" disaster, disaster / explosions ripping through the paint and plaster
disaster, disaster, disaster, disaster
tragedy, tragedy / a vacant lot where your whole childhood used to be
tragedy, tragedy, tragedy, tragedy "
-'disaster' by daniel knox (2007)
Oh, to be a bird. To have the chance to lift off and leave; to have an escape.
Hermione Granger had always been terrified of flying. It was recognized from very early on that it was one of the few things that she did not naturally excel at - this perhaps being the root of her fear. Scarred from her first attempt at riding a broom, she had stayed out of the sky at all costs except for when it was necessary, like in class or during a mission. She had absolutely detested her time spent flying on a Thestral during the Flight from Little Whinging, and had spent most of its duration with her entire body clenched - soured adrenaline coursing through her veins in clotted chunks. She had been unsure of whether she feared heights over the bloodthirsty Death Eaters, or vice versa. But the Death Eaters were gone, eradicated, finished. Of course, some supporters hid on the fringes of society and tried their best to build something from nothing, but Voldemort was gone for good. Hermione no longer had reason to fear them. She, along with many others, had taken the power back, and in turn had protected the lives of muggle born and half-blood wizards everywhere.
So how on Earth did she have the audacity to continue on in her fear of flying? It seemed silly now, being afraid of something as trivial as flying after conquering what they had. Hermione fully convinced herself that she had no time, no space left to feel foolish fear. She simply did not allow herself to experience the sensation.
She did, however, endure a specific sort of sadness - the kind that began as a single grain that slowly, incrementally expanded into an aching, immobilizing depression that had made life devoid of meaning.
And it was all because of a fucking boy.
Once the dust finally settled, there hadn't been enough time to say goodbye. There hadn't been enough time for anything, really. An escape was the only viable option for those who wished to keep what remained of their shattered sanities. Hermione had gone to The Burrow with Harry and Ron almost immediately after the Final Battle, then remained there for nearly an entire month. The tall, rural home had been shrouded in a blanket of inescapable bereavement. She hadn't so much as left the magically warded property for a day hike within her recuperative stay, choosing to merely stay inside, write, and chip away at her post-war reading list. With her nose in a book, Hermione didn't have to look up and see the emptiness in George's eyes, or notice the suffocating silence that invaded the kitchen whenever Molly cooked. She could hide in a corner and avoid brushing shoulders with Ron, avoid having an unfulfilling conversation with Ginny or Harry.
When she wasn't reading, she was asleep in her small, twin sized bed. Nearly everyone else in the house had trouble sleeping, their minds burdened by night terrors that refused to be remedied even by the strongest of Dreamless Sleep potions. For each of the others, sleep served as somewhat of a reverse highlight reel, forcing them to relive their war-torn moments and trauma - it was hell. Insomnia was quickly deemed as the preferable option by Harry, Ron, George, and Ginny. The four of them had made a habit out of meeting in the dark of night, crowding the small kitchen and distracting themselves with Firewhiskey as the rest of the house tossed and turned from above.
But Hermione, she preferred to dream - she welcomed it.
In reality, she just wanted to be alone. She wished for an escape from her escape, a place in which she could stare at walls in silence and brew tea at six in the morning without having a shadow of grief lurking behind her. She wanted to be lost, untraceable, vanished completely - a desire nearly impossible to achieve. The entire wizarding world knew Hermione's face, knew of her accomplishments and story, the worst part being them wanting more . There was nary a place for her to hide away, to be a person before a war hero.
So she slept.
Breathlessly, the pair swam beneath a thick cluster of lily pads, taking turns peeking at and circling one another in the water. Draco's pale skin was tinted green from the filtered sunlight, highlighting the scars and crevasses that littered his body. Hermione nervously tilted her head as she peered at him, dragging her gaze from his torso, to his mouth, then eyes. The gentle current caused the overgrown mop of blonde hair to billow out behind him, giving her a clear view of his relaxed face. He appeared so delicate when he held her gaze then, his face dressed in a dreamy expression, his eyes unwilling to leave her own.
Hermione's hair stayed in tangled curls that floated in front of her face. She didn't bother to push them aside when she made eye contact with Draco. In fact, she barely paid any mind to her demeanor or physical actions, she didn't observe the temperature of the water or the depth at which they swam. It was as though she was completely removed from her typical, analytical self. Beneath the water, it was just them – there was only him…
Hermione shot upwards in bed upon her return to the waking world, her lungs heaving as though she really had been underwater. Beside her, Crookshanks jolted awake at her sudden movement and emitted a small, panicked meow. It was still before sunrise, the room a shadow in the moonless night. Hermione's brain was in overdrive, festering with thoughts and lingering pieces of her dream. She had seen him again, so tangibly beside her in the depths of that pond. She rolled over in bed and began to cradle her cheek with her hand, pathetically reminiscing on the time Draco had done the same upon their escape from Malfoy Manor. She had disliked it in the moment, had instinctually wanted to shove him away the second they landed on the snow laden forest floor. But now… now she wouldn't mind the gesture as much. She wouldn't mind feeling his palm against her face, then neck.
