be.
"Hermione, wait," he started, thoughtlessly reaching out to latch his fingers around her wrist.
It was that first moment of skin contact between them. Hermione thought she might later refer to it as the moment All Hell Broke Loose, but wondered if that might not be overstating things.
Something . . . electric passed between them in that touch, shortening her breath and warming every inch of her. She tried to steady herself so that she might turn her head to look at him, but the action was cut short by Edward's voice. "Jasper—what?!"
Edward, completely at a loss for what had happened, found Jasper's thoughts suddenly thrown into sharp, unobstructed focus. Jasper understood. But it was . . . odd. It wasn't Hermione's blood that called to him. It was the mingled scents from the other side of the trees carrying to him on the most unfortunately timed breeze in history. How?
How was it possible a mingled scent sang to someone?
But Jasper wasn't trying to make sense of it. The Southern Gentleman of the family was, well, behaving in that most ungentlemanly way of when he caught a whiff of fresh blood. He wasn't making sense of his own thoughts, though they were clear to Edward.
Almost animal like in the equal bursts of wrath and protectiveness coursing through him, Jasper broke through the trees in a blink of movement. Behind him, Edward shouted his name, a wide eyed Bella sucked in a gasp, but seemed wholly uncertain what to do in response. Just a single word rang from Jasper's mind into his brother's as he'd bolted.
Mine.
Hermione let out a startled sound to find the vampire in front of her. Aware of Jacob trying to pull her behind him—aware that he could've done so easily, if not for him being so cautious of how he handled her—of a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. She forced herself to divert her gaze, to not look up into the tawny eyes that might send her reeling once more.
Edward and Bella choose the more sensible path, rounding the line of trees to catch up, but as soon as they did, he threw out his arm, blocking her from getting any closer. He had no idea what was happening, but whatever it was, he had a sudden and overwhelming sense that they should not interfere.
Jacob relinquished his hold on her, moving to step around her—he had no problem with the idea of presenting himself as a shield against a vampire—but precisely as he let her go, Jasper caught hold of her chin. His gift whispered along his skin to hers, easing her anxiety—this time she let him—as he lifted her face to meet his gaze.
Jasper was completely oblivious to how the werewolf was struck the moment he touched her. Oblivious to how the creature—holding himself on the verge of changing, growling and shivering—stilled while he finally met the witch's eyes.
Edward couldn't explain the ripple in Jacob's mind in that moment. He blinked and shook his head, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. The thoughts should've been garbled, overlapping, but they were distinct, everything in him, everything that made Jacob who he was gathered together, collected and coalesced, swirling into a singular thing, only to be thrown wide, scattering far from him.
A single tethering reality lingered, linking all that remained of Jacob Black to what was before him.
The sudden touch of Bella's hand on Edward's arm helped to ground him a little, but still he couldn't understand what he was witnessing.
Hermione blinked up into Jasper's face, uncertain of what was happening around her. It had felt like she and Jacob'd been in their own little world on this side of the trees, but then this one had come literally crashing in. She'd been braced for the fear, the hate, the anger of seeing these eyes again . . . but seeing them while peace and calm stole through her heart was not something for which she'd been prepared.
She could feel her breath shuddering out of her as though she'd been sobbing. Everything around them felt impossibly still, even as she heard the rustling of the other two coming around the trees. The chill of the vampire's skin was strangely invigorating, enticing, against her own, but her mind couldn't be bothered to puzzle over that oddity just then.
She could sense Jacob beside her, some bizarre, spiky tension ebbing from him.
Her chest ached and her mind whirled as it tried to sort what was happening, the equally bizarre sensation of her heart trying to pull itself in two overtaking her a moment.
"Jasper, let go of her," he whispered, a lethal growl edging his voice.
Jasper's voice, just as low, just as soft, answered, his gaze never leaving Hermione's, "All she has to do is ask."
Cursing, Jacob reached out. Once more he latched his hand around Hermione's wrist, to pull her away, to push her behind him . . . but he never made it that far. The witch fell against him, her head drooping in Jasper's delicate, icy hold, a thundering gasp tearing out of her as her fracturing heart slammed itself back into one rapidly beating piece.
She felt it.
Jasper's pull, not to her alone, but to what she was with Jacob. Jacob's sudden, all-consuming connection to what she was now that Jasper recognized what she was to him. They were tied not only to her, but to each other.
What she was to them . . . ? She didn't even know.
"I don't understand what's happening. What is this?" she asked, feeling utterly drained of strength at the awareness and sensations running rampant through her. She lifted her head, looking from one to the other, and back.
At her question, Jacob and Jasper eyed one another warily, both appearing as much at a loss for a response as she was.
There was a thud in the backdrop that barely registered on any of them until they heard Edward's panicked shout. "Bella!"
Vampire, witch, and werewolf turned as one to see Edward drop to his knees beside the dark-haired young woman. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared lifeless.
Except . . . .
"She's still breathing," Jacob offered, sounding utterly mystified. A little weird, he thought, considering they didn't actually need to breathe.
Jasper tacked on, "I can sense her emotions; she's not dead."
Edward looked to the trio, and then back at his wife. "Couldn't that only mean she's . . . sleeping?"
Hermione understood the terror in the mind reader's voice at that moment. "But your kind doesn't sleep," she said, immediately feeling stupid for having spoken those obvious words aloud.
Edward nodded, his voice tight as he scooped Bella up into his arms and started back toward the house. "No, we don't. I've never heard of this before. Carlisle will know what's wrong."
The three followed after him, no one seeming aware of—or rather, no one drawing attention to—how the males supported Hermione between them while she struggled to get her legs under her as they went. None of them understood what was happening, but there was no time for that, now.
They hurried along in silence back to the house hoping Edward was right, and there was at least an answer for what had befallen Bella.