Hermione shook her head into the pillow as though to free her mind of the thought. It felt a tad ridiculous to have even the shortest intrusion of him woven into her recounted trauma. She didn't want to constantly connect him to that, but she quickly realized that it was all they had; violence and danger had themed their adolescence, leaving barely any instances of laid back interaction. Hermione groaned in defeat - her mind was absolutely reeling. There was no way she would fall back asleep at this rate, this she was far too aware of. She decided that tossing and turning would be of no use, then ever so carefully, she stood from her small bed and stretched her arms towards the sky. The wood floor was cold under her bare feet, sending a sharp shiver up her spine and kindly inspiring the concept of a bath. Yes, a warm soak in the tub would do Hermione and her restless mind just fine at such an hour.
On her way towards the door, Hermione glanced over at the cup of tea she had abandoned before bed and gave it a contemplative gaze. tea wouldn't be so bad either. She laughed to herself out of pity for a moment before doubling back into the room to grab her wand. Rewarming the beverage didn't take much self convincing, as a trip to the kitchen was both risky and a lot of work, but it still gave her a sense of shame nonetheless. afraid to go downstairs, to face the ones who love you most. She sighed into the cup, taking a long sip of Earl Gray as her feet led her to the tub down the hall.
Making sure to place a silencing charm on the room before doing so, Hermione began to draw steaming hot bathwater into the basin. She undressed slowly, yawning as she stripped herself of her oversized sleep shirt, then melted into the inviting warmth. She hadn't bothered to put her hair up, brown ringlets falling across her shoulders to kiss at the rising water. Lazily, Hermione leaned her head back against where the rim of the tub met the wall and shut her eyes for what felt like a single moment before suddenly jolting forward - a sharp pain ricocheting across her skin.
Hissing as the water lapped against her forearm, Hermione's eyes darted down to the protruding scar, a gift from Bellatrix. Though it was normally an ugly sight, it appeared each cursed slash had swollen into a pink peak tipped with a black-ish sludge. Evidently, she had been scratching at herself again without noticing. The heat of the water seared her irritated skin, causing her to wince once more before lifting her arm to rest on the rim.
Breathing felt like a series of sighs - heavy and shifting - that weighed heavy on Hermione's lungs; a burden. A pinch of frustration began to build in the back of her throat, her eyes just barely stinging with the idea of tears. Baths had always been one of Hermione's favorite ways to unwind, with the exception of reading for pleasure, but now even submerging herself in the water conjured memories of long endured pain. It felt as though nothing would ever be the same as it had been before the war, as though nothing would be enjoyable, or familiar, or relaxing. With her eyes clamped shut, she pressed the tips of her toes firmly to the opposite end of the tub, pressing until some more of her body had slipped beneath the warmth, until she hit the dull point of pain. Her submerged hand sat flat along the bottom of the basin to steady the rest of her, dead set on letting the sadness pass through her like a ghost.
She couldn't help but think of the last time they had met.
In the quiet hallway, away from the semi-victorious commotion, it had been only them. Using the toe of his shoe, Draco had rhythmically kicked at the damaged wall until she spoke.
"I want to formally thank you, Malfoy." She had said, finding the courage to look directly at him. Draco had looked up from the rubble with a guarded expression - the same stoic, impenetrable one that had covered his face for years. "For everything, really. You're very brave, you know."
His kicking had come to an abrupt stop.
"I truly don't know what I would have done if you hadn't risked it all at the manor." She had continued on, keeping her eyes trained on his face - her gaze lingered between Draco's eyes and lips. "Your aunt probably would have offed m-"
"Don't suggest that," As he finally spoke, Draco's body had noticeably stiffened. "That wouldn't have happened."
Hermione tilted her head to the side ever so slightly. "You don't know-"
"I do." His hand had cut smoothly through the air between them - his words firm and meaningful - as to cut out any sense of doubt. "It never would have happened."
Back in the tub, Hermione found herself leaning forwards, curling into her knees. Her nose was pressed into her right kneecap, the steam from which gathered beneath her eyes as she shook her head slowly. it never would have happened . So definitive, and sure. It had been after things had initially settled down, after the rubble had been dispersed and the first wave of dead had been removed. The victorious group had managed to throw together a bit of a feast and - albeit meek - recognition of success.
Things had not gone at all to plan. When the Malfoy heir decided to throw his wand to Harry Potter at the final battle of Hogwarts, reality itself shifted. The moment Harry moved from Hagrid's arms, Draco had turned into lightning, his feet striking the broken ground beneath him. He nearly fell at first - taking off from his toes at such a panicked speed, scuffling against the crumbling stone - but he quickly regained his footing, using the velocity to hurl his wand towards the Boy-Who-Lived. And it was this, truly, that had allowed for a triumphant succession of events to occur; using Draco's wand, Harry Potter had managed to end his decade-long fight with Voldemort. That unexpected reality had been easy for her to digest. What had happened after, however, still perplexed Hermione.
Draco had caught her attention from the far corner of the room - him standing between two other boys, her completely enveloped by the crowd. It was the essence of desperation in his eyes that perturbed Hermione; the familiarity of his gaze was unmistakable and enchanting. He slowly blinked in her direction, then gestured with his head towards the hall's entryway. Without a second thought, she stepped towards the doors and watched as Draco pushed away from the wall. Together, they had wandered to a still standing corridor - neither bothered by the prospect of being seen, though Draco remained reserved. There had been a heaviness to the silence as they found their place beside an unshuttered window. That's when she had thanked him, when he had been so defined and sure.
"It never would have happened."
They had knowingly watched one another for a moment, neither of them finding the words to convey what was felt and needed to be said. Hermione had known what she wanted to say, or rather ask. It was the gall in which she had lacked, and required, to ask the boy such a question. It had felt inappropriate to bring up something so selfishly personal at such a time. but what if this is the only chance i get? The thought had caused her to break eye contact, a dense pang radiating out from the center of her chest. She found herself moving towards him, watching her own feet as they stepped closer to him until the toes of their shoes nearly met.
Hermione had never come so close to him before, not in real life, but it felt just the same as it did in the dreamscape - the tension, the building desire and serenity that came from such familiarity. Nonetheless, it had still been different. The tangible Draco had been stoic, as he was more often than not. His front had become a fact of life, but as he stood there drowning in his nonchalance, Hermione could not ignore the growing desire to prod at his habitual nature. She looked down at his hands, then back up at him as she found the nerve to reach out and take hold of one of them; it made her smile ever so slightly, realizing that she had located the courage.
"Draco," She had carefully begun. "Do you often dream?"
His eyes had been first to give way, softening at the edges once the initial impact had stopped sending its waves, then turning up as they shifted to the wall behind Hermione. A few rapid blinks of disbelief had preceded a somewhat serene expression as he, ever so slightly, began to smile. Trailing from the wall, down her arm and to their joined hands, Draco's eyes had once again found hers.
"I do," He had paused to raise a brow, tugging slightly on her hand as he leaned in. "Hermione."
"For how long then?" She asked, pressing on.
"A long time."
"About…"
Draco had snorted and shook his head. "Granger, you know what about."
"Do I?" She raised an eyebrow in return, an attempt at feigning suspicion. "Do I know?"
She had never seen him appear so boyish, with bright eyes and an unguarded, lopsided grin. He hadn't hesitated when extending his free hand out to tuck a bundle of curls behind her left ear, hadn't suppressed his expressions or emotion, hadn't recoiled at the necessary encounter - he had laughed ! His demeanor had been so familiar to Hermione, his energy open and genuinely inviting, but the words he had spoken in response to her…
"Don't begin to doubt yourself now, my love."
Those words had been the proof of it all for her, the words which had solidified their shared reality. The dreams weren't just some cruel trick from the depths of her psyche - it had always been him, Draco. She had actually been with him. Everything, all the conversations, all the emotions, all the … moments they had shared. She had felt her cheeks flush at the realization of just how vulnerable she had concurrently been with the person standing before her, physically.
"This is a bit mad, you know." She had quietly uttered, biting her lower lip. Draco had nodded, releasing her hand once she had begun pulling away to look out the nearby window. "All of this is." From the corner of her eye, she'd noticed his confidence falter as he placed both hands into his pants pockets and nestled his shoulder into the stone wall.
"Would you," Hermione had known he wasn't looking at her, but despite herself, turned to face him the moment he started speaking anyway. He had stopped mid sentence, looking past Hermione and at the horizon beyond - perhaps to generate some sort of fictitious distance. "Prefer the ordinary?"
She had nearly laughed at the notion. "No, Draco. I don't think I would." The immediate answer had taken him by surprise, apparent through knitted brows and parted lips. "I don't think anyone else—"
Once more, he had stepped away from the wall and towards her, reaching out to catch then caress her cheek in his palm. And again, Hermione had boldly covered his hand with her own, turning it over to kiss his palm before placing it back against her skin as she closed her eyes. She had taken note of the faint quiver to Draco's grasp as he willed himself to bring his other hand up, intent on cradling her face.
"Hermione, do you trust me?" He had asked in an exhale. His fingers had been so warm along the curve of her jaw, his thumbs softly stroking the skin beneath her eyes. In many ways, he reminded her of a ghost - scarcely present until she finally allowed herself to believe, until she allowed the haunting to take place.
She had let out a hum, leaning forwards into his touch. "Undeniably, I do. We've already spoken about this."
"I mean, right now at this moment. Do you trust me right now - like this?"
Hermione had been uncharacteristically thoughtless while in Draco's presence, willingly caught between his palms. Wordlessly, she nodded and opened her eyes to peer at him once more. His gray eyes had been waiting to recapture her gaze, causing her stomach to preemptively swoop before he had even laid the kiss to her temple.
" Draco! " The pair had pulled apart to turn towards the voices, urgency apparent. " Has anyone seen Draco Malfoy? "
Her face had felt so cold without his touch. Draco hadn't pulled away completely, instead grasping onto her hand as an anchor to bring her in closer to his side, just barely behind him. Wands outstretched and illuminated, the two boys who Hermione had seen him with before - Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott - bolted down the corridor.
"Draco, they found her."
"Draco, it's your mum."
"Draco, she's-"
"No," His hand had slipped from Hermione's so quickly. " Where? "
Theodore had begun to cry, his head shaking from side to side. "Outside the, outside in the,"
"Outside of the greenhouses," Blaise had gripped onto Theodore's bicep. "We need to go, now ." Draco had already started moving, exploding into a sprint, but Blaise had remained somewhat transfixed on Hermione, even after Theo had gone as well. "I haven't a clue as to what's going on with this absolute curse of a day… but your help may be appreciated." Though his voice had been even, Hermione could have sworn he had parted with a pleading glance before taking off after the others.
If only she hadn't hesitated for those few moments in the hall.
The bath had gone entirely cold. Hermione blinked rapidly, wondering how long she had been in the tub. Relief flooded in as she turned towards the window and found the still darkened sky. She reached over the rim for her wand, casting a warming charm on the water. Hermione did not typically hesitate. No, she was very action-oriented and always had been - it was the practical way to be. So why then, in presumably one of the most dire situations, had she stalled? Leaning back into the freshly steaming water, she tried to recollect how the moment had truly felt, how scatterbrained and delirious her thoughts had been. A large chunk of her pride had always been stored within her quick-thinking abilities and how successfully she could operate under pressure; from all the times she could have failed, why must her body have chosen that moment to keep her frozen in place?
When she had finally started running, it had been before her mind had truly processed it, the building panic in her gut forcing her feet to move forwards. the greenhouses. As she dashed down the dark corridors, retracing her and Draco's original path, she had counted off her sharp footsteps in groups of eight. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-and, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-and, one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-and. A shift had been apparent as she found her way down the crumbling Grand Stairs, quickly approaching the Great Hall - the sobs had made her sure of this, growing louder as she had slowed to a jog just outside the grand doors.
"There she is— Hermione !" The tone of Harry's voice had been eerily similar to that of Theodore's just a few minutes before, made worse by the desperate shriek at the end of her name. He had turned before she could see his face, bringing his attention back towards the Weasley clan. Her stomach had dropped what felt like fifty meters in a second as she neared the group.
"What happ-?" Nearly breathless, she had stopped her sentence short.
Percy had been screaming - no, wailing - over Fred's body, his deceased brother's blood-soaked jacket balled tightly between his fingers and fist. "We had just spoken, Fred! We had just reconciled!" Their parents had kneeled on either side of Fred, with Ron beside Molly and Ginny next to Arthur as George and Percy clamored near his waist - all equally distraught.
"There, outside," Harry had stammered through tears, shaking his head. "Something happened,"
"An explosion!" Arthur had wept. "It's all shattered. It's all-" He had looked down, grief bubbling out of his being as he reached forward to push the red hair out of his son's lifeless face. "Oh, Fred."
Hermione never did make it out to the greenhouses that night. Panic related to Draco had been dwarfed by the Weasley family's loss, diminished by her dutiful need to be present. After helping them move and secure Fred's body, she had immediately disapparated with the others, shrouded in grief, to the too-quiet Burrow where they then remained. Though she had initially stayed close to Harry, Ron, and Ginny - the four of them more often silent than not in those first few Fred-less days - a specific sort of self-loathing agitation had first bloomed in her chest as time progressed on, then irritation towards the rest. She had spent a lot of time thinking about how life would be after the war, about how they would all continue on. Never had she expected victory to feel so hollow.
With the rising sun just barely peeking over the horizon, Hermione reached forward to pluck the plug from the bottom of the bathtub and watched it all go down the drain.